I Think You're Totally Wrong

by David Shields

CALEB: Seattle Times will have a piece out in about six months, timed to coincide with the book’s release.

  Sound of steps on gravel.

  CALEB: Okay, let’s talk about your past in the mob.

  DAVID: Bugsy Malone and I were like this.

  CALEB: Sunglasses, the black jacket, bald head. You kept silent, didn’t give anything away with your high-pitched voice.

  DAVID: I don’t think they bought it.

  CALEB: Probably not.

  DAVID: What do you think they’re doing—just cleaning up their yard?

  CALEB: Kill two birds: clear out yard, stack firewood for the winter. I should have thought of a nickname for you.

  DAVID: If I were really in witness protection, you wouldn’t have said that.

  CALEB: True.

  DAVID: Did you make all of that up on the spot?

  CALEB: Not very good improv.

  DAVID: Not bad.

  CALEB: Skykomish Witch Project.

  DAVID: I don’t think that’s our title, but I can see it being a line in the book. It’s really turned out interesting, hasn’t it? When we left, on Thursday evening, I was thinking it’s perfectly possible we would come up empty.

  CALEB: I thought, Who knows? Maybe it’ll be more of a writers’ retreat than any big conversation. We’d get time to read and relax, but we didn’t—

  DAVID: Don’t you think we got what we wanted?

  CALEB: We’ve covered most of my concerns. My beefs are not so much with you as with artists in general. Writers today don’t concern themselves with powerful and important topics. And I got to find out about you, see you in a different way.

  DAVID: How so?

  CALEB: Warmer. More friendly. Earlier you said there isn’t a pretentious bone in your body, and now I see what you mean.

  DAVID: That’s a nice thing to say. Thanks.

  CALEB: This is where you say something good about me.

  DAVID: I knew you were smart, but I had no idea you were this smart.

  CALEB: Some things, unfortunately or not, have to stay out of the final draft.

  DAVID: We pushed limits.

  CALEB: We can’t betray everyone.

  DAVID: We can’t?

  CALEB: We went as far as we could.

  DAVID: Some of our secrets need to stay secret.

  CALEB: You agree?

  DAVID: I guess.

  Back at the house, preparing to leave.

  DAVID: Obviously, I’m a sugar fiend. This is probably going to sound kind of weird, but one of the issues between us is control vs. loss of control: Apollonian vs. Dionysian. I’m a very moderate drinker. Only in the last couple of years have I even started to drink at all, although I now dearly love my bottle of Pike Kilt Lifter Ruby Ale every night. “Let the healing begin.” I don’t know how to judge drinking, is what I’m trying to say. And I don’t know how much you drank this morning. But I’m not totally comfortable with you driving us home.

  CALEB: Ah.

  DAVID: So I thought I would drive. But also, I wonder—do you not have any drinking issues? Am I totally misreading that? I’m such a nondrinker, but I thought if you drink heavily before lunch, isn’t that supposedly a sign? Tell me if I’m totally off base.

  CALEB: Terry notices.

  DAVID: You seem like a great guy, but you’ve had three or four beers before lunch, and perhaps the weekend is, for you, a wonderful time to unwind or whatever. I’m just raising it as a boring Safety Patrol thing: Do you want me to drive? Secondarily, friend to friend, do you think you have your drinking under control, or is it a slight issue? A nonissue? Tell me your thoughts.

  CALEB: If this were coming from Terry I’d say—

  DAVID: “Fuck you?”

  CALEB: Well, no, I’d try to put on a legitimate defense. I woke up at seven thirty and had a beer when I mowed the lawn. I put a beer in the cup holder and took off. And then I had a couple more as we cleaned up. One more after the hike. And I always tell Terry that a beer an hour—

  DAVID: Is a fun buzz.

  CALEB: She told me once, “I’ll always remember our honeymoon in Belize. It was the first time I counted beers, and one day I counted twelve.” Sometimes, if we barbecue into evening and I’ve had eight beers, she’ll say, “Caleb, you’ve had eight beers.” And I’ll say, “It’s been eight hours.” I think I’m fine to drive.

  DAVID: Okay, but your speech has gotten—

  CALEB: Am I slurring?

