An idea.

The motel television featured HBO, but no Food channel. The latter is the only channel I can stand to watch through commercials. HBO is just good about featuring something to which I can pay attention. I settled in bed and set it to the first of three HBOs. A movie called Bad Girls from Valley High was just about finished. I’d watched the beginning of it before I went to shave and shower. It featured three twenty/thirty-somethings in the roles of high school girls. Two of the three girls were dead and trapped in hell with Pinkman. The third cozied up to the perverted nutty professor.

I began to drift to sleep but noticed that the next feature presentation was rated NC-17. Adult Content, Adult Language, Sex and Nudity, etc. That was enough to keep my interest until the opening credits. They showed big name actors and the title—Young Adam—was presented in a thinly sans-serif font over a shot of shimmering blue water.

The story revolves a drifter named Joe who works on a coal barge in Scotland during the 50s or early 60s. It’s quiet from the start and remains as subtle as a quiet dinner with extended family. Joe and his barge pal Les discover a dead woman in the water and drag her up for the police to haul away. Joe is stoic about the discