Dr. Holderman – Holderman is an old man in his late seventies, he walks with a slight limp and talks in a very slow careful manner. He is very intelligent and though the years have not been kind to his body, his mind is still very sharp and he is able to express himself well. He dresses in archaic clothing and a pair of glasses with a thin frame.

William – William is a young man of about 16-19 years of age. He dresses in modern clothing but always-fashionable garb. He is fairly tall and walks perfectly erect. He has a normal speaking pattern for someone his age but a large vocabulary and love to flaunt his mastery of the English language. Though he is normally shy he moves about today with confidence and grace.

The Setting:

A quaint living room and kitchen area. The place is filled with antique patterns and furniture. The place is meticulously clean though, not a wrinkle in the sofa or in the chair covers, everything is as strait and as neat as one could possibly make it. In walks Dr. Holderman, an old man in his late seventies, he sits upon the sofa and turns on his old-style television and begins to watch an old war movie. He has just settled into his chair when a knocking comes at the door. Dr. Holderman gets up to answer it and finds William on the other side.

William: Dr. Holderman I presume?

Holderman: Yes, I am Holderman. And you are?

William: The name is William (offers a handshake to Holderman but Holderman ignores it) I live just down the street from you.

Holderman: I see, and what brings you here… William

William: I wanted to talk with you for a bit, mind if I come in sir? If you’re not to busy. (Holderman thinks about it for a moment nervous to let a stranger into his house but finally motions for him to come in)

Holderman: Have a seat… William (William sits down on one of the chairs and Holderman sits on the couch) (somewhat irritated) What brings you here?

William: I wanted to talk a bit about your past if I could.

Holderman: (sits back and rubs his chin like he’s trying to think) My past?

William: Yes, your past. I know who you are, or rather who you were.

Holderman: Oh, and who was I?

William: The famous poet Marcel Mudall. The best known poet in the years following World War II. According to my records you published five volumes of poetry between the years of 1947-1954 and three of those made it to the best sellers list. You were an icon of poetry for nearly eight years and then you vanished into thin air. Since Marcel was just your pen name no one knew who you were, until I started working for your former publisher and saw the record. I was shocked to find you lived so close, the coincidence is amazing…

Holderman: I’m sorry, but you are mistaken.

William: I am… I checked the records and everything I can’t be mistaken, it was all there in black and…

Holderman: It was SIX volumes of poetry between the years of 1945 and 1954. The first was with another company, under another name. Yes, I am Marcel Mudall, or I was. Now I’m just an old man waiting for death like an lost relative.

William: So it is you… (Holderman nods) (excited) Well, why did you disappear? What have you been doing? You were a God among men. I love your work. There are so many things I want to say and do…

Holderman: (calmly) Why did you come here?

William: (pauses, unsure of what to say) I-I-I wanted you to help me write. I wanted you to help me learn how to write well, how to write like you, how to be good how to be… (Holderman raises his hand to silence William)

Holderman: (still calm) Write about what might I ask?

William: (nervous) My feelings, my emotions, my thoughts, my dreams, my… my… what’s inside of me. You know? Me. I want to write about me.

Holderman: What are you feeling?

William: Anger, hate, love, happiness, sadness, all of the things you wrote about and then some you see…

Holderman: (loudly) No! What are you feeling right now?

William: Now?

Holderman: (normally) Yes, right now.

William: I’m r-r-r-rather nervous, you are kind of scaring me some.

Holderman: Fear?

William: Yeah, I guess so.

Holderman: (loudly) There is no fear in poetry! There is to be no fear, there will be no fear and there canNOT be any fear. You see, to be a poet is to have a mental disease. Poet’s have the compulsive need to spill their guts to the world in it’s purest form. (quietly)Some day psychologists will make a little pill (pretends to hold a pill between his thumb and index finger and shoves it in William’s face) that will wipe out all of poet-kind. It’s a sick need to hide nothing and give everything. But to complete that process there can be no fear. Fear is the constricting emotion, fear causes people to hold back not only in action but in words. There is no great poem about fear because to write about fear it to automatically hold back. Sadness, despair, happiness, love, joy, these are emotions that are both completely consuming and freeing at the same time. (loudly) If you are afraid you should leave now and not come near this place again. (Sits back down on the couch and loosely crosses his legs)

William: (There is a long awkward pause as William thinks things over) (Meekly) Does this mean, you’ll teach me?

Holderman: Aye, I’ll teach you. If that’s what you still want.

William: I don’t understand why though, you don’t seem to care much for me and I’m not sure…

Holderman: (Interrupting loudly) You’re right, I don’t like you. In fact I despise you. However, I am an old man in ill health. I have left the world nothing save a handful of now forgotten books of poetry. But maybe through you I can live on in some small way, there is hope for you, I see it in your eyes, but it will take a lot of work, on your part and mine.

William: Well, I’ll come back tomorrow and we can begin my lessons then, Dr. Holderman, thank you very much. (Gets up to leave, begins to walk to the door)

Holderman: (Shouting) You will not leave this place until I say you are ready. (William turns to face him) It is warm outside, that means it’s summer and you, being a school-aged fellow have nothing important to do today. So sit (points to chair) and we shall get started. (William nervously inches his way back to his seat and eases back into the chair)

William: Ok… (A long pause)

Holderman: So tell me, what are you ashamed of?

William: Pardon?

Holderman: (more loudly and succinctly) What are you ashamed of?

William: I don’t understand.

Holderman: To be a writer is to be human, to be human is to have regrets, shames and so forth. What are YOU ashamed of… William?

William: (Nervous chuckle) I’m not going to tell you that… You’re crazy..

Holderman: (outburst of anger) If you can not tell me, than how will you ever tell the world?

William: I-I-I-I don’t know…

Holderman: If you ever hope to be a writer you must learn to be open and not the least big afraid of everything that makes you up. If you have the slightest hesitation, then there is no hope for you.

William: (nervous) ok…

Holderman: So…. (calming down) What are you ashamed of?

