The Miraculous Plot of Leiter & Lott (40 page)

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The stars are bright tonight, although the supernova has long faded out of sight. When I sit in the yard with Picasso beside me, I can see more stars with my eyes than I once could.
 
But Picasso looks up and wonders what I'm looking at. There's no moon out, so he doesn't understand. He licks at my hand whenever I raise the binoculars toward a certain patch of sky. Why am I putting this thing to my eyes?
 
When I lower it again to the ground, I feel an ant on my hand.
 
Maybe there is a smaller creature on the ant, but I can't see it. I can't even see the ant.
 
I will let it bite me once more, if it likes.
 
But I will give Picasso a nice bath, all the same.

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I waited for you again today, Mother, outside the department store.
 
I remember how you would cross to my car with that gentle smile of yours, always expecting me to be there, and I never let you down, did I?
 
I sat in my car today in the usual spot.
 
I looked at the door where you always came out after work, so long ago.
 
But when the door opened, the woman didn't look anything like you.
 
So I couldn't imagine saying the words I never said when you were alive.
 
Maybe you knew I loved you, though, just by my waiting there every day?
 
Will you forgive me, Mom, for not saying it?
 
I wasted so much time arguing with you, and for what? That time is gone. I can never get it back. This is no dress rehearsal. I know that now. I always imagined a different future, but it never happened. It never will. Forgive me. Forgive me. For now I must release you and Melissa now, too, instead of living with this pain.
 
You would want that for me, wouldn't you?
 
Peace and happiness are things all parents want for their children.
 
So I will say goodbye one last time to Melissa too, and at the gazebo where we were married, with Picasso at my side.
 
I will try, anyway, I promise.
 
What will happen, I'm not sure.
 
Perhaps this tear on my cheek will tear open the fabric of space and time to reach you with the truth that I love you, Mother.
 
I do.
 
What is love?
 
It is like gravity. So hard to understand, or to live without.
 
It is what holds the universe together, and on some level I have yet to see. A quantum reality, invisible, unfailing, mysterious, I believe it can bend all things to penetrate and link them together as one. I hope it can. In the presence of this moment, it is not all we ever truly own?

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Found the grave of a little girl today in the cemetery of an old church.
 
She died at age four in 1923.
 
I cried for a long time, but then I stopped, Melissa.
 
I stopped. Because life is a gift.

TRANSCRIPTS FROM "TIME OUT,"

KTAT--CHANNEL 7, TUCSON, ARIZONA.

Hosted by Valerie Lott

Produced by Valerie Lott and Greg Lomax

Opening Voiceover:

VO:)
 
Snapshots.
 
Photos.
 
Instants in time, passing instantly.
 
Why do we take so many?
 
Is it to hold onto a moment?
 
To remember and define it?
 
Care must be taken not to make snap judgments, or to resist what is, for there is only one chance to see, and that time is now.
 

SHOW 2, SEGMENT 1:
 
Mrs. Joyce Collins

LOCATION:
 
Her daughter's bedroom

Camera pans slowly across Sarah's original charcoal drawings on the walls before settling on Mrs. Collins herself.

Valerie Lott:)
 
Sarah was very shy.

Joyce Collins)
 
Yes, she was.
 
(a pause)
 
I mean, she was always interested in art and literature, I guess. Poetry in particular. Kids at school thought she was a geek, though, apparently. That's why she dressed like she did.
 
(Another pause)
 
Not that we approved of that, but we understood why she needed to do it.

VL:)
 
She had a tattoo.

JC, looking down:)
 
Yes, we were very upset about that.

(Camera slowly examines Mrs. Collins' own demure, matronly clothing, focusing at last on her neatly folded hands)

JC:)
 
It's true she never said much about her friends, but it's not like we didn't know what was going on, either.

VL:)
 
What was that?

JC:)
 
Nothing. Nothing at all. We never allowed cigarettes, much less drugs, in this house. She wasn't even allowed to date yet, or to play rock music.
 
Sarah was a good girl. She didn't just go to high school, Ms. Lott, she also went to Sunday school.

VL:)
 
A requirement.

JC:)
 
Do you disapprove?

VL:)
 
Not at all. I'm trying to understand.

JC:)
 
What's to understand? Some creep killed my little girl, just for the kicks, and now the police are too busy to devote the manpower to find out who.

VL:)
 
How would finding out help you?

JC:)
 
There would be some small thread of justice, then. The evil person who did this would pay. And we'd have closure, too.

VL:)
 
Closure. Like the end to a story, you mean?

JC:)
 
What else would I mean?

(The camera pans to Sarah's tidily made bed, and her photo beside it)

VL:)
 
Did Sarah keep a diary, Mrs. Collins?

JC:)
 
I heard the cops found one in her locker at school, yes.

VL:)
 
Did you read it?

JC:)
 
No, I'd never read Sarah's diary.

VL:)
 
Would you like to read it now? Because we can ask them to give it to you.

(Camera zooms to the dark space beneath Sarah's bed, then pans to another
closeup
, revealing the irritated expression on Mrs. Collins' face)

JC:)
 
What did I just say?

