Breaker Whiskey

A response to Passerine.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen.

If you'd like to support the show, please visit atypicalartists.co/support.

If you'd like to send Whiskey a message, click here.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

Breaker breaker. This is whiskey calling out for Passerine. I think-I hope I'm pronouncing that correctly. I read your message out the other day. I don't know if you heard it. I recorded it and then set it to repeat, so hopefully you caught it. I just figured I didn't want to respond to your message and have you not hear it. So I hoped that in reading your message out loud, you would know that I was going to respond and stay tuned in. I don't know. I don't know how any of this works.

So anyway, hopefully you are listening and hopefully I said that name correctly, Passerine. I don't know that I'm familiar with that particular type of bird, but I like a theme. You're definitely right in that I have had a year. Sometimes if I think about it too much, it doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem like all of those things happened in a 12 month period, especially when compared to the previous six years. I didn't know life could be that full. Maybe full is the wrong word because obviously I was alone for pretty much all of it. But eventful. And different, right? Just different. That's what I wanted and that's what I got and..

I wanted to not feel so alone and...to your point- talking to you helped me with that feeling. So did Donnie of course. I think about him every single day. It was easier- it was easier to miss him. To miss Richie and Pete and Sylvie and Francis and Martha and everyone else...it was easy to miss them when I thought there was nothing I could do, when I thought that the whole world had just gone mad and any help I could have provided, was way too late.

So it hurts worse now. The fact that he's gone. Because I was in a position to help him, to protect him. And I...I failed.

[static]

And you're right, Passerine. Some days I do want to run away?. And wrap myself in that darkness. And today is one of those days I... Harry said something, made some joke and...I don't know. It just set me off, you know? It was like for a second I could hear the echo of what Don would have said had he been there, because even though it wasn't perfect between all of us, we did, you know, we had a rhythm and and Harry would say something and then Richie would say something, and Don would come in with the punch line, or Harry and Richie would be arguing and Don would mediate and-- or lean over to me and make a joke, just the two of us. And this was one of those moments where there should have been another beat, right? I said something. Harry said something, and then...

And he wasn't there. He just - he just wasn't there. I still heard his voice. Still imagined what he would have said.

It's not like that's the first time that's happened, right, in the last seven years. Like, Harry and I have had plenty of times where we feel the specter of the people that we lost around us. But it's worse now.

[static]

Sorry, I didn't mean to make a response to your message about this. I just, I wanted to follow your advice. You know, in feeling that feeling of wanting to run into the darkness, turning here instead to talk to you. I wanted to. I wanted to do that.

[static]

And I'm glad I could be a reminder for you. I don't know why you feel lonely or if you are literally alone. You didn't tell me much about you, but I'm glad if I eased some of that feeling a little bit. It's weird to think about. It's strange to think about being a part of people's lives when I don't know those people, you know? I mean, that's part of life no matter what, right? he person behind you in line gives you that last quarter that you need to buy coffee and they make your day okay. And you think about them and remember their face and they don't really think about you, right? They did a nice thing and it didn't really cost them much, but it made an impact on you.

Things like that happen all the time, happen every day in a place like New York City, where most of the people you're interacting with on any given day are complete strangers that you'll probably never see again. So it's not like I haven't always been a supporting character in people's stories and vice versa. But well, you know, there's the whole being a part of people's lives when those people's lives are occurring in different timelines thing which is still hard to wrap my mind around, but I can't think about too long or my head because I'll wobbly.

But, even beyond that, I don't- I don't know what your face looks like. I don't even know your real name. And granted, you don't know my real name, not my full name. But you know my voice. You know things about my life, about my mind, about my heart. And the most wild thing is that all of that means something to you. It means something to you that I have feelings and that I've shared what's happened to me and that I continue to share what's happening to me now and that...

Sometimes I think, why does anyone care? But then I think, gosh, I mean, if I had someone to listen to on the radio who knew things that I didn't and had lived life that I hadn't lived, I'd wanna listen to them too, just for some entertainment. At this point, I'm pretty sure I know everything about Harry that I ever will know.

Well, that's not true. But, you know, seven years of someone...You kinda hear all their stories at least once. Anyway. I feel like I'm repeating my stories and my thoughts. But, it still just blows me away. That people care. That people think I'm brave.

