Interlude

A theme became visible to me just now as I was writing in my other blog about favourite TV shows.

I was pondering two riveting scenarios from recent episodes of Deadwood and Six Feet Under. In each, a tragedy happens, yet there is a drawn-out period between the viewer's experience of the tragedy, and the realization by the characters on each show, that something horrible has happened. They go on blithely with their day, not realizing their lives have already been changed by something horrible.

In Deadwood, a panicked horse escapes a barn and mows down a young boy in the street - the son of one of the main characters. There's this riveting scene immediately after the death where you see all the main characters pausing slightly, unconcerned, hearing some commotion from the street. Nothing unusual. They have no idea what has happened. Faint smiles play on their faces, mild curiosity, just another day in Deadwood.

In Six Feet Under, Nate suffers an anurism while his mother is off galavanting in the woods with a lover. She has no idea her eldest son has almost died...and then does die. No one can reach her. You just know that when she finally makes it home, she's going to want to kill herself for being away, indulging herself, being selfish, while her son is suffering and dying.

And then there's a scene from my own experience. 1992 or 93, I think. Something I didn't find out about till the next day, but it happened to a friend and has haunted me ever since. My ex and I were friends with another married couple, Wayne and Illa. Both of them rode Harleys. One night, Wayne kissed his wife and went off on his bike to have a beer with a friend. Not far from home, he lost control of his bike, no one knows why, and skidded into a ditch.

Wayne survived the initial accident. But in a cruel twist of fate, his bike landed on top of him and he died slowly in the ditch. He wasn't found until hours later.

I've never been able to shake the image of him lying there in the ditch, pinned under his bike, unable to free himself, slowly losing strength, maybe unable to keep his head up anymore, he either drowns in the ditchwater or suffocates from the weight of the bike.

The thing that haunts me now ... all of us, his wife, his family, his friends, just living our little lives while he's lying there desperately trying not to die. Alone. God knows how long he was there before he died. And what were all of us doing while he struggled? Watching TV, washing dishes, fighting with each other. And Wayne in a ditch with a motorcycle on top of him.

I think this kind of thing, these interludes between a tragedy and our knowledge of it, could make for some very compelling storytelling. Wayne's tragic death almost makes it impossible for me to think of such a thing, let alone examine as deeply as would be necessary to write well about it...it's too heartbreaking...but I think it could really be worth it.