04 April 2009

It's time for you to go.

We're going to play a little game, peep-hole. We've been down this road before, but it seems to me we need a refresher course.

Read this phrase:

"It's time for you to go."

Did you read it?
Question is, how did you read it?

Picture a mother, lost in thought. She looks up at the clock and sees the time. "Oh my! How late it is! William! It's time for you to go. You're gonna miss the bus again."

Picture a young wife, stomach bursting with a child inside, standing beside her young husband in uniform. She looks over his shoulder and sees his company filing single file onto the waiting bus.
"William," she says. "We'll be all right, don't you worry. I'll send word when the baby comes. I have so much I want to say... so much more to tell you, but... it's time for you to go. I love you, William." She fights off the urge to cry, blinks away the oncoming tears and kisses him good-bye, knowing it may be the last kiss between them. "Be safe," she says.

Picture a woman in ragged clothing on her knees, washing down the worn floor with a soiled cloth. She brushes her loose, greasy-with-sweat bangs from her eyes and sighs deeply. She eyes the bloodstain she's been straining to clean, and starts scrubbing once more. She speaks to the floor with labored and deliberate speech, one word per scrub: "You are the only evidence left of William; that no-good, beatin,' cheatin' bastard... You've put up quite a fight... but now, dear blood, it's time for you to go."

Picture an older, affluent woman with her hand on her opulent hip. Her other hand is on the front door knob. The door is wide open. The stately, refined woman is clearly ticked. Facing her is a young man holding pictures of her husband in a compromising position with, what the man states, is his young wife, Monica.
The man smiles and says, "We're both reasonable adults here. Clearly you wouldn't want your husband's good name tarnished, would you? Not with the upcoming election. What do you think his constituents would say if they saw these pictures, say, on the front page of tomorrow's Times? I believe, Mrs. Clinton, we could come to some sort of financial agreement..."
"It's time for you to go," she says.

Picture a man, standing in his wife's closet among her designer dresses and expensive pumps. In one shaking hand he holds a love letter to her from his best friend. In the other, a gun. His wife stands behind him, her face riddled with guilt, shame, fear and defiance. Without turning to face her, he says, defeated, "I think... it's time for you to go."
She steps forward, hand out and says, "But, William... please... let me expl..."
"I SAID IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO GO!"

Picture a woman seated in a chair beside a hospital bed. She's on death watch. She looks at her brother's badly beaten face, and the tubes and wires keeping him tied to this world. "Oh, William," she says to the comatose man. "Who did this to you?"
"I'm really, truly sorry, Miss. But..."
She looks up to see the young nurse standing in her brother's hospital room doorway.
"What?" she asks.
"Visiting hour is over, Miss. It's time for you to go."

I've said it before and I'll say it again. The tone you put to a written word when you read it is your choice and your choice alone. You bring in your own perceptions, your ideals, your prejudices... and you decide what I'm saying by how you choose me to be saying it. You decide what I'm saying by judging me... by coming to your own conclusions - without any real evidence - of who I am and what I meant by that.
I'm kinda like your puppet in a way. If you want to laugh, my words will make you chuckle. But, if you wanna be angry, my words will make you mad.

More's the pity.

But, now... it's time for me to go... fix dinner.
Thanks for playing.

And remember: There are no losers in the game of life - but that's okay because there aren't any clear winners, either. Get over yourself. Stop keeping a score card. Who cares?

In Joy & Enjoy

pass the popcorn, please!