William: Well… (thinking) when I was twelve my friend and I decided to have a little fun. He got himself some small firecrackers and there was a little stray black cat that roamed the neighborhood. He grabbed the cat and had me hold it down while he tied the firecracker to its head he lit the fuse. I let go at the cat ran off behind a house and we heard the explosion (heavy sigh). He went and looked, but-but I never did. I still can’t believe what I did. You asked… I told. (He looks up scornfully at the old man).

Holderman: You are upset because you had a small part in killing a cat?

William: Yes… (nodding his head slightly)

Holderman: First of all, if what you said is true, you did not kill that cat. Your friend, provided he hasn’t grown out of it should seek help for his destructive behavior. However, you, you were just being a stupid kid as we all were at age twelve.

William: I don’t think you understand this is something that…

Holderman: I understand you feel guilty for not helping that animal and while I pity that poor creature you must learn that guilt and shame are two different emotions and guilt can be absolved by others but shame you must face yourself.

William: (very angry, yelling) Well, what are you ashamed of? You’re asking me all these questions, watch me spill my guts and you nail them to the table. What about you? I want you to go first then.

Holderman: You want to know what I am ashamed of?

William: Yeah, since you are pushing me, yes I want to know.

Holderman: You killed a cat. I killed people. Five of them in fact, two of them were under the age of fourteen.

William: (Skeptical) When?

Holderman: World War 2. That’s when.

William: You weren’t IN World War 2. I checked your biography. Your brother was in the war, but you were too young.

Holderman: I lied.

William: huh?

Holderman: My brother was drafted in the closing months of the war. However he was a pacifist with bad lungs. He never would have survived basic training much less an actual battle. Being stronger but too young I went down to the army office with all of my brothers information and pretended to be him. Since we looked alike it wasn’t a challenge. They just wanted soldiers, they didn’t care that there were a year shy of drafting age.

William: Ok, so you went to war and killed people, big deal, millions of others did.

Holderman: I made it just in time to help the armies siege Berlin. As we got closer to the city limits the younger the soldiers got. Hitler was getting desperate and he was giving guns to little boys. Twelve, thirteen, it didn’t matter. He gave them rifles and sent them against tanks, artillery and hundreds of well-trained troops.

William: I didn’t know this…

Holderman: (interrupting) I meant to shoot one of them in the leg, he was coming toward me clumsily and I didn’t wish to kill him. I shot at his feet but when I started firing he hit the ground and on the way down took a bullet square in his brain killing him instantly. Another time, my unit was in a suburb of Berlin and we came under fire from a gunner behind a small brick wall. We were pinned down pretty good but I saw his head stick up over the wall for just a second and I fired, and blew his entire skull out from the ear up. I was ecstatic at first, wondering what medal I would get, but when we went over there and saw it was a young man of just twelve, I broke down and cried. THAT is shame, not guilt.

William: Wow

Holderman: Yeah, wow… That’s what shame does, wow people. It’s soul-bearing, eye-opening and awe-inspiring. People spit on guilt, but are struck hard by shame. (long pause) So let’s try this again, what are you ASHAMED of?

William: (sighs heavily and pauses to think, he’s visibly worried about saying anything). Shortly after I was born… my parents divorced. I lived with my mother for many years but when I was about five she re-married. My stepfather didn’t care much for me. He seemed to think that I stood between him and my mom. As a result, he would hit me at the drop of a hat. I recall one time, I spilled my soda on the carpet and he hit me right across the chin chipping my bottom tooth. He told my mother that I fell down the stairs, she bought it but a week later she saw him toss me to the ground as hard as he could and we ran out on him. We spent several months in a shelter after that… (long pause)

Holderman: (happily) Excellent, now you have something to write about.

William: Write about it! I can barely tell anyone about it! How the hell am I going to write about this and let the whole world see it! You must be crazy!

Holderman: You don’t write about it and tell the story. You write about it by using it. Use the emotions, the pain, the hatred, the fear, use them to write about whatever subject comes to mind. Write about the night but include the fear you felt when your stepfather raised his hand. Write about a thorn but use the pain of the blows you took to help you. Emotions are more powerful than events, always have been, always will be.

William: I see…

Holderman: Yes, you do see. You have your first assignment before you now. You are to go home and write something and impress me with it. Bring it here the same time tomorrow that you arrived today and I will read it. Use what you have learned and we will see where you stand. Now go…

William: Ok, same time tomorrow you said? (Holderman nods, William gets up and begins to walk to the door)

Holderman: Another thing… (William turns around) If you should show up tomorrow and I seriously doubt you will. You will be on your way to being a writer. It will be but the first step in a journey of many miles.

William: I’ll be here…

Holderman: We’ll see…

(exit William, Curtain falls)

Holderman: (Sarcastically) Come on in William. (Seriously) I didn’t expect to see you here today.

William: (making his way to the living area) But you invited me to…

Holderman: I figured I had scared you off…

William: (takes a seat in the living area, Holderman slowly follows suit but William notices the crutch he is using) Dr. Holderman, what is the deal with the crutch you didn’t have it yesterday…

Holderman: I have a very strange back ailment, one day I’m using a crutch, the next it’s a walker and then the third I’ll be well again. I can’t explain it and neither can the doctors, I’m getting old William and this is what happens when you get old.

William: (unsure) oh, ok. Well, ummm, I brought a poem of mine for you to read, I wrote it last night. (He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to Holderman)

Holderman: (Unfolds the paper and quickly reads the contents obviously not paying attention.) It’s crap. (Crumples up the paper and tosses it over his shoulder)

William: (In awe) What the… I don’t… How can you do that!? You didn’t even really read it! My God, did you even glance at the letters?

Holderman: I read enough

William: (shouting) I spent three hours on that the least you can do is take the time to read it!

Holderman: (shouting even louder, gets softer as monolouge goes on) Don’t you try to impress me with how long you took to write that excrement. Your readers will not and should not care how long you took to write something. It isn’t important to any degree. The time it takes to write something matters not. I knew a guy in the sixties, a damn hippie if I ever saw one, but he could churn out a fine poem in five minutes flat. It’s a shame he didn’t better harness his writing talent. He went on to study business I think and run one of those companies he protested. I also knew another guy who took weeks to write anything, but everything he did was magic. Some people even die before they finish a poem. So DON’T ever mention the time it took to write something again or I will beat you with this cane until you can’t so much as pick up a pen.

