“He was concerned about how it’d all end. He wants to remain true to you,” she poked at the holes in the table on her back porch, referring to our selected screenplay writer who’d be responsible for somehow magically unraveling a mind and story so fucking complex, not one soul, nor even herself, knew.
“End? I don’t know. I guess that recovery is possible and that I’m sober now,” my words choked my soul because I knew that was pathetic.
You cannot possibly tease an audience with Adventure, Romance, Sex, Comedy, Tragedy, Horror and Philosophical Mind Fucks, SyFy, and Thrillers, and end on reality, as we knew it to be in that moment. It defeats the entire plot and essence of the movie which preaches life’s ebbs and flows, no matter the cost … only unwavering in its staunch stance in its natural addiction and reliance on change itself.
There was more … so much more that I couldn’t say. Three years later, and I can still barely vomit up the words in proper form that sits well with nature who wore this simply as a dress rehearsal gown, stitched from fucking nothing.
Dumbfounded at my surpassed ignorance at the time, she leaned in to drive the point home, “That’s just the point. It never ends, Lizzy. It goes on and on and on. It is about the journey.”
Swallowing all dignity, I cocked my head and shrugged with a sheepish grin, “pfft … I know that … True. That’s true,” even I couldn’t hide my pain as the truth poured from my eyes while I spat lies into the atmosphere that hung heavily in the arms of that summer’s evening closing in on both of us.
Fevered to get moving on the project ahead, we had to cut the projected ending short in the interest of time and short attention spans. But something about this swift and abrupt close didn’t sit well with either of us. Part of me wanted to give it an end, but the ending for which I had sacrificed everything, even my life. Part of her wanted it to continue on and part of my paranoid-self assumed it was because she didn’t beleive in my happy ending.
Now, as I sit, three years in the future, looking back, part of me wants it to roll and snowball like a never-ending adventure from tip to tap on top of the world; and, now sitting here three years in the midst of what was yet to come, I’m sure she kinda just wants it all to end once and for fucking all.
Either that, or, as most, she doesn’t even care.
Afterall, we are all growing a little sea sick in a ship that was never once meant to be for anyone’s amusement; yet, here we are, passing out from the sweet supple agony of laughter from our own blunders and tripped-out slip-ups, now mastering timing and delivery as if it was all foretold and meant to be.
No one would know any different, so we roll with it ’til hands bleed and faces turn blue.
I lay in bed that night, listening to crickets roar through screened doors, shifting my memories to times past that would lead me on a quest like no other. I mean, I had point-blank asked for a treasure hunt.
So why was I choking on seeing it all come to life, dancing and rippling in the eyes and minds of three people I deeply respected? We all knew, left to me, I’d never get anything finished. And this was true. There are infinite possibilities, especially with an artistic license.
So, maybe in a last-stitched battle with pride, this conundrum was mirroring the entire essence of the fucking movie all along. Maybe a piece of me really wants a last show down … one fucking opportunity to prove it to myself and everyone else that I could in fact finish something I had begun.
Maybe in this revelation lies the answer.
Maybe I do want it to eventually come to a harmonic close, as the title suggests to begin with – CADENCE.
But as with any piece of music or art, is there really ever an end?
I don’t know the answer for others, but as for me, the answer is no, but I’ll tell ya this …
It sure as hell would be nice to catch a fucking break …