(Man lies down on couch. Silence. Man begins to talk to Doc, the assumed analyst behind the desk, his chair is facing away from the man and can not be seen. His actual presence is ambiguous. A huge American Flag hangs down from ceiling. The window is left open, so the flag ripples in the wind. The day is hot. The Devil Winds are blowing off the Mojave Desert.)
History is fabrication. History is betrayal.
“What passes for identity in America is a series of myths about one’s heroic ancestors."
America and Me
(1) History is fabrication, coated with honey, and bubbled from all evil, in order to make life worth living. American History is no exemption. Our history books contain heroes. Men and women displayed to be as perfect in life as Christ himself. Their lives are relived through the typed paragraphs, their faults extinct, their miracles numerous. This is a fabrication. A lie is a lie if only half the truth is told. When genocide is remembered, we make the victims savages; this is monstrous. When Vietnam is forgotten, this is a bubble community that believes what it wants to believe. I want to know the entire truth. I do not want to stumble upon the truth years later after already worshipping fabricated patriotic heroes. I do not want to vomit the already ingested heroes out of my stomach. I do not want to feel betrayed. I want to possess the heroes that I have patterned my life around.
(2) I am sixteen. I have my first girl friend. We are in love and talk about marriage. We think we will grow old together. I catch her in a lie and break up with her. She comes to me crying, begging for forgiveness, she can not live with out me. I forgive her. We continue going out. A friend tells me my girlfriend cheated on me the week she was gone. I question my girlfriend, and she tells me her story. I believe her. Days later I hear the same rumor from a different pair of lips. I question my girlfriend again. She once again tells me the same story. “A bolt of lightening whacks me!” It does not matter what she says. She has lied to me once; she will lie to me twice, and forever. I ended it. To this day, I have said no more than a “hi” to her. I was going to marry this girl? Now I can not stand her beastly face.
(3) I am sixteen. I am in tenth grade and in history class forming a relationship with America and her past. This relationship has been going on since my birth. I think I know her. We have lived together for sixteen years. I am in college now, twenty-one years old. I have found out my America has lied to me. America has lied to me more than anyone one in my life. How can I ever trust her again? I do not. I end our relationship. To this day, I have said no more than “hi” to her.
(Man speaks to the audience.)
(4) For the rest of my life, America and I are in therapy. Our analyst keeps asking the same questions of America: Why do you feel...