William: (humble) sorry.

Holderman: That’s what I thought…

William: (there is a long awkward silence between the two. Finally William looks up and sees the vase and decides to make another run at conversation) I see you have a new vase there (points to it) it’s lovely.

Holderman: It’s not new.

William: Well, I didn’t see it yesterday.

Holderman: That’s because I didn’t have it out yesterday you imbecile. I re-arrange things in the house to my will. That’s what I like about living alone, no wife to coordinate with, everything fits MY purpose and no one else’s.

William: But you were married once. At least for a short while.

Holderman: I was married for longer than you have been alive..

William: What are you talking about? I checked the records you got divorced 6 months aftergetting married.

Holderman: You have looked up every detail of my life yet you know nothing. You should be ashamed for thinking things could be so narrowly defined as to be fit in records and statistics. Yes, we got divorced, but it was for purely financial reasons. We still lived together, slept together, ate together and everything else married people do, just not in the official capacity of the word.

William: (unsure) I see..

Holderman: But she died in a horrid car accident that severed her head just above the shoulders. The found it in a nearby yard several days after the crash. A stray dog was reportedly nibbling at it and the owner of the house called the police. I was upset for weeks about the whole affair.

William: (gasping) I am so sorry I didn’t know.

Holderman: (loudly) of course you didn’t, you and your records.

William: (eager to change the subject) What can you tell me about that vase?

Holderman: It’s older than me.

William: Older than You?

Holderman: Yes, it's was my mother's. It was made in the roaring twenties, bought in the great depression and handed to me just after the World War II. It's a lovely vase isn’t it? Wonderful colors, marvelous shape and with such age and history, it’s probably worth a small fortune.

William: No doubt that it is, and you’re right, it’s beautiful.

Holderman: (Gets up and walks over to it) It’s the only thing in this whole house that’s older than I am. The only thing that has seen more and heard more than me. It has a place of honor in my own mind. It always will. But in the end it’s still a material thing (raises his cane, smashes the vase and rakes the pieces off the table) and is utterly worthless.

William: Wuh? Huh? What the hell did you do that for? (Stands up and motions to the pieces of the vase on the floor) The least you could have done is given it to me! Damn man. That’s a lot of money to smash.

Holderman: It doesn’t mean a damn thing you young fool. You measure everything by the almighty dollar. If that same vase had only been worth a buck you would have called it ugly and smashed it just as quickly. That hideous sense of judgment will get you in trouble. Especially with poetry.

William: (Settles back down into his seat, Holderman begins to do the same) So, you were just trying to teach me a lesson?

Holderman: No, I was tired of staring at it. Your lesson is different. (removes a small book from his shirt pocket tosses it into William’s lap) That is a book on the science behind poetry. It will teach you how to find the meter of a piece, use rhyme more effectively and the basics of the different forms of poems. You are to read it and write me another poem, this time an Italian Sonnet.

William: (picks up the book and looks at it with a quizzical look on his face unsure of what to do) Is that all?

Holderman: No. It’s Friday is it not? (William nods yes) Then I have another mission for you.

William: (sarcastically) Do tell.

Holderman: I assume your generation has a place where you go to meet members of the opposite sex do you not?

William: Well, there’s a dance club in town that a lot of people go to on weekends.

Holderman: It’ll do. I want you to go there, there will undoubtedly be a member of the female sex that you will find attractive. I want you to walk up to her and say exactly what you feel. If it’s sexual, say it, spiritual, the same. Say whatever you feel about her as bluntly and as directly as possible. You’ll probably get slapped, but that’s the price of being open. Just pray she doesn’t have a boyfriend who’s bigger than you.

William: (In shock) What? That’s insane. I can’t do that. I can barely talk to girls as it is. Are you trying to get me killed?

Holderman: No, I’m trying to get you to open up you twit. The problem with that piece of crap you wrote last night was that you didn’t open up at all. You held back everything because you knew I was going to read it and judge it. You were scared. I can’t say I don't blame you but I’m hoping that you can conquer that fear.

William: (panicked) and… what if I can’t?

Holderman: (point to the ball on the floor) Then crap is all you’ll ever write and there is nothing I can do for you.

William: (unsure) I see…

Holderman: There is nothing more for you to do today. Complete the assignments and return here same time Monday. If you have done everything I asked and written something better than that. (points to the ball again) We will begin the next phase of your lessons. Now go.

William: But…

Holderman: GO!!!! (shooing motion)

(exit William in a hurry)

Holderman: (not looking up from the paper) This is good, not very good, but definitely good. Your meter breaks in a few places, but your rhyme is perfect and your word choice is marvelous. You can adjust it easily and make it a true sonnet. Once you do that, you should have little trouble publishing it.

William: (in awe at the compliment) But… well… thank you… sir.

Holderman: You have a lot of room to improve you see, a lot. But your potential finally shines through. I think there may be hope for you yet.

William: (shuffling in his seat some) Well, I’m just glad you like it.

Holderman: I do… But there is still something wrong with it, something I can’t put my hand on.

William: Oh? Can you help me out? I’d like to know since I’m on the right track it seems.

Holderman: (pauses a moment) Do you paint?

William: (puzzled) Ummm no… (chuckle) I don’t have a lick of artistic talent. I can’t even draw stick figures worth a damn.

Holderman: Have you ever painted?

William: (shaking head) Nah man, never.

Holderman: (imitating motions with his hand as he goes through monologue) Did you ever pain in kindergarten. The kind of painting where you sink your whole hand into the finger paints, you smear the colors all over the construction paper not caring what it looks like to any one else but yourself. Your only goal to create an impress and an expression of you. The kind of painting that comes from childish brashness and freedom. The kind that inspires adults to be more open and relive their childhoods. Have you ever done that?

William: (dazed) Well, yeah, sure, I guess so. I don’t remember kindergarten that well but yeah, I guess so. Sheesh. Why are you asking me this?

Holderman: Because you are a painter.

