Act I
We meet by a leafless treestump in Greenport. It marks the end of the road on which our house is located. We will meet here daily, for a week, whilst we wait. We are waiting for the author.
The author introduced us to Greenport. She explained it was by far the best. A small, old community, located out on the lesser frequented north fork of Long Island.
Each day we discuss our journeys beyond the Greenport line. Our trip to the Hamptons- Mark describes the shops there: ‘slutty baby doll clothes’. The enormous houses and the workmen blowing the cut grass from the immaculately manicured road verges.
The ferry to shelter island and Sag harbour, and out to the Montawk Light House and the Pollack-Krasner house. The stories of the painters and their companionship and the creativity in a community of artists and their burial under a massive stone from the garden.
The trip to the shops, the purchase of jeans, shirts, pants and shoes. The impersonation of an English accent, the explanation that ‘that’s not how percentages work.’
We ponder our visits to the bar, listening to the music play out over the bay, watching the locals dance as we sip our beer and eat our oysters.
All the time we wait for the author, will she arrive, have we met her before? Is she Sarah, is she Nico, is she Berlin? A messenger arrives, sent by the author, “the author told me to tell you she won’t come this evening, but surely to-morrow.”
We decide to move on, but stay motionless by our stump, waiting.
Act II
The stump is unchanged, maybe an extra leaf or two at its base. We meet again, and wait.
We remember the bar, and soak up the atmosphere whilst it rains around us. We chatter with a newly married couple and watch the tiny forty year old down shot after shot after shot.
We discuss the musician, her song climbing higher and higher across the globe. Her music a backdrop to the discussions we have.
The author’s book arrives and we read it, looking for clues, a story from a namelss location on Long Island. But we ask each other, Will she come too?
We discuss our visit to the beach, the brief swim as the rain started to fall, our runs along the road and walks back and forth to town.
The messenger reappears, the author isn’t coming.
We agree we should go, move on across the sound to Cape Cod, we begin to pack, gather our stuff, but sit back down, enjoying Greenport, and wait.
Liam, (with the tiniest of influence from Samuel Beckett) Greenport, Long Island, NY, USA 07-14 June 2022
