A Thousand Tableaus

[Zetsu]

We begin in the bathroom.

The shower curtain is hot pink. The walls are landlord white. The light of the sun striking the walls after it passes through the shower curtain is soft pink.

The door is closed.

You can imagine a world beyond that door, a world outside of the bathroom. You can imagine, too, that the dark, huddled mass in the center of the room is a person.

But right now, there isn’t one; and right now, they aren’t.

[Lights on.]

In the mirror, a Vivian. Outside of it, another. They are looking at each other, examining each other, smiling at and for each other. The Vivian in the mirror raises her left hand, presses it against the right hand of her opposite number, and allows the intimacy of the moment to stretch; the smile they exchange is one of solidarity. Two sets of eyes close; two sets of nostrils move as if to suck air in; two mouths open as if to exhale.

Then one Vivian withdraws her hand from the mirror, shapes it into a V-sign, and, in one deft motion, snaps it into place: eye-level, to the left of the face, nearly horizontal. On the other side of the mirror, the other Vivian is nearly perfect in matching her movements—but she rushes ahead, as she always does, by imperceivable fractions of a second.

Hey, you can’t match perfection.

Two hands drop. Two bodies perform a twirl, into a hairflip, into another V-sign.

Two hands drop.

One Vivian opens her mouth without a sound; the other Vivian mirrors her, and speaks for them both: “Not bad.”

She giggles, and winks. In the mirror, the other Vivian winks back, as though they are sharing a joke that only the two of them understand.

A few more poses, and a few more movements.

Then, at last, one Vivian reaches out of frame to put a hand on the doorknob.

“Well! That was great, wasn’t it? See ya tomorrow, lovely.”

The door clicks—

And we pause.

Back five. Back five again.

Look.

Exit full-screen.

Illuminated by the glow of the monitor in front of her, another Vivian frowns at the two Vivians before her: they're close to what she was looking for, but not quite. Just a little too on the nose. Or perhaps they weren’t on the nose enough? Still, there was the glimmer of something.

She saves, as if on reflex, and closes the window. The video file unceremoniously goes into a folder titled “Save Your Darlings.” In all likelihood, the Vivians contained within it will never be seen again. But who knows, right? It can’t hurt.

Vivian sighs, stretches, and turns in her swivel chair. She stares off into space at something that doesn’t exist. Flashes a V-sign. Smiles, as if for a camera.

[Lights off.]

[Exeunt.]