Story Line and Plot for Blindsight

Storyline
NOTE: This is an experimental story. Almost all of the Judy scenes are from the point of view of her repressed imaginary friend who is child-like and sing-songy. At times she is not very linear and her language is simple and sometimes abstract.

Judy is a troubled woman who is struggling with depression and mental illness. She has a repressive, overbearing mother and has problems with intimacy. She used to have an imaginary friend called Judy-Soul, who knows the truth about the memory Judy is suppressing. Judy-Soul still speaks to her, but Judy doesn’t trust her and wants her to stop talking. Through speaking with her mother, she is convinced that her father, who committed suicide years ago, molested Judy as a child, Judy goes home to kill herself. She undresses, draws a bath and slits her wrists, and passes into unconscious.

Meanwhile on a roof across from Judy’s house, an obsessed voyeur has cataloged all the times that various women in the buildings across the street come home and the opportunities he has to see them undress. He has his regulars, but he is most obsessed with Judy, whom he has never seen naked. On this night however, she leaves the curtains open and he gets to see his fantasy fulfilled. However, he them noticed that she gets in the tub, and through his binoculars he can see that she has cut herself. He throws things at the window to try to get her attention but he cannot, so he climbs out on the ledge to try to break the window with an old mop hande. In the midst of this, the police arrive on the other roof and distract him, causing him to fall to his death, but not before breaking the window. The police investigate the window he broke and wind up saving Judy, who is alive, but now comatose, lost in a dream where Judy-Soul has taken over her mind and made her realize that the molestation memory is false and her father loved her.

Plot
Scene 1 Judy is at her mother’s house telling her that she wants to go to volumtarily commit herself into a mental institution to “rest.” Her mother mocks her. Judy-Soul, Judy’s inner voice is trying to calm Judy but it isn’t working. Her mother harasses Judy about Judy’s failed marriage, about Judy not being there when her father died, and insinuates that the father may have molested her. Judy refuses to discuss it and leaves the house to go home

Scene 2 On a roof across from her house a man with binoculars and a notebook is looking in women’s windows to try to see them undress. The notebook has the times the woman he has caught before come home. His fantasy is Judy, though he has only seen her take her shirt off once. He notices Judy’s light go on while he is checking out another window, and hurries over to look.

Scene 3 Judy is home and makes tea. Her mother calls to continue the conversation. Judy-Soul get very agitated trying make Judy remember things the right way, not the way her mother saw them, but Judy shuts the voice out. She is convinced that her father molested her. She hangs up with her mother, and goes into the bedroom, undresses, runs and bath and cuts her wrists.

Scene 4 The man sees Judy’s bedroom light go on, and masturbates as Judy undresses and runs a bath. He then runs away back to his house.

Scene 5 Judy is in the tub, losing consciousness. Judy-Soul is still trying to make her see the truth, but is getting weaker and weaker.

Scene 6 Back in his house the man revels at his luck, but is worried that he may have been seen. He vows not to go back on the roof, but the thought that Judy is naked in the tub right then is too much and he head back onto the roof for another glimpse. He sees Judy in the tub, but realizes she has cut herself, and he tries to get her attention by throwing rocks at the window, and then climbing onto the roof ledge to try to break the window with a mop handle. As he is leaning, the police arrive, shine a light on him and shout for him to get off the ledge. As he successfully breaks the window, he loses his footing and falls.

Scene 7 Judy is in the hospital, comatose. Her mother is by her side. Judy-Soul is in control of Judy’s mind now, and will not let go because Judy tried to kill them. Judy-Soul shows Judy that her father never hurt her. In her mind, in the alley where the man fell, she sets up tea cups. One for her, one for Judy, and one for the man who watched Judy. There is one empty place. Judy-Soul smells the familiar pipe smell of Judy’s father coming from around the corner.

The End.

