I know. I know. Yes mom, I know, the going is slow. I write and I write but have nothing to show. Listen, I know! My columns have problems I need to address. I know they're a mess. They can't go to press. I'm behind, I'll confess It's making me stressed. But I think that I've found a way to progress! ...More or less. So here is the deal, I've found a lead, and it's got appeal. Yes I've said that before, and you know how I feel, but this time it's for real. Well I'm waiting to talk with that guy from North Pond. A suspect, a reject, an old vagabond. He's wary, he's scary, elusive and sly, People are eager, they're all asking why he ran off and hid and he slid off the grid all without even saying goodbye. Well, or even hello. ...I know. Yes mom, I know. I shouldn't assume. But I can't hold my excitement, It's filling the room. So I wrote him a letter, Then two, then four, He responded, we bonded, we built a rapport. And now I have gotten the jail to confirm it. They gave me my permit to speak with the hermit. My schedule looks steady, Puzzles for solving. Interview's ready. The story's evolving. How does the jail cell restrict him? When will the jury convict him? What's the right way to depict him? Is he a villain, a vagrant, or victim? I know. Yes mom, I know, I have one submission. This might be my chance at that Chicago position. I hope the boss will react, I'll have something to show. This feature is packed, Ideas are starting to flow. ...I know. I want to have something to say, like Gloria Steinham or Dorothy Day. A good story to tell, like from Ida B. Wells, one that is more than just whistles and bells. I know! Although... If I write this North Pond story, I'll find my way out of this dull purgatory Jumpstart my career, and do what I planned. Move out in a year, it's all in my hands. Pack my bags for Chicago, far from Maine and its snow. You'll see, soon I'll be, "Chelsea Marlowe: The writer who gave this strange hermit a voice Who gave him a way out, who gave him a choice." I know it will be hard to get him to speak, this riddle from North Pond whose answers I seek. 'Til then, I'll lie low, I know, I know, Ok mom, gotta go, tell the family hello. Here he comes, gotta run. I'm nervous! I know.

Never light a fire That will send up smoke Hang up the things you need With wire on an oak Sleep only in the tent Don't write down the date And cover up your scent While carrying your weight Live your life in secret Live the life you chose I don't really know you Or what you could expose I never spent a dime Never used a map Read from time to time Wasted not a scrap Moved only in the night Crossed the stream by bridge While hiding from the light And searching every fridge I was never friendly I think you are friendly I'm not really sure If I can endure Your questions. Put tarps up when it rains No drugs to fix your pains Put trash down underground So rats don't come around Never hurt a fly Keep your socks warm and dry Memorize your path And maybe take a bath Never talk to strangers Yes you are a stranger Go write your little tale While I sit here in jail My rules have all been broken Talking here with you But I do not have a choice So I will try to see this through But I like silence. I just like silence. Silence. Silence.

Fall. Harvest time. Food and gas. Stocking my shelves. Gaining pounds. Getting drunk. I make my rounds, on the town. Stealing junk Grow my hair To any length Only one prayer To keep my strength I watch the leaves fade From red to brown The dappled cold shade, It calms me down. Temperature sinking, I'm thinking. I'm stinking. I'm drinking... Winter! Negative twenty-two Cold winds from the north. Frozen ground, through and through I'm restless, Wandering back and forth. No one knows what I've felt. Try to keep composed. The ice takes days to melt, with every inch exposed. Light the grill when you wake. You know the drill, survival's sake. Let it glow to melt the snow. Stuck inside, nowhere to go. In not too long my bones will freeze. I'll die alone, just leave me be. Cold, rainy, wet, gusty, condensation, icy chill. Rank, moldy, damp, musty, suffocation, can’t sit still. It wasn't hibernation, I was wide awake. I needed motivation, and I took no breaks. There's calculation for rationing goods. There's adaptation; I mastered the woods. I had no assistance, never slept inside. It was a free existence, but not an easy ride. There's deprivation, I was helpless and blind. Dehydration, no peace of mind. Insulation, for frozen toes. Meditation, when death was close. Pray for food and heat. Sleep from 8 till 2 Not much left to eat Not much left to do. Too little food. Too much cold. Too little sleep. For too long... too long... Was it February... March... April? I told myself I was alive and waited for the birds to sing. That's how I knew warmth would arrive, and it finally would be spring. It beats jail at least I was sane. I never wished to leave, despite the pain. I miss the woods. The silence... I miss the silence.