William: Huh? I’m not quite following you here.

Holderman: You see, you as a poet are a painter. The only thing that separates you from a Van Gogh, a Rembrandt or a Monet is that your medium is words and your canvas, a blank sheet of paper. You must paint and express in much the way they do. You must use your pen as if it were a paintbrush and your words as if they were strokes.

William: (flailing hands about) Ok, woah woah woah woah here chief. Last time I was here you were smashing vases, crumpling up my work, calling it “excrement” and today you’re all compliments and now feeding me these lines about being a painter? What the hell is going on here? Are you deranged? Do you have some disorder I need to know about? Because this is really weirding me out.

Holderman: Would you rather me smash a vase? I have plenty (motions over his shoulder).

William: Well, know I rather like it, it makes you seem like less of an ogre

Holderman: (loudly) that’s because I’m not an ogre! (William jumps back, Holderman stands slowly and gets as much in his face as he can comfortably) I am a complicated, intricate, three-dimensional human being the same as you and all your readers I am no more an ogre than you are. As a poet you must be all things, the good, the bad and yes, the ugly. Accept them as a part of you and let them all shine. That’s the only way your readers can ever associate with you or even tolerate you.

William: (humbled) I see.

Holderman: (continues) The reason I use this analogy is because you didn’t paint enough. You vented, you opened up and you did everything right but you simply didn’t let the words flow like smooth strokes from a tiny brush. You have been brave dear William but now you must be an artist. That is the greatest challenge of all. Few even come close. But I think you can do it and damn it man, I’m going to see that you do.

William: (looking up at him) Ok… sorry. Calm down please, I liked the other side of you better.

Holderman: Very well. But now I’m frustrated. Now comes the part where you have to pull through. I can’t toss you a book to teach you this or even tell you how. You just have to remember what it was like to smear those paints onto that paper as a kid. (long pause) In fact, perhaps you need to relive that. Yes, when we break for the day, I want you to go home and make a finger-painting. Relive the joy and the emotion. Get back in touch with that side of your self. I think that will do you a world of good in your writing. Yes… you do that.

William: (unsure, but making a mental note) Ok… I guess I can do that.

Holderman: Also, be sure to bring me the painting. I wish to see it.

William: (looking around) Ok…

Holderman: (there is a long awkward silence that seems to take forever) Didn’t I give you another assignment? Yes, I believe I did.

William: (hangs head and begins to twitch nervously) Yes… you did.

Holderman: (sternly) Tell me about it.

William: (wringing hands) Well, it didn’t go too good.

Holderman: (more sternly) All the more reason, talk to me.

William: (Blushing some and getting more and more nervous) Well, I went to the club…

Holderman: That’s a good first step

William: (continues) but for the longest time no one was there. No pretty girls my age that is. But after about two hours, one walked in. She had gorgeous eyes, and long flowing blonde hair. Her warmth and personality radiated off of her. She was almost angelic.

Holderman: Did you talk to her?

William: Well, I walked up to her, swallowed the whole of my stomach… (pause)

Holderman: and…

William: (deep sigh) I told her I thought she was very sexy and that I wanted to (waffles) be alone with her.

Holderman: I see. What happened next.

William: (hangs head) She got angry, stormed off, told management what I had said and had me thrown out. (tries to speed through the rest) I’m not allowed to return for a few months at least. Not that I liked the place, damn rat-hole.

Holderman: (lound chuckle) Congratulations dear William. You have had your first experience of being punished for telling an uncomfortable truth. (imitates a toast) May it happen many more times in your future. It is your duty as a writer to say what is true and real, even if it hurts. A duty you must take to your grave. Some take that literally though, one writer friend of mine died a few years back, his epitaph simply reads, “I’m dead”. He had a knack for bluntness though, something you lack I’m afraid.

William: (puzzled) What do you mean?

Holderman: Be alone with her… please.

William: (lays back in chair) Ok, fine. But I completed the assignment and even if I didn’t I can’t go back. So there, you happy?

Holderman: (directly) Happier. But not happy.

William: (slightly frustrated) Well, I’m sorry.

Holderman: Nothing to feel sorry for. You gave it a good run though, the bluntness will come over time. You’ll see, soon you’ll be writing the most heart-felt pieces of all time but be constantly scolded in your day-to-day life for being unfeeling and heartless. You’ll see.

William: Well, it’s getting late, I guess I should be going.

Holderman: Perhaps, but, before you do, you have to get your assignment.

William: (confused) I thought I already had it? .

Holderman: Yes, the painting is important, very important. But you must also write a poem to go with the painting. Make it something to mirror your colors and strokes. I’ll expect both parchments the usual time tomorrow.

William: (gets up to shake his hand, Holderman doesn’t move, William begins walking toward door) I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.

Holderman: (not looking at him) Yes, you shall… Yes…

(exit William)

Holderman: Sorry for taking so long answering the door, are you comfortable dear William? It's a warm day out, would you like something to drink perhaps, some juice, a soda? Perhaps a bite to eat?

William: (puzzled) Why… no… I'm fine.

Holderman: Are you certain?

William: (uneasy) Yes, thank you…

Holderman: (backhands William as hard as he can across the jaw and hovers over him staring at him) You lied to me.

William: (shocked) What? Huh? What the hell did you do that for? I never did anything to you? What's going on here? Are you CRAZY!?

Holderman: (sits down calmly) The owner of the club you mentioned yesterday is an old friend of mine, after hearing your tale I gave him a call. He told me that night no one was thrown out of the club for any reason and no one matching your description was even there. He says he even knows of you and would have recognized you. (Angrily) So one of you is lying to me and I know for a fact he has no reason to.

William: (stands up and starts to pace) Alright, Alright, Alright, you got me. Jeez, calm down. I lied. Take it easy. I'm sorry (getting louder). I didn't have the courage to do it, is that what you want to hear? I didn't have the guts to go through with it, I was a damn chicken who couldn't do a simple task! There are you happy? I said it! I never set a foot inside that club, I hate that place anyway. I'm probably not cut out to be a poet and you have no business dealing with me. Is that what you want to hear? To hear that everything I do is crap and nothing you can do can fix it? Because it's the truth. (Throws himself back down in the chair)

Holderman: (Slaps him again) Dammit man calm down! You're overreacting.

