the game

t:

It was now the second of January, the day after the girl's annual New Year party, the unusual Saturday so, she was saying, she could, of all things, relax

and what did I want to do, what was I just doing, without asking, without consideration? I wanted to talk with her about business.

We had finished the delicious bagel she had melted with cheese and egg and spinach, and I had said to her "don't wash dishes. Try to wait, and I'll just wash dishes all day and not do anything else, though I won't hurry," which was like issuing a challenge, in a way, but she accepted it, this time, without overt protest.

What was she going to do, while I was puttering? I suppose she had her plans, or she would say she just wanted to do nothing. Actually, while I was being slow to come to breakfast she had already been working in the garden, doing something, it seemed quite energetically, but I hadn't completely noticed.

We had worked into the night, washing the party dishes, in the old sink outside, with its cluttered, gritty counter and the one cold tap, because the kitchen sink had just finally clogged and simply stopped draining, except that it did drain, which was good, even if it was onto the bathroom floor! At least it was dry and clean, and I had the little can and the tub over the taps to remind us, as if it was a crazy house, and the old sink outside had saved us for months in years past, and here it was saving us again, and finally we went to bed, leaving only the glittering galaxy of glasses on the table in the garden.

So now it was truly the new year. And I did want to talk about business. That's my passion. That's so important. It wasn't that I wanted talk all day, or that I was thinking so. I was thinking, I think, that I wanted to state our goals, and verify, just, that we had them clearly in mind, and that we would do this not just this day, but every day, at the beginning and end of each day, really.

But she was angry. She wasn't protesting. She knew I wanted to talk business, talk goals, and she was resigned. "OK," she was saying, "we'll talk some business, and then I'll relax. You know how little time I have for that. Even normally I wouldn't have this Saturday, I would already be at work. This is my one opportunity to do nothing. Who knows when I'll have a day to do nothing again. But, go ahead, what did you want to talk about?"

Me, I want us to state our goals, and agree on them. I wanted her to say "OK, got it. That and that and that are your goals, and I am here to fully support you in them, and these and these and these are my goals, and we are going to achieve these things, we are going to constantly affirm them, we are just relaxing in our clarity, and affirming and reaffirming it, and if there are any questions we are eager to address them, in conversation together, as partners, that being the complete, fantastic, abundantly liberating way. Oh Yeah!"

But this was not, not, not to be. She would talk, but she was angry and disgusted, and she was going to hatefully abjure every word I was going to say. She was going to violently and instantly question every word I was going to say, every one of my statements and assertion. "No!" she was going to say, "You can't just say that. What about this, what about that." She was going to do that, and she did it, and did it more, and did it more again.

And I, for my part, was not going to stop, not for anything. I was going to continue. And I was going to debater her, as vigorously as she was debating me, debate her objections, one by one, carefully and completely and with utter conviction. And I was going to do this with complete respect. To do it with other than complete respect would be to stop, to not value what she was giving me. Oh, how she was giving it to me, the chance, the opportunity, to voice my dream, and voice it forcefully, and re-voice it over and over, starting again and again from the beginning, adjusting to her thrusts each for each, dodging, turning, strongly parrying, carefully considering her points, in no way rejecting them, not until I could completely turn them, reset, re-begin, battle again.

And so we proceeded. Because she would not stop, I could not stop. I could not. She would not. And now she was saying "It has been an hour, two, no three hours. My precious free day is slipping away, in this Hell. What is the good of just talking? Why do you want to talk to me? You say I don't know, that I'm not right? Then why talk to me?" And I was saying "It's the battle, it's the talking. That's what's going to move us forward, into infinity, not into some limited life, but into a life of freedom and extreme and complete fun." And she was saying "You can't say that. It has to be practical. I am interested in this. What about that?" And I was saying "Oh, yes, I am interested in that, it's so interesting to hear you talking about that, but I am also wary. I am absolutely interested in being involved in that, with you, but not if it's going to get us into massive trouble. It doesn't have to. The solution is to talk. I know you believe that is the way, massive trouble, difficulty, toiling, profound responsibilities, constant problems, and I do and I don't agree. I say it's the dreaming that gets it done. I say we must dream to completeness, without any doubt left, dreaming to absolutely no limit, to the limit of completion, and then we can relax into a beautiful luxury, all without doing even anything, without doing anything but that."

