EXITS ARE - Alan Stewart Carl

/\_/\_/\/ JOHN WILKES BOOTH IN HELL \/\_/\_/\

By Mike Meginnis and Alan Stewart Carl

a: Smell the back of the man's head. Luxuriate in it.

m: The smell is like the inside of a hat. There is sweat in the smell though there is no sweat in the hair. It smells like shaving cream. The head does not move. It does not turn. The cold thing in your hand feels heavy. You are not sure that you can lift it.

a: Consider the proximity of bone and flesh and the velocity of metal. Find strength in that. Find endurance.

m: There is a show in the theatre but no one remembers what it is. You can't see it around the head. The head wants to open. It wants to burst.

a: Recognize the farce that plays below. Judge the actors inferior in their portrayals, in their honor. Then, burst the head.

m: The head explodes. Now you have to run. Now you have to ride the horse to Maryland. Now you have to hole up in the Virginia farm. Now you have to drink and curse and wait for them to come. You've got to sleep in the barn, on the hay.

a: Examine clothing for remnants of the man. Try to find aspects of his mind. Try to pick off fragments of his being. Take each of these and ingest them, savor them. Let them slide inwards and help bring a more restful sleep on the hay.

m: You find and eat an ear. And flecks of scalp. He tastes like a president. There is something powdered in the taste. But it doesn't calm your stomach. You know you will die soon because you always know that you will always die soon, because you always do, and do and do. Your conspirator milks the cow. He brings you the milk. It is thick and sort of yellow. You have to drink it. You have to go without food because there is no food in the barn and because you are afraid to leave the barn. You have to wait for it to happen.

a: Tell conspirator that death is its own conspiracy. Tell conspirator that he too will fall and fall and fall. Tell him everything that will happen already has been determined. Tell him that the head always bursts and that the ear always clings to the coat at that the milk always and always tastes like earth and dung. Then drink the milk and holler wildly at the walls of the barn.

m: The barn threatens to collapse. But it can't collapse until you’re dead, when the law will burn it down. First the law must come. First your conspirator must surrender. First the law must call on you to do the same. And you must refuse. Perhaps you want to give in. You can't give in. You're so tired. You look tired, anyway. The law calls on you to surrender but you must rage and howl. You must recite Shakespeare. The law does not know Shakespeare. They called you a natural genius. You have to let the law gun you down.

a: Resist the urge to soliloquy 'to be or not to be.' Go with Henry IV instead. Go with a grace the law cannot know. Abdicate this life. Abdicate this burden. Understand the price is little. Forfeit an actor for a president. Forfeit an actor for a nation. Ready whatever weapon is in possession. Fire indiscriminately at the law and curse them with words their simple minds cannot comprehend. Fire until there is nothing left but gunpowder and blood.

a: Smile miserably.

a: Whisper to the man. Tell him he can do nothing. Tell him to enjoy the farce in all its expected repetitions. Tell him his ear has the flavor of a sow.

m: The man's head does not answer you. If he saw you would he scream? Or would he merely watch and wait for you to pull the trigger? His eyes always look sad in the pictures but you never really saw his eyes. They burst also. You are John Wilkes Booth. The theatre is too warm. There is a cold thing in your hand. Cold. There are no exits here.

a: Remember childhood. Remember the before. Remember the smell of greasepaint and the sound of the boards beneath boots. Try to recall if there was a woman once. Try to recall her face. Say her name. Apologize for what needs apology. Tell her this is always for her. Then, burst the head.

m: Blood stains the hair of the woman's head beside the man's head. Now you have to run. Now you have to ride the horse to Maryland. The horse is named Romeo. He is not a pretty horse. His hooves strain and split from how you ride him. Blood in her hair. She must have turned her head to see what happened. You don't remember her eyes. Only her curls.

a: Ponder the inopportune name Romeo. Question who loves who. Question what is sacrificed for what. Make a chopping motion at the air with a pretend sword. Picture those same curls on all other women. Weep openly about this.

m: You have to hide in the barn. But do you want to hide in the barn? Is it even worth the effort?

a: Burn barn preemptively.

m: Now you cannot hide in the barn and you cannot sleep in the hay, and your conspirator will not bring you the milk because it was his barn. His, and you burnt it. Now you can't do anything you have to do.

