She’s not being cute. It’s an ironic song. Get a clue!
And so with that harsh perspective shared in righteous rage as our guide…we walk down the concrete path to the end of the pier next to the lighthouse and find Lacey sitting there, feet dangling off the edge as she grips on to an iron railing circling around the lighthouse. It’s a blustery, rainy day. Waves cut up towards her body. But she’s safe clinging to the railing. Chin resting on the iron occasionally… She stares out at the tumultuous depths as they oh so very gently shake in the land of the living.
She’s wearing her khaki shorts. An oversized shirt. Or an ill-fitting shirt. Hair dulled and flying about. A huge, cozy sweatshirt. Birkenstocks. Little make-up. …She’s not getting rained on.
It’s her home.
And she’ll never be found…living her entire life in just this place. Never moving.
And this is her life since age 12. Every waking moment not spent with her children is here.
Once she saw a man who was her husband and is now her ex…at the end of the pier near land. But he walked away. So she wept…and after a while went back to her usual spot. Staring. …It’s not a bad view…
“We’re living in a den of thieves…”
Thieves. And it’s contagious.
“But that’s all millennials!” says a hater. This hater is a self-proclaimed populist.
No. It’s not.
A normal Millennial sits alone too…but in a coffee shop. Behind a computer. Drinking coffee. Tapping away at keys. Drifting off. In their minds. But surrounded by other self-isolating humans. If they wanted to…or could?…they’d look up and really see each other. They aren’t actually alone.
“No they don’t. They’re just like you. They’re just as alone you. You’re not special!” says a hater to Lacey.
Lacey…is…alone. Truly. And she’s not alone in being alone. But it’s different.
“Yeah right.” says a self-righteous Boomer.
“She’s crazy. Trust me!” says another.
“Lacey is a narcissist!!!” *open-mouthed self-righteous indignation*
“No. She’s not. I’m sorry.” says Michael.
They either make Michael evil or…Lacey evil… or…no.
“No, it’s his whole family that’s evil.” says a hater.
“Would you be honest! She’s not really talking to a Rockefeller. She’s a nobody!!!” says a hater with absolute certainty. The scientific community of da whole wide whirled and their mommy and daddy and gwandparwents and teachers told dem sew!!
“See! She’s mocking people with lisps now!” says a Boomer of Lacey.
“Good grief! She’s a psycho psychic!“ says a hateful Millennial.
Lem goes back to the 1970’s to study avocado colored refrigerators to determine if he’s mad for thinking she’s his…forever…or if there’s some other woman he was meant for instead. He sits at the kitchen table and stares at the refrigerator, thinking.
“Would she have ever bought this?” he wonders aloud.
“No. Green mold can occasionally turn up in good cheese…but otherwise this color doesn’t belong in the kitchen. It’s disgusting.” says Lacey.
“Avocados.” says Lem sweetly to remind her.
“Well, and leafy greens.” she admits. “But…even so…I just think of mold. No. I wouldn’t have bought it.” She smiles confused and scared by where in the world he’s going with this and so she wanders back.
“It’s all rotted out, Lem. Lem, it’s all gone.” says Michael about the foundation of the house Lem’s sitting in analyzing a refrigerator.
“Thank God I’m dead and I don’t have to die again.” says a woman who died of radiation poisoning from eating uranium paint for a living.
“Regina Spektor looks like an evil, mocking, idiotically narcissistic version of who I actually am. That piano and the globe and the chandelier are my actual, literal house. It looks like cable-dude’s mistress trying to make fun of my identity by stealing it and then making fun of it. …Except it doesn’t work because it’s idiotic. Except she…doesn’t know that. Because…of the idiocy.” says Lacey.
“I’m sure that’s nothing, Lacey.” says Rocky.
“No.” says Teddy. “You’re just mad.”
“You’re crazy. Remember?!” says Elliott.
“Regina Spektor is a very beautiful woman in her own right. But she shouldn’t try to imitate you. And…I like to think that as an artist she wasn’t being that stupid. On any level.” says Harold.
“No, I’m actually very impressed by Regina Spektor’s artistry.” says Lacey.
“Let’s trip on out of this crumbling house.” says Lem. “It’s just in our minds, Lacey. It’s not real. Anywhere.”
“You’re seeing coincidences. Making love to coincidences.” says Harold.
“And demons!!” says the woman who died of radium paint poisoning.
Except God…well…He’s God.
…And she’s back to the pier. Sorry.
“Not forever.” says Michael.
“It’s just a dream.” says a demon impersonating a kind woman to Lacey. The demon hopes Lacey believes the lie and/or doubts that even God loves her or exists. At all.