William: Well I'm not the one hitting people left and right.

Holderman: Well some people need to get hit. (leans into William as he finishes the sentence)

William: (pauses and thinks) I don't see what you're so mad about, it's just a stupid lie.

Holderman: You're right, lies are a part of life. Everyone tells them, I've told my share and I can safely assume you have told yours. Now I don't care if you lie to your parents, your siblings, your girlfriend, your grandmother, your pets, your teachers, your friends, your enemies or even God himself. You can go out, cheat on your wife, beat your kids, drink like a fish and do drugs until you can't stand and still come in here and not be judged by me. But the minute you lie to me, you've broken the sacred code and have stepped on hollowed ground. (raising voice) You will be honest to me no matter what! You will tell me the truth! Otherwise there is just no hope for your as a human being, much less a poet.

William: I-I-I-I'm sorry, I didn't know how much it meant to you.

Holderman: You knew, but didn't care. Within the confines of this room, THIS ROOM, you will be completely honest. I wanted to guide one of the best poets of the next generation and I got some child who couldn't hold his own spine with both hands. I suppose it's just another one of fate's cruel tricks on me.

William: (hangs head) What do you mean "wanted?"

Holderman: Why should I bother? You can't handle the work obviously, you'll never make it as a poet if you can't live your life and be honest about it.

William: Don't I get another chance? I mean it was just one mistake.

Holderman: Some sins are unpardonable. Lying to another poet is one of them. People rightfully expect honesty in print and they should get it. People like you can't give it. Just because people today live in fantasy worlds doesn't mean that they can't and won't call you on a lack of sincerity on your part. Don't be naïve and think you can lie to the world, you'll get caught William and pay for it dearly.

William: So I guess that's a no.

Holderman: We'll see what fate has in store for you. (reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a deck of cards and begins to shuffle) I'll cut you a deal you can't beat. We'll both draw a card. If I get the higher card, you leave and never return, if you get it, we continue as planned and try to put this behind us. If there is a tie, we draw again. Do you understand?

William: (nods excitedly) If I win you'll teach me?

Holderman: If what you did last night is any good at least. But yes, I will continue. (Shuffles some more and then lets William cut it. William pulls off the top card and starts to raise it to his eye when Holderman grabs his wrist to stop him) There's a catch to this Game William. You don't look at your card, you just show it to me and I tell you what it is. You'll do the same for my card. So now hold it up where only I can see it. (William does so) You have a three dear William, things don't look good for you.

William: But a two or a three for you would…

Holderman: Yes, it would. Either a tie or a win would save you, but be realistic about the odds. (Draws the next card and shows it to William)

William: (looks at it and thinks for a few moments) You have a t-t-t-t-tw… (upset) You have a seven goddammit. You have a seven. (long pause, rocking gently in his seat) I guess I'll be leaving now.

Holderman: (turns the card over and looks at it) So I do. So I do. (William starts toward the door and reaches to open it when Holderman calls out) You don't need to leave William, you have passed my test fine.

William: (confused) Test?

Holderman: Yes, test. This one of the pass/fail variety.

William: (eagerly sits back down) So this whole card game was just a test?

Holderman: Yes, exactly.

William: But how did you know the cards that would be drawn?

Holderman: When I was younger I would frequent Vegas. I knew a blackjack dealer who could stack any deck in any casino he worked. He was kind enough to show me a few tricks.

William: (amazed) But I cut the cards.

Holderman: To exactly where you were supposed to cut them. Besides, it's marked deck, I knew what I had even before I flipped it.

William: So what would have done if I had said two?

Holderman: Physically remove you from my home. That's what.

William: (deep sigh) So now what?

Holderman: Now I think you have learned today's lesson. You will walk away from here wiser than when you came in.

William: (confused) I see, what about the things I did last night.

Holderman: (scratches chin) Leave them where they are, I'll go over them tonight and I shall see you tomorrow. We can discuss them then.

William: Ok, do I have an assignment for tomorrow.

Holderman: (Tosses him the deck of cards) Yes, learn to read the marked cards and a card trick for tomorrow. I'll explain why then. The instructions for the cards are in the box and you can ask about anyone for a card trick.

William: (sits up) Ok… I guess that's it then.

Holderman: For today…

William: Yes… for today.

Holderman: Be back at the usual time tomorrow, I'll be here.

William: Ok, so will I. (Starts to leave)

Holderman: William, one more thing. If your mother asks you where you got those bruises on your face, well, don't be a fool and carry today's lesson too far.

William: (looks over at Holderman) Ok, I won't.

Holderman: Good boy, now go on.

William: (nods and exits)

William: So?

Holderman: So…

William: What do you want me to do?

Holderman: You were supposed to learn a card trick were you not?

William: Yes.

Holderman: Motioning toward the coffee table, may I see it?

William: (Pulls the coffee table closer to him) Well, I’m not very good at it, but I’ll show you what I got.

Holderman: (sarcastically) I can hardly wait.

William: (fans the cards out for Holderman) Pick a card. (Holderman complies) Now look at at it and then place it at the bottom of the deck. (Holderman does so and William begins to lightly shuffle the deck) Now I’m going to turn over the cards one by one and I’ll tell you which card is yours. (Turns over about ten cards) You had the ten of spades did you not?

Holderman: (slightly impressed) Interesting trick William, not bad for a night’s work. Though I’ve seen that one before it’s one that requires some good shuffling. You’ve come a long way.

William: (settling back) Yeah, it’s amazing what that little book in the deck can teach you.

Holderman: Yes it is. It’s a wonderful little book.

William: (moment of silence) So…

Holderman: Hm?

William: So what does it mean?

Holderman: What does what mean?

William: The card trick, you making me learn the trick. What does it mean? What’s the point? Everything you’ve had me do up to this point has had some kind of lesson or deeper meaning. What’s the purpose behind it?

Holderman: Does it have to have a purpose?

William: (raising voice slightly) With you, yes, it does.