711 scene

David had twenty minutes until his train came, so he ducked into a 7-11 to grab a coffee for his trip. As he approached the coffee counter he noticed a frail Asian girl probably on the short side of eighteen and visibly pregnant. She was eyeing the Doritos hungrily. He passed her and when he caught her eye she immediately looked down. She seemed frightened and completely out of place.
David noticed he wasn’t doing too well himself. He got the coffee in the cup with little trouble. However, when he poured the cream he couldn’t help but notice the tremor in his hand. Courage, he thought.
He capped the coffee and went to pay. His path to the cashier brought him again to the pregnant girl, who was still staring at the Doritos. David now saw she was crying.
“Excuse me,” he said, “are you okay?”
The girls eyes flashed in terror. She shook her head. “I don’t speak. Only a little.”
David stepped back from her so it didn’t seem like he was invading her space.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Do you need help?”
“No,” she said, but the tears ran faster now. “I don’t need.” She looked at David.
He smiled and raised his hands in front of him. “Are you sure?” he said. “I don’t want to bother you.”
She stared at him and then wiped her tears away. She reached into her pocket and pulled out several foreign coins. She held them in her open hand and pointed to the Doritos. “How much?”

Character

Thomas Behnke

Prof. Walia

ENW302

10/03/2019

 

Character Sketch

 

CHARACTER: David Talbot

  1. IMAGE: What does your character look like?\

David is a white male in his early 40s. He has longer than fashionable blond hair, is tall and angular. He is a writer and usually dresses casually, but today he wearing a dress shirt and tie, which he wears with equal success and comfort.

  1. VOICE: What does your character sound like?

David has a low tenor voice with a New York (Bronx) accent. The intensity of that accent correlates exactly to the amount of emotion he is feeling..

  1. DESIRE: What does your character want?

David wants to heal the rift between himself and his teenage daughter, Laura, who is graduating high school today. He has not seen or spoken to her in over two years.

  1. CONFLICT: Who gets in the way of your character getting this want?

David has several obstacles to his goal, including both his actions and inaction in the past regarding his relationship with both his wife and his daughter. He feels he is winning the battle with his past demons, but the fight has affected the people close to him and he has made mistakes. The ultimate obstacle is David’s ex-wife, Laura’s mother, who has involved Laura in their marital problems, and through her actions has alienated Laura from David. In the immediate sense, the train David is on is also an obstacle as there is a long delay when David is heading toward the graduation, threatening to make him late.

  1. ACTION: What does your character do? This can be quite literal—what does the character physically do in your story? Or it can mean figuring out how your character tries to achieve their want.

David has not been invited to the graduation and surely will not be welcome, but he is going anyway. He has written a journal that he wants to give to Laura that explains his side of the story, including how much he loves her and misses her and the reasons he had to leave. He chose the journal because he is never allowed to be alone with Laura and anything he says is immediately contradicted by her mother. He is hoping Laura will read the unfiltered journal in private. He plans to watch the graduation as anonymously as possible, and once the ceremony is over, give Laura the book and leave.

 

 

 

The Sister and the Shrew

Thomas Behnke

Prof. Walia

ENW302

09/26/2019

 

David had just made the decision to start dinner when his cell phone rang. The caller ID flashed SISTER1 and he answered.

“Hi Liz, what’s up?”

“Hey David, you busy?”

“Not really.  Want to talk logistics? I just need directions to the school. It starts at ten, ya?”

David walked into the kitchen.

“Yeah, ten. I’ll text you the address. It’s the same exit as me, so the same amount of time to get there.”

He filled a pot of water and brought it to the stove. “Great,” he said.  “Can’t believe the girls are out of high school. Are we old, now?”

“You definitely. Me never.”

David laughed as he lit the burner under the pot. He put the lid on. “I got them both cool things. Do you think they would prefer money?”

“Your presents are always the best, David.”

As David was walking out of the kitchen, the front door opened and Michelle, his wife, walked in.

“Aww shucks,” David said into the phone, “you make a guy blush.”

Michelle gave him a questioning look, and he silently mouthed “Liz.” Michelle’s face contorted into that “I smell shit,” face he loathed so much.

She walked up to him, and in a low, angry voice said, “You need to get off the phone now.”

Liz’ voice was immediately in his ear. “Bitch face is home, I hear. My condolences. Okay, I guess I’ll go.”

“Hold on, Liz,” he said.  He held the phone against his shoulder and addressed his wife.

“I just need to talk to her about this weekend. I put the water on for pasta. Going to heat up sauce in fridge.”

“What did you do today?”

In response, David held his hand palm out to her and resumed the call.  Michelle huffed away. David headed back into the kitchen. He had a habit of pacing when he was on the phone that was unconscious until Michelle pointed it out to him five years ago. Now it was a self-conscious tic.

