BED

... a small boat lost at sea, the four corners of the Earth distant memories. There stands, at your head, four angels; they bless the bed that you lie on. Glowing, wings spread and hands extended. ‘The Earth has four corners,’ one tells you. ‘All round,’ you reply. ‘Four seasons too, more or less.’

Born in a hospital or the family home, you greet the world on the comfort of a mattress and the warmth of a cotton blanket, passed into your mother’s arms, as you take your first breath. You are nurtured and cherished and praised when you take wobbly steps, like the lamb in the field. As a child, in bed, you dream of what your life will be, imagine yourself in a myriad of dilemmas, wondrous splendour and infinite possibilities. 

Then, you experience love, not like that for your parents or siblings, but for others. That longing to be close to another body, so intimate and vulnerable. After many a heartbreak you find your one, and you bring them home, running up the same stairs you used to as a child, giggling with the fiery intoxication of love. Eventually, you move out and make a new home with your partner, and one day marry. The love pours out of your conjoined bodies and brings forth a new spring.

Lying in bed, you watch the season turn. The leaves have reddened and fallen to the earth. One morning it is a struggle to rise, taking more effort than it did the day before. A creak in the small of your back, or a lingering knee pain: ageing is finally here. Resting more, you reminisce on what has been. How many of those childhood dreams have come home? How many did you exchange for a dream that wasn’t your own? Is this the life you wanted? Sometimes, it is hard to tell. But you see those around you grow and thrive and are reminded that yes, this is exactly where you wanted to be. What a glorious life you have led. 

And then you slow down. You lay in bed surrounded by your loved ones, see yourself in their faces and remember when you too were in the height of summer. A hand is clutched in another’s grasp, and a tear splashes on the bed linen, soaking into its fibres. You look around, and above your head four angels bless the bed you lie on. With their glowing wings and arms outstretched they welcome you. Light envelops your body, and you begin to rise high above your bed and those you held dear. One leans in and whispers ‘the Earth has four corners’. ‘All round,’ you reply. Below, you see your bed… 

QUARREL

INT., KITCHEN – DAY

S. enters carrying a heavy box and places it on the Kitchen table.

O: Is that the last of it?

S: Just about, there’s still a couple boxes in the garage but I’ll bring them up later.

O: Hey, have you thought any more about what to do with that room upstairs? (Pause) Should we go have a look?

            They both ascend the Cosmic Stairway, travelling months in moments.

INT., FIRST FLOOR LANDING

            They look into the white walled room and stand in silence for some time.

O: You know, this could be a fabulous drag room for yours truly. Imagine it: my wig stand over there in the corner; my vanity in front of the window – gotta get that natural light – a rail over here, and––

S: Really? Another room for your drag? This place is already filled with it from the previous owners. A kitschy drag queen moving into a kitschy house. This is literally the only untouched room, so why not just keep it as intended?

O: Okay, Mister Can’t-See-the-Vision, any other bright ideas?

S: (Twirls his beard between his fingers and thinks for a moment.) Well, we’ve both been saying how we want to get into meditation, right? This is the perfect place for it. A quiet, simple room. A place of serenity, and peace.

O: Oh! Yes! Yes, I see it now, a wonderous room, a place of escape. We can have cushions on the floor and our crystals on the walls. I’ll hang some plants and, over there (points to the alcove) is where we can burn some incense, you know, get us into the Zen mood and all. Oh, and let’s not forget a Himalayan salt lamp.

S: What bit about the words ‘peace’ and ‘simple’ did you not understand?

O: I’m sorry?

S: Look around. (Gestures towards the rest of the house.) Do you not see the flamboyance, the … the potency, of this place? The fake marble, all the colours and textures? There’s a bloody mirror in the hallway ceiling and faces everywhere. This house is caked in drag.

O: Then why ruin it all with a blank room? If it can’t be my drag room, at least let it be the most fantastical meditation room this side of the Thames.

S: Christ, you’re relentless.

O: (Mockingly) You’re relentless.

S: Look, I’m going to say this once and then that’s the end of it, okay? This room shall remain as is. Four white walls, and a window. Nothing more. A room for the soul. Not of the body. Drag shall not pass beyond this door.

O: For what purpose? Every room in a house as campy, gaudy and potent as this one deserves to be filled!

S: Sure, but within all the swirling there should be a place of quiet. And this room will be that place. Like it or not.

O: So … blank. Nothing. Like I’m not even here?

S: Actually, you might even have a chance of discovering something splendid if you just took a break from all that potency and noise once in a while. Here’s a thought: why don’t you go and fetch those last few boxes.

            O. huffs and makes his way back down the stairs.

S: (To himself) Isn’t this the most flamboyant room in the house? To deny potency is so … potent.