Holderman: (amused) Some things are what they are William. A card trick is but a card trick. It’s an illusion like most other things in the world. Entertaining, but meaningless.

William: So I stayed up late to learn that trick for nothing.

Holderman: (chuckles) You now have a wonderful trick to fool your friends with and breathe life into any party. I would hardly call that nothing.

William: (stands up and paces some) So let me get this straight. This has no deeper meaning, no larger purpose nor anything to do with poetry at all.

Holderman: Nothing at all.

William: Are you still trying to get me back for lying to you? Trying to make me feel stupid or something?

Holderman: (stands up and raises his voice) How dare you mention that again! I’ve spent the past 24 hours trying to put that behind me so I can help mold a future poet. My goal is not to make you feel stupid, though I now think you need to, it is not beat you, to turn you into a model citizen or anything, just to make you (points) a writer. If you are going to second guess my work then you should leave… now.

William: (sits down hurriedly) Ok, ok, easy. I’m sorry. You need to learn to control your temper.

Holderman: (sitting down slowly) My temper is not the issue here and you know that. But I will make this note William. If you can’t tell what is completely devoid of depth and meaning, how can you every hope to find it where it does lurk?

William: (slyly) So there was a moral there after all.

Holderman: Not on purpose. I was trying to teach you a damn card trick, you’re the one trying to pull magic out of it.

William: So, then what is today’s lesson? If it has nothing to do with the cards, what is it?

Holderman: Just a simple question. Are you human?

William: What?

Holderman: Are… you… human?

William: I guess so (chuckle) I’m not a gorilla or anything.

Holderman: (leans in) There is more to being a human than your species William.

William: (puzzled) Ok…

Holderman: Humans are interesting creatures. We laugh, we cry, we feel joy and we feel pain. We’re all different, each with our own quirks and eccentricities. We each have certain events that define us, we are born, we die and we live an exciting life in between. If we’re lucky we feel the gamut of emotions from the agony of death the the highest highs of love.

William: (impatient) So what does this have to do with me?

Holderman: Your job William, is to be human. Hopefully you will write poetry to express the human experience. For that is what poetry is at its core, its a literary expression of what it means to live and die as a member of the human race. (voice rising) but to do that, to reach that, you must first learn how to be human inside and out.

William: Well, that’s all great, but I don’t think you can teach me how to be a “human”.

Holderman: (stands up and paces slowly) You’re right. I can’t. But I can at least give you a start. Every human I’ve known has had one thing that they excel at and one thing that they’re terrible at. One character trait and one character flaw. We have several candidates for your flaw William, but I ask you now, what do you do well?

William: (unsure) I… I… I… write well… I think.

Holderman: (glares at William) That’s up for debate but you’re missing the whole point! Your writing is not a part of your humanity, it is an expression, an extension of it. You need to find a way to establish who YOU are outside the pages of your notebook. Because as far as I can tell you’re just an identity-less blob who happens to write some mediocre poetry!

William: (stands up in anger) What the hell do you know about me old man? Huh? As far as I can tell you’re just a bitter old man trying to mess with some kid’s mind. What do you know about me? You know nothing! You hear me, you know NOTHING!

Holderman: (louder) Then teach me! Turn the teacher into the student, take control, take the reigns, teach me for once! (points finger) You come and you go from this room without leaving as much as an impression on my chair. Like some kind of phantom you enter and exit my life without leaving any kind of mark and that’s the problem with your poetry, it doesn’t leave a mark.

William: (sits down slowly, upset) So you’re saying it’s bad? That my poetry is bad?

Holderman: (sitting down slowly) I’m saying that you need to reach for the next level. That you are inches away from greatness but like a child reaching for a brass ring you are unable to grasp what is right in front of your face.

William: So… what can I do?

Holderman: (pacing) Tell me what you’re good at. What makes William, William? How do I distinguish you from the thousands of others of idiot youths I see out there roaming the streets. Besides writing, what is one thing that you do well?

William: (panicked) I don’t have any other talents!

Holderman: You have to have another talent. Do you hold your liquor well? Can you dance the flamenco? Do you play chess with the best of them? What about poker? Do you compete in athletics? (loudly) Can you do a damn thing besides writing?

William: I… I… I… I cook! Yes, I cook!

Holderman: (puzzled) You… cook?

William: Yeah! My dad was a chef in a fancy kitchen when I was young and he ended up teaching me a few things as I got older. I mean, I still have a lot to learn, but I’ve been told that I do it very well.

Holderman: (intrigued) Hm, the cook poet. I think I like that. Pardon my reaction but you understand kids your age don’t typically take up the whisk and bowl.

William: (blushing) It’s alright, I understand. (nervous chuckle) I don’t believe it either sometimes.

Holderman: You also have your assignment. Go home and make me something for tomorrow.

William: What would you like?

Holderman: Whatever you do best.

William: Wait a minute, does this have something to do with my poetry?

Holderman: (raises voice slightly) It’s at the very heart of the matter, your humanity is at stake here. The quality of your dish might as well define your quality as a human and in turn a poet.

William: Well, I’ll do my best then.

Holderman: (walking toward the door, speaks without looking at him) William, take the cards with you on your way out.

William: (begins to gather them) Why?

Holderman: Because if this whole cooking thing doesn’t work out, you’re going to need another talent to fall back on… (opens door)

William: Ok… (looks around uneasy as he finishes gathering the cards)

(William exits)

Holderman: (Making his way to his chair) I see you brought your dish. What is it?

William: (Sitting down) It was one of the specialties of my dad's old restaurant, Chicken Parmesan.

Holderman: (Sitting down) Chicken Parmesan?

William: Yes. Chicken Parmesan.

Holderman: (Leaning over the dish and examining it) You'll have to forgive my skepticism William, but I've eaten at many nice restaurants and while Chicken Parmesan has almost always been on the menu, it's hardly been the house specialty.

William: (Leans in as well) That's because you've never had THIS Chicken Parmesan (points at dish for emphasis)

Holderman: Very well. (Grabs the plastic fork and knife out of the container and takes a bite) Mmmm I've never had Chicken Parmesan quite this spicy before. What's in it?

