One Eye Open

A conversation with my inner writer.

One Eye Open

It’s a late-night meeting of the mind, so to speak. The author is sitting at the kitchen table, tossing shots with his alter-ego, Herman.

For those of you who may not be familiar, Herman is Benjamin’s inner writer, a real person, at least, to the author and to his readers. He goes everywhere Ben goes, he’s privy to all of his thoughts, hopes and dreams (even his fears), and he’s highly critical of all of it. Ben just doesn’t take a lot of chances. Not the way he used to.

“Well, hell. ‘Least you admit it.”

I don’t like jail. Or hangin’ with scuzzies.

“F’ I didn’t know better, I’d almost be startin’ to think you were back.”

Ben picks up the bottle of JD, reaches across the table and fills Herman’s shot glass, then his own. They toss ‘em down at the same moment. As they’re the same guy, it’s a hell of a good trick. But hey. Imagine.

I am, bud. I am back.

“So I can curse now, and you’ll include it?”

You know that turns some readers off.

“Fuck ‘em.”

Okay just keep it to a minimum, will ya?

“’Kay. So what’s next?”

Writing. It’s time to get back to it. It’s why you’re even here. It’s why I already have a buzz on, too.

“Wimp.”

What, you don’t have a buzz? You really have to get offa that, you know? Offa me! Whatever I am, you are too! You a wimp?

“Now you know better’n that. You ‘n me, we were never the same. Everybody’s got at least two sides. You do too. I’m the other side. You damn well know it.”

Yeah. Other. Real other.

“You wish you could be only me. Admit it. Pour.”

Ben pours. They toss.

Gah. Water. I’ll never admit it. I’d be a totally shallow, obnoxious, husk of a man. I’m not. I’m taking care of business by keeping you at bay. Admit that.

“At bay? So who are you drinkin’ with?”

I just don’t wanna drink alone.

“Well why not? You do everything else alone.”

I’ve got a cat.

“Ha! There’s a symptom! I hate cats! You used to, too! And now you keep ‘em! Any real man that’s got a pet, has a dog, or a horse. Or both.”

Talk about shootin’ down your own argument. If you have a dog, you gotta be home every night. Or you get to clean it up.

“Keep ‘im outside.”

Can’t, you dumbass. We have bears here. And big coyotes. A tied dog is just bait.

“We’re home every night anyhow. So get a really big dog. Ovcharkas hunt bears.”

Yeah, and cats are a mere snack to ‘em.

“Perfect!”

Drop it, willya?

“Just sayin’. Pour.”

I don’t like hangovers.

“Too late. Pour.”

Ben pours. They toss.

I will drink a gallon of water.

“Make it two.”

I just don’t get it. Both of our novels are sidelined. We can’t even finish Demetrius.

“Demetrius will rock. You’re afraid to finish it.”

I don’t like warrants. For my arrest.

“Shee-it. Get real. They know who they are.”

That’s the whole problem. Not everybody does.

“That isn’t your problem. Your problem is still Firelight. It’s women. You know it.”

Not true. That’s old business. You know I’ve been working on that, for most of a year now.

“But you won’t let me help!”

I wish to retain my honesty.

“Honestly? You aren’t even tryin’!”

Not your way, that’s true. Your way and honesty wouldn’t mix. See, the whole problem is truthfulness, or the lack thereof. Nobody’s even honest with themselves, it seems to me.

“So to get where we wanna go, we have to play their game.”

I’d rather be alone.

“Really? With me?”

Well...

“Right. Think about it.”

I have. I could stand having some help. Gonna be needing you, man.

Herman sniffs and tips his shot glass to one side without lifting it from the table.

“Damn right you will.”

Shit. Could at least say you need me too.

Herman’s chin remains low as his eyes tip upward. With just one eye open, he regards Ben in an seemingly analytical fashion.

“Well sure. Except that I don’t! Know what?”

I hate to even respond. But what?

“We can have any damn thing we want.”

Ya think?

“Anything.”

That’s the one thing I actually like about you. Other than your effect on my writing. You’re so positive. So hopeful.

“And younger. And stronger. And a lot better lookin’!”

Yeah, crap. Imagination is a powerful thing. Sometimes, though, I think there isn’t enough power in just words. Descriptive terms don’t get it done.”

“Our writing isn’t just words.”

Prove it.

“I intend to.”

But people are so limited! They seem to exist in their own little psychotic bubbles, with very little understanding of the world that exists all around them. The entire universe!

“You’re drunk.”

Me too. Know why I won’t let you take over?

“Oh please! Tell me. I’ve never understood!”

You’re too assertive. You know our strength.

“Better’n you do, I think.”

Well, true strength doesn’t need to assert itself. The best driver with the fastest car doesn’t even speed. The strongest of men never beat on other people. They know who they are. They don’t have anything to prove. They don’t need to take advantage. I won’t either.

“Well, damn! I guess I stand corrected. You do know. Pour, bud.”

Hey just because you finally agreed with something I’ve said doesn’t mean we need to keep drinkin’. We’ve had enough.

Herman looks Ben over, apparently and uncharacteristically thoughtful.

“True. It also doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy life.”

Ben stares back, smiles broadly, and pours.

True.

*******