36 Questions That Changed My Mind About You

by Vicki Grant

  PAUL: I can’t keep up with your mood swings.

  HILDY: And not just alone but having caused it. I guess that’s my real fear.

  PAUL: Caused it? What? You planning on going on some rampage and offing everyone you know or something?

  HILDY: I’m serious.

  PAUL: Okay. How then?

  PAUL: Look. You were the one who brought it up, not me.

  HILDY: Ending up alone because I alienated everyone who cares about me. Even my three perfect children, I mean, if I get that far, which I seriously doubt given the way things are going.

  PAUL: Whoa. You really are afraid of it. I’m going to give one of the kitties here a box of Kleenex. See? Don’t worry. They’ll look after you.

  PAUL: Please stop.

  HILDY: I’ve stopped.

  PAUL: Not really.

  HILDY: No. There. See? No more tears.

  PAUL: You know, you don’t come across as the type of person who’d wipe their nose on their sleeve.

  HILDY: Don’t make me laugh or I’ll just have to do it again.

  PAUL: Oh. Gross! Quit it, would you?

  HILDY: (Laughing)

  PAUL: Tell me when I can open my eyes.

  HILDY: Yeah, I’m done.

  PAUL: Thank god.

  HILDY: Well, that was embarrassing. I forgot to eat. I sometimes get a little, you know, fragile when I’m hungry and then I can’t eat because I’m fragile. Vicious circle. But, gee. Sorry. Tears and everything. A new low. Kind of snuck up on me.

  PAUL: Yeah, well, I’d cry, too, if I thought I was going to end up in an unheated basement apartment with a bunch of fleabag cats. Even then, though, I still wouldn’t wipe my nose on my sleeve.

  HILDY: See, but that’s the thing. You don’t know what you’re going to do until you find yourself in the situation. And anyway, you’re the one who made me cry. You shouldn’t have mentioned the kitty dying.

  PAUL: No kitty is gonna die. Here’s my number. Call me the first sign one of your cats is looking poorly and I’ll be right over.

  HILDY: Promise?

  PAUL: Promise.

  HILDY: You’re not worried I’ll abuse this? I might end up calling you thirty times a day. That’s the type of thing people who burst into tears around total strangers do.

  PAUL: I’m not worried.

  HILDY: This isn’t your real number, is it?

  PAUL: I underestimated you.

  QUESTION 8

  HILDY: Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common. Well, that’s easy. A sunny disposition.

  HILDY: That’s number one! You laughed.

  PAUL: I laughed at you, not with you.

  HILDY: So? Still counts. Number two: We both have nice smiles, although I use mine more often. And brownish-greenish eyes. Okay, there’s three.

  PAUL: Hold on. How come you get to choose all three first?

  HILDY: Because you weren’t doing it.

  PAUL: I didn’t have a chance.

  HILDY: You did so.

  HILDY: Rolling your eyes is rude.

  HILDY: So is sighing. Why do you even care?

  PAUL: Don’t like being pushed around, that’s why.

  PAUL: I thought you said sighing was rude.

  HILDY: Just choose three, would you?

  PAUL: Okay. One) We’re both stubborn.

  HILDY: But not equally stubborn.

  PAUL: Agreed. You’re worse.

  HILDY: No. You are. No way I’m going to—

  PAUL: See? Who’s the stubbornest one now? Proves my point.

  HILDY: Very clever.

  PAUL: Which is my second answer. We’re both clever.

  HILDY: I’ll accept that. You’re not quite the knucklehead you pretend to be.

  PAUL: And three) Facial hair.

  HILDY: What?!

  PAUL: (Laughing)

  HILDY: Oh my god. That’s like something a little kid would do. And I take that back. You are a knucklehead.

  PAUL: I loved the way your hand, like, flew up to your chin. You got a hormone problem or something? Anything you want to tell me?

  HILDY: Yes, as a matter of fact there is. That better be another mangy cat you’re drawing and not a picture of me.

  PAUL: I’m calling her Whiskers. You decide.

  QUESTION 9

  HILDY: For what in your life do you feel most grateful?

  PAUL: I know what you’re going to say.

  HILDY: What?

  PAUL: Tweezers.

  HILDY: Haha. Wrong.

  PAUL: What then?

