“Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.”
-Oscar Wilde
“What’s one thing you’d like to do before you die?”
“Why? Are you dying?” Kathryn instantly snaps on one of her famously suspicious looks back at Laurent.
“No, I was just thinking that I’m starting to feel a bit long in the tooth, you see. You know what they say, ‘One can survive everything, nowadays, except death, and live down everything except a good reputation.’ I don’t want to die without any scars… I feel like my life is an empty stage.”
Kathryn is incredulous, “Without any scars? You must have plenty of scars! You were in the army! Of course you think your life is too boring; you once told me you felt most at home on some far flung battlefield.”
Laurent grins broadly, “That is exactly what I mean! There is no battle; no more adventures.”
Kathryn says nothing. She only smiles and pulls from under the table a small box that sat as innocently on the floor as a church mouse and now sits between them in the spacious, bohemian, downtown apartment. The walls are oak and covered with streams of red fabric and only interrupted by the occasional framed mirror or print from some long forgotten painter. She takes out a stack of snapshots and finally pauses on a particular series of images.
“Do you see that?” Kathryn taps the photograph lightly. On the back, blue handwriting reads: “Burning Man.” The first photo in her hand contains two life size diesel trucks bent backwards like contortionists. One truck is stuck to the middle of the other and they both tower above a crowd of eclectically dressed and most likely, drug addled miscreants in the middle of a barren desert. He takes the photos and turns to the next. It contains a huge bus that has been outfitted to look like the ship of a pirate complete with two huge masts grasping tightly to billowing white sails and loaded with scantily clad women in pink cowboy hats.
“What exactly am I to glean from these images, Kathryn? Perhaps some newfound respect for a tribe that makes art of rubbish?” Laurent stares at the photos searching for evidence of tampering; feebly looking for a logical explanation for the odd assortment of images collected in such a tiny box.
“These were all taken at Burning Man; it’s a seven day social experiment in the desert outside of Reno, Nevada. Over fifty-thousand people travel to a dried up basin that was once a lake and take with them all the provisions they’ll need: food, water, shelter, spirits, and of course, proper apparel for the balls that you will surely be attending… everything.”
Laurent’s face seemed to fill with concern as she spoke. She took his hand, gave him a reassuring smile and continued.
“They live there and have a weeklong festival among gargantuan, intricate, art installations that are so amazing, they say your mind is left with no alternative but to be changed forever. They use a gift economy, which means nothing is bought or sold on the premises. If you need something, you just ask; if you have extra, you share; everyone there is like family.” Kathryn’s face beams with excitement as she does her best to describe the event.
“It sounds absurd…” Laurent turns his head sideways, still staring at the photograph, as if it will help to unravel why people would subject themselves to the torments of living in a wasteland for days with no reasonable place to freshen one’s self.
Laurent shrugs, “I do want to try new things; I almost died in the war. I just don’t want nude photographs of myself floating about town.”
Kathryn laughs, “Then don’t take any! Why did you even ask me? You can wear your little sweater vest if you want.”
She gestures down at his outfit. He looks down at his tan pants and light blue dress shirt. Around his neck he wears a loosened red necktie and a red and blue plaid sweater vest; both were gifts from his paramour. He raises his head slightly to ensure Kathryn fully receives his obvious look of derision.
Laurent takes a deep breath and lowers his voice, no longer in jest, “The only thing is… morality, like art, means drawing a line someplace. I don’t want my future employer finding out I went to some lewd desert party and thinking that I’m some kind of deviant psychopath.”
Kathryn matches his tone but not his viewpoint, “It’s more than a party… It’ll change the way you look at everything. It’s a spiritual event for many people; maybe that’s just what you need.”
“I hardly think a bunch of tree people in funny outfits will change my outlook on life,” he said snidely.
“They have to wear funny outfits! If you want to tell people the truth, you have to make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you!” The corners of Laurent’s mouth rise slightly. “You could use a laugh, I think.”
“I must be off. Dinner it would seem, cannot go on without me.”
“Sounds fun,” her tone is sarcastic but also tinted with true empathy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Laurent walks through the door of the Kobayashi mansion and sits down at a table near the center. The ball room is crowded and although he is late he can quickly tell that he is the first to arrive. He takes a sip from the glass of water in front of him and checks the time with a server girl.
“Who is she?” Carly is behind him and cracks the question above his head like a whip
Carly walks around the table and sits across from Laurent. She sets her handbag on the table between them and folds her hands in front of her, sitting perfectly erect in her seat. She wears an elegant black skirt, white, sleeveless blouse, and perfect dark red lipstick that shows off little more than an over abundance of time. Her dark hair and olive skin belie the fact that she was raised in one of the poorest shires the kingdom has known.
“Well?” The impatience in her tone is palpable.
“I was simply checking the time. How has your day been?”
“My day? Just fantastic! What do you think; I’ve spent all day at what I laughingly call my place of employment. A topic on which I feel I could instruct compared to you… I tried to call you twice.” She begins bouncing her leg on the ball of her foot; creating a soft clacking sound as the heel of her shoe makes contact with the hard, wooden floor. Laurent looks around the room but it seems not to bother anyone else.
“I told you, I was in the theatre with my sister. There are no calls at the theatre. I thought you knew that. Is that not why you tried me at Kathryn’s apartment in the city?”
Carly’s face twitches slightly at the mention of her name, “Right. Kathryn… How is she?”
“She’s well, I suppose.” Laurent slid into his seat. Storm clouds were forming.
“On what did the two of you speak?”
"On a couch I suppose."
As she waits for a serious response, her face deteriorates to a disapproving glare.
“We were talking about things we would like to do before we die.” Laurent smiles warmly as if to communicate the poignant relevance of the subject matter.
Carly’s jaw drops with the same disgust as if someone had just sneezed and reached for her dress to wipe their nose, “We never speak on those topics…”
A tense moment passes... Carly fills out the cards sitting in front of them. Laurent, sensing a line has been crossed, tries to remedy the situation.
“Okay, you are right. What would you like to do before you pass?”
“Kids and estate by 30, account manager by 35, retired by 50, with over $500,000 in the bank.”
Laurent rolled his eyes, “Yes, dear you have told me your 20 year plan before, but that is not exactly what I had meant… Do you not have anything you wanted to do before you got old?”
“You think I’m getting old?!” her jaw drops again.
Laurent sighs, “Forget the entire affair, I suppose that I’m simply trying to carve out my own 20 year plan.”
She dismissively waives away the thought, “Darling, I have plans for both of us.”
The table becomes a vacuum; a graveyard with a single slow tumble weed as another tense moment of silence passes between them. The server arrives just in time. Carly hands her their guest cards containing what they’ll be having for dinner.
“Thank you, I’ll make sure they get this right out.” Laurent cranes his neck to see what she has ordered for them but the server briskly turns and bustles off to the kitchen.
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