Thank You and Good Night
Page 65
HOST ASHER (BETH):
There were complications and… during the surgery. A second heart attack while they had him open. They were looking at the thing while it had an attack. Right there in front of them. This- it made bleeding. Too much of it and... It’s more than that. His father had a history with the heart, troubles with it, and Emery had his father’s heart. His mother’s blood pressure worked its way into him, too. Four packs a day... Jesus, the whiskey and steaks and- and he interacted with his heart so goddamn much.
She looks back at the table and we see a shake travel through her. She covers her mouth, gets hold of herself. The lights brighten and we see a boom mic mistakenly drop into frame above. BETH looks up and frowns, but continues talking.
HOST ASHER (BETH):
June 28th, 1975. Summer. Bad heart. Shortly before his death, my husband… oh, he said something that struck a panic into me. I didn’t know what to think. He said, “I just want them to remember me a hundred years from now. I don’t care they they’re not able to quote a single line that I’ve written. But just that they can say, ‘Oh, he was a writer.’ That’s a sufficiently honored position for me.”
She pauses here, feeling her neck for a moment before gathering herself and continuing. We begin drawing closer to her, pushing slowly into a C.U. of her face.
HOST ASHER (BETH):
(clearing her throat)
But it’s not. There’s no sufficiently honored position. The people, they’re viewers, and a hundred years… how could anyone remember that? They wouldn’t even be the same people. Did we have our fun with him? Did we clap and say nice things and then kick him from the room?
I didn’t think it was possible to feel as if the entire world was scowling at a person, but the feeling was there. I could smell it. What a mess. And everyone made him a mess. He just wanted people to like him; that was all. To like him, which is human nature, and it’s such an easy thing to do… ask me, I’ll tell you. He wanted you to like him, and if he wrote something good, he only hoped you’d like that, too. I- Oh god, I can’t do this.
She looks off camera, to the left.
HOST ASHER (BETH)
(beginning to weep)
I can’t. You’ll have to. I’m sorry.
VOICE OF EMERY, OFFSCREEN:
Okay. It’s okay. I have this.
She steps back, out of frame to right as HOST ASHER enters from left. He’s wearing his Other Side suit with his hair slicked back. He looks young and energetic. We see him nod and slowly turn to face the camera as he begins addressing us.
HOST ASHER:
Can we get the mic out of the shot?
We see the boom mic suddenly move to the side, then disappear upwards out of frame.
EMERY:
(at us)
You shouldn’t have made her cry. That was cruel.
He pauses to think, glancing out of frame to our right. Noticing something, he frowns.
HOST ASHER:
Hold the card up. I can’t see it. Yeah, right there. We ready?
There is a brief pause and he slowly nods.
HOST ASHER:
All right. We should finish out the monologue. Hmm? Yeah, I’m clear. We’re ready.
He clears his throat and takes a few deep breaths, looking into the camera at us, during which we have about five seconds of near silence while he stares. After this, he raises his eyebrow a notch and lightly tilts his head.
HOST ASHER:
(resolved)
There is a drive in man. An accountable and nearly perverse desire to better himself and the ways of his world. Those most passionate empty themselves of meaning, and adopt the world’s meaning, and they hunger for themselves, unable to ever sate this lifelong injury, this creature that has taken them into its design. We call this ambition, dedication, and we drink from its passion while asking only for slight compromise. At times, we might even call it sadness.
These things can push a man forward or keep him back, but always leave within him an ugly hollow. There are those who fall within this hole and never find their way out, and there are those who instead learn to fill this emptiness with a great loves, or verities, crafts or manners of communicating grand ideas to one’s fellow beings, ideas that can only form... on The Other Side.
But that’s not the end. It goes on, and then we die. And you die. And is there any meaning in it at all? We remember the ones that go first the most. For a little while. That’s all. We remember our tragedies with great clarity, until they fade, and with the worst irony a man can reasonably figure. That’s the meaning. That is the very crux and measure of everything: A little while.
Here, HOST ASHER pauses to light a cigarette he extracts from his suit jacket. After inhaling and exhaling with a sigh of relief, he adopts his trademark, television smile and his eyes gain a mark of the wry.
HOST ASHER:
We hope you enjoyed tonight’s show. Tune in next week when we’ll present a very special sort of story, one just as tragic and every bit as real: Your episode. Whatever it is you think up, however your most driven see fit to present it, we have three acts to flesh you out. Beware of cancellation. Beware of praise. Count your accolades and tragedies with equal doubt and, if you can, without being pierced by that dull blade of regret, try, just try, to live a little.
Takes a drag from the cigarette. Beth enters the frame, stands beside him. He smiles and puts his arm around her. Then he exhales and turns his attention to us again.
HOST ASHER:
Thank you for watching, and good night.
FADE BLACK
About the Author
Ray Succre lives on the southern Oregon coast, U.S., with his wife and son. He has been writing for fifteen years, his work having appeared in hundreds of journals and magazines spanning a great many countries. He began writing novels in 2007. Thank You and Good Night is his fifth published book.
Also by the Author:
Novels
Amphisbaena (Cauliay)
Tatterdemalion (Cauliay)
A Fine Young Day (Capacity Press)
Poetry
Other Cruel Things (Differentia Press)