  HILDY: My family.

  PAUL: Shoulda known.

  HILDY: Like, I mean, my family I grew up with.

  PAUL: Yeah. I got it. That’s what “my family” usually means.

  HILDY: I meant I’m grateful for, like, growing up when I did with my family at a time when my parents, uh… look. It’s not important. It doesn’t matter.

  PAUL: Wow. You finally figured that out. It doesn’t matter.

  HILDY: Okay. Your answer.

  PAUL: Sriracha sauce.

  HILDY: Come on. At least try.

  PAUL: When you can’t cook, you become very grateful for sriracha sauce. It’s a modern miracle drug. Makes everything almost edible.

  HILDY: You know, it’s way more interesting when you answer honestly. All this, like, “quipping” just makes me suspicious you’ve got something to hide.

  PAUL: You’re not the next Nelson Mandela. You’re the next Dr. Phil.

  HILDY: Seriously. Why don’t you dispense with the punchlines? It’s lazy and stupid and, at a very basic level, emotionally dishonest.

  PAUL: Jesus Christ. I know what I’m going to be most grateful for. Getting this goddamn thing over with.

  HILDY: You remind me of my older brother. You both affect this tough-guy thing. The slouch. The snarky laugh. The whole who-gives-a-shit attitude, but you’re not like that.

  PAUL: OMG. I’m shocked. I thought you said no swearing.

  HILDY: I saw the look on your face when I lost it back there. You’re not like that. You’re actually quite empathetic.

  PAUL: Yeah, well, one thing I learned early is that if you pretend to be concerned at the beginning, you can often avoid a bigger emotional outburst later.

  HILDY: You hate admitting your softer side.

  PAUL: Quick. Pass me the wastebasket. I’m going to puke.

  HILDY: Good. Get it out. You’ll feel better. Which is also true about whatever you’re so frightened of. Just admit it.

  PAUL: Christ. I can just imagine what your Facebook posts are like. Listen. I’m an open book. What do you want to know?

  HILDY: Great. Then answer the question.

  HILDY: Some open book.

  PAUL: I’m thinking.

  HILDY: Right. Thinking of how to get out of it.

  PAUL: Thinking of the forty dollars I’ll get to finish.

  HILDY: Whatever it takes.

  PAUL: Okay. Time.

  HILDY: What? We’re not done yet.

  PAUL: No. I mean time. That’s what I’m grateful for.

  HILDY: Wow. That surprised me.

  PAUL: Why?

  HILDY: You don’t have to be so hostile. I just mean it’s a pretty big leap from sriracha sauce to “time” in the larger sense of the word which, reading your expression, is what I believe you were suggesting. It’s so… kind of ethereal or something.

  PAUL: E-thee-re-al?

  HILDY: Yeah.

  PAUL: What the hell does that mean?

  HILDY: You don’t know what that means?

  PAUL: No. It’s not a word any normal person uses.

  HILDY: Well, I use it.

  PAUL: My point.

  HILDY: For your information, then, it means airy. Delicate. Subtle.

  PAUL: Then, no. Wrong. There’s nothing ethereal about being grateful for time. Nothing fucking subtle about it. I’m grateful for a specific historic moment in time.

  HILDY: This better not be the discovery of sriracha s
auce.

  HILDY: That was a joke.

  HILDY: Why are you looking at me like that?

  PAUL: Twelve minutes on July third, two years ago. That’s what I’m grateful for. Now I need to piss. If you don’t mind, of course.

  TEXT MESSAGE TO DAD: This is taking longer than I thought. Might be a little late for dinner. Sure you can’t go to the movie with us tonight? Gabe was looking forward to some family time. x H

  TEXT MESSAGE TO XIU FRASER: Major developments. Call when you’re thru choir. You’re not going to believe this

  TEXT MESSAGE TO MAX BUDOVIC: I think I’m finally ready to move past spooning!!!!!

  TEXT MESSAGE FROM MAX BUDOVIC: Wha?! Who?!

  HILDY: Remember that psych study I signed up for?

  MAX: Ur scaring me… someone probing the dirty part of ur brain with a metal stick or something?

  HILDY: No

  MAX: R u talking about an actual human being?