CHELSEA: How are you doing? I mean, right now, in here, in jail. How are you holding up? JOSHUA: Not well, at all. Like there too, I'm isolated Unlike there, though, I'm stuck. Sedated. Sunk, weighted. When I spoke, did not stutter, did not choke. No, but they made me a joke. So in order to survive, to keep my peace and stay alive, I limited my words to five: Yes. No. Please. Thank You. PRISONER 1: Fuck off punk, move your junk I got the upper bunk. JOSHUA: Yes. LUNCH SERVER: Here's your tray, you better pray. Food looks pretty gross today. JOSHUA: Thank you. LUNCH SERVER: Want some chips? A bit of dip? A drink to sip? JOSHUA: No, thank you. PRISONER 2: Check this guy! You gonna cry? Move along, let me pass by. JOSHUA: Yes. COMPANY: Who is he? Who is he? This crackpot from outside. Walks away, silently, walks away and hides. He's gotta speak up somehow. He cannot go unheard. He's been here for five months now, and only says five words. Why won't he give us a clue of who he is? PRISONER 2: You robbed a bank? You pulled a prank? You know I'll be frank. You better bounce, or my amigo Hank might shank you. JOSHUA: No, please, thank you. PRISONER 1: Hey Knight, wanna connect? You don't got a cell phone, last I checked. Wifi, iPads, Facebook, TV You from the stone age? Get on the same page. JOSHUA: No, please, thank you. COMPANY: Who is he? Who is he? This riddle in the day. Always mute, quietly, Getting in our way. A man sitting in his jail cell, A ghost singing the hall. He doesn't sleep or eat well, leaning on the wall. Why won't he give us a clue of who he is? PRISONER 2: You lookin' for a fight? JOSHUA: No. PRISONER 1: Wanna smoke outside? JOSHUA: No. GUARD: Need some help there Knight? JOSHUA Please! PRISONER 1: Hurry up and decide! JOSHUA: Yes. LUNCH SERVER: Kitchen's closing. JOSHUA: Thank you. PRISONER 2: Top bunk's taken. JOSHUA: Yes. PRISONER 1: You're just posing. JOSHUA: Yes. LUNCH SERVER: Want more bacon? JOSHUA: Please. COMPANY (overlapping): Seen you in the yard. Hey, you got a smoke? Angry at the guard? Have another toke. Toilets are a joke. Brought your new toothbrush. Quit snoring or your dead. Forget to flush? Get outta here, dickhead. Had enough? Think your tough? Man you stink... clean the sink... JOSHUA: No! Silence... I'll lock the door and hide away. Just need to get through the day. You don't need them, they don't need you. This is the world, it's nothing knew. COMPANY: He's just a man, A quiet man A simple man An unknown man. He's just a man. Just a man. Just a man... Who is he?

Joshua, I like you I want to understand We just might be alike too I'll try to lend a hand Hear me out, just for a while I'll tell them the truth Before your trial Joshua... They don't understand you, And I can't say I do But I refuse to strand you Without a proper view Of your side of the story You need a fighting chance You're not an allegory You have an expanse- ive world inside, I've seen it. Joshua, I mean it... Let's wipe the slate and clean it. There's only you and me They will not set you free If only you could see. Joshua, I like you I want to be your friend Let's talk it out, before the end If we can If we can...