William: (Chuckles) I can't tell you all my secrets can I?

Holderman: (Chuckles) I suppose not. It's a very interesting dish and while it's no my favorite, still very good. I'll just have to get used to the spice.

William: Well, I'll tell you this, the owner of the restaurant my dad used to work at was part Cajun. He used to experiment with putting Cajun spices in otherwise normal food. The Chicken Parmesan was one of his successes.

Holderman: (Takes another bite) I'd hate to taste his failures.

William: (Soft Chuckle) Some were quite awful. But his restaurant did have a very loyal if small group of customers.

Holderman: What happened to this restaurant.

William: Oh it was in Washington D.C. you wouldn't know anything…

Holderman: I asked what happened to it, not where it was.

William: (Taken back) The recession of the 80's forced it to close. That's how I wound up way out here. My dad swore off cooking professionally after that found a job maintaining the appliances he once used to cook with.

Holderman: (Takes another bite) Interesting transition. What did you think of it?

William: (Scoffs) Oh I was very young then.

Holderman: I didn't ask how old you were, I asked you what you thought of it.

William: I-I-I don't know really. I didn't like it much. I had always thought of him as a chef and when he changed jobs it was hard to define him in my mind. I had always wanted to be like him, a cook, I guess I found his maintenance job to be less admirable even if it pays more and is just as essential.

Holderman: Interesting way of looking at it.

William: Yes, I guess it is. And that's twice you've done that now.

Holderman: Done what?

William: Said, "I didn't ask you that."

Holderman: (Forces a bite into his mouth) Then stick to the questions I ask you.

William: (Awkward silence) Then can I ask you one and you stick to it?

Holderman: (Takes another bite, sets down the knife and fork and looks directly at William) Yes.

William: Does this make me human?

Holderman: (bluntly) No.

William: But yesterday you said…

Holderman: (Loudly) It's a big step William, bigger than you realize, but just the first step on a long journey. You have so far to come that odds are I will be dead before you reach the end of your quest.

William: (sits back in his seat and thinks for a moment) There's no end to this is there?

Holderman: Everything has an end William, even if it is death, there is an end.

William: You're just going to keep jerking my chain to keep me coming over here so you can have some company aren't you? (Louder) Aren't you?

Holderman: If I wanted company I'd get a prostitute.

William: (Loudly) Nothing mattered, nothing meant anything. You just wanted someone to write poetry, show you a damn card trick and cook you a meal. This has nothing to do with making me a poet! It's about keeping your lonely ass company!

Holderman: (Stands up and points at door, shouting) If you believe that then leave! Leave now and don't come back! I can't keep you here by force. If you think that this is about keeping a lonely old man company then get the hell out.

William: (Stands up and heads toward door) Then I will!

Holderman: Fine! Live your life as you see fit, write all of the mediocre poetry you want. It'll be meaningless! Meaningless. You'll toil, you'll slave and you'll breathe but for what? What? You'll just grow old and fat, you'll be the lonely old man needing company and when you look back on your life you'll have nothing, NOTHING to be proud of. At least I left something genuine behind for the world to remember me by. You'll be lucky to leave behind your timecard.

William: (Turns around and gets in Holderman's face) You miserable old man. I have learned one thing from you and it's that I don't have to take the crap you put out. All you've done is insult me, berate me and make me do stupid tricks. All the while you hold the carrot of enlightenment farther and farther away, just to tease me more.

Holderman: (normal voice) You haven't learned a damn thing from me, just how to BE me. Look at yourself, your tone, your attitude, your words, you've learned how to copy my greatness, but you haven't found your own. If you leave now, you'll be nothing but an imitation, a mere copy of what you saw and felt. If that's what you want, then go. Go now. But if you want to find your own, then I suggest you stick around.

William: (Glances over his shoulder at his seat) Why should I?

Holderman: Because you've now forgotten who you are and if you're to find that, you'll need at least one more lesson.

William: (looks at him quizzically) One more lesson? Just one?

Holderman: Just one. Just one to find yourself again.

William: Then what?

Holderman: Then you decide what's next. If you don't like today's lesson, you can complete it and never return. No hard feelings if you don't. We'll go our separate ways and you'll at least have your identity back.

William: And if I return?

Holderman: (sitting down) I'll make you a poet yet.

William: (pauses a moment and sits down, faces Holderman) One lesson. (Long pause) You can go ahead now.

Holderman: What are the two things we define ourselves by?

William: What?

Holderman: What… are… the… two… things… we… define… ourselves… by…?

William: I… don't… know… Why don't you tell me?

Holderman: (Scowls at William) We are defined, entirely by two things, what we love and what we hate. Those questions are as simple and as bold as what we are and what we are not. They define our borders from both sides and are of equal importance in making us who we are.

William: Ok…

Holderman: So your assignment is to go home and make a list of ten things you love and ten things you hate. If you come back tomorrow, bring the list with you, if you don't, cherish it and read it at least once a week to remind you of what you stand for and who you are. Otherwise, I fear you'll lose it.

William: Is that all?

Holderman: Yes

William: (Stands up) Then I'm gone. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow.

Holderman: Maybe…

William: In case I don't, I guess I should thank you.

Holderman: Why?

William: Even if you've been son of a bitch, it's been interesting.

Holderman: I wish I could say the same for you.

William: What?

Holderman: You might have been interesting some day, but right now you're just a boring, identity-less clod.

William: (scowls at Holderman) We'll see about that.

Holderman: So we shall, now show yourself the door.

(William exits)

Holderman: I'm glad to see you decided to come back. I was worried you wouldn't.

William: Yeah, well I thought about it.

Holderman: I figured you would. But what changed your mind.

William: I just had to see you one more time. I guess I couldn't stay away.

Holderman: I suppose that's all well and good. Did you make your lists that you promised me?

William: (Stands up and runs his fingers through his hair) Well, you see, I couldn't do it.

Holderman: (Angry) Why not?

William: (Nervous chuckle) Well, you see, you asked me to do a list of ten things I loved and ten things I hate right?

Holderman: Right.