You're right. The true loneliness is being unknown. And I hope you do break out of that. I really do, because. It is such a cage, isn't it? To feel like no one knows you. And sometimes I wonder with Harry if I'm opening that door and walking into that cage myself over and over again. Because she knows me. Of course she knows me. But even now, even now that she knows the truth of my feelings, sometimes I get afraid of her seeing me. Of her knowing me in my heart of hearts. And I want to hide. I want to run away and...who does that serve?

So this is my promise to you, Passerine. I will keep calling out. I will not run into the darkness. And I will try to let myself be known. I hope the same for you.

Whiskey out.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen.

If you'd like to support the show, please visit atypicalartists.co/support.

If you'd like to send Whiskey a message, click here.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

Hey Whiskey

Call me Passerine. Figured I'd keep with the bird theme that's going on around here.

I've been seeing these messages coming through for a while now, but only recently did I take the time to actually sit down and hear. And, wow. What a year you have had. From visiting all of these beautiful places, to the danger of being chased, and all the heartache that Harry has brought you, I'm so glad you chose to call out to us. Some days I wish I had the bravery to do that, to call out to the world and let them know what the inside of my heart looks like. Or, well, to just go up to the people around me and just let them see the outside. I feel like even in a timeline where I'm surrounded with people, the loneliness still gets to me. I don't think you understand just how brave you are, to fight through that loneliness, to tell the world, and Harry, what it is that you feel. I think sometimes true loneliness is being unknown. I don't know how to break out of that.

I'm so glad that you aren't alone anymore, even though I know some days you'll probably feel it again. Some days you're going to want to run away into the wilderness, and wrap yourself in the comfort of darkness, and just stay where no one can see or hear you. But I think this past year has shown that you're strong enough to fight that urge. And hey, if you're ever feeling that way, like that loneliness is creeping up on you, you know what to do. Turn on that radio, and tell us everything. We'll be here for you. You're never alone. And I think that's what I'm most grateful for. You've reminded me again that I don't have to be alone. Thanks Whiskey.

This has been Passerine, over and out.

A response to Red.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen.

If you'd like to support the show, please visit atypicalartists.co/support.

If you'd like to send Whiskey a message, click here.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

Well, hi there, Red. It's good to hear from you. It's strange to hear from you, to talk to you, to talk to anybody, which I know you understand. I haven't been ignoring your transmissions if you really have been sending them for this long. I—I just really haven't heard anything until now. 

And it’s..hard to think about. You know, when when we first got here and I switched on the radio and turned it to the channel that Birdie told me to, it was such a gift, hearing all those voices. But it was also hard. To think that so many people have been calling out and I just hadn’t… 

[static]

It's something I've struggled with. I did…I needed time to breathe and to figure out what to do next, to figure out things with Harry. And, well, I'm not necessarily any closer on any of those things, but it's been good, I think, to step back a little bit. But I did feel bad. You know, I felt bad leaving people behind just when I finally found them. But then I thought, well, who do I respond to? How do I respond? How do I know that in all of the frequencies and all of the transmissions coming from all these different timelines, how can I make sure I hear from the people that I want to hear from? The next transmission you send, Red, if you send another one, how am I going to be sure that I can can hear it and document it? We've got the radio running all day, every day and are absolutely burning through tape recording it when one of us isn't there. I know we're going to run out at some point and…

Harry says I'm not responsible for the world, but hearing you talk what you've been through the last seven years…the loneliness. Missing the sun. I'm glad that I was able to bring some color, some light back into your life, but I just can't help thinking, where are you? Are you here? Are you somewhere else? Are you somewhere that I can get to? Birdie said that things shifted again and I still don't know how. Still haven't seen any sign of what's different. But to think that you and I could merge our disparate timelines. Our isolated little personal purgatories could somehow join up down the line, I don't know. I don't know how we would know or how we would find one another. 

I guess if there's anything that you can tell me specifically about the world that you're in now…maybe that'll help narrow things down a little. I don't know. 

[static]

But I'm glad I finally heard you. And I hope you hear this. I hope you know that I wasn't ignoring you. I've been listening. I've been trying to listen for so long. Also you should know that I got a real crack out of you assigning colors to everybody. It sounds like you nailed them, too. I mean, Pete being money green is…

[static]

And I did get a good chuckle out of you picking a color that you didn't like very much for Harry. I mean, that's probably what I would have done too. But if it makes you feel any better about things, I think she liked the idea of a yellow-orange. You know, because she's a painter too she thinks about colors differently. There is no ugly color to her. It's all possibility. 

