Mini-Episode: Farwell Abdul

[Charlie on the MTA plays]

MULTIPLE VOICES

This is…

This is…

This is…

Greater Boston

[The sound of a bowling strike, and the ambience has switched to a bowling alley.]

WANDA [Muttering to herself.]

I wish I had a fuckin’ life. All I do is just sit here…no! I stand here! I don’t even have a fuckin’ seat! I stand here, and I deal with stupid customers’ requesting different shoe sizes, and “oh, this isn’t comfortable, and this isn’t comfortable, oh and I wanna be at this lane…” Oh, well fuck you, man! You don’t like it?! You don’t like it?!?! Well, shit…I don’t give a shi…oh!

[She is interrupted by footsteps approaching.]

BERNIE

Oh hey Wanda!

WANDA

Bernie! How the hell are you doing? I didn’t take you for the late night Bowl-a-rama type.

BERNIE

I didn’t know you worked at… Wait what bowling alley are we at?

WANDA

What bowling alley are we at? Didn’t you read the sign when you came in? O’Doyle’s Bowl and Broil! Where else? You wouldn’t catch me in one of those two bit candle fuck pin flea joints.

BERNIE

So you work here at O’Doyles? 

WANDA

No numbnuts, I stand behind the counter with this name tag on for my health. Speaking of which, What’s your size Bernster?

BERNIE

(taken aback)

Excuse me??

WANDA

You’re shoe size, gutter ball. I can’t have you walking around here without bowling shoes. 

BERNIE

Oh, I’m not here to bowl. I’m… actually here to deliver a letter. 

WANDA

Bernie- It’s 12:30 in the goddamn morning. Have you heard of a little thing called work-life balance?

BERNIE

Yeah, it’s… (nervously) when you get the urge… heh, ya know…

WANDA

Well rules is rules. What’s your shoe size? 

BERNIE

Even on the carpet?

WANDA

Yeah… managers are… awful fucking particular. But (under her breath) I won’t charge ya. It’ll be our little secret.

BERNIE

Alright then. 13’s thanks.

[Wanda pulls out the shoes. Bernie changes his shoes.]

WANDA

Big fucking feet! 

BERNIE

Yeah… thanks Wanda. Um… any chance there’s a… (looks at letter) Abdul around here.

WANDA

Look, I can’t be giving out customer information… But… there may or may not be someone bowling here, used to work with me at Third Sight, real dime piece. 

BERNIE

Ok…

WANDA

I think that guy owes me a tenner.

BERNIE

Like… Ten Pounds? British money?

WANDA

He’s on lane ten numskull! 

BERNIE

Oh gotcha…

WANDA

For someone who delivers messages you sure have trouble picking ‘em up. 

BERNIE

Yeah, sorry. Subtlety isn’t my strong suit. Thanks for the help Wanda.

WANDA

Any time, gutter ball.

(mumbling to herself)

Seriously, 12:30 in the morning? Doesn’t he have anything else to do, like Netflix and chill or some shit?

[Bernie walks to lane ten. Another sound of balls hitting pins for the transition.]

BERNIE

Uhm, excuse me- are you… Abdul Akhtar?

ABDUL

Yeah! That’s… (noticing Bernie’s mail outfit, confused) that’s me. Are you…oh god are you a singing telegram? 

BERNIE

No! No! Just a friendly mailman! Here to deliver a letter!

ABDUL

For me? At… the Bowl and Broil on Boylston? 

BERNIE

Yeah, sorry it’s not at your address. I went to the address listed but I think you’ve moved since you left Third Sight and…

ABDUL

Yeah I was evicted from Red Line. And the USPS still isn’t forwarding my mail to Wonderland. Bit of a headache. So I guess… thank you for being committed to getting this to me. But… how did you find me? On a Thursday at midnight no less?

BERNIE

Uh… I’m delivering a bunch of letters that were sent by Michael Tate and…

ABDUL (excited but serious) 

ichael? And… (taken aback) and  you have a letter for me?

BERNIE

I do. He sent them when he was trapped at Third Sight, but as I understand he’s free now. 

ABDUL

Oh… 

Abdul is visibly a little shaken, a little upset even. 

BERNIE

Is that…? Are you ok?

ABDUL (wiping away a single tear) 

It’s just that Michael and I… I was hoping to hear from him since he got out, hoping he might at least text but… It’s complicated. I was- really worried about him, but we didn’t leave things on the best of terms, so I didn’t know if I could reach out or not and…

BERNIE

This seems personal, so I’m gonna head ou…

ABDUL (pulling himself together) 

Actually could… could you stay. I don’t want to hold you up but… I don’t know what’s going to be in this letter and I… just don’t want to be alone when I read it. 

BERNIE

Yeah… yeah, of course. 

[Abdul opens the letter.]

ABDUL

Dear Abdul…

MICHAEL

Dear Abdul,

First, I owe you an apology. You know how people say they aren’t one for regrets. That couldn’t be further from the truth about me. I am absolutely one for regrets. And I… well, I fucked up. I fucked up our friendship. I fucked up us. And I’m sorry. 

The truth is you were the first friend I ever had at Third Sight. You were a friend when I really, really needed a friend. I mean, starting a new job is hard enough. But I was… I was grieving the loss of my best friend, had just come off a bender, and was starting a new job. But in the middle of all of that, you just walked up to my desk one day and asked me if I wanted to come bowling with you. I don’t think I ever expressed how much that meant, how much I just needed to do something that wasn’t stressful, that was just fun. And, and you gave that to me. 