  HILDY: Flesh & blood

  MAX: Ooh baby mazel tov!!!!! Tell me more

  HILDY: Last person in the world you’d imagine me with. Kind of surly. Zero in common & he makes me really mad

  MAX: Not sure I like where this is going

  HILDY: Me neither or maybe I do. I can’t tell

  MAX: Repeat: ur scaring me

  HILDY: Scaring myself, too, but hey yolo

  MAX: UR SCARING THE SHIT OUT OF ME

  HILDY: GTG

  MAX: Noooooooooo!!!!!!!!!

  HILDY: Hey.

  PAUL: Hey.

  HILDY: Look. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.

  PAUL: You didn’t upset me. I needed a piss, okay? Next question. And I’m asking from here on.

  PAUL: And P. fucking S. I can fucking swear if I fucking feel like it.

  HILDY: O fucking K.

  HILDY: Made you smile.

  PAUL: Did not.

  HILDY: Did so.

  PAUL: Next question.

  QUESTION 10

  PAUL: If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?

  HILDY: I wish I hadn’t been kept in the dark so much.

  PAUL: Explains why you’re so pale.

  HILDY: Thought you said I was fuchsia.

  PAUL: Comes and goes. Right now, you’re kind of white again.

  HILDY: I’m going to ignore that. I want you to answer honestly so I’m going to answer honestly. What I mean is: I wish I’d been told what was going on. I know my parents were trying to protect me—or maybe just protect themselves—but, of course, that backfired, big time. Now I have this constant worry that there are other bad things going on that I don’t know about, either. I’m scared about setting off another landmine. Truth hurts way more when it’s been festering underground for a while.

  PAUL: Wouldn’t know.

  HILDY: Or care by the sounds of it. Fine. I’ll just leave that heart-wrenching admission dangling there in the breeze and ask you: what would you change? And don’t say your socks or underwear or anything stupid like that.

  PAUL: You wanted more truth. Yeah, well, I guess I wanted less. Less truth, but better. That’s what I would have changed.

  HILDY: Wow.

  PAUL: What?

  HILDY: Just wow. Interesting thought.

  PAUL: Don’t sound so shocked. I have them occasionally.

  HILDY: Can truth be better? If you make it better, is it still the truth?… Or do you mean better as in “better for you”?

  PAUL: (Laughs) What do you think I mean?

  HILDY: I don’t know actually. You like to come across all hard-hearted and only out for yourself but I think that’s just an act. I get the feeling something like the real meaning of truth would concern you.

  PAUL: Because I’m so, like, empathetic and everything?

  HILDY: Yeah. Amongst other things. So, come on. Tell me. What is truth?

  PAUL: To find out, shut up and dial 1-800-ASK-BUDDHA. That’s 1-800-ASK-BUDDHA.

  HILDY: (Laughs) Rude but funny.

  PAUL: Just let me finish this little “doodle” and I’ll put it on a T-shirt for you.

  HILDY: There’s the hand again. Why do you keep drawing that?… Hey, don’t!… Why’d you go scribble it out?

  PAUL: You got enough truth out of me for one question.

  QUESTION 11

  PAUL: Oh. Shit. Please. No.

  HILDY: What?

  PAUL: (Sigh) Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.

  HILDY: So?

  PAUL: Four minutes from you? That’s like ten years to life for the rest of us. I’m clearly going to be doing some serious doodling. Give me some of your paper, would ya?

  HILDY: You know this is what you do with little kids when you’re babysitting, don’t you? Find something for them to draw on so they don’t get bored and break the furniture or scribble on the walls or something.

  PAUL: Just give it to me. Why do you have all that junk in there, anyway? That why you got the satchel? To transport your recyclables? Tuesday’s garbage day. You might want to lighten your load.

  HILDY: What are you complaining about? You’re the one who needs the paper. Here. Take this.

  PAUL: Don’t have anything unused in there?

  HILDY: Picky, picky. Draw on the back. It’s just a first draft. I’ve got the—

  PAUL: Fine. So answer, would you?

  PAUL: What’s taking you?

  HILDY: Sorry. I just needed to take a moment to mentally bludgeon you before I went on.

  HILDY: Okay… Four minutes… I was born in Montreal but moved here when I was three. I’ve got two brothers, one older, one younger. Alec with a c—he’s doing a semester in Dublin at the moment—and Gabe.