Anyway, Red, I hope…I hope your loneliness abates a little bit in the way that mine has. Being with Harry hasn't felt that void. Not entirely. I don't know that anything can or will unless we can find our way back, but it has helped. Being honest with her has helped. So I hope wherever you are that you're safe and that I can add more colors to your palette in the future. 

Whiskey out.

[static]

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen.

If you'd like to support the show, please visit atypicalartists.co/support.

If you'd like to send Whiskey a message, click here.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

Hello Whiskey. Ohh, that feels weird. Like… sending a message to your best friend but… also to a celebrity that has no idea you exist. I must sound a little crazy. And maybe I am. You’d probably go a little crazy down here, too. 

Anyway, I don’t think I’ve actually gone crazy, pretty sure I read somewhere that if you’re still able to think about whether or not you are, then you aren’t. I think therefore I am not crazy? I don’t know. I don’t think any of my transmissions are getting through, anyway. Or maybe they are and you’re just… ignoring them. That… that hurts more, I think. Knowing that someone else is out there and they don’t want to talk to you. Or maybe they’re getting trapped somewhere between here and the surface. I don’t think it’s because they sound crazy or anything – I listened back to them to be sure. That was weird, hearing my own voice. The sound was… foreign. A stranger. 

I know your voice better than my own, now. I could pick it out of thousands of radio signals. Couldn’t even recognize my own played back to me. But then it’s not like I’ve had much to say these past… seven years? I think it’s been seven. I stopped counting the days a while ago. Just got… depressing. All those… plain white concrete walls covered in tally marks.

(Cheering) But now my walls look beautiful. I’ve been transcribing everything you’ve said – I have tapes of every broadcast, and I’ve written down every word. Pasted them up on my walls. And I haven’t used my paints in years – even… even before all of this, but… they needed a little colour. 

I started by making my own notes in red, and then your locations in green, for the landscape, and Birdie’s messages in blue. Like a bluebird. And all the people you talked about - Don’s rust, Richie’s yellow, Pete’s green – not like the landscape, but like… money. Like the colour that I remember money being, at least. And Harry was… well. I had decided her colour back when I thought she had hurt you – and she had, of course, but I mean… back when I thought she did it for the sake of it. 

So I gave her this… yellow-orange colour. And knowing what I know now, I feel… a little bad about that. I wish I’d given her a prettier one. But maybe she would like it. It’s not terrible. Sort of a… sunny orange. Like the colour that I remember the sun being, at least. Anyway, every… every rainbow needs some sun, right? And their names… they make a rainbow.

(Tearing up) You brought that rainbow back into my life, Whiskey. Seven years of white walls, and now there’s colour. Seven years of silence, and you bring back sound. Seven years of isolation and desolation and hopelessness… and you bring back… me.

You mentioned liking Rothko, back on… (checks) transmission 179. I mean, I’m no Rothko, obviously, but… I suppose he won’t mind if I take a little inspiration from him

So Whiskey… you can call me ‘Red’.

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen.

If you'd like to support the show, please visit atypicalartists.co/support.

If you'd like to send Whiskey a message, click here.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

Breaker, breaker, this is whiskey calling out to one and all. 

[click, static] 

Hi, everybody. I know it's been a minute. I’m—I'm weirdly nervous talking to you now. Now that I know that people are listening. Now that I know that people across infinite timelines are listening, it's a lot of pressure. I feel like I have a little inkling of what Jean Shepard would have felt getting on the radio every night, except I actually think I probably have more listeners than Jean, which yeah, I actually can't think about that very much or I will get even more nervous. 

[static]

As an update because some of you have seemed curious— we’re doing good, I think. Not too much has changed since my last transmission. We're still where we were, although I think we're going to have to head down the mountain soon. The weather is changing and I don't think we want to be here when the snow comes. Well, when the snow really comes, there is already snow because we're that high up. But we can't survive a winter here, not with how thin these walls are. As for where we go next, I don't know. I know I probably won't be telling you. Not because I don't want you guys to know, but because. Well, you know, people may be listening and I don't want to invite any more trouble than I already am inclined to do, just living my life. 

[static]

Harry and I are good for the most part. I mean, we've had a few blow up, knock down, drag out fights. Well, you know, a dozen, maybe. Nothing— nothing earth shattering, just the usual. Although now we have a a different mode of conflict resolution, by which I mean we actually make attempts at conflict resolution now and in a way that I think is very productive. Maybe not talking things out as much as we should, but I don't think either of us can complain. So. Yeah, we're. We're okay. 

Not much else to report. Not much has changed. Haven't heard from Birdie or from Fox since that last big transmission, but I have been hearing from a lot of you. We spend most of our days sifting through all the different messages we get. Some of them are like this, and a lot of them are Morse code, which I don't think either of us were expecting necessarily. But it's nice to have somebody else with me to translate the Morse code. 

One of you…one of you sent a morse code message asking if this was real. You said it was a cool project and that that threw me because does that mean that somehow you, whoever you were that send that message, you're back in the normal world and this was coming through on your normal radio and you thought, hey, maybe there's another Orson Welles joint or something of that kind. Does this sound like a story to you? Like I'm just an actor pretending to be somebody stuck somewhere. I—I’m glad that you thought it was cool. In any case, I don't know that I would categorize it that way because it's my life, but yeah. 

Yeah, it’s real.

[static]

atypicalartists.co/breakerwhiskey

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

It took me the better part of a day but I think I’ve done it. I think I’ve written out your whole message. It…I honestly have no idea what it says. I was so focused on the individual letters, barely any words formed from it as I went.

I…I should go get Harry. But she’s sleeping and…I think she needs the rest. After—we’re still working through things and I think—no, I know—we will be for a very long time. As we waited for your message to finish transmitting, we talked a lot. We maybe got a little…distracted from time to time, but she put it all out on the table, everything she’d been thinking and feeling that she didn’t tell me. Things she didn’t even write in her notebook. And I told her things…we aired grievances and shared the times when we thought we might get close to something, back in New York. She talked about how she felt about Pete and listened to me when I talked about him and…and she was really kind when I couldn’t parse the good from the bad, when I didn’t want to just write him off as a violent criminal. I mean, I don’t…well, there are a lot of things I need to work through and it doesn’t all have to do with Harry.  

Well. I could fill you in on all of it, on every detail, but…these broadcasts have been mine, separate from Harry, as much as anything in my life can be separate from Harry, and there are some things with her that are separate from the world. At least for now. 

I know I said I might stop transmitting now that we’re safe and I think…I think I am going to take a break. Disappear for a little while like you’re so fond of doing. I’m—well, I think I’m happy and I’m not totally sure what to do with that feeling. Especially since it’s laced with…well, Junior is still out there, we’re still trapped here and even though I know what it’s like to kiss her, to— I don’t think I’ve forgiven Harry yet, not fully. She knows that, she…she’s understanding of it. Genuinely. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try to get there. Especially since I know I haven’t been the paragon of healthy communication and perfect relationship behavior so there are things that I need to…that I need her forgiveness on and, well, I think she wants to try to get there too. 

All that said—well, I don’t know what I’m going to find in your message and I hope it’s not goodbye forever, but maybe this is a goodbye for now. I want only good things for you Birdie. I hope you get a little peace of mind. A little closure. I’m discovering eve the tiniest glimpse of it really does wonders. 

Okay. Here we go. 

“Dear Whiskey, 

I am sorry that we couldn’t meet. You find yourself in a watch tower of my own creation. I wasn’t positive it would still be functioning in this timeline—you never do know when an earthquake or a storm is going to cause something to come toppling down—but I’m relieved to find that it is. I do wish I could have been there myself, but we can only enter timelines through great pains and effort and I have already interfered far more than we are meant to. Though I suppose my hand was forced when I ceased to be the only one communicating with you.

The person you know as Fox is, as you guessed, a purist. They want all people in all places to be instead in one place, following one path. They do not believe that anyone should be free to make their own choices and live with the consequences. They would prefer to guide your hand into another choice you cannot take back, all in service of what they deem to be correct. They know what they are; they even told you directly. Though they are not the figment of an author’s imagination, they are as close to Eternity as one can get. Though in this case, they are not the norm, but a rebel.

And I cannot claim there is nothing to re—rebel against. It is not a perfect system. It is hard, to watch people suffer in the worlds of their own creation, with no obvious recourse. Sometimes these timelines correct themselves, merging with each other or disappearing entirely. But even we, the keepers and observers of these strands, cannot fully comprehend the intricacies of why certain shifts are created. 

As you know, you are not the first person for whom I have tried to bring comfort in a lonely universe. Not all alternate worlds are as empty as yours, but some are even emptier. And yours, was of course, becoming more empty all the time, though that may not be a bad thing for every person involved. 

Fox told you you’re too late because the timeline has shifted once again. I’ll explain that in a moment but first I need to talk about the shift that preceded it, that caused an angry man to seek vengeance. A few months ago, Fred Billings’ mother—“

Fred. That’s his name. Fred. Wow, I, uh—anyway—

“Fred Billings’ mother, who was her—who was here, vanished from this place and merged with her correct timeline. Both Fred and his father perished in a car accident on New Year’s Eve 1974, and the widow Billings’ life was forever changed. Fred woke up here one day to find that his mother—who he had lived with in some degree of contentment for the last six years—had vanished. Meanwhile, she was waking up in the place she was from, with no memory of this world. 

That’s what would have happened if you had killed Junior. Or, at least, that is what Fox and I both suspected. That it would have aligned enough with the timeline of your origin and you would’ve been sent back. But you should know, if that were to happen, all of this would seem like a strange dream. Your memories of the last seven years would be filled with the experience of that other you. The events you’ve experienced here would not inform your life. I have not brought you here to keep you from making that decision for yourself, but because I thought you deserved to have all the information relevant to what Fox was asking you to do. They forced my hand when they told you to kill Fred—I could not let you do that without knowing the full consequences. 

However, it is a moot point. As I said, something in the timeline has shifted again. You have merged—you have merged with another offshoot, your circumstances have once again changed. I wish I could give you the information that would help you navigate this new world—I wish I knew if this meant more potential allies or if this meant that you were closer to getting back home than you were before. But we cannot see all. Fox has their ways of seeing more than most, but I suspect even they are uncertain of what this shift has brought. 

I do know that yours and Harry’s fates are irreversibly intertwined. I cannot think of a decision on any timeline that would separate you as you are now. In that sense, I take comfort in knowing you will never be truly alone. 

On that subject, I have a final gift for you. I know you are going to cease transmitting soon. And I understand that, I do. But before you go silent, look at the radio system in front of you—“

…okay… 

“Turn it on and tune to the very last frequency. Then switch on the delta tune to the positive and access the off-frequency just beyond that final channel. 

Through some error that I know my superiors would like to correct, your transmissions have been reaching out—have been reaching outside of your world. In the same way that visions of the world you came from have bled into where you are now—” The polaroids I’m guessing— “your words have reached beyond their usual bounds. It is why they were able to reach your friends from across the country and after a year of listening to you, I have yet to figure out why this is happening at all.

Perhaps now that you are no longer alone, you don’t need this particular comfort. But you have spent all this time calling into the dark, hoping someone was listening, hoping someone would call back. Hoping that someone out there would find you. 

You were found a long time ago. You were never really lost or alone. Many of them were alone, before they heard your voice. But the moment you called out, there were voices calling back, even if you couldn’t hear them. 

Your friend,  Birdie”

What…I don’t…I don’t understand—

Okay, tune to the last frequency…let’s see

[turning to the frequency]

“You were found a long time ago”…Who found—

[gets to the last frequency and then—

a cacophony of different voices, all the messages that Whiskey has not been receiving, from infinite timelines]

(an intake of breath)

Oh my god.

[static]

[click]

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

Well. We, uh, made up. 

I—

[click, static]

It’s not fixed, it’s not like everything is suddenly—there’s still a lot we need to…

(clears throat)

She—she came looking for me. I wasn’t even done transmitting and she well, it was a long conversation and I’m not sure how much I—But I think I can probably give you the highlights. She said she wouldn’t give up. That I could keep moving in whatever direction I want to and she would be right behind me. That she’d stay there until I wanted her next to me. That she—

She told me that she wouldn’t ever stop loving me even if I decided I couldn’t forgive her. That she’d love me even if I chose to love someone else. That she wanted to watch me keep loving the world, in the hopes that it would help me love her again. (a small laugh) And that she wants me to shout at her whenever it seems like she’s forgetting that, whenever she starts to hold me too tightly. 

