Receiving Another Chance From an Enduring Heart

INT: MY TINY LIVING SPACE, BROOKLYN -- 3:56am

SID and NANCY are arguing loudly in the apartment directly above me.

I am now wide awake.

I pee. Step on my scale. Meditate, and end up moving with intention. I hydrate and pop a shroom.

At 4:34am I hear Nancy scream, "Fuck you Sid!"

This is my cue to close the window and crawl back into bed.

Monday -- April 27, 2020

• I am working on an independent film.

• Which is set in Central Park.

I am at Central Park West and 81st Street, right at the pedestrian foot path. The Director cues me to enter the Park. I have a body cam on for some really cool POV shots.

I kind of dig the way this Director works. The manner in which we warmed up prior to shooting this scene, is awesome. I feel limber, and simply great.

ACTION!

I pass the playground on the left, and then I pause to watch that hipster jazz trio. I toss a dollar in their bucket. I have always liked them. They're funky.

I come to the fork in the pedestrian path. I chuckle at the fact that the right tine transverses me right back to the Delacorte, Shakespeare in the Park. So I head towards the left, which I am significantly less familiar with, even after all these years. I thought it would lead me to the bridal path.

"CUT," the Director yells! She takes my body cam, and behind me she has already set up a dolly and crane camera, on these tremendous tracks. How did I not notice or hear her? I mean, we are telling my story, which has a very grass roots budget. Where did she get the money for this set up? Without me knowing?

"Hey this is your story," the Director tells me after reading my mind.

I ask "wouldn't it have been cheaper to get a drone?"

"You don't know how to fly a drone. You went to film school in the 80s."

I told her, "wait a second. How am I supposed to get behind this big, old, fancy, schmancy camera, and capture myself? Remember? I told you this was a solo piece when I first met you in Clinton Hill.

She doesn't budge. And I'm just a writer and performer here, so I surrender. I climb behind the camera. I look through the eyepiece and I see...ME?! I check the monitor. And it is in fact Me. I follow myself, heading down the path. We get to the Great Lawn, which has oddly and concentrically joined with Jackie O. Promenade, Turtle Pond, Bethesda Fountain, and the Carousel.

And I infinitely swear to you all that the only shrooms I took this morning were corduroys.

I continue to follow myself. The Director instructs me to pause with the camera for a moment, and pull further out, to get a wider shot. The Me in the shot starts to run. It's getting dark, and I'm starting to become frightened.

I follow myself down a spiral staircase, picking up speed as we go. I nearly lost myself but we slowed as we headed through a doorway. We are in that ugly ass waiting room in Mt. Sinai Hospital, on the east side of the Park. There are ugly ass murals on the walls of Central Park. And these awful paintings are making me angry.

CUT TO:

INT: MY TINY LIVING SPACE, BROOKLYN -- 6:53am

I wake up from a good sleep. I am deliciously comfortable. But I have to pee. I turn on the light. Open the window. Put up an oatmeal, berry, corn cake in the oven to bake. I make toast, and schmear it with Miyokos vegan cheese.

MONTAGE:

9:25am -- I sing a duet of Stand By Me with John Legend.

10:05am -- I have eaten some of my oatmeal, corn, berry cake, which has actually turned out to be more of a pudding. But it's serially good. More toast. A dish of pumpkin seeds and crystallized ginger.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT: MT. SINAI HOSPITAL, UPPER EAST SIDE -- 10 YEARS AGO

A very Nervous Doctor comes out and tells me "he is not responding to the medicine," and that it was a matter of hours. I get a silent nudge from my Director. I follow the doctor back to ICU into a curtained off area. And there is Jay, on a ventilator, which is doing the breathing for him.

And I know exactly where I am. And what time it is.

The Nervous Doctor tells me that his situation is escalating, which I already know. I approach myself from 10 years ago. I'm holding Jay's hand. I place my Present hand on my Past's shoulder. I tell myself that I am okay, and that I'm going to be okay. I tell myself, "I love you." The Present me hugs myself, as we repeat in unison, "I love you."

The Nervous Doctor returns to turn off the ventilator. I can't live through this again. So I turn and I run. I blow past my Director, who now chases after me with the camera. Back through the doorway and up 86 flights. There is another doorway at the top, which leads to 10 years from now. My Director and I come bursting through, and we are at the TriBeCa Film Festival. It looks like an awards ceremony. And there is 62 year old Karen, standing with my two present Artistic Partners, accepting an award for a documentary we created about our visit to the birthplaces of my grandparents. I'm not sure if anyone can see us, because I'm so used to ushering these events and being totally ignored. Karen 62 steps to the podium to give her acceptance speech. She looks directly at me and says, "You finally made it. I've been waiting for you."

I look around the room. Is she talking to me?

"Are you talking to me? Talkin' to me mother f--"

Karen 62 says to me, "we're at TriBeCa. Is that the best you can come up with?"

The crowd laughs hysterically.

Karen 62 looks me live in the eyes, leans into the mic and says, "we're going to be okay. You're going to be okay. Now close your eyes and hug yourself.

This is my story, so I surrender.

I close my eyes tightly. I hug myself tightly. And I tell myself, "I love you. We are going to be okay. I AM okay."

Sid and Nancy, who live in the apartment above me, start to blast music. Their selection doesn't become them, in my opinion.

I open my eyes and I'm back in my tiny apartment, and I am involved in a Zoom group meditation with Beloved Brooklyn. And we are discussing the seasonal significance of spending time with ourselves, and others. Balance, harmony, justice and mercy. Receiving another chance, and endurance of the heart.

EXT: BAY RIDGE BROOKLYN -- NEXT DAY

I carry two bags of laundry to The Place. I have a brief conversation with Maria as I drop off, about her brother, who is feeling much better. But his wife, her sister-in-law still cries every day.

Outside the noon sun is masked by grey clouds threatening to shed a few tears. The color of the sky makes the Verrazzano appear to be even more monolithic.

I run 1.14 easy, out and back miles, while listening to 'The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck.'

I pick up Draino and paper towels from Walgreens.

I return home, shower, and prepare a plate of vegan ravioli with broccoli and Beyond Meat crumbles.

I light a palo santo outside on my window sill. I want to let the pigeons know that I love all animals, and I'm truly a romantic at heart, but I would appreciate it if they would build their nest elsewhere.

I eat the entire damn bowl of ravioli while watching The Sopranos.

• Fade to violet.

• THE END.

• Roll credits:

@HostDefense

@Miyokoscreamery

@rising_moon_pasta

@beyondmeat

@BelovedBrooklyn123