Failing

—I’m listening.

[deep breath]

—I’m listening because I can’t get a word in.

Nobody like him. Oscar. My oldest friend. We went to kindergarten together.

[washer and dryer running]

—actually, I’m in the garage. Launderin'.

—

—yes, launderin'. It’s what you call doing laundry when you want to feel there’s a method to your life.

I come out here when I want to escape a little. The machines together make a kind of weather. You can’t hear the refrigerator. You can’t hear the phone unless you bring it with you, which I apparently have.

—

—nothing in particular. Everything in general.

I like the separating. The measuring. Moving wet things to the dryer and taking them out warm. Folding a towel is about the limit of moral certainty, but for those few seconds you know what is required of you.

—do you have such a space, Oscar?

—

—no. A place.

—

—somewhere you go when you don’t want to be wherever you are.

—

—alien to you. Okay.

I’m folding these, by the way. You don’t have to wait for me to answer.

—

—I am listening.

—

—I said I’ve been failing as long as I can remember.

—

—no, I didn’t say I’ve failed. I said I’m failing.

—

—at what?

That is exactly the sort of question a person asks when he doesn’t understand the question.

—

—nothing I can put my finger on.

—

—no. That does not mean nothing. It means it doesn’t have a finger place.

I know there are ways I haven’t failed. Plenty, probably. I’ve kept people alive. Some of them willingly. I have completed things. Paid for things. Shown up when I said I would, with the usual exceptions.

I can be working and feel I’m failing somebody I love. I can be with somebody I love and feel I’m failing the work. Resting is a confession all its own.

But there’s this voice that says, Yes, very nice. You’re still failing.

—

—no, it isn’t a voice voice.

—

—it sounds like me, I suppose, only more certain.

It never mentions an incident. It doesn’t say, You failed to call, or You forgot the dog food. Those I could do something about. It just issues the condition.

Funny thing. I don’t remember deciding what success would look like. You’d think before a lifelong evaluation somebody would establish criteria.

—

—I don’t need you to establish them.

—

—because you’ll make a chart.

—

—and then I’ll fail the chart.

Now, I don’t want to eventuate the negative. I’m making an observation.

—

—I know “eventuate” is generally intransitive.

—

—I’m using it transitively.

—

—can you put aside your thoughts for one minute and listen to me?

—

—you know perfectly well what I mean.

—

—no. Don’t do that.

—

—because you have a tendency to be extremely subjective.

—

—Oscar.

—

—Oscar.

—

—don’t present evidence. It only makes it worse.

It’s also what I like about you. Your lack of objectivity. It’s kind of refreshing.

—

—I mean that kindly.

You assume if a thing matters it can be identified, measured and corrected. That isn’t objectivity. That’s autobiography.

—

—well, whatever you call it when it’s you.

There. [laughs] I’ve offended you. That’s encouraging.

[washer stops]

Hold on.

There. That load’s done.

—

—no, the laundry isn’t done. The washer is done. There’s another load after this, and what I’m wearing, and by tomorrow these towels will be back.

—

—of course that doesn’t mean washing them failed.

I know that.

—

—I said I know.

There is no finished with laundry. There’s clean and dirty and caught up for a little while.

Maybe that’s the trouble.

[lightly] Mmm-Hmm. [exhales]

—

—no. Nothing’s wrong.

I keep expecting to be finished.

[dryer continues]

[whispering to dog] Here girl. [whispering to dog] There’s your bowl. And there is yours Rocky. … [whispering to dog] Ah. [discovering] You need some water. Why didn't ya say so? … [whispering to dog] That’s right. [petting her] Such a good girl.

[whispering to dog] What do you think? Too many holes.

[whispering to dog] I only wear it around you. And you. And you... of course.