Most people would agree that it is. But what if, bit by bit, as you make your journey, your ship sustains more and more damage, so that by the time you reach your destination, you have substituted each piece with its counterpart, and not a single bit of it remains unreplaced? Now is it the same ship? Why or why not? How much of a thing is its pattern and how much its physical material? I was fascinated by the question of whether and for how long you could remain the same person after casting off part of your body — or, for that matter, after casting off part of your history, part of your personality, part of your life.
Thus was born “A Day in the Life of Half of Rumpelstiltskin.” It’s the earliest of my stories to have seen publication, written when I was twenty-two and a senior in college.
NEIL LABUTE. With Hair of Hand-Spun Gold
I’M BACK.
I am back and you knew I would be. You knew it. Didn’t you? Yes, you did, don’t give me that look, you knew exactly what was going to — doesn’t matter. I’m here now so we should get started, get this thing all started and going. Go ahead, you can throw up, it’s not going to stop me, make me feel bad, I promise you. It’s not. You’re getting exactly what you deserve here, you are, you deserve it and that’s what is going to happen. Fate, or Karma or, or whatever they call it. Kismet? I know that was a play or something, a musical, but I think that word means the same sort of thing. Something happening that was supposed to happen and then it does. It comes true. Wham! Just like that. “Instant Karma,” isn’t that what Lennon called it? Not the dictator, but the Beatles guy. In his song. Right? He said “it’s gonna get you” and that is just so goddamn true. It reaches out — figures out where you are, takes its time to find you — and bam! Before you can even move or anything, it’s got you by the throat and you are fucked. It’s true, my dear. You are motherfucked. And so that’s you, today, at this very minute. Or second, or whatever you wanna call it. You are about to be motherfucked. By me.
I can see by the look on your face you’re surprised, so don’t pretend. Do not pretend that you were ready for this one because you weren’t. You were not. I came out of the blue, as they like to say, out of the darkness like some avenging angel — I’m not sure that’s the exact right analogy but you get what I mean — I appeared and it has thrown you for a loop. A big ol’ loop and you don’t know what to do, what to say even, sitting there on a park bench with your mouth hanging open and staring at me. Wow. I really caught you off guard, didn’t I? You knew this could happen but you still were not ready for it. Not today. Well, I can’t say that it doesn’t make me happy because it does. It makes me smile right down into my soul and that’s the truth so you might as well know it. I am happy to see you sweat. Really. Honestly I am. I mean, who knew? How would I ever know that it’d be this easy to make that happen, to bring your little world to a halt, for it to come crashing down around your ears? How could I be privy to a thing like that? You can’t, that’s the answer. You wouldn’t until you just go ahead and do it and now I have and I’m aware, by looking at your face I’m aware of the magnitude of what’s going on right now, at this moment, as we sit here quietly in the middle of this park and your kid is playing on the swings and life bounces merrily along. If you could scream or draw a gun or kill me even, stab me and cover me with dirt right here in those bushes behind us, I think you would. I know it, actually. I know that you would. And, to be fair, I might do the same damn thing if I was you, shoe on the other foot or whatever people say to mean what I’m talking about. I might also want to do you harm. Well, I do, actually, want that, me, I’m saying, shoe on my own foot and staring at you right now. I do want to bring a kind of harm to your life. And I’m about to. Yes, I am. Yes indeed.
Did you ever think, I mean, years ago, when you first saw me — picked me out of some gym class as the one you wanted — could you ever even imagine that it might come to this? I can’t believe that you would’ve, right? No, never, not in a million years or you probably wouldn’t have done it, that’s what I think. That has to be the truth because, I mean, why would you otherwise? You know? Yeah. It’s true. You wouldn’t. No, I was supposed to be a good boy, do what you say, nod when you ask, and that was going to be that. Easy as pie, that’s the phrase. My mom uses it — still, to this day — and it fits and so that’s why we say it, why I just said it now. Because it’s true. You planned on using and discarding me along the way without my ever knowing it. As easy as pie. And you did, to be fair, you got away with it for a really long time. True? I mean, a good long time. Right up until about seven months ago, and that, my dear, is a hell of a run. Nice long run. You shouldn’t look so nervous because you gave it a real go so that’s at least something. And look, it’s not like I plan on telling anybody, I really don’t, I mean, who could I tell? Hmm? Who? I mean, who would ever believe a story like this one?
