Better

I caught a story on the local news as I pulled on my running shoes this morning about a mother of two from Staten Island who died when her minivan rolled off a cliff at a state park.

That story was followed by one about a Brooklyn livery cab driver was killed in when his car was struck by a flasher who was evading police.

It reminded me of a scene from my languishing screenplay, “Mo’ Hart,” which is ripped from the pages of my own life. In it, Mo’ has lost everything: his band, his guitar, his girlfriend. He just been beaten up and robbed. (It’s the end of the second act; that’s what happens: the protagonist looses everything.)

EXT – RIVER FRONT – NIGHT

Morrison limps toward river, stands at river’s edge, smokes a cigarette, and stares at lights of New Jersey. Throws cigarette into river. Throws remains of shattered guitar into river. Climbs railing, looks down into river, and considers throwing himself into river. Pauses, looks up, and climbs back over railing. Reaches into shoe where he’s stashed a ten dollar bill. Walks toward street and hails a cab.

INT – CAB – NIGHT

CAB DRIVER
Where to sir?

MORRISON
Um… 8th and Second

MORRISON stares out window at city passing, contemplative, beaten. Radio is barely audible in front…

RADIO
1010 WINS News time, 11:11. Now traffic and transit on the ones…

CAB DRIVER
Did you hear? On radio?

MORRISON
No, I didn’t. What’s the story?

CAB DRIVER
Father in Bronx. He pull in driveway, big sport truck. Home from work. Little daughter see him, maybe thing, ‘Daddy is home!’ You know, excited, and run to truck. But he not see her. And he run her over. (Snaps his fingers) She dead.

Morrison slips his head between his hands, wipes his forehead. Driver looks back in mirror.

MORRISON
That’s terrible.

CAB DRIVER
Yes sir, life short. End like that.

Cab falls silent. MORRISON looks out window, considering whether to drop the point. Looks up at driver’s badge, and addresses him by name.

MORRISON
You have kids, Avtar?

CAB DRIVER
Yes sir. Little boy. Thirteen months.

MORRISON
Little guy, huh?

CAB DRIVER
Yes sir, very little. But he grow very fast.

CAB DRIVER and MORRISON make eye contact in mirror.

MORRISON
Is he talking yet?

CAB DRIVER
Yes sir, little bit. Mostly ‘Goo goo, gaa gaa.’ I do not understand. But i smile at him, he smile at me.

MORRISON
You’re a lucky man.

CAB DRIVER
Yes sir. I work very long, but go home, see Govinda, see my baby. I know I am lucky man. You? You marry? Have baby?

MORRISON
Not yet. Some day.

CAB DRIVER
You will be lucky man then too.

CAB DRIVER and MORRISON make eye contact in mirror.

MORRISON
I hope so.

Cab pulls over.

CAB DRIVER
8th and Second.

Meter reads $5.75. Morrison hands Avtar $10, and steps out.

MORRISON
Thanks, Avtar. I appreciate it.

CAB DRIVER
Thank you sir. (He reaches through divider and shakes hand.) Good luck for you.

So, like Morrison, it got me thinking. When the chips are down, what are the things for which I’m really grateful? So I came up with this brief list as I ran along the Hudson River.

The Sky: Constantly changing, constantly amazing. Maybe its because I’m from Iowa, where the sky goes on forever. Maybe it’s because there are only slivers of sky in New York. Whatever. I must have two hundred photographs of it from my deck.
Music: Right now it’s The Flaming Lips’ “Fight Test” (“I don’t know where the sunbeams end
/ And the starlight begins / It’s all a mystery / And I don’t know how a man decides / What’s right for his own life / It’s all a mystery”), but on any given moment, it could be Willie Nelson, Keane, or…
Aimee Mann: Doesn’t matter who, what, when, or where, I wish I could write like her. “There comes a time when you swim or sink / So I jumped in the drink / Cuz I couldn’t make myself clear” That’s just crazy good.
My Deck: Like having a yard and a planetarium and a restaurant, all rolled into on. Love it.
Running: Listen, I don’t always like running. And frankly, my legs hurt all day every day. Mr. Rogers ran most every day of his life. And I read something in my friend Amy Hollingsworth’s book, “The Simple Faith of Mr. Rogers,” that helped me understand him, and exercise, better. He said that when he felt angry, he just swam a little bit harder, and that made him feel better.
Ethan, obvs.

Pearls of wisdom and perspective come from the oddest places. On CBS Sunday Morning on, well, Sunday morning (best morning ever: coffee, New York Times and Charles Osgood), Russ Mitchell interviewed Billy Joel. (You should know that Chris and I used to lock ourselves into the garage with tennis rackets and lip synch “Glass Houses” and “52d Street.) He’s fresh off a thirteen-night, sold out stand at Madison Square Garden, and is releasing a live recording culled from those performances. So Russ and Bill were hanging out on Long Island and in the last line of the segment (the “kicker,” as they say), Billy says, “Yunno, people have it all wrong. Everybody wants to be happy. But I think it’s all about contentment. And I look around at my life, and I’m content. And that’s better than happy.”