How Lila Might Lose An Abstract Noun

"How Lila Might Lose an Abstract Noun"

Last, Lila finds it necessary to define “love” or is it “Love” or, possibly, “LOVE” (and, in ending this sentence, the author/narrator/collaborator with Lila and her fictitious life finds it difficult to decide whether to use a “?” or a “.”) It is, quite possibly, the reader/sympathizer/empathizer’s job to create a meaning for this word. The author/narrator/ collaborator with Lila and her fictitious life is going to abstain from defining this abstract noun; it is not the author/narrator/collaborator with Lila and her fictitious life’s job. At first glance, the reader/sympathizer/empathizer will assign the task of shaping the reader/sympathizer/empathizer’s definition of “love” or “Love” or “LOVE” to be Lila’s responsibility. This cannot possibly be the case as the author/narrator/collaborator with Lila and her fictitious life is going to present Lila in third person (which, at all points in the narrative, will be limited to strictly Lila’s sphere of activity, or environment) and will not be omniscient [all the reader/sympathizer/empathizer will be presented with, or the narrator/author/collaborator with Lila and her fictitious life will present, is physical loss of supposed “love” or “Love” or “LOVE” (which cannot be defined by the reader in terms of Lila because, without the omniscient view from Lila’s perspective, or the imposed meaning displayed by the author/narrator/collaborator with Lila and her fictitious life, it will be up to the reader/sympathizer/empathizer to decide what “love” or “Love” or “LOVE” means to them in terms of Lila’s experiences presented by the author/narrator/collaborator with Lila and her fictitious life)].
At this point in the narrative, which might be offered as a beginning, but is truly an end as well, the narrative style calls to be simplified. The narrative cannot continue to repeat the designated titles that have come to represent the persons and the abstracts in this story (which, as of yet, does not seem to have fashioned, or been fashioned, into any sort of story). From X → (which is to represent ← X), the reader/sympathizer/empathizer will simply be “the reader” [though minus the quotation marks, as they are unnecessary (capitalizing the words “the”, and “reader”, at intervals where appropriate, and, quite possibly, when not)]; the author/narrator/collaborator with Lila and her fictitious life will be known to all as whichever of the three titles (or, conceivably, a combination of two titles, but never all three) is chosen at that particular moment [such as: NOW … when the author (who is a she, but this matters not) chooses the word “author” at this point for the sound quality and dignity it represents, and the agency and authority which it instills in The Reader’s mind]; Lila will remain “Lila” where capitalization is of no consequence as it is constant; and “Love” or “love” will be shown the consideration the noun deserves dependent upon grammatical correctness of beginning, ending, or in the midst of a sentence until completion of the narrative.
Has the story started, yet? Has the narrative begun, yet? Who is responsible for presenting what? Who is responsible for deriving meaning from this? Let all of us (The Reader, The Author/Narrator, and Lila) start with the latest in a series of accounts that occurred (but all will not be recorded), presented in third person.
Travis moved into Lila’s apartment with his two tabby cats (one of which would curl up in her lap while she read, the other at her feet while she slept); his Sonicare® toothbrush with charger (for which he purchased an addition toothbrush for her to charge on alternate days); his air guitar (which he had played for her whenever their favorite headbanging song, Love Screams Your Name From My Toes To My Nose, brushing the air around his right thigh with one hand and fingering his left breast with the other); his toothpicks (that were NEVER used at the table because etiquette dictates that this is rude); his lap blanket; and his blue suede La-z-boy® armchair (in which they had had sex three times, two of which she had been on top with the lap blanket wrapped around their ankles); and numerous other things that fit neatly in, around, and on top of Lila’s things … in the beginning.
This is the beginning of the end after eleven months of living together: Travis lost his job (that abstract/concrete thing that allowed for him to pay for pet food, his half of the rent, his half of the bills, etc.) Instead of attempting to find a new job, he simply stayed in the apartment playing with his tabby cats, brushing his teeth with his Sonicare® toothbrush, playing air guitar and masturbating in his La-z-boy® as evidenced by the rise and fall of the lap blanket. The reader should note at this point that they might feel “sympathy”, or even “empathy”, with Lila (or, quite possibly, Travis, but this is not his story), in which case the reader can identify himself, or herself, with whichever title seems to suit them best. Once having chosen a title, though, it is important to understand “WHY” that particular title was chosen because it is going to determine how one views the outcome of this scenario.