I don’t mind that you’re black, I don’t, I’ve always been attracted to black women. Well, not necessarily black but darker-skinned people. Girls with tans and that sort of thing. And you were definitely that, which stood out at our school, didn’t it? You certainly did. Talk of the town, some might say, a real object of interest, and I’m sure a few of those men you worked with — teachers and coaches and administrators — they probably found you rather exotic and worth chatting up in the lounge. I’m sure it happened, I know it did, in fact, because I would see you often from where I sat in the office, waiting to get yelled at again by the vice principal. What was that jerk’s name, I don’t remember now. It doesn’t matter, he died years ago from cancer — one of the bad ones, like bowel or brain or something — and I recall not feeling a thing when I heard that news. Maybe even said “good” under my breath or smiled or something. Not instant, but Karma. But you didn’t talk to those men, did you, my dear, because you were already married, already wrapped up in a relationship, and so you made a choice, you picked me out of the crowd — maybe there in the office rather than in gym class, now that I think about it, maybe so — and said to yourself that I was the one. The worthwhile one, the one to play with and drive wild with desire. I know you helped me, too, I know that, gave me a belief in myself and pushed me to study and try and get into junior college even, you did all that and I appreciate it, I do, but all the while you made me feel like I was your boy. The guy you wanted in your life, if only your husband wasn’t around, if only things were different. If only. And I believed you, oh how I gobbled up the shit you spewed, gobbled it up and swallowed it down and smiled at you in the hall and from the bleachers and as you drove off in your dirty yellow bug on your way home each night. I believed you and loved you and gave you my little teenage heart there at West Valley High and I’ve never done that again, no, not ever, I haven’t. To anyone ever ever ever again because my trust is gone, disappeared like you did the next year to a new school with the whisper of “it could never work” and “this is a real opportunity for me” and it was like you never existed. An empty office was your vapor trail (cut-backs didn’t bring another of your kind, a counselor, into school until my senior year). Your desk and chair, alone in the dark, was where I would eat my lunch most days unless they caught me and threw me out — that was all that was left of our love and time together. And there was love, wasn’t there? Real, abiding love. I swear there was. Look at me right now and tell me there was and I will go away, leave you to watch your little girl as she runs about in the bright sunshine and I’ll be gone. Say it, just once, say it to me now and mean it, while I sit here with you. I beg you. Go on.
You can’t, can you? No, of course you can’t because it’s not true and you wouldn’t want to lie about that, lead me on or anything, now, would you? Absolutely not. Part of the strange, strict principles by which you live your life, even though our entire union was absolutely that. A pure and utter lie, one that you lived so easily and without remorse for so long. That’s hardly fair, though, is it, because how could I know your feelings about me at that time? That’s a good point and I stand corrected, or sit corrected, actually, sit corrected here on this bench with you. I- sit-corrected. Perhaps you did love me once, a while ago, a long, long time ago when I was sixteen and just learning to drive and we would meet off in the woods or at your home on an unexpected morning and make love. Yes, love, I’m sure it was, only that, never just fucking, and you taught me everything I know about that undiscovered country. It was well beyond description and nothing I plan to embarrass you with right now, not in front of your daughter as she plays, but it was something lovely and I remember it like it was just yesterday even though a decade or so has slipped away. Lying there, inside of you and looking into your eyes, the quiet of a forest above us and your beautiful skin soaking up the sun, kissing that mouth of yours, those lips that sucked me in and devoured me, I had no words for what you were doing to my life. And nothing now, now that I know the truth. The real truth of what we were doing there and why you loved me or said you did and watched me fall deeper and deeper into the endless chasm that was you.
Did I ever tell you that I imagined killing him? Your husband? Oh yes, so many times. When it was at its deepest and worst, the sickness of love made me want to be rid of him for all time and eternity. I planned his death a dozen times, in various ways and done so successfully by me that even you believed that the car wreck or the