a: Debate whether or not this is a fallacy. Weigh the possibilities ahead and the veracity of premonition. Taste the earth and dung of the milk. Taste it a thousand times and wonder if its absence is a thing of joy or sorrow.

m: The cow is named Juliette, and ours is not to reason why, and now that you are not in the Virginia barn the law cannot find you, and your conspirator cannot surrender, and there is all this road. The sun is in the shape of a head. The back of a head. With the ears and thinning hair, and all shining.

a: Go toward the setting of the sun. Go to goddamn Texas. Go to a farm and a woman who is more sturdy than pretty. Bury all the guns. Bury all the fragments clinging to my coats and trousers. Swear to never speak a word of Shakespeare again. Bludgeon Romeo and leave him for the crows and dogs.

m: Now what. (There is no one to murder here. No one proper.) Now what. (The sun has golden shoulders.) Now what. (The sun is watching a play.) (But you can't see the play.) So now what. (The sturdy woman spends her evenings pretending to be furniture; a chair, a table.) NOW WHAT. (NOW WHAT.)

a: Take up knitting. Abandon knitting. Take up cattle rustling. Abandon cattle rustling. Take up silversmithing. Take up barkeeping. Take up cards. Take up dice. Take up standing beneath the golden shoulders of the sun and wishing to hell it would look like the back of a head again. Stare until there comes a blindness. Stare until the sturdy wife can no longer be seen and her hair can be imagined as curls. Smell those imagined curls. Try to luxuriate in them.

m: One day the Devil comes to visit. He knocks on your door because he is polite. He looks like Edwin, your brother. (You can see the Devil through the door because you cannot see the door, because you are blind to everything but the sun and the Devil.) His hair is like a raccoon's pelt, unkempt and thick and tangled. He smokes a long, white cigarette, hand-rolled. It smells like the inside of a hat.

a: Say 'To what do I owe the honor.' Say 'Or is it dishonor?' Resist the urge to snatch the cigarette and take a puff. Give into urge and smack hand against door. Curse the Lord. Reconsider this and curse the Devil. Reconsider again and curse self. Curse self repeatedly. Observe whether or not this affects the Devil in any way.

m: The Devil puffs his cigarette a little nervously, as if expecting some bad effect from your cursing. But nothing bad happens, and neither does anything good. He waits outside the door for you to let him in. He clears his throat. "You are failing your Hell," he says, through the cracks in the door.

a: Take a long moment to consider the implications of failing Hell. Wonder, for a moment, if this is a test. Remember Job. Reject this thought. Tell the Devil he may come in if he loans one of those cigarettes. Breathe in deeply of the scent. Breathe it in as if there will be no breath after.

m: He slides one of the cigarettes in through a crack in your door to show he is serious. Once you have let him in he sits down on your wife, who is pretending to be a chair. He doesn't seem to know she is only pretending. "You have to do it again," he says. "The Great Emancipator is growing in your absence."

a: Remember that head. Remember the sow's taste of an ear and the earth-dung taste of Juliette's milk. Remember those curls whose imagined placement upon the sturdy wife has been so unsatisfactory. Seethe at the term The Great Emancipator. Realize the foolishness of own emancipation. Tell the Devil to get off wife and make a respectable offer. Light cigarette and wait as if not the least bit conflicted.

m: The Devil says, "Here is my offer. I will let you burst the head. And in return you will burst that head I let you burst." He chews his cigarette.

a: Experience a profound moment of self-awareness and of one's greater role in the order of things. Find this role better than anonymity. Find this role a rather fine and even necessary role. Quote Iago and let the words rattle. Let them rage.

m: You are John Wilkes Booth. The theatre is too warm. The theatre has a dry heat. You are gazing at the back of a man's head. His hair is thinning in the back. It looks soft. You can almost smell it. There is a cold thing in your hand. Cold. There are no exits here. BUT THE HEAD IS THE SUN. IT IS SHAPED LIKE THE SUN THAT IS SHAPED LIKE A HEAD. THE SUN AND ALL ITS GOLDEN SHOULDERS. THE SUN AND ITS BLINDING BRIGHT EARS. THE SUN AND THE SUN'S THINNING HAIR. AND THERE ARE NO EXITS HERE.

a: Rejoice. Then, burst the head.

Bio: Alan Stewart Carl is a writer, father, teacher and so on. He lives in San Antonio and often writes about things that can never happen. You can track him down for complaints, compliment or digital stalking at AlanStewartCarl.com

home.