I’ve always been bad at routines. Miss one day at the gym and I’ll never go there again. I usually commit to meal planning for a whole week, and never make it to week two. But our weekly bowling outings were the easiest routine I’ve ever stuck to. 

So… when you asked me out- well, I won’t mince words- I panicked. I’m not good at… well, at being vulnerable. I know that sounds silly with how much I went on about Leon, but we were friends since childhood. It takes a long time for me to be comfortable being vulnerable. Not open, mind you. I will talk your ear off about every little thing that’s going on in my life- as you well know. The smallest details of my life are on full display. But in the end, I think that’s just a way of deflecting. If I share all the details, I don’t have to share how I feel about them. I’ll just let folks infer what they will and… and go on with keeping my feelings in the dark.

And now that you know that, you know how hard the next part is to write. That night when you asked me out, I felt two emotions simultaneously, and irreconcilably. The first was sheer, dumbfounded awe- that you could look at someone whose life was as much of a mess as mine and think that there was someone worth loving, or trying to love. That feeling was really nice. It was fuzzy, warm, unfortunately unfamiliar. I don’t feel that very often. But the second was the fear. I say second- more like the second and third and fourth and fifth. Fear after fear piling on top of eachother, shouting over each other, much louder than that initial awe. Fear that I didn’t deserve that kind of attention. Fear that I couldn’t reciprocate, couldn’t be what you were looking for. Fear that I had been pulling you along or failing to pick up on obvious signs. Fear that I was going to lose our bowling nights, and our friendship, and you. Fear that I was going to be the one to fuck this all up, typically. And- then we’re right back there. Right back to the first one- fear of telling you why I was afraid. 

I’ve played back that conversation a hundred times. It would have been so easy. All I had to say was “I’m sorry. I’m not looking for a relationship right now. Things are a lot, and I’m just trying to get by. But I really hope we can keep being friends. Our bowling nights mean a lot to me.” That’s… that’s all I had to say. And I didn’t. Instead I did what I always do. I set my brain on cruise control and talked your ear off for five more frames, wouldn’t let you get a word in edgewise, talking about everything and nothing at all. I found 5000 other sentences to say, instead of the 5 I needed to say. I didn’t say what needed to be said. And I didn’t say it the next day when we passed at work- or the next week, when you asked me to go bowling and I told you I was busy. I wasn’t busy. I just… Once the routine breaks, it’s hard to pick up again. 

Which is all to say- Abdul, I’m sorry. You are one of the kindest people I have ever met, and I didn’t get enough chances to tell you how much you helped me through those months we spent bowling together. In the end, my fears came to pass because I let them. I ruined our friendship because I couldn’t deal with my emotions, and I’m sorry. 

If you can forgive me, I’m currently locked in the publishers office on the top floor of the Third Sight Media building. But… I totally understand if you just want to leave me here.

I hope you’re doing ok. I hope things got better with your brother. And I hope you’re still bowling.

Your friend… I hope,

Michael Tate

ABDUL (a little teary)

Michael… Tate. 

BERNIE

Find what you were looking for? 

ABDUL

Yeah… yeah I think I did. Thank you…uh….

BERNIE

Bernie the Mailman. At your service. 

ABDUL

Thank you Bernie. I’ll be ok. Thank you for sticking around. 

BERNIE

Of course.

Bernie walks away. Abdul pulls out their phone.

ABDUL

Hey Michael… Yeah it’s Abdul… I just, I just got your letter. I… I’m sorry too. Look, I know it’s late but, any chance you’d like to come out to O’Doyle’s? There’s still two hours left and we could get in a frame or two before closing…

The bowling pins crash one last time. Roll credits.

CREDITS

Greater Boston is created by Alexander Danner and Jeff Van Dreason, with production assistance from TH Ponders, Bob Raymonda, and Jordan Stillman. Recording and technical assistance from Marck Harmon.

This episode was written by TH Ponders and produced by Alexander Danner.

This episode featured:

• Josh Rubino as Bernie the Mailman (he/him)
• Tanja Milojevic as Wanda McIntosh (she/her)
• Tau Zaman as Abdul Akhtar (he/they)
• And James Oliva as Michael Tate (he/him)

MUSIC

Charlie on the MTA recorded by Emily Peterson and Dirk Tiede

Wherever I Lay My Hat, that’s My Wife by Doctor Turtle

Transcripts are available at GreaterBostonShow.com.

You can support us on Patreon at Patreon.com/greaterboston

COOKIE

JAMES OLIVA

[With a gravelly smoker’s rasp]

There, there’s your pound of flesh. You happy now? You got it all, you got it all recorded. Don’t ever say I never recorded anything for ya.

TANJA MILOJEVICH (as Wanda)

What a piece of work that one is. Jesus Christ, I don’t even know, like…when the fuck am I gonna get promoted? Like, I don’t deserve this shit. Jee-ZUSS.

JAMES

Also, Jeff, um…somebody else what’s to say “hi” to you.

[Singing to the tune of “Hush Little Baby” with a Tom Waits rasp.]

Hush little Jeffy,

Don’t say a word…

[Cracks up]

Forget it, I can’t do the whole thing!

[Tries to leave the recording booth, but gets tangled in curtain.]

[Continues wrestling with curtain.]

[More wrestling with curtain.]

JAMES [Squeaky voice]

Oh my god, where are you!

[Regular voice]

There we go.

TANJA (as Wanda)
You got no life man.