We played and played, a grinding, endless game, each player determined not to loose even a single piece, and at the same time to press the attack relentlessly, with unmitigated enmity, with the one utter determination to crush the other into oblivion. Press, fall back, maintain the stalemate, refuse to loose, to even be touched. But I was saying "we will win, we will." And she was saying "How can you say that?"

The door bell rang. Now that was a strange thing. Who could it be? No one ever rings the bell. Could it be one of the neighbors? They all either hate me or accept, with measure contempt, that I will never say hello, or even look in their direction, though I will put on a quiet smile if I happen to pass them, still, without looking at them or acknowledging them. If they are coming down the street, I will quickly slink back into my garden, pretending to have something to carry in, or to attend to, and to not have noticed them. I only worry that my overgrown garden, such as you would see in a movie, before a haunted house, before the house of an old woman without a friend, will scare people, walking by. I tend it, but I refuse to move it away from its state of nature, so it has taken on its own life, and now it has overwhelmed me. Though it is true I had raked the leaves, and then Kiyomi had picked them up, and put them in the garden.

Could it be Jerry? He hates me more completely than any of them, and in the past has rung my bell, he's the only one, to threaten me, to probe for a weakness, which, if he found it, he would exploit with a bolt, not kidding. But he hasn't been over for years. It's just that, otherwise, who could be ringing? All our friends just knock.

As I get up, I can see, through the cobwebs and the half closed blind, what appears to be a red flannel shirt, which is what Jerry wears. It wasn't a probable thing, that it would be him. I didn't think that. It must be just some passer by. But, where it is my practice, following Abby's advice, to open the door wide and promptly, when someone rings or knocks, no matter who it might be, this time I did peek, just a little, just to know.

A long slender fellow, almost as tall as our trees, easy in his pose, looking ever so polite, and charming, his Nordic face as narrow as a sheet of paper, framed in curly golden locks, sneakers and narrow jeans, a big fine red pullover sweater with the arms hanging easily down to his fingers. He wore a slightly hesitant expression.

Kiyomi had been saying How can I expect anyone to talk to me. If I want people in business to talk to me, I should clean up, I should behave more confident. But it was interesting that when thus directly challenged I had felt, that, you know, really I'm not that bad. I'm being funny, and I think people do get it. Before me was a pleasant exception to what might have been, so I jumped back and flung the door wide, and gave the guy a smile of welcome.

His name was Dane, and he is an impresario, producing shows all over town, and he was just wondering - he hoped he wasn't intruding - if he could shoot some scenes for a music video in my garden, because he really liked it, from the front, as he explained, pointing out its virtues, just as, in fact, I do see them. At this point, I was just laughing.

Check mate. My game. I don't mean to be so rude, and I had had some doubt, or, in fact, even not, it was just that now my strategy was really being tested. But to win like this! Because, I mean, how perfect can something be. This was exactly what I have been wanting, to be in movies, and talk with artist! For my garden and my house to be in movies! Exactly what I wanted.

I said "Dane, come in, let me show you the back." He said, "Oh, please." He came into the house and I told Kiyomi, "Look, here's my business partner!" She said "Don't say that! You just met him! You just latch on to people like that and that's why they run away!" I said "Oh, I'm just kidding, although," turning to Dane, "seriously." But, I was relaxed. I'm way too intense, but what can I do? Nothing for it but to be relaxed, of course. Dane came into the back, looking around him, at the branches hanging down everywhere, dense mats of them, the giant piles of trash, and expressed delight. He was saying that he wanted to visit often and talk with me about my philosophy - not his own, he actually said mine, which means he's exceptional, a gentleman - of course I'm interested in his. I was astonished. I didn't know what to say. I apologized, because I get so in a muddle. We made a plan. He'll come over with a friend for lunch, bring a bottle of wine. I wasn't clear in my words, what a pleasure that would be. I was too worried about the state of the place, though I promised him I would not change it, until after his shoot, at the end of the month. He has amazing connections. He has a friend with Vice, of all the wonders! Well, I'm anxiously awaiting his next visit. This really is too good to be true, but then, Dane seems quite serious. I just have to have faith, now. Whatever is happening, it's definitely something.

Kiyomi won, too. All the way, and so deservingly. While Dane and I talked in the back, I could hear her getting in the car and leaving, and without saying goodbye. She had won a small new liberty. She was going to Cathy's party. She hadn't been sure she would go. She returned later, not late, and she was still angry, but she also apologized.