“Okay, Liz. Where were we?”

“Plotting wife death.”

“Have you considered a career in stand up? Because if so, don’t.” He grabbed another pot and placed it on the counter. He opened the fridge and took a Tupperware with tomato sauce out.

“Maybe I’m not the one to talk,” Liz said. “God knows, I stayed too long with John. All I will say is this. Derek and I have a spare room, and our bills are paid. You don’t eat much. Abigail and Mary are gone for the summer after graduation. Hostels in Europe. Abigail is taking a ukulele with her. Which means that there will be an entire studio in the basement, with guitars, drums, flutes, mandolins and amps, just collecting dust.”

“I can’t believe you would say something that is so hurtful.” David said.

Liz laughed. “Well I did. Have you been playing lately?”

“As a matter of fact—”

Before he could finish Michelle stormed into the kitchen.

“Why are you still on the phone? Why didn’t you put the sauce on?” She pushed herself in front of David and snatched the Tupperware from in front of him, pulled off the lid and dumped it in the empty pot.

Liz’ whispered in his ear. “Do I need to drive up there and kick her down a flight of stairs?”

“Karma says no,” David said, “Look, let me go, sis. I will see you on Saturday. Text me that thing. Love you lots.”

“Empty room. Rent free. Music studio. Bye brother.”

Liz ended the call.

David turned to Michelle. “What was that about?” he said, pointing at the pot that now sat on a burner warming up. “I was just about to do it. What is your problem?”

“Love you lots,” Michelle said mockingly. “Your whole family is a bunch of phonies and losers.”

“Why does my loving my sister bother you so much?”

“Please. You didn’t speak to her for ten years. Now your loving siblings?”

“Yes, because some people actually get over things. They move the fuck on.”

“What did you do today, David?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean tell me everything you did.”

David scratched his head. “Well, let’s see. I went shopping. I did some writing. I reminded Jonathan that I wouldn’t be at work on Saturday. I vacuumed the house, did the laundry. I read a bit and was going to start dinner when Liz called.”

“What else?”

David walked out of the kitchen. “I’m not playing twenty questions with you. Spit out whatever you want to say, or don’t. Are you taking over dinner, because I do have other things I’d like to be doing.”

“I saw Cathy on my way upstairs.”

Cathy was the super’s wife. They had recently bought an akita from the same kennel David and Michelle had gotten their dog.

“Did she have Dakota with her? He’s so beautiful and he’s getting so big.”

“No, but she did tell me you have a great singing voice.”

Oh shit, David thought, here we go. Best gird our loins for battle.

“Did she? Well, I think she is overstating the case a bit, but—”

“What the fuck were you doing playing guitar in front of the house? What is wrong with you?

“I’m sorry, I’m confused. In what universe is it aberrant behavior to play guitar in public?”

“It’s embarrassing.  You caterwauling so the neighbors can hear. You’re not good. You’ve never been good.”

“Well, music is a subjective thing, but going by the only witness we have, that would make public opinion on the quality fifty fifty, wouldn’t it? And regardless, even if I were terrible, how am I am embarrassing anyone but myself?”

“You’re not a musician anymore, remember?”

“That is actually an interesting point. I have been guilty of saying that to people, that I used to be a musician. But, really, is that accurate? I mean I still know how to play. Isn’t it like saying I used to know how to ride a bike?  I am a musician, I just don’t play in bands anymore or perform on stage.”

“Except the front stoop of your apartment building, like a fucking moron.”

David walked to the coat rack and grabbed his jacket. “I’m not doing this. I didn’t do anything wrong, and if you are mad at something that is perfectly normal, considering you married a working musician, you have to deal with it yourself. Eat what you want. I’ll grab something out. I’m not going to ruin my good mood on you.”

He walked through the doorway. As he was closing the door Michelle screamed at him.

“Go ahead, you coward. You’ll be back. You’ve got nowhere else to go.”

 

 

 

Where are the Horses?

