Screen Door

29 Apr

I haven’t asked the magazine about being transferred to California. I mentioned it to Ann in the car, on the way to see Constantine (terrible movie).

Ann’s reaction was: “How much more would they pay you?”

When I answered they’d pay me the same, she made a disbelieving kind of scoffing sound and didn’t discuss it any further.

Devon said, from the back seat, “What? And leave me behind?”

I’ll ask the magazine this week. Once it’s set it in motion, it will have a life of its own. I won’t be able to weigh questions such as “How can I support another set of bills and still keep up with the financial mess I’m chained to in New Jersey.”

There’s a vision or feeling that comes to me: What if I get out there and nothing happens? There’s no agent, our scripts are ignored, what heat we have dissipates.

I guess the answer to that is I’ll at least be spared a bitter future in New Jersey wondering what would have happened if I’d had the nerve to make the jump, instead of measuring out my neurosis, Ann’s considerable neurosis, Devon’s youthful neurosis and pouring them into a big pot in a filthy kitchen, making a neurotic stew that I could eat for the rest of my life.

A stew that tastes like “home.”



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