Exposition

I’m really glad that you and I could do this together. I was worried we wouldn’t. Things have been so busy lately, haven’t they? For both of us, really. I know you got all your work and me, well, I always find something to do, even if the things I do might seem trivial to most people.
What do I mean by that? Well, I don’t know. I find that no matter how much importance I find in things, there’s always someone who deems it a waste of time.

Try not to think about that too much. I say things sometimes that are way more complicated than they need to be. It’s a sickness, really. A disease! I just talk myself into circles, like some sort of freshman English paper come alive.

Where are we going? I don’t know. Where do you want to go? I guess I should have thought about that before I picked you up, shouldn’t I? Try not to judge me for that. I’m all about being spontaneous, you know. Spontaneity is truth, in a lot of ways. When you plan something carefully — when you get right down to the details — you make it cheap, fake. Lies! You know what I mean? Lies! And I know that you — I know this because I find you appealing — do not like lying. So we’ve got to be truthful. And spontaneity — that’s part of it.

So where ARE we going? Oh. I guess, um… We could get coffee.

Yeah, I like coffee. But — hey, this is interesting — you don’t have to get coffee when you go and get coffee. That’s the amazing thing. It’s really phenomenal when you think about it. I say “Hey, I’m going to get coffee,” and I end up with an iced tea and a bagel and nobody will bat an eye! Did you ever think about that? Not a lot of people have thought about that, but it’s really kind of neat.

How is it neat? I don’t know. You have to think about it, I guess. Think about it like I do. It’s complicated again. Maybe it doesn’t have to be. I do that with things. I make them complicated.

Why do I repeat all your questions before I answer them? That’s a tough one right there. At first I thought it was just a nerves thing, but now I’m thinking it’s got to be something more than that. It has to be, honestly, because I’m not nervous. Look at me — I’m talking like nothing else. Nervous people don’t talk this much, I don’t think. So it can’t be that; it can’t be nerves.

So what is it? Exposition, I figure. And you’re going to have to stay with me on this one, because this is even more complicated than the coffee-that-isn’t-coffee thing. Exposition, do you know what that word means? It’s like explaining things that have happened. To another person, to an audience and to yourself, even. The best examples are old TV shows, where at the beginning of every new episode the characters would always reintroduce themselves and the plot would be brought up to speed, usually by some melodramatic narrator or whatever.

You see it less nowadays, yeah. People just assume that everyone knows what’s gone on. I guess the number of new viewers isn’t as big as it used to be. Or maybe we just don’t give a shit about new viewers anymore. I’m not an expert on the subject so I don’t think I could say either way. But the point I’m making is that I’ve started doing it — updating myself, keeping myself current, making sure I don’t forget certain details, facts and story arcs. I’ve devoted myself to the art of exposition because I feel like things in this world aren’t as defined as they have been in the past. I feel like people are making fucking continuity errors in their own life because we lack the exposition to know what has gone on — to know where we stand — and what we should be doing in light of that.

So where do I stand? That’s a great question, and I’m glad you asked, because it’s part of what I want to do with this whole exposition revival thing. Why is it that we’re expected to slowly reveal parts of ourselves to other people as a relationship progresses? What is this, you know? It’s like a fucked-up personality striptease and in the end we’re all naked and neurotic and hiding our testicles behind our hats and I’m sorry — I’m really sorry — if I’m being rude here but, dammit, it’s hard to stop myself once I get going.

Okay. Where do I stand? I guess I said it above. It’s hard to stop myself once I get going. I write, you know — I write a lot of things and it’s usually late at night. Do you ever… — maybe this is stupid, asking you this — but do you ever get the urge to create SOMETHING? Like this overpowering need to bring something new into the world? And it’s usually inspired by the stupidest things. Like I’ll hear Bruce Springsteen sing “Dancer in the Dark” and notice a peculiar arrangment of thumbtacks on my bulletin board and all of the sudden I’m sitting there writing a 14-page short story about a snake handler who is afraid of snakes and his misadventures in the metaphysical world of Des Moines, Iowa. So what is that, you know? Why do I do? I don’t know. Are my stories good? I don’t know. I don’t let anybody read them.

Why don’t I? I’m emotional. I get scared. I’m sensitive. I’m afraid. When I write, I bounce through words without any pause for thought on convention or form or style. And in the end I think they’re all just a mishmash of everything that lives in my head and their cohesiveness, as it is, exists in about seven different parts, strewn across the floor. The only thing that ties these stories together is the underlying theme that I want to be in love again and it tears my heart out that I cannot find that.

Fuck — sorry, I shouldn’t say ‘fuck’ — but, fuck, you know, this isn’t what I wanted to start off with. This is heavy. But, man, it’s an exposition, right? It’s backstory. It’s good that you know this! I want to be in love. And not that kind of love where you just fuck a person every night and then go your separate ways and only hold hands at parties because you’re both afraid of having no one to talk to. That’s not it. That’s not what I want. I want someone who will lie next to me and who will come up with the most absurd things to do every single day and knows the words to every goddamned pop song in the 1980s and looks at me when it’s quiet in this way that it’s like, “Hey, this silence isn’t awkward. This silence is just… nice.”

It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I guess my biggest worry is that that kind of love doesn’t exist.

People have called me strange, yes. I’ve done some weird stuff in my time. I got depressed last month because I ran out of staples and, you know, it wasn’t that I didn’t understand that I couldn’t go out and buy more staples — that would be silly, I know that. But it was that those staples that were now gone were used for such useless purposes! They stapled together crap! I can’t even remember what I used half of them for. And staples only get one shot! ONE SHOT! And how did I use them? Not very well! I suck at stapling things — that’s another thing you should probably know about me, as long as I’m being all expositiony on you — it sometimes takes me like three times to get a bunch of pages to go together. Usually I just try to staple too much at once…

Yeah, I guess I didn’t expect that this date would end up with me yelling about staples, either. I don’t know how that happened, exactly. Oh. I mean, yeah, I guess I do. I can just exposit. Figure it out. How we got here.

Yeah, I know. You want to go. That’s okay. I didn’t really know what was going to happen here anyway, and I guess this is just about as good a place to end it as any. I know that I sound like a really weird guy. And there’s more, too. I never told you about how I like to go for walks at 4 a.m., when I’m tired enough that every houselight, streetlight and headlight seems like an unbelievable miracle of the city. I didn’t tell you about the time I danced alone to old folk songs on a frozen pond. I never mentioned how much I hate rocks on beaches, and how I spend hours just trying to throw them all back into the water. I didn’t mention that I’m pretty sure that those hair dryers they use at salons could be used as a major component in a time machine. I didn’t mention that before I go to bed every night I have a converstation with my ceiling and in that conversation, I am wittier and more charming than I ever am any other time. I didn’t mention… — yeah, I guess I didn’t mention a lot of things.

Okay. I understand. You forgot about something you had to do. It happens to me, sometimes, too. We’re busy people, you and I. You have your work and, me, well, I always find something to do, even if the things I do might seem trivial to most people.