(Camera now slowly backs off to show Mrs. Collins sitting stiffly in her daughter's desk chair.
 
When she looks away, the camera pans toward the window where she looks, past the drawing of a unicorn, and stops to focus on how a slight breeze flutters the curtains.
 
Fade.)

SEGMENT 2:
 
Rikki
Campion, age 19.

LOCATION:
 
Dark Roast Roost on 4th Avenue, downtown Tucson, evening.

Camera pans the coffee shop's retro Hippie decor, with its psychedelic posters, couches, bean bags chairs, and heavy wooden booths.
Rikki
sits in one of the booths, gazing out at passing window shoppers. Then she looks into the camera and holds up one fist, which she opens to reveal the lifelike tattoo of an eye.
 
Her own eyes are accentuated by intricately applied purple makeup, and she grins.

Rikki
Campion:)
 
This is new. Like it?

Valerie Lott, off camera:) Yes, although the two eyes you already have are more beautiful.

RC:) Think so, huh?
 
(
Rikki
lowers her hand and looks away)

VL:)
 
Did you know Sarah Collins thought they were beautiful, too?

RC:)
 
Who told you that?

VL:)
 
Sarah did. In her diary.

RC, surprised:)
 
You read her diary?

VL:)
 
Would you like to read it too?

(A small brown book with a unicorn on the cover is slid in front of
Rikki
.
 
She looks down at it, tentatively reaches for it, then hesitates)

RC:)
 
What else does it say about me?
 
(No answer; a pause; she looks back out the window with a cynical smile)
Did she write a poem about me, too?
 
(No answer)
 
I don't know what you want me to say. Sarah's gone. I don't know who did it.
 
I didn't even know Sarah, really. She just showed up an' started
hangin
' around.
 
Nobody really noticed her at first, but after a while, I
dunno
, we just kinda got used to her being there. So we showed her stuff. Not like I was her mentor or anything. Just kinda felt sorry for her, is all.
 

VL:)
 
Where did she get the tattoo?

RC:)
 
Hey, I got no idea. Okay? Some college punk picked her up once, and a week later she showed up with it. I didn't call it a tattoo, though. Called it a brand. Because if she seemed lost before, that was nothing compared to after.

VL:)
 
How do you mean?

RC:)
 
Like she'd been broken. Beat up, or something. Not bruised on the outside, just black and blue with clothes and smeared-on makeup.
 

VL:)
 
Date rape?

RC:)
 
I guess.

VL:)
 
That ever happen to you?

RC, giggling:)
 
There's a leap.
 
(a pause)
 
Me, I had a nasty Uncle, on my father's side.
 
Can't really call those dates, though, can ya?
 
(laughs)
 
Only rapes after that for me was me doing the raping.

(Camera focuses on
Rikki
gazing out the window)

VL:)
 
Do you have any siblings,
Rikki
?

RC:)
 
Had an older brother.
 
Except he committed suicide. Why do they always use the word 'commit,' do ya think? Anyway, I heard he got the whole hell fire and brimstone routine growing up with my mother, until he went to work as a bus driver. Never spent money on himself, lived in a cheap apartment out near the airport. Then one day he up and quit, hopped a plane to Rio. Apparently went to Carnival there. Spent his savings at the Casino, then jumped off the roof. I found the hotel he jumped from on Google Earth, it's opposite Copacabana beach. Did you know you can make out individual cars on the street with Google? Pretty amazing, huh?

VL:)
 
Do you have a sister,
Rikki
?

RC:)
 
Sister?

VL:)
 
Like Sarah.

RC:)
 
Nope.

VL:)
 
Did you know she sold herself to be on an internet porn site?

(No answer)
   

VL:)
 
They called her the little Goth girl. They used her in videos for an overseas child porn site, claiming she was even younger than she was. After they took her innocence, then they dumped her.

(
Rikki
looks down at the diary in front of her, doesn't speak)

VL:)
 
Sarah wanted to be loved. Just for someone to accept her for who she was.
 
She didn't know, herself.
 

(
Rikki
continues to stare at the diary.
 
Camera now slowly pans the coffee shop's other patrons, sipping their drinks and talking.)

VL:)
 
When I walked by her that night, I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say. I had my own problems. Everyone does. And what would I say?
 
More of what everyone says, or everyone expects to be said. Platitudes, anecdotes, witticisms. Words we hide behind just like we hide behind memories, thoughts, and even deeds. It's why we sometimes feel lonely, even in a crowd.
 
It's why a vulnerable girl can slip so easily through the cracks, unnoticed, after giving up hope and becoming a willing victim. Like a suicide.
    

(Camera returns, focusing on Valerie's face for the first time)

VL:)
 
Her given name was Sarah, but the name itself was only a symbol
.
 
Like "apple" or "justice" or "God." Not very useful unless you experience a connection with the reality toward which the word points.

(Camera moves to
Rikki
, who is reading the diary.
 
A tear runs downs
Rikki's
cheek.
 
Dissolve to the photo of Sarah that was beside her bed in the previous segment.
 
Fade.)