Night Becomes Mourning…an excerpt

LOURDES: Isn’t this my reckoning? 

EARLE: Is this a tragedy?

LOURDES: I hope not. 

EARLE: Listen. I’m not what you think I should be to you. I’m a user. Resentful. Angry and never satisfied. I’m unfaithful. I was unfaithful and that’s why I’m alone. Not because of anything I wanted my life to be. I’m here because I can’t be where I want to be.


EARLE: No matter how much you feel you can handle the situation. I’ll always look for the exit.

LOURDES smiles.

LOURDES: Of course you will.

EARLE: The only way I can take something from you is if you let me. 

LOURDES: And I let you. Because I wanted you. 


EARLE: Don’t be stupid. Play your cards better.

EARLE starts to move toward the door.

LOURDES: We need to finish this.

EARLE: What do yo think we can give each other?

LOURDES: This is a two way street. It didn’t just happen because I willed it to happen. You wanted something out of this.

EARLE: I got what I wanted.


LOURDES: I’ve never been able to understand your infatuation with Instagram. Perhaps that’s where it all is in terms of the deterioration of relationships, right? All stuck in a blip.

EARLE: . . .

LOURDES: Shallow games. Self worth tied to the “likes.” All Emojis and manipulations targeting for acknowledgement.

EARLE: You don’t post.

LOURDES: You noticed?


LOURDES: Texts.  Insta-posts. 

EARLE: Where are you going with this?

LOURDES: Blips don’t replace real connections. One can’t compete. I..I found myself going deep into their portal to find the truth about people. It became a distorted truth I’d think into my circle of want. Because in this brave new world, that’s the way we resort to find our place. This technology, held tight in our grip, begins to believe that people’s posts are their intuitive truths, their true first thoughts. But they’re masks? 

EARLE: They’re curated.

LOURDES: I found myself spending hours, scrolling posts, trying to find some understanding. Something you’d reveal so I’d know what you thought. If you’d thought about me. I posted for your to see me. Then, I had the brilliant idea of writing you a text. Participate on your level sorta speak.  Hoping there would be a cascade of conversation that would spark more, and more, and then open into something more meaningful. 

EARLE: Curated conversations.

LOURDES: But you didn’t play. So I swore it off. Had no interest communicating that way. Too much misunderstanding or avoidance. But there is something that kept calling me back. Our moments together lifted me. Made me feel I was doing something right. 

EARLE: I’m flattered but I’ve nothing worth giving.

LOURDES: Maybe you never stopped long enough to take notice.

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