Gatsby Scene

          EXT OUTSIDE NICK'S HOUSE

          NICK exits the taxi that has dropped him off at his house.
          NICK's house is illuminated by a yellow light coming from
          GATSBY's house, in which every window is lit. Nick looks
          alarmed when he glances at his home, but calms as his gaze
          travels to the source of the light. As he looks onward, the
          taxi drives away and GATSBY, who was outside of his lit up
          home, approaches him.

                              NICK
                    Your place looks like the World's
                    Fair

                              GATSBY
                    Does it?

          GATSBY glances at his house without much interest

                              GATSBY
                    I have been glancing into some of
                    the rooms. Let's go to Coney
                    Island, old sport. In my car.

                              NICK
                    It's too late

                              GATSBY
                    Well, Suppose we take a plunge in
                    the swiming pool? I haven't made
                    use of it all summer.

                              NICK
                    I've got to go to bed.

                              GATSBY
                    All right.

          A silence ensues during which GATSBY looks somewhat
          impatient and NICK appears puzzled for a moment.

                              NICK
                    I talked with Miss Baker. I'm going
                    to call up Daisy tomorrow and
                    invite her over here to tea.

                              GATSBY
                    Oh, that's all right, I don't want
                    to put you to any trouble.

                              NICK
                    What day would suit you?

          GATSBY is quick to respond, overly eager.

                              GATSBY
                    what day would suit you? I don't
                    want to put you to any trouble, you
                    see.

                              NICK
                    How about the day after tomorrow?

          GATSBY stands back and considers the offer. His gaze drifts
          down to the lawn.

                              GATSBY
                    I want to get the grass cut

          NICK glances where GATSBY is looking and surveys the
          division between his lawn and GATSBY's well kept lawn.
          GATSBY appears tense.

                              GATSBY
                    There's another little thing

                              NICK
                    Would you rather put it off for a
                    few days?

                              GATSBY
                    Oh, it isn't about that. At least--

          GATSBY tries to put words together as he thinks of how to
          phrase his question.

                              GATSBY
                    How... do you... why I thought--why
                    look here, old sport, you don't
                    make much money, do you?

                              NICK
                    Not very much

                              GATSBY
                    I thought you didn't, if you'll
                    pardon my--You see, I carry on a
                    little business on the side, a sort
                    of side line, you understand. And I
                    thought that if you don't make very
                    much--You're selling bonds, aren't
                    you old sport?

                              NICK
                    Trying to.

                              GATSBY
                    Well this would interest you. It
                    wouldn't take up much of your time
                    and you might pick up a nice bit of
                    money. It happens to be a rather
                    confidential sort of thing.

          Realizing what GATSBY is trying to do, NICK cuts him off
          quickly.

                              NICK
                    I've got my hands full. I'm much
                    obliged, but I couldn't take on any
                    more work.

                              GATSBY
                    You wouldn't have to do any
                    business with Wolfsheim.

                              NICK
                    That's not why I'm refusing.

          GATSBY tries to start another sentence, but NICK's stern and
          tired countenance convinces him to leave. GATSBY takes a few
          steps back, crosses the line in the lawn that separates the
          unkept lawn from the neatly trimmed grass, and returns to
          his luminous home.
                   

Short Story From Photoset 4

To an outsider, the home of Philip Flanders looked just like any other ordinary apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He lived in the cheapest part of an expensive district. This meant that there was a chain link fence outside his building and the rest of the house remained firmly in the 17^th century, with peeling paint and rotting wood supports. What this shoddy exterior hid so well from the rest of the world was a shape shifter named Molly who lived in Phillip’s living room.

            Even on the inside, it would be hard to come to this conclusion, but the signs were all there—fur covering the couch, dark feathers littering the floor, several different claw marks on wooden armrests, bags of dog food and cat food in the kitchen. It seemed that Philip owned just about every animal possible, but there were no animals to be found. There was only Molly, lounging in the living room. The thing about shape shifters is that they can change into anything, not just animals—trees, rocks, whatever comes to mind. Animals are the most interesting things to be, so that is what they often are. But it takes them a very long time to complete the transformation. Molly was once stuck with a long furry tail for two days after being a house cat while Philip’s family was in town. She had to prepare days in advance, often locking herself in the cupboard for a few nights while her smooth skin grew hairy and her teeth sharpened into fangs.  She did not want to be seen looking like that; not after what happened when she first met Philip. Needless to say, the transition period was not a pretty sight. This moment, when the face still resembles a human’s and the bones are twisting into unnatural shapes, is when the shape shifter is at her weakest. This is the danger all shape shifters faced.

           

            On the day she arrived, Philip was celebrating unpacking the last box from his move out of Kansas. He was celebrating by himself because no one knew him, and he knew no one; except for his landlord, who only gave him the apartment because he had two months rent worth of cash in his hand. It was a stormy day outside and he was lucky to have shelter. Just as Philip looked out the window to admire how safe he was, a big black bird slammed head first into the glass, making a small crack in his window.

            “What the…” said Philip as he rushed outside into the rain. He saw a raven on its back, a tiny trickle of blood from its beak. Phil liked to think of himself as a tough guy, you had to in the Boston area, but deep down, he always had a soft spot for animals—and it had been a lonely couple of months. He decided then that the best thing he could do for this bird was to nurse it back to health. When he picked it up, he noticed a paper wrapped around its leg. Phil took it off and unfolded it. The paper turned out to be a series of photos, all of them dating at least sixty years back. They were in black and white and several of them were of the same girl with long frizzy black hair, smiling. On the back corner it said in neat cursive, “For Molly”. Phil laughed and put the roll in his pocket. “I didn’t think people still used birds to send messages.”

Philip would never forget the next few days. The bird quickly outgrew and broke the shoebox he had placed it in and all of the food he gave it was gone—including some food that he did not give it. Phil was surprised and more than a little concerned about this unexpected development. He thought briefly about killing this horrifying creature with a kitchen knife, but out of sheer terror (or maybe compassion) could not bring himself to do it. Meanwhile, it continued to grow and grow until it covered the entire table. Phil did not dare move it. What if it was contagious, he thought. Flustered, he studied the photos some more as the bird creature lay curled up on the table behind him. Perhaps they held a clue to this puzzle. He saw a girl on a bed with a dog whose hair that looked very similar to another girl’s long hair from a different photo. There was also a picture of a soldier who wore a beak-shaped facemask like there was something under it he did not want others to see. Perhaps the strangest photo of all was a picture of three people dressed as chickens in front of a painted background. For what reason, he could not guess.

On the third day, it began to resemble a monkey with feathers. He thought for sure, he should call some sort of pest control and get them to remove this thing from his home. “What have I done,” he would say as he walked around the mass of black feathers lying around the table. The creature would only look at him and sigh, like it was trying to say something but could not. That night, he picked up the phone and looked up the local pest control companies. Eyes closed, he pointed to a name on the page.

            “ASAP Pest Elimination, this is Fred, what can I do for you?” said a deep voice.

            “Hi Fred. I, uh… can… -can you please tell me what size pests you’re able to… eliminate?”

            “For the most part, any,” he replied, “It don’t matter as long as they’re smaller than a cat. Any bigger might cost you a little more. Whaddya got, raccoons, snakes?”

            “Well, here’s the thing—and I’m going to sound a little crazy, but I don’t actually know what it is.”

            “Well gimme something here, son. Can you describe it? Did you get a good look?”

            “It’s right here is front of me, actually,” said Phil as he glanced at the mass of feathers. Just then, it twisted and opened its eyes, meeting his gaze. Phil continued, “this is the part where I’m going to sound crazy.”

            Fred laughed, “Try me,” he said, “in my line of work, you see things.” Philip sighed and looked back at the beast. Its eyes were still on him. Its mouth moved.

            “Wait,” said the creature, “Please wait,” it pleaded.

Phil jumped and dropped the phone on the linoleum floor. It broke into three pieces: two halves and a battery. There was not even a dial tone from the speaker. He backed into a corner, paralyzed. Its eyes were locked on his.

“Please,” she repeated.

“What are you?” said Phil. She narrowed her blue eyes as if she was remembering something and looked away. Then its gaze fell back to Phil and the creature took a deep breath.

“They call me Molly.”

Philip paused and retrieved the strip of photos from his pocket. He found the one of the smiling girl with long curly black hair. Their eyes were the same. Turning the paper around, he read again the words, "For Molly".

To an outsider, the home of Philip Flanders looked just like any other ordinary apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts. But when your roommate is a shape shifter you nursed back to health in a shoebox—life is anything but ordinary.

The Wizards of the Oz's

After reading the 1900 story The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and then watching 1939 movie counterpart, The Wizard of Oz, I can say with some level of certainty that the movie took a great deal of artistic liberty with its version of this story. Still, I recognize that whatever changes it made were only to make the story more interesting to watch. Despite that (or perhaps because of it) I still prefer the original story to the film. I understand that the film was meant to be very playful and childish, but it was just too much for me--perhaps because I was born in a world where films did not have a cast of characters who would regularly break into song, and a man in a lion costume is a man in a lion costume, not a lion. I seem to have lost the ability to suspend my disbelief when the tricks the film is playing on me are so blatantly fraudulent. Even so, there was some level of charm the film managed to preserve. There was something uncanny, but also enchanting about watching so many happy characters dancing and singing in one scene.

One concept that the film did keep true to, however, is the idea that, "there's no place like home," a phrase, oddly enough, that is never actually said in the 1900 text, but heavily implied by the context and by Dorothy's  actions. I think this is a widely held view that most people would agree with. Even though Oz is so beautiful and fantastic, it is not Dorothy's home. And no matter how much enjoyment or friendship she finds there, she knows that she belongs elsewhere. Likewise, I consider my home to be Ringling because I have spent so much time here. It has evolved into my home over several years. There was a time when Memphis, TN was my home, but now it is where I go to be with my family. When I am in Memphis, I'm happy, of course, to be with my parents and I don't take that time for granted, but I am also eager to go back to Florida, as Dorothy is eager to get back to Kansas.