SaturDATE: Flashback

Time: August ’10, 11pm

Place: Central Park

Him: This is good. We can stop here.

Me: I want you to be comfortable.

Him: Here is fine. Near the water. I like here. I’ve always liked this place. Here is good.

Me: Is it? Have you?

Him: What do you mean?

Me: You never took me here before. Or mentioned it. Is this place special? Or are you just –

Him: I like this place.

Me: Sorry. Of course. I’m sorry.

Him: That’s not a good way to start this conversation.

Me: Which one? You look pretty.

Him: Thank you. You’re amazing and beautiful. The conversation you brought me here to have.

Me: What?

Him: This is Central Park. You never take me here either.

Me: Yeah, well… I guess we’ve got some talking to do. Hey. I think you’re great, by the way. You’re fucking… inspiring. You’re really a quality guy. I’m so proud for you. So much good stuff coming your way lately.

Him: Oh, jeez… thanks. You’re nice. You’ve always been nice. Thanks for supporting me when things looked dark.

Me: Oh come on. That’s like, your middle name. All you do is support… Everyone loves you.

Him: People love you too.

Me: They think I’m funny. And sometimes they want to fuck me. It’s not the same thing. They really love you.

Him: Well. No. But. Thanks.

Me: Remember those times we had. We were pretty good people, back then. We were something…

Him: You started resenting me, somewhere along the line.

Me: I didn’t… Maybe. Maybe I did. Somewhere. It’s not your fault. It was an awful time for all of us. We shouldn’t have done that.

Him: We did what we did. We can’t undo it and we’re better people for it.

Me: NO. Yes. But, no. We had no right to do that to ourselves. The three of us. We did it. And we all regret it and none of us regret it… but still… You and I both know it: we did wrong. We should not have taken the liberties we took with one another. None of us should have. Not any one of the three…

Him: It was fucked up. And then we tried to recover.

Me: And then we tired to recover.

Him: But that wont’ work, will it?

Me: Maybe not.

Him: I love you, Michael.

Me: I love you too. God. I love you.

Him: Maybe we are made to be apart instead?

Me: Or you could just get a job?

Him: What?

Me: Job. You could… I’m sorry. I know you don’t like this.

Him: I have a job. I’m an actor.

Me: I know. And yet, there’s no room. There’s no room for me in that equation. You don’t make enough money to even REALLY support yourself. So there’s never going to be you moving into my place, us getting a mortgage, us adopting kids. None of that stuff is on the horizon, right? And I’m older than you, by a few choice years. I want that stuff…

Him: Do you? You don’t act like you do.

Me: I want the option.

Him: Is that so important? The option?

Me: Yes.

(pause)

Me: Don’t ask why. I’m usually really good at a logical ‘why.’ But this time I can’t. I can’t say why.

Him: I think you’re complicated in such a beautiful way.

Me: See? That’s why I love you. You say it like a compliment. Most people would say ‘neurotic.’

Me: Hey. Did I ever tell you how pretty you are? You’re really pretty. I think you’re just about the prettiest thing I ever laid eyes on.

Him: You’re nice. Stop it.

Me: You’re really amazing. Goddammit. So hot. Hey. If we’re going to insist on doing this, why don’t we become the best fucking version of ourselves possible? Why don’t we prove to the fucking WORLD how beautiful we are?

What I’m saying is: make me feel stupid for breaking up with you. You’re fucking awesome. Have that awesome life, okay?

Him: You are. That’s what’s going to happen to you. You’re awesome.

Me: Thanks. But I just want to survive. Or thrive. Wouldn’t that be nice? Thriving?

Him: We could have. Something changed.