If The Reader sympathizes, becoming The Sympathizer, then one might feel bad that Lila has this boyfriend, Travis, who moved in and now she becomes “Poor Lila” as viewed from the outside. This type of reader may sit happily and hear all of the inactivity that Travis displays now that he is jobless and unwilling to move forward in the narrative. This might be a poor choice as this story’s only concern should be with what Lila does and says contained within this particular set of circumstances.
If The Reader empathizes, becoming The Empathizer, then one might say, “Oh God, something like this happened to me and DAMN did it piss me off and/or make me cry, or got me up off my butt to get my man/woman back on track!” which loudly calls for action on Lila’s part. But, what should Lila do? She cannot wait for Travis to act because his character refuses dynamicism purely through the position he occupies within the narrative. The author/narrator refuses to tell Travis’ tale and recognizes that this story, by all rights, belongs to Lila. But, is this the best approach to the story? This approach would invariably exclude many readers, and that would just not be exercising fairness (another abstract noun to wrap one’s head around).
It is, therefore, the author’s responsibility to write in an action, or set of actions, that ultimately would indicate whether Lila had possessed “love” with Travis, or not. This is a huge hurdle to clear. Will there be an accident of some sort … or the author’s computer going “kaput” before getting it down?
Ah! An idea! There needs to be a very specific scene drawn in which whatever action can take place. Possibly, if the author can formulate this very specific scene, the answer to how Lila should take action will inevitably establish itself.
The author makes a decision to let the narrator side of her profession take the lead where the narrator will be as a camera eye, with no access whatsoever to Lila’s mind. This is the scene the narrator views with complete anonymity and with no prejudice (so, to a certain extent, the narrator IS omniscient, as seeing things from above): Travis lays in the La-z-boy® with the lap blanket pulled up to the middle of his chest and BOTH arms beneath the blanket; one tabby “rrrroowwws” at a standing Lila, alternately looking from her to a nearby chair; the other tabby “rrroowwws” in the hallway by the bedroom door, the proximity to the bedroom door can be discerned by the register of the cat’s voice; Lila stands between the doorway to the family room and the La-z-boy® with a Sonicare® toothbrush in her hand, poised as if to begin to brush; and Lila’s eyes and Travis eyes meet, but only for that moment that the camera eye catches, by pure chance.
This scene leaves the narrative limited; it needs the introduction of one or more new props. Hence, the author decides upon … upon …oh, what does the reader think? Why, this a fine idea the author just had … an unread (as evidenced by its pristine condition, and with the red pencil still lying in the same direction atop, which Lila had placed on it at 6:23 that very morning) Thursday newspaper which, by collective American societal knowledge (Did we forget to mention that this scene takes place in ____, _____, USA?), contains this week’s classified ads which, in turn, contains this week’s job listings which, in turn, contains some singular job listings for which Travis might well be suited.
Conflict!
So, how should Lila react to this scene? We all know (the reader, the narrator, and Lila) that she placed the paper in this spot at 6:23 a.m. with the red pencil (it is inferred, within the text, that as in school days, to call attention to important elements, red pencil might be used to accentuate plausible errors, conflicts, or successes, and could also be used to circle want ads) balanced atop. We all know Travis likes to sit and masturbate in this chair (but, what we all do not know is how often, why, or what he thinks of when doing so) and we all know the cats live in the household (though, we have no clue as to whether they are ever let out, what their names are, and if these are even matters of any relevancy). And, we all can only come to the conclusion that it is relatively close to bedtime because Lila is getting ready to brush her teeth (there are certain clues in fiction that only arise at opportune moments and, let us all, The Reader, The Author/Narrator, face it, brushing your teeth is one of them).
Now would be a fine time for the dialogue that this manuscript has since been lacking.
“What are you doing?”
