Week 3

SCENE: A gravesite. Weather is gloomy; overcast. Margaret de Beauvoir stands cloaked in black, forlorn, at the foot of three plaques, one decorated with an American flag, another topped with a bush hat, and a third with a rainbow bandana.

MARGARET, weeping and gesticulating wildly: Oh, how all journeys seem to begin and end in this wretched country. This -- this barren land known for its "wonderful" desolation captures the hearts and spirits of far too many who are unaware of the dangers of the modern world.

Though my knowledge of you all was scant, Simone wrote of you all fondly in her letters to me, and I have come to express my deepest sympathies, condolences, and concerns for the future on her and my own behalf.

To George [gesturing to the bandana], Simone told me of your kindness and quick-wit. She told me of your attention to detail, your upstanding attitude, and her admiration for your continued emphasis on Native American life throughout the South and beyond. Inspired by your astuteness, Simone remarked that you were the first man that she met along her tour of the United States that impressed upon her the idea of inauthenticity. Your uncompromising search for the American Dream, for freedom, and for discovery stood in stark contrast to what she observed from other Americans embarking on similar journeys for spiritual renewal. The only difference, she said, is that you were brave enough to embody it, to actually go out and get it, and that people weren't ready for it. May you rest in piece, finding solace in the vast valleys and mountains that you made your home. [Whispering] May there also be no alcohol in the world beyond.

To Wyatt [gesturing to the flag], Simone wrote extensively to me about your warm reception, and about how thoughtful you were in accepting and offering her help along her journey. While she remained cautious of your bike, glassy, bloodshot eyes, and formidable journey [whispering] and rightly so, [returning to normal volume] she told me of a particular fondness she had for your spontaneity. She said that for a woman, to travel as you did would be an impossibility. Sleeping on the side of the road and scavenging in rural communities for meals, while perhaps "fun" for men, is an opportunity not afforded to women in this day and age. She says that after the publication of her book, which she has decided to entitle The Second Sex, she may feel safe enough to undertake a journey similar to your own to honor your memory, despite my best advice. [whispering] But not if I have anything to say about it. May you rest in peace.

And finally, to Billy [gesturing to the hat]. Simone, though initially dubious of your seemingly aggrandizing distrust of her and work, wrote extensively to me about your affinity for communal living. She was simply fascinated with all you had told her about how it was possible to be living out your days with others, collectively living off of the land, entertaining each other, and [side-eye] refusing monogamy. Frankly, she had never encountered any such thing during her tour of the glittering continent beyond, and she seemed skeptical that such a primitive way of life might continue to exist in industrial nations today. Nevertheless, she captured your stories in a vast collection of notebooks and journals that she plans to have published by the French Society of Great Fictional Works in your name. As you begin your holy [giggling] oh my, no pun intended [blushing] that was inappropriate  journey into the unknown and beyond, Simone wishes that you carry with you the same curiosity and drive for exploration that mere stories evoked and enraptured; she wishes that you find spiritual peace and resolution in whatever form it may take up [whispering, again] unless its that dreaded marijuana-opium or what else is the rage with these "hippies" nowadays.

It is with a heavy heart that I must return to France, to a world of safety without proclivity for contempt or murder or exploration. Perhaps it is in this haven that I may never be filled with the same mysterious spirit that infects the youth and compels them to go to God-knows-where, for God-knows-what-reason, but I may live out the rest of my days fiercely protecting those whom I love.

[Courtesies, places a bouquet of flowers on each of the headstones, and enters the black limousine as her driver opens the door for her, speeding away from the cemetery into the cold afternoon as the sun peaks through the patchwork clouds]