She wanted to start over. That’s the only thing she asked of me. That we could start fresh, get to know each other again, leave everything behind and try to…try to make something new, even if it’s just a friendship. Even if we’re still strangers two years from now. 

I told her no. I can’t start over. I won’t. I can’t forget what she’s told me, I can’t box away every contradictory feeling I’ve had for her. And I don’t know where that leaves us but I—in that moment, after hearing the last secret she had from me, that she loves me—I just decided, to hell with it, if this is—if she’s going to spent the next…who the hell knows how long, trying to get my forgiveness, my trust again, then I’m going into that with all the information I can and I—I kissed her. 

I didn’t…I didn’t expect anything from it. I just kissed her the once, not a prelude to anything, simple and earnest, but I just had to know. I’ve spent too much time, too many years, not knowing. And maybe it was unfair of me, to ask that of her without being able to promise the exact nature of the feelings behind it but she, uh, she didn’t seem to mind. 

She didn’t stop at kissing me once. And the moment she put her arms around me…(laughs) I had no hope. Passion is an emotion that can come from so many origin points and I don’t know if it was love or anger or some combination of what she brings out in me but…well, it turns out just shutting up and working out our issues in different ways is…not a bad idea. 

[a door opens behind Whiskey]

So that’s where we—that’s where we are. (smiling) Um, and—

[footsteps approaching]

Well, I’m still not letting her broadcast on my frequencies, but she’s— 

(off mic) Yes, I have been talking about you and you know that—

(on mic) Like I said, things aren’t fixed, but it’s—it feels like moving forward for the first time in a long time and—

(distracted) And, um, well she’s been…it’s like a floodgate has opened and—(off mic, laughing) Harry, get off—

[click, static]

(breathless) Sorry, uh…maybe I should keep doing these by myself seeing as someone can’t keep their hands—

[click, static]

Jesus, sorry—I got on here for a reason, you know. 

Because, well, I finally got my wish. My other wish. Our date this morning. I don’t even know what to do with the length of this message. I can’t tell where it ends and begins but I’m going to—I’m going to try. I said I’d sit in front of the radio for hours and copy out morse code and I’m sticking to that promise. 

It really is nice having so many radios. 

I’m recording and it seems like it’s going to keep going for a little while so—

(off mic, exasperated) Harry—

[click, static]

Yeah, okay, I’m gonna go—

Signing off. 

[click, static]

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey. As a patron, you will also receive each week's episodes as one longer episode every Monday.

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[TRANSCRIPT]

[click, static]

I could really use your dits and dashes right now, Birdie. I could really use anyone to talk to. Harry and I—well, all that growth and warming up and being more vulnerable…I guess I was lulled into a false sense of calm, because things finally…I didn’t think we had more to say to each other, but I guess we did. 

It was you…it was you saying “our date”. Can you believe that? All of this time, everything that’s happened, and it was a little jealousy over a person I question is real half the time that finally tipped Harry over. And, you know, I’d been suspecting that she was jealous of you but…Jesus. 

When I told her about your message, I guess—well, I was happy! I am happy, I’m looking forward to hearing what you have to say. But she—she read something into it because she asked me if I’m in love with you. Which is just…

Don’t take this the wrong way, Birdie, but that’s absurd to me. I’m grateful for you—more than I think I can ever fully express—and I hope that I’ve brought…well, something to what sounds like your fairly complicated existence, but I don’t know you. Not really. I know that you’re caring, and regretful, and scared—I know enough to consider you a friend and to want to really get to know you and cement that friendship. But I don’t know you like I…

I don’t know all the different kinds of laughs you have—the one when you’re being polite, when you think someone is being stupid, when you actually find something hilarious but don’t want to admit it, when you’re embarrassed or flattered, and the one that’s just genuine joy. I don’t know if you have any scars or birthmarks or that you broke your arm falling off a bike when you were eleven and haven’t ever really ridden a bike since. I don’t know the names of your parents or if you have siblings, or what you would spend your perfect day doing. 

And it’s not just…the minutiae, it’s…I wouldn’t recognize you in a crowd. I can listen to any song and not have it remind me of you. I can wake up and not have you be the first thing on my mind. 

