The Founder showed up to the Dirtlease offices on a Monday morning mosquito-bitten, emaciated and fevered. He took a cup of coffee and a thermos of green tea, walked to the corner office, closed the door, and collapsed on the couch.
‘Holy fuck’, Legal said.
‘That is Voodoo economics in action’, Economics said.
‘You don’t know what has happened on that couch’, DEI said.
An hour before lunch, Legal ran into the Founder in the men’s room. The Founder was coming out of one of the stalls while Legal stood at the urinal. Legal craned his head over his shoulder and said, ‘Where the hell you been?’
‘I have been at a writers’ residency’, the Founder said.
“What’s that’, Legal said.
‘Excuse me’, the Funder said, and ducked back into the toilet stall.
‘Have you gotten to the stomach acid yet’, Legal asked.
‘I’m way past the stomach acid’, the Founder said.
.
Later, at the Media Res, Legal said, ‘You didn’t answer my question. What’s a writers’ residency?’
The after-work crowd was light. People don’t work in offices anymore, the Founder thought. They drink less, they are more risk averse, they have fewer kids and they even do less buna-bunga. What is the world coming to? He downed a Mezcal, a Tennessee whiskey and a bourbon in rapid succession.
‘Are you sure that’s OK for your stomach’, Legal asked.
‘I think it’s the best thing for my stomach’, the Founder said. He signaled to the bartender, two fingers, here and for my friend.
‘I don’t think anyone knows what a residency is’, the Founder said. ‘But I know what it isn’t.’
‘But, like, what is it? What do you do there?’
‘Some are well-established and difficult to get into, like Yaddo and Bread Loaf. Some are new and will take anyone who will fog a mirror.’
‘Sure. But –‘
‘T.C. Boyle wrote a novel about a writers’ residency on an island off the coast of Georgia. A Japanese sailor jumps ship and washes up near the Thanatopsis artist colony. East meets west, shenanigans ensue.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘You know, Boyle’s middle name wasn’t Coraghessan? One of his ancestors had that name. He liked it, so he stole it.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Each writers’ residency is unique, but they should have two elements. The first is a place to write. Each resident should have access to a private, quiet place where they can dive in and do what they need to do. The second is community. Once the day is done, there should be some kind of communal activity – workshops, meals, readings. Writing is a solitary pursuit. It is important to have a group of people with whom you can receive, as well as transmit.’
‘So, the place you went – it had these elements?’
‘Nope. Neither.’
‘The fuck?’
The drinks arrived. The Founder downed his and signaled for two more.
.
‘So – what was the place’, Legal asked. ‘What the hell happened there?’
The Founder seemed to be engaged in a conversation in American Sign Language with the empty chair next to him. That worried Legal. It was still early in the evening.
‘Have you met my flamingo, Fred’, the Founder asked, gesturing to the empty seat. ‘He is technically a pet, but I think of him more as a colleague.’
‘Where was the residency’, Legal asked.
‘Tennessee’, the Founder said. ‘Near the Smokies.’
‘And what about it’, Legal asked.
‘The South really is strange’, the Founder said. I stopped in southern Virginia on the way down. While I was doing burpees in a motel parking lot, some cracker came up to me and said, ‘Excuse me, sir? Ah’m tryin to bum a smoke. You don’t look like the kind of person who would have a cigarette, do you?’ I explained to him that people who do burpee workouts in motel parking lots at 6 AM don’t smoke.’
‘The residency’, Legal said. ‘What happened there?’
‘Nothing!’ the Founder said. ‘That’s the fecking problem.’
‘Was there an office for you to work in?’
‘No.’
‘Were there communal activities?’
‘No.’
‘So – what was there?’
‘A grungy two-bedroom house. A bunch of sheep, goats and chickens we were supposed to feed. An office in the house that was shared by three residents. A kitchen that we were allowed to cook our own food in. No workshops, readings, or communal meals. Not even directions to cultural events in Knoxville.’
‘You could have rented an AirBNB for that.’
‘My bed was in a shed out back that was a converted chicken coop. No running water and no electricity on ninety-five degree days. I had to shit in a hole. That’s how I got the dysentery.’
‘Wow.’
‘I’ll be back.’
The Founder sprinted, bowlegged, toward the jacks.
.
The server walked by Legal, sitting alone. ‘You doing OK here’, she asked. She was wearing a crop-top and had primary-color fingernails. He did not know how the hell women walked on shoes like that. He thanked the world, for the n+1th time, that he was born the way he was born.
‘Give me another mezcal’, Legal said. ‘And one for my flamingo.’
‘I am sure he is lovely’, the server said, ‘But I like my birds small and edible.’
‘He is technically a pet’, Legal said, ‘But I think of him more as a collaborator.’
.
When the Founder returned, he said, ‘I should hydrate.’
‘What happened with the parks when you were gone’, Legal asked.
‘Mike fixed a leak on the water main in the northern New York park before I left’, the Founder said. ‘Then, it started leaking again. We could tell we had a leak because of the difference between the master meter reading and the aggregate of individual meter readings.’
‘We still have Metron?’
‘Sad but true.’
‘Did you visit Clayton Homes when you were in Tennessee?’
‘I walked past the head office of Twenty-First Mortgage. I made a hissing sound and the sign of the cross when I did that.’
‘Has Mike found the leak?’
‘No. It is buried somewhere.’
‘How is the progress on the home the guy died in in central New York?’
‘Slow.’
‘Do you think that attending the residency was a mistake?’
The Founder paused and reflected. Then, he turned to the empty seat and gestured with his hands. He nodded, thought, made some more signs, and then turned to Legal.
‘Fred says that it was not a mistake, because I did not know any better’, the Founder said. ‘But he suggests I not do it again.’
Man lebt zu lern.
Is it really that bad?
Are you still there?