William: Well, I came up with ten things I love. You know, family, friends, so on. Real easy. But, when I tried to think of ten things I hate, I kept repeating the same thing over and over again.

Holderman: (Leans back in his seat, angrily sarcastic) Do tell.

William: (Soft Chuckle) You.

Holderman: Me.

William: (Points) You.

Holderman: I see.

William: (Starts pacing nervously) So, I decided to just scrap that assignment and bring something else to show you.

Holderman: What?

William: First, I have a new poem I wrote, especially for you (takes poem out of his pocket and sets it down on the table) and then I brought this (pulls out a small pistol from his pocket and points it at Holderman).

Holderman: (Looks up unimpressed) And why did you bring that?

William: (Shouting) Because ever since I started coming here you've been doing whatever you can to get a reaction out of me. You've done nothing but mess with my head, give me orders and do whatever you can to play with me all for your entertainment. Now it's my turn. You're going to do what I say.

Holderman: You need to take the safety off.

William: (Confused) What? (Clicks safety off, shaking badly)

Holderman: Your hand is trembling. If you shoot like that, you'll miss. Here, let me help you. (Grabs Williams arm and places the end of the gun against his forehead) There, much better.

William: (Looks around) What are you doing? Are you crazy? I'm not screwing around this gun's loaded!

Holderman: (Calmly) I've had much bigger guns pointed at me by much more dangerous people. Besides, I've lived a good life, if I die, I die content. But if that happens, then you'll die a lonely old man in prison.

William: (Squares up) I don't have a life to look forward to. Poetry WAS my life and now you have ruined it. I should kill you.

Holderman: Why don't you?

William: I don't know.

Holderman: Maybe because you need me? Maybe because I've pushed you over the edge and you need me to find your way back? Or maybe because you're too scared to?

William: (Softly) I don't know.

Holderman: Admit it William, you don't want to kill me. You want to scare me. You want to see me tremble. But look at you right now; even though you have the gun to my head, you're the one shaking like a leaf. You're not prepared to take my life, even to save your own.

William: (Shouts) Shut up.

Holderman: You know I'm right William, you know it. (pauses) William?

William: What?

Holderman: If you had wanted to kill me, you would have put a clip in the gun.

William: (Lowers gun, slowly) You son of a bitch. (Sits down hard and puts his head in his hand) You knew all along didn't you?

Holderman: It wouldn't have mattered. You fear spending the rest of you life in jail more than you hate me.

William: (Shakes his head) You must be pretty good with guns to have been able to pull that one.

Holderman: I know a few things. For one I know that's a pretty rare pistol you're holding, a .22 I believe. Where did it come from?

William: (Looks at the gun) It's my dad's, I think he said it came from a pawnshop. I think he got it and a couple of clips for a few hundred.

Holderman: It's a great pistol. Might I see it?

William: Sure, what the hell. (Goes to hand Holderman the pistol, both men lean in for the exchange and as soon as both their hands touch the pistol it goes off and both men jump back hard and the pistol goes flying.) (Shouting) Holy… What the? Oh My God, Holderman! Are you ok?

Holderman: (Groans loudly and stretches out on the couch, clutching his abdomen)

William: (Frantic) Oh my God, you've been shot! I've got to get a doctor? Where's the phone? Where's the phone? Oh God, Oh God.

Holderman: (Holds his hand up to signal William) Don't bother.

William: (Dashes over and kneels by Holderman) Are you going to be ok? How bad is it?

Holderman: Bad enough. Bad enough.

William: How did this happen? It wasn't loaded. I swear!

Holderman: I know, I know. There must have been a bullet in the chamber William. It happens all the time.

William: (More frantic) I got to get a doctor you should be saving your breath (Stands up) I'm going to go call 911. I just hope the police will understand. Oh my God I'm going to jail aren't I?

Holderman: (Grabs William by the shirt and pull him back down beside him). Don't bother. Nothing can save me now William. They can just prolong the inevitable. Will you please hand me the poem you wrote?

William: Huh?

Holderman: The poem you brought with you, it's on the table.

William: Oh, that, you don't want to see that now do you?

Holderman: Now more than ever. Hand it to me, now!

William: (Spins around, scoops up the poem and thrusts it into Holderman's hand, Holderman unfolds it and begins to read it, some time passes.)

Holderman: It's very good William, extremely good. There's not much more I could teach you anyway, the rest of your lessons will have to be on your own. I'm just glad to know you're ready.

William: (Sits down on the floor) Yeah, I guess I'll have a lot of time to write in prison won't I?

Holderman: No one is going to jail William. Hand me the gun would you?

William: (Searches for a second and finds the gun, picks it up and hands it to Holderman) What do you want this for?

Holderman: (Pulls out a handkerchief and begins wiping the gun down) Because I can't let one of the great future poets of our time rot away in some jail cell for an accident. (Clutches the gun tight to leave his fingerprints)

William: (Shouting) What are you doing!?

Holderman: Saving you. The police will ask you about this. Tell them that I asked to see your father's gun. I was a fan of antique pistols and you left it over here by accident. After you leave I'll pen a suicide note that will say pretty much the same thing. I have a very well known and distinct style of handwriting. It'll match and the police won't question it.

William: They won't buy it. They'll just accuse me of covering up your murder.

Holderman: Men like me die every day William. No one cares. The police won't waste their time on this. But you had better get moving. I need to think about what I'm going to say in my suicide note. These aren't easy things to write you know.

William: (Sighs) I can't leave you.

Holderman: You have to. Otherwise, my life and my death were all in vain. Go now, save yourself and carry the torch for me. You have a lot of work to do William; you had best get on it. I'll tie up the loose ends around here.

William: (stands up and walks over to the door) You sure?

Holderman: I'm sure, GO!

William: (Pauses) I know I haven't always been nice to you, but I am going to miss you.

Holderman: Wait a minute; I have two favors to ask of you. First, will you be at my funeral.

William: Of course.

Holderman: Good, sign your name real big in the guest book, make it look like someone actually showed up.

William: (Soft smile) Got it.

Holderman: Two, dedicate a book to me will you?

William: I'll dedicate them all to you, every last one.

(William exits)