Thomas Behnke

Prof. Walia Eng 302

9/19/19

 

When Matthew got to property the first thing he noticed was the driveway—rough gravel with great patches of bare dirt and tiny branches—stretched for what seemed like eternity in an obtusely curving bend to the right.  The main house was nowhere to be seen. Fifty feet in on the left was a huge elm tree with a sign that read THE NEELYS.  There were a few holes in the sign. Matthew was too much of a city boy to confirm with certainty they were bullet holes.

He stopped and rolled down the window to better hear anyone that might want to get his attention. Though the county said he had every right to be here on the property that wouldn’t help matters if people took his presence as somehow threatening, especially if he didn’t hear a warning or a greeting.

He eased his foot off the brake and settled into a snailish crawl that kept the spraying gravel to a minimum. According to his paperwork, the stables were on the western half of the property, which meant there had to be a fork going left somewhere along the path. He debated heading to the main house first, but that could just give the Neelys advance time to hide any sick animals and clean up the place. Back in his grandfather’s time, once an inspector was on the property what was done was done, but cellphones changed everything.

As he eased around the long bend a large pond materialized on his right. A long-legged white bird stared at him imperiously. Was that an egret? A heron? He needed Albert with him. The kid had an encyclopedia of fauna in his brain.

Just as he had put the pond in his rear view a shot rang out. He hit the brakes, skidding a little on the gravel. He instinctively put his hand up in a mime of surrender, but after a few long, shaky moments, he realized that wherever the shot came from, it wasn’t directed at him, and might not even be that close.

He was just about to start up again when he heard a male voice.

“Hello! How can I help you, Mister? You lost?”

In his rear view, Matthew saw a figure appear. Well, that isn’t exactly correct. The man loomed. He was huge, and as he got closer Matthew saw he was as dirty as he was big. His overalls were caked in mud, threadbare, and at least two sizes too short. His beard might as well have been a terrarium for all the leaves, and twigs and insects it housed.  He had on dark glasses and as he came up alongside Matthew’s truck he bent down to Matthew’s eye level and removed them. His pupils were pink, and it was then that Matthew noticed how starkly white the man was.

“You lost, Mister. This is private property. You bust the chain?”

“No, I’m sorry. What?

“You bust the chain across the path in the front? Where the sign is?”

“Uh, no. There wasn’t a chain. I’m sorry, who are you?”

“You the one trespassing, mister. Why I have to offer first?”

“I apologize. My name is Matthew Barker. I’m with the County Animal Control. I need to inspect the stables.”

Julie

Hi Julie:

When I heard the news, I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I hopped in my car. I think I just meant to head to the gas station for a six-pack and then hang out by Sherman Falls to think a bit, but then I cranked up the playlist and twenty songs later I was in the Bronx, parking in the old neighborhood—Hillside Homes. I think I knew right away it was a mistake to come, but what’s another mistake, right? Not the first, won’t be the last, not for me at least.

I parked the Jeep on Wilson and headed down the concrete path to where the tunnels split, and you can take the stairs to Fish Avenue.  It seemed every building held a memory. On the right, 3470 where the Rossis lived—how many of them were there, fifteen or so? Then 3468, where I first alighted from Queens after my mom died. On the left, 3466 where Peter Peg Leg’s mom would throw down singles and change for the ice cream man.  Shit, Julie, that was forty years ago. Saying that is as surreal as a Salvador Dali painting.

I made a left, went through the tunnel under Sammy Chu’s apartment and into the Cherry Blossom Court. It’s the best time of year to be there, the pink blossoms floating in the breeze and falling to cover the ugly pavement. Unfortunately, they had just mowed the grass so that nasty smell of bleeding chlorophyll overwhelmed the blossoms. The people in Connecticut can’t understand how much I hate that smell. Mown grass is the perfume of suburbia. Another reason to hate it.

The field in the center of the court looks different and everything looks so much smaller. I mean, I remember coming up to bat and thinking how far I would have to hit the ball to make it over the fence. Now, I look at it and I don’t see how we didn’t break the window of every apartment that faced that field.

The monkey tree is still alive. I’m not kidding. Remember that day when we were all hanging on that one branch together and we heard the creak. Tariq was like, “Oh, shit,” but before we could let go the tree just keeled over.  I fell on my face, you landed on my back, and Sammy broke his wrist.  Remember the panic we were in trying to concoct a story that didn’t involve climbing a tree his mother specifically told him not to climb? Man, I sometimes think that making up excuses for the stupid shit we did is what kick-started my career as a writer. We knew we had to be tough to live in Cherry Blossom, and that tree was no exception. It has spent the last forty years growing horizontally, like the world’s thickest vine.