  DAVID: A lot.

  CALEB: Okay.

  DAVID: Again, Laurie makes fun of me, because if anyone drinks much at all, I always think they’re roaring alcoholics.

  CALEB: And with my past …

  DAVID: Transvestites, car accidents, last night, the night before …

  CALEB: I’ve never had a DUI, never had an arrest or problem.

  DAVID: How is it in your life in general?

  CALEB: Terry says don’t drink before five p.m.

  DAVID: Right.

  CALEB: Sometimes, you know, I’ll have a beer before that, but I feel you.

  DAVID: I love how they say that in The Wire: “I feel you.” I’m not in any way judging it.

  CALEB: You should judge.

  DAVID: I’m not.

  CALEB: You’re raising it.

  DAVID: I’m just saying, practically, do you want me to drive?

  For instance, if you want to drink during lunch, cool. I’ll drive.

  CALEB: I see why you wanted to drive to the Cascadia last night.

  DAVID: The irony being you’re probably a better driver drunk than I am sober.

  CALEB: I was freaking!

  DAVID: I was driving super slow.

  CALEB: Whenever a car came the other way, your right tire went well over the white line and onto the shoulder.

  DAVID: But there wasn’t any harm over there, was there?

  CALEB: No.

  DAVID: I’m definitely a cautious driver. A granny driver. I just thought I’d bring it up.

  CALEB: I’m not an angry drunk. A foolish one, perhaps. On vacation in Mexico I’m able to maintain a buzz. You drink two beers quickly, you have a buzz, and then, for me, if I drink too much it becomes unpleasant.

  DAVID: Don’t you need food in your system?

  CALEB: That matters. If I’m going too far, I drink a seltzer.

  DAVID: You do moderate it.

  CALEB: I brought a case of seltzer for this weekend. When we go to my in-laws’, I’ll alternate seltzers or colas with beer, and by the end of the night I drive home. Terry wouldn’t let me drive if she didn’t trust me, and she doesn’t have as many opportunities to drink, so I’m usually the designated driver. However, I’m not sure why a buzz is pleasant, if it really is, or if I’m just escaping something.

  DAVID: You maintain.

  CALEB: It’s the end of our four-day vacation.

  DAVID: It could be a weekend thing, for you. Obviously, I’m doing this partly to get a “moment.” It’d be a great ending.

  CALEB: An “I know you but not as well as I thought I did” moment.

  DAVID: Right. I can say, “You’re an alcoholic.” You can say, “Oh my god, what a pain-in-the-assperger.”

  CALEB: How about Laurie with drink?

  DAVID: She has two or, at the most, three glasses of wine a night. She’s a moderate drinker. She has it nicely under control. During the week do you drink?

  CALEB: We drink less.

  DAVID: What difference does it make?

  CALEB: When I cut down on drinking, I lose weight. I’ve tried to gauge whether I’m a better writer when I drink. Is it conducive to thought?

  DAVID: Uh—

  CALEB: Alcoholics like to push their limits, but I don’t like drinking beyond a certain point. Not that I’m in complete control.

  DAVID: That’s a good sign, that—

  CALEB: The hangover should be avoided. All things being equal, alcohol tires you out and doesn’t prolong life. The writer who lives longer and lives better produces more. I guess th
at’s a reason to stop. I’m going to have to confront this sooner or later. So, last night, you drove into town.

  DAVID: I wasn’t comfortable with you driving.

  CALEB: All right.

  DAVID: Anyway …

  CALEB: You’re not off base.

  DAVID: Milton Berle was at a Catholic charity event, had a glass of sherry, and they asked him, “Don’t you want a second glass?” Everyone else was getting drunk. Berle said, “Jews don’t drink. It interferes with our suffering.”

  Caleb laughs.

  DAVID: That is to me the great Jewish joke. How does the other one go? The Catholic is thirsty and thinks he needs a drink, the Protestant is thirsty and thinks he needs a drink, the Jew is thirsty and thinks he’s getting diabetes.… Umm …

  CALEB: Needs a little work.

  CALEB: Terry called to tell me about how Ava had a birthday party yesterday but neither of us—namely me—remembered to RSVP.

