talking

A:“So, there’s this post-it note.”
B: “Right, a post-it.”
A: “And I posted the post-it on the left bedpost of my bed.”
B: “Wait, the left when you’re looking at the bedposts from the edge of the bed, or the left when you’re lying flat on your back and looking at the ceiling?”
A: “The left when I’m looking at the ceiling.”
B: “Okay.”
A: “So I posted the post-it. And that was that.”
B: “What do you mean that was that?”
A: “Now it just sits there and sometimes when I fall asleep I think about how neon pink and bright it is but it’s dark so I still can’t see it. And that makes me calm. Because no matter what I just won’t see it.”
B: “It just sits there? No writing?”
A: “No writing. Just a post-it. I’m going to put another one up tomorrow. It will be green.”
B: “How many will you put up?”
A: “Oh, I don’t know, maybe a thousand.”
B: “A thousand? Really?”
A: “Really – then it will always be bright at night. Bright and dark.”
B: “Bright and dark.”

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C: “How do you feel about this room? I think it’s too big.”
E: “Big? It could hardly fit a dinner party of eight. I don’t care if the ceilings are high, it’s cramped.”
C: “I don’t know. I think the smaller the space the bigger it feels.”
E: “What the hell are you talking about? Honestly, you couldn’t fit a couch in here if you didn’t turn it vertical.”
C: “I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to understand, it’s simple. The more space you have inside the smaller it makes the outside feel. I get lost inside when it’s cavernous. I prefer to know that there’s a bigger place to go to next.”
E: “Really, that’s absurd. I’d feel trapped if I was stuck in an itty bitty room for an hour.”
C: “Yes, but the size of the room isn’t really about the room. It’s about the size of the space inside it.”
E: “We have another house to look at – c’mon.”
C: “Just wait a moment.”