I didn’t—I didn’t say all that, but I told Harry she was crazy, which, well, was the wrong thing to say because she…she blew up at me. She said that she’s felt this before, that she knows what it’s like to be on the outside when I’m on the inside with someone. That that’s what it’s always like with—

I know—I know that you can’t ever really know what someone is experiencing. How a person sees the same events that you’re both going through. But I’d—I’d really had no idea that Harry felt so left out all the time. That my friendship with the guys put her on the outs. That the easy way I had of being with everyone we ever met—with Sissy and K and Francis and Sylvie—how the way that I liked everyone and everyone liked me felt like she was always standing in front of a locked door. And that I was doing that now, that Birdie is my person and that Harry just gets the scraps of both. 

I…well, it put some things into context I guess. She’s selfish, possessive, resentful of the fact that she had to share me with all of New York and now she has to share me with the world. She hates the fact that I spent all that time not talking to her and then started telling every inner thought and private secret to anyone who could listen. She’s jealous of you and she’s jealous of my radio. 

And I’m not—that’s not me calling her selfish or possessive or any of that. That’s how she put it. Her exact words. And what does she want me to do with that? I—I didn’t say anything. I just walked away and came back up here. After all, it’s her turn to be the one left holding the emotional bag. 

I know she’s listening right now. I know she’s gone down to the little  visitor center and turned on her radio because I know she knows that the first thing I’d do is get on here and talk to you. Talk to the void. 

Except it was never the void, was it? All this time, I left to find people, to hope I’d have someone else to talk to, and I was just talking right to Harry all the while. And that’s the real truth of it. So I might as well talk straight to her right now. 

Sometimes I was so happy that we were the only two people in the entire universe. And then you told me what you did and I found myself wishing that I’d drive out into the world and find it full of people and then come back home to tell you and you…wouldn’t be there anymore. And I’d realize that it had all been some weird illusion, or dream, or nervous breakdown and that the whole time I’d been holed up with you, the world kept turning and it was you that wasn’t there. That you were somewhere else entirely, somewhere I’d never be able to reach. Somewhere beyond my control. I’d fantasize that I didn’t have to look for you anymore, because that’s what I was always doing. 

Back in New York, back in the world, I would look for you in every room. Any party I ever went to, any museum, it didn’t matter if you weren’t supposed to be there, if you weren’t invited, any time I went into a new place, I’d turn and hope you’d be there. Every time you weren’t was a tiny heartbreak and every time you were was even worse. And there would be a tiny, pinprick moment when I’d just get to look at you, take you in, see you out of the context of us—laughing at someone else’s joke, rolling your eyes at an art critic, sneaking another piece of cake…it would be a split second where I’d get to observe you exactly as you are without me and then it’d be over because you’d somehow know I was there and you’d look over and we’d lock eyes and then…then nothing. You would look away, or I would, and eventually we’d wander into each other’s orbits, but you never came straight to me. 

And then we lived together—we lived in the same house for six years, each other’s only company and I was still looking for you. I would still relish every moment that I was in a room without you realizing I was there and every time you’d eventually notice and you wouldn’t…you might say something, maybe, but you wouldn’t look back for long. You wouldn’t chase me. You never chased me. Not until now. 

And that’s the grand irony of all of this, isn’t it? I kept looking for you and the moment I left, the moment I stopped looking, you started. And try as I might, I was never really speaking to anyone but you. Even when I talked to Birdie or Fox or was just trying to speak to anyone—anyone who could hear, it was…I was always just trying to talk to you. I spent months hoping it was you, that we’d be able to say through morse code what we never could say out loud. 

And now you tell me it isn’t enough? That you still want more of me, that you want all of me, leaving nothing left for anyone else and I—I can’t do that. The part of me that can forgive you—however small it might be at times—that’s the part of me that wants to talk to anyone who would listen. That wants to like everyone she meets. That has wanted to be in the world. You can’t take that part of me away and still have…me. I can’t just be made up of the parts that you shaped. There has to be more of me, because I don’t think you’d want me otherwise. 

I stand by what I said almost eighteen months ago—we can’t move forward if you keep caging us in. I’m going to keep moving forward and I’m not going to look back to see if you’re following. 

I loved you, Harry. I did. I still lo— 

But I can’t keep looking for you. It’s your turn. 

[a door opens behind Whiskey]

[click, static]