All stories begin somewhere.
This is where mine begins.
I'll try and make it simple, and
keep it to the point, but sometimes I become confused.
The real and the imagined intermingle
sometimes merging, becoming one.
Sometimes changing sides altogether. . .
Many people come to my house.
Each one comes for his own reasons.
None of them were invited.
I would even ignore their knocking
hoping they would go away.
When they didnt, I...
knew more was involved than just a casual salesman, or...
...OI'...
meter reader.
One boy was an artist... or... art student or... something.
He was interested in drawing my house as an example of...
...period architecture.
He was a good-looking boy with...
...easy words and a fast wit.
His body was small and wiry
and he moved with a...
...with an...
...animal-like cockiness.
Not arrogant
but sure of himself.
His power.
At first I was suspicious of his motives.
I thought he might be a snoop or coming...
...tO PW“-
...to criticize my way of living.
But when we started talking
I saw a different interest in his eyes.
I could feel his eyes...
...move over me...
...stripping away mY---
...clothes and my defenses.
He didn't rush his desire
and he gave mine time to grow as well.
Instead of sketching the house...
...he asked me to pose.
Up to this point, I...
...hadn't really given much thought...
...to his talent.
But when the sketch was done
I was more than flattered.
I was a little frightened.
I had never seen myself through another's eyes.
Though I knew it was me...
...it was really more like a twin brother.
More like...
...someone like me, but...
...not me.
When he finally asked to see the rest of the house...
...l knew in which room we would spend the rest of the day.
Why did I do it?
I don't know.
I don't even remember doing it.
It's as if I were...
...not really me, but the person inside the sketch...
...watching the model destroy the artist.
I don't know why I did it.
I try not to remember it, I...
...l try to think about other things.
I like to think about nature.
I like to go up in the trees and...
...listen to the birds.
Sometimes I'm glad to be alone...
...but at other times I need a friend, someone...
...to do something for... someone to talk to.
Re-remember Leslie Caron
in the movie THE L-SHAPED ROOM?
I've always wanted to...
...to meet someone lonely like that, and...
...be able to brighten up their life.
I guess I always wanted to be like...
...the guy in the movies that...
...everyone likes, but...
...he dies in the end, and...
...nobody in the audience can get over it.
They all leave the theater with...
...dry knots in their throats, and...
...and all the men light cigarettes
before they're out of the theater so no one will notice their...
...eyes are watery.
Anyway, I'm beginning to sound too much like...
...Catcher in the Rye.
This is my story, my feelings.
When this kid with the knapsack came along...
...l was in one of those moods, one of those...
...paternal moods.
Nothing was thought out or planned.
It all just happened.
One step at a time.
But then, isn't life one step at a time?
And we never know which step will be the last.
They say that everything is in circles
or happens in cycles...
...something like that, anyway.
But we never expect it.
We're always surprised when we...
...turn the corner and bump into the past.
We proclaim shock, but...
...if we had just looked over our shoulder...
...we would have seen it was there all the time.
I got frightened when I saw this car drive up.
I thought it might be the...
...the police...
...but then I realized it was the wrong kind of car.
But maybe it was the police and they were...
...using a special trick car
that didn't look like a police car.
Yeah, that had to be it.
Why else would someone drive up in a car to see me?
I didn't know what to do. I thought...
...maybe if I pretended he was a salesman, and...
...and I didn't want anything, he'd go away.
But, of course, all I had to do was look over my shoulder.
His roommate had left a note saying...
...he was going to sketch this old house, and...
...and then had gave my address.
Now this fellow was looking for him
before he called the police.
At first I lied, and...
...said I hadn't seen him...
...but then I got scared, and...
...said I had and that I...
...wouldn't let him in.
The fellow seemed confused by everything, so I...
...told him to come on in while I...
...l tried to remember more.
M-maybe his roommate had...
...had said something...
...something about where he was going
and I just couldn't remember.
He seemed nervous, and...
...confused because all the time I was telling him about his...
...roommate with my mouth...
...l was telling him about myself with my eyes.
When he agreed to come in...
...a weird excitement ran through me.
For the first time that I can remember...
...l knew what I was going to do...
...before I did it.
It made what I was going to do seem abstract.
Like...
Well, the whole thing was not what I was going to do...
...but that I knew I was going to do it.
For the first time, I wasn't afraid of anything.
I was in charge.
I was the boss.
I was a man.
All stories end somewhere.
This is where mine ends.