  PAUL: I knew there’d be a Gabe.

  HILDY: Pretty ordinary family. My father’s principal at the fine arts high school I go to. My mother’s an ER doctor. In fact, she’s department head.

  PAUL: Gee. Congratulations.

  HILDY: That’s not why I’m saying it. It’s just she’s the hospital’s first female to run the ER so I like to mention it. People have to hear about women in positions of authority.

  PAUL: Roger that. So can we speed this up a bit then? No way you’re getting this all done in four minutes.

  HILDY: So annoying… My father was the “primary caregiver.” That’s one thing that made us a little different. He had summers and holidays off while Mom always did shift work. What else? I had a lisp until I was ten, which is awful when your last name starts with S. I had to do a lot of speech therapy to fix it and even now when I get tired my speech can get pretty slushy… You know, Thylvethter the Cat—that kind of slushy. Okay. What else? Um. You were right. I took all the usual lessons—piano, ballet, Saturday morning art classes. This is boring.

  PAUL: No, no. I’m on the edge of my fucking seat.

  HILDY: I was in a car accident when I was twelve?

  PAUL: Why are you asking me?

  HILDY: I mean, that’s sort of interesting. Mom hit black ice. We went flying. I still have nightmares about it.

  PAUL: Someone die?

  HILDY: No. Ick. Why would you even say that? My brother got a concussion, and Mom sprained her ankle or something. It was just she was so scared. That’s what got me. Mom always knew what to do. I mean, she’s a physician. Up until that point in my life, she was like this warrior goddess or something. Brave. Unflappable. But then she just totally freaked. I still have these dreams when I need her for something and she loses it. And it could be something totally random, too, like, “Have you seen my socks?” or “Can you pick me up after work?”—but she goes kaboom. Little pieces everywhere. And then I’m the one worrying about her, trying to put her back together. It’s as if I got this one brief glimpse beneath the armor and now I can’t forget she’s, I guess, vulnerable, too.

  PAUL: Yeah. That’s the problem with parents. They keep turning out to be human.

  HILDY: (Laughs) That’s good. I might use it.

  PA
UL: What? In your novel?

  PAUL: I knew you were writing a novel.

  PAUL: Just don’t go putting me in it.

  HILDY: A) What difference would it make? You don’t read, remember? And B) You honestly think after knowing me for less than an hour you’ve made enough of an impression to show up in my novel?

  PAUL: Maybe. You strike me as impressionable, if that’s even a word.

  HILDY: It is, and you know it. You like to act like you’re—

  PAUL: Um. Excuse me? But I think we’re still on your life story. Mine’s next.

  HILDY: Do you always get want you want?

  PAUL: I’m sitting here on a broken chair in a windowless room with, like, ninety more questions to go and you have to ask?

  HILDY: (Laughs) Fine… my life… I can’t even remember what I was going to say now. You got me all flustered… Don’t look at me like that. I mean it. I don’t normally just, like, dissolve into tears around other people. I’m reasonably—

  PAUL: Fuck sake. The question.

  HILDY: Okay… I was the classic high school nerd.

  PAUL: I knew you could do it.

  HILDY: Did all the extracurricular activities. Everything from improv to fashion studio to Model UN, and not just because we got to go to the Hague that year… I’ve had the same group of friends forever, although I sense Iris and I are moving apart. Xiu’s been my bosom buddy since Theater Tots. Max and I are as close as we’ve always been but it’s different, of course, since he came out. He’s still my best friend. Um… What else?… I have a sort of weird interest in anything to do with the 1950s. Don’t know where that came from but I have this passionate desire to one day own a pink refrigerator. On the other hand, I’m really drawn to that totally pared-down European aesthetic so I also fantasize about an all-white kitchen—glazed concrete counter, smooth-faced cabinets, no handles, that sort of thing. It gives me such a sense of calm. I hate skiing, mostly because everybody, including my parents, makes it sound like you have to love it, whereas, in fact, it’s cold and the boots hurt and it’s just up and down, up and down the hill over and over again. It’s boring. As is soccer. And homecoming week—which is beyond boring. “Enforced frivolity.” Nothing worse… Um. I’m planning to major in English but will probably write my LSATs and go to law school like everyone else.