This seems weak, does it not? The reader and the narrator are not even sure who is speaking. For that matter, The Author is not quite sure either. If given the chance to reflect, any number of people might suggest that this moment, with Lila being human, might well have been rehearsed and would not have sounded so cavalier. So, we MUST start over at the beginning, or is it the middle, and might well be the end (do we use a “?” or a “.”)
The author needs to decide at this juncture whether to have Lila sound like we imagine Barbie® doll sounds when pissed off at Ken (Is this even trademarked? How can the Mattel® corporation go about trademarking the name when it so obviously is short for Kenneth?) ® (the author will place the trademark symbol in the narrative to cover her ass against a lawsuit), or to sound like Jane Fonda, in Barbarella, the movie.
Before the narrative begins anew (or, in the middle) with dialogue that will drive the story forward (or backward) and renewal of the current conflict (or past conflict), a time must be set that Travis has been laying back in the easy chair. From Lila’s perspective it is probably days or weeks. From Travis’ perspective it may be hours or minutes since he got up and say … pissed or snacked out of the fridge. Since this is Lila’s story, let us all assume that he has not moved (except for bed-sleep, pissing, pooping and eating out of the fridge) since the previous week or approximately, six days.
“What are you doing?” (It is the same question! The author cannot decide whether the question has been repeated, or the dialogue is beginning afresh. We all now know that it is Lila who is speaking and, in some way, this question now sounds more loaded with pent animosity, does it not?)
“Nothing.” (An entirely expected response.)
“Well, I can see you’re doing NOTHING NOW, but what did you do today?”
“Looked for a job.”
“What … on the back of your eyelids? With your right hand wrapped around your ding-a ling?”
Ouch! Has Lila REALLY HAD IT, or what? Or, is this just some utter b*tch (The author is very proud of herself for this little pun. The words utter and udder sound not so very different. Get it?) that he moved in with. The Author does not enjoy or condone swearing, so this is how this now definitive word for a female dog when used in reference to a female human will be represented in the text. The author believes that when a person swears, it negates everything said before and everything following.
“No … I looked on-line.”
“We don’t have a computer.”
“ …” (This, with quotations, is to represent a brief, but heavy, pause in the dialogue were either of the two characters may speak following its appearance.)
“I had Chad look on-line for me.” (Who the hell is Chad? Where did he come from? Let us all come to the unanimous decision to oust Chad, for he serves no real purpose.)
“That’s B.S., and you know it!” [Two things are happening in this sentence of which we all should take note: 1) We all find that another fine way to swear is by contraction or acronym, which we all know to be perfectly acceptable in social circles; and A) Lila has insinuated that Travis is a “liar” which we all can only assume to be true because she has, so far, not really given us all any reason to doubt her. (The use of “1” and “A” were intentional in that the author could not make a decision on which to use because both points appeared to be equally important, but one still has to follow the other. The reader may not agree with the degree of importance, but then the reader is not the author, or are they?)]
Should the author have Lila put her toothbrushed hand on her hip and stare him down until he folds? Should the narrator step in and remove the reader from this scene to a wholly new scenario? Should the reader even keep reading with the headache that would inevitably arise from trying to decipher clearly the meaning behind this tale (This story is at its tail, or beginning, which is the end, do not fret!)?
Now is the time for a brief, but heavy, pause (and also, a return to the dialogue).
“ …”
We all now discover that we cannot go back to the dialogue yet, because someone needs to try to define “love.” Questions only appear in lieu of definitions: would Lila speak to Travis in this manner if she had any “love” for him; if Travis has “love” for Lila, would he be making a little more effort not to unduly burden her financially and emotionally; is this Lila’s first “romantic love” that is being soured by Travis’ static bearing; what defines Lila’s “love” anyway? The author chooses a response that seems to fit the story:
“Tomorrow I’ll help you … ‘cause we can’t go on like this.”
“Tomorrow I’m talking to Chad about moving into his place.”
“ …”
Is Lila losing her “love”? Everything goes back to trying to define this word that is an abstract noun, that means something, however slightly or grandly, different to every person in America. Does a word, a singular word, for “love” exist in every language, in every nation, and in every faction of humanity?
And, the author is like a parrot — regurgitating and regurgitating what the parrot mimics (and, parrots NEVER LIE … unless they are fictitious).