  DAVID: Why couldn’t she wait?

  CALEB: She does this a lot.

  DAVID: She’s trying to make you feel guilty.

  CALEB: If I leave in the morning and the refrigerator door hasn’t been shut, she’ll call me. “Caleb, you forgot to close the refrigerator door. Don’t worry—I closed it—but I just wanted you to know.” Or, “Why didn’t you bring the dirty laundry downstairs?”

  DAVID: It’s an endless game of Tag—You’re It or You Fucked Up. If I break a glass, it’s a major tragedy. If Laurie does it, it’s “Whoops.”

  CALEB: It’s the bliss … ters of domestic life.

  DAVID: Ouch. Not again.

  CALEB: Let’s see, would Khamta want me to leave the hot tub on or off? He probably told me and I forgot.

  DAVID: Why would it matter?

  CALEB: Waste energy or not? That’s the question. I’ll give him a call.

  CALEB: (leaving message on Khamta’s voice mail) … anyway, Khamta, give me a call.

  DAVID: What are you going to do?

  CALEB: I guess I’ll turn the hot tub off.

  On the road back to Seattle.

  DAVID: The thing I liked best about Peter’s novel [A Young Man’s Guide to Late Capitalism]—what he was trying to get to (I think it’s his big theme, actually, given that his father was a big muckamuck at the IMF)—is that if you view life as a chess game, you’re going to miss it. Life, that is.

  CALEB: Look at Bobby “Dear Mr. Osama” Fischer: the penultimate moronic genius.

  DAVID: “Penultimate” means “next to ultimate,” not “ultimate.”

  Caleb raises his eyebrows.

  DAVID: Sorry. Chess game!

  CALEB: Four Jews in the desert: three rabbis and one dissident rabbi. Or let’s make it Caleb and his two friends versus David.

  DAVID: Okay.

  CALEB: Four Jews in the desert arguing over the Torah, and David Shields says to Caleb, “My interpretation of the Torah is right, and to prove it, I will ask for a sign.” The blue sky clouds over, there’s thunder, a few lightning bolts, and the skies part. David Shields says, “See, I’m right.”

  Caleb says, “That could have just been a coincidence, not a sign from God.”

  David says, “God, a little more help, please.” Black clouds roll in, there’s lightning all around, nearby trees are destroyed, a brief rainstorm, then the sky clears and there are a few puddles. David says, “Okay, admit it. I’m right.”

  Caleb consults with his friends; they come to a consensus: Caleb says, “That still could be a coincidence. Today could be one of those strange weather days.”

  David Shields gets on his knees and shouts, “God, I implore you!”

  Clouds roll, part in the middle, a golden light floods the desert, and a deep voice booms, “David is riiiiiiightttt!!!!!”

  David says, “What more proof do you need?”

  Caleb and his two friends gather once again, and Caleb finally emerges and says, “Now it’s three against two.”

  DAVID: Perfect. “I think you’re totally wrong.”

  CALEB: A few words on post-childbirth belly: That belly is the home of our babies and that belly’s beautiful.

  DAVID: See, that’s the thing: I couldn’t say that without blushing if my life depended on it.

  Pulled over on the side of the road outside Index, Caleb clicks off his phone.

  CALEB: Well, I guess I was supposed to leave the hot tub on. I’ll turn around. We’re not going to be able to get you home in time for Natalie and Skype.

  DAVID: Hmmm.

  CALEB: Call Laurie, say that I fucked up.

  DAVID: It wasn’t any big mistake. You did what you thought you should. Unfortunately, Khamta called back.

  CALEB: Fortunately. I mean, what if he called later? If I don’t turn on the jets, the water will, little by little, turn green and nasty. The water needs to filter. He was cool about it.

  DAVID: We’ll get back around five?

  CALEB: There’ll be a little bit of weekend traffic around Sultan through Monroe. You might be late.

  CALEB: We die, but I want to die old. I mean, if you die and you’re forty-five and you have religion, you die thinking you will go to heaven and reunite with your loved ones. But I can’t believe in something that I don’t see as possible—that the afterlife is conditional on faith, that beyond being a good person you have to have “belief and swear allegiance to God,” whatever that means, in order to enter heaven.