It was tough to see it that way, though. I wanted it to be standing tall. Maybe I wanted it to be dead and gone. Somehow, beyond my admiration at its clinging to life, there was something pathetic about it as well, spread out with its limbs vainly reaching upward as if it wanted the sky to pick it up.

I wanted it to look exactly like it did the first day I met you. That was when my family moved to Hicks and had the garden apartment with the little yard.  I came outside, and there you were, hanging upside down on the limb we eventually overloaded with miscreants. I liked your upside-down smile, and the three feet of jet-black hair that fell nearly to the grass below those sparkly almond eyes.  How hard did I crush, Julie?  Diamonds, but you knew that.

You won’t be surprised to know that I actually knocked on the door of my old apartment. There was an older black woman living there with her grandson, who was probably the same age we were when I first saw you. She was so welcoming when I explained why I knocked, and invited me in.  I told her I just wanted to stand in the yard and didn’t want to disturb them, but she insisted, and made me eat one of her chocolate chip cookies and tell her about what Hillside looked like when I lived here.  She was nice, but the apartment was suffocating and brought to mind too many nope moments for me to stand. It was weird how much of the furniture was arranged exactly how it was when I lived there. There was a recliner by the front door, black, not brown, and the couch lined up along the left wall, with a lamp behind it. How many times had I read by the light, hearing my father moaning in his needle dreams in the next room? I politely said my goodbyes and walked—calm on the inside but every fiber in my legs wanting to run—out into the yard.

I could almost see us rehearsing on the slate tiles, the amp plugs running into my kitchen window. Tariq on guitar, with his dreads tucked into his tam, and you, resplendent in a peasant blouse and skirt, with a million scarves on your mic stand. Me, cringeworthy in a guayabera—what was I thinking? If ever I deserved one of Tariq’s “stupid white boy” cracks, it was when I wore that shirt.

While I was standing there, my mind in 1980, don’t you know a security guard ambled down the path, gave me a nod, and then headed into the back door of the laundry room. That was your favorite way to go home, even though it felt like backtracking to me. We always took different paths to the same place. Like in high school, when everyone went their separate ways and you wound up at Art and Design and I went to Science. We just fell out of our routine, and out of each other’s lives. I swear, Jules, my breath caught the day Tariq and I were auditioning singers and you walked into the studio. You never told us you could sing before that. We had just heard a dozen of the worst yowlers ever. I felt like if I heard one more wannabe Whitney Houston oversouling “You Give Good Love,” I would scream. When you said you were going to do Roberta Flack, I panicked, because I didn’t know how I was going to tell you no when you inevitably sucked. I could never tell you no. I had already decided that I was going to make Tariq do it when you stepped up to the mic and opened your mouth. That angelic voice grabbed my soul, and ripped it out of my body. That was the end of auditions, and you were in the band.

\You and I were a thing for five minutes, but we were much better as friends than lovers. I still can’t hear Roberta Flack without thinking of you.

Well, I think I have babbled enough. I have to tell you one more thing, though.  As I walked out of the yard, and past the monkey tree, I spotted something in the grass. It was a piece of phyllite. I guess it isn’t surprising. The field is full of it, but it just reminded me of the time we were hanging out the day before your Bat Mitzvah and you were so nervous. You found a piece that had so many stripes in it you said it looked like fudge swirl ice cream—you were so fascinated with it. When I said it was phyllite you teased me for days about being a nerd. From then on, I was Professor Tom.

I stuck the phyllite in my pocket and headed back to the Jeep.

The ride back was longer. I finally broke down when I saw Candlewood Lake, and New Fairfield, where we once again reunited after decades running parallel in our solitary worlds.

It took me all night to write this. I really didn’t know what to say, I guess. If you were here, I would say I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you, and maybe I’m angry at you. Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you call someone?  It’s late. I’m going to try to sleep a little. Now that I’ve written this, I don’t know what to do with it. In the morning I’ll go to the cemetery. I want to put the phyllite on your headstone, and maybe tell you that I love you one more time.

Goodbye, Jules. You passed the audition.