No. No. We are not friends. We are not friends. I never called you friend. And I will not pretend Nor will I extend, a hand to you, or stand by you. This quid pro quo... yes or no. It's useless. Useless! You can't just set me free. You won't just let me be. You don't care, it's not fair. You're using me. The letters you sent me were only distractions which served to prevent me from more drastic actions. Stuck and in pain here, I had forgotten that not much has changed here. People are rotten. We are not friends. We are not friends. I never called you friend. There's nothing here to mend. All we can do is end the show, the maze and go our ways. You don't really know me, and you never will. There's nothing left to show me, nothing to fulfill. Do not think I hate you - you mean nothing to me. Did not mean to berate you, but I just hoped that you might see. Nobody will listen. Out there, nobody can. I hoped you'd learn to listen. You can't, I understand. All I ever wanted was silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence...

Hi, mom. I didn't get the Chicago job. I don't know. I don't know. Mom, I don't know. I've been lying low. They threw out the feature, it just didn't flow. I don't really know. I don't understand him. I tried and I failed. I wrote and I wrote to little avail. The story is stale. Joshua's dodgy. He's quiet and spare. His campsite is empty, it's vacant and bare. No single detail, no personal clues to help me unravel just why he would choose to live in seclusion. I have no conclusion. I heroine complex was all an illusion. I don't know. I don't know. But I know glory is not why I chose this career. The reason's elusive, it's something more dear. But I can't remember, and it doesn't matter, so try not to sprinkle your chatter with flattering terms of endearment. I’m sorry... I didn’t mean it. You’re right. I just wanted to have something to say, like Glorida Steinham or Dorothy Day. A good story to tell, like from Ida B. Wells. One that was more than just whistles and bells. Yes. I had forgotten. I can't believe I had forgotten. I’ll remember. When I was 21, fresh out of college and looking for a job, I read a collection of Washington Post features by Gene Weingarten. In the introduction, he wrote, “A feature story will never be better than pedestrian unless it can use the subject at hand to address a more universal truth.” Truth. After I read that, I told my mom I was going to be a journalist. A storyteller. Find the truth in every story. Weingarten wrote, “A writer has to figure out what that piece is before she can begin to report her story. Only then can she know what questions to ask and what things to notice; only then will she see how to test her thesis and change it if it is wrong. That’s what nonfiction storytelling is about. It is not enough for you to observe and report You must also think.” Think. Thank you. I'm sorry. I love you. I know. And I'll remember, I'll remember... I’ll remember.

JOSHUA: Never hurt a fly. CHELSEA: When the end's in sight... JOSHUA: Keep your socks warm and dry. CHELSEA: Remember why you write. JOSHUA: Put trash down underground... CHELSEA: Don't interfere or intervene. JOSHUA: ...so rats don't come around. CHELSEA: Write exactly what you've seen. JOSHUA: Never spend a dime. CHELSEA: You must commit the truth to ink. JOSHUA: Read from time to time. CHELSEA: Don't fantasize, just think. JOSHUA: Go write your little tale. CHELSEA: I've got a glimmer, just a hint. JOSHUA: But let me out of jail. CHELSEA: I can only see it if I squint. CHELSEA AND JOSHUA: Never light a fire that will send up smoke. Hang up the things you need with wire on an oak. and know that... JOSHUA: We are not friends. CHELSEA: We are not friends. JOSHUA: I never called you friend. CHELSEA: You are not my friend. JOSHUA: Nothing here to mend. CHELSEA: You are just a man, you are not a book. JOSHUA: I will not pretend. CHELSEA: ...not a tree, not a bush. JOSHUA AND CHELSEA: I (you) am (are) not a canvas. Not an empty slide. I (you) won't help you (me) understand this. I (you) won't show you what's inside. JOSHUA: You can tell my story. It's all I have to give. My single oratory is simply how I live. JOSHUA AND CHELSEA: And all I (you) ever wanted was silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. ...Silence.