  DAVID: There’s always a rock in the garden. That rock is mortality or evil or both, but I really do love my life with Laurie and Natalie, my writing and teaching life. I have a blessed life and I hope it continues for another forty years.

  CALEB: Then you won’t outlive your father.

  DAVID: Another forty-four years.

  CALEB: If you’re a religious moralist, you look for solutions within religion, but the secular or atheist moralist lacks absolutes. How do you tell people how to be happy when you can’t define this for yourself?

  DAVID: I’m not sure that being a moralist means you want everybody happy in the same way.

  CALEB: Ever heard of Robert Ingersoll? Nineteenth-century atheist, way ahead of his time, loved his wife, a good father, a humanitarian, an abolitionist, a supporter of women’s rights when these views were not in vogue. His speeches make for good reading. He said the most important question was, “How can you be happy?” And his answer was, “By making other people happy.”

  DAVID: Wrong question. Wrong answer.

  CALEB: Right question. Right answer. First settle the question of yourself, then those around you.

  CALEB: Money Creek Campground exit: the bridge and that tunnel are easy landmarks. We turn by that school bus sign.

  DAVID: I’m gonna go in the house and steal a few crackers—or should I not do that?

  CALEB: Khamta’s mighty generous with his crackers. I don’t think it would be a problem.

  DAVID: I’ve still got an apple, grapes, cheese; you’re welcome to any of my stuff, obviously.… What do you need to do?

  CALEB: Go inside, get the key for the chain wrapped around the hot tub, open the hot tub, get the water circulating.

  DAVID: Of all the things that could have gone wrong, this is obviously pretty minor.

  CALEB: It’s an extra hour.

  DAVID: Maybe a little more. If at all possible, I’d love to avoid missing Natalie’s call.

  DAVID: You’ve traveled far more than I have, but when I’ve traveled, I pretty much find that worldwide there are seventeen types of people and you meet all seventeen types wherever you go, don’t you think? It’s not as if you arrive in Amsterdam or Seoul or Prague and suddenly realize: Oh my god, people are so different here!

  CALEB: If you don’t like your boss in the United States and every girl you go out with is a bitch, then overseas you’ll hate your boss and your girlfriend will be a bitch.

  DAVID: That’s not what I’m saying.

  CALEB: The dynamics of prejudice change, though. Koreans don’t like the disabled or physical
deformities.

  DAVID: Meaning?

  CALEB: There was this one teacher, American, who got fired because he was cross-eyed.

  DAVID: They fired him for that?

  CALEB: He couldn’t control his pupils.

  DAVID: Thanks for making such good time on the turnaround. Let me see if Laurie checked in.

  CALEB: If no traffic problems, we’ll be home in an hour.

  DAVID: What town now?

  CALEB: We’re about to hit Gold Bar.

  DAVID: All these funny names: Gold Bar, Index, Startup, Baring, Climax.

  CALEB: Delivery needs work.

  CALEB: You ever see The Sunset Limited?

  DAVID: That Cormac McCarthy play with Samuel L. Jackson and Tommy Lee Jones?

  CALEB: Jackson saves Jones from committing suicide, and they talk it out. Jackson’s a no-luck ex-con and Jones is a professor, but no matter how Jackson tries to convince Jones that life has meaning, Jones holds on to the emptiness of life. There’s a scene where Jackson recounts a prison fight and uses “nigger.” Not “nigga,” but “nigger.” And Jones gets offended!

  DAVID: Right. “Life has no meaning, I want to kill myself, but I’m going to be offended by the word ‘nigger.’ ”

  CALEB: What do you think of Cormac McCarthy?

  DAVID: To me, he seems to be a complex and nihilistic version of The Tao of Pooh. His writing, from what I can tell, assumes the reader has never before confronted existential matters.

  DAVID: Your ESL teacher’s guide was published by a real publisher?

  CALEB: Yes. We’re talking triple-digit advance, and when you add royalties, I made well into four figures.

  DAVID: You have three books. Two self-published?

  CALEB: Technically, my sister published Chinoku. She publishes music and game books. She paid to have it formatted and so on. It’s a puzzle book, more of a toy or game. It doesn’t count for much.