Emily and Walt

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Im going to dinner with Emily Dickinson. I’m nervous but I know I can do this. She’s a beautiful woman.
I’m sure i can do this. She won't figure it out. It will be a nice dinner, perhaps I shall take her home.
I’m good at secrets, the best. Why even I myself often think I know little or nothing of my real life.
Only a few hints, a few diffused faint clews, and indirections
Time to go.
I have a date with Walt Whitman but..I havent been out in years. I’m so very nervous. Look in the mirror.. You’re shaking.
I cant bring myself to.. I dont know. The spaces.. Theres so many open spaces. The doc calls it agorophobia, but truthfully thats not it.
I just cant stand the feeling of open space around me. That’s not so bad. He wont laugh at me, he wont even know.
I can hide it.. I’m good at hiding things. But I wonder what we will talk about. Its been a long time since ive had to communicate.
To wonder what myself will say and what itself will say to me. I cant do this. Im sure I cant. He’ll know.. I’m having second thoughts.
I mean what’s the point? If I have to hide who I am.. What’s the point?
Nobody could ever love someone so cowardly as to be afraid of nothing more than a single open space in a room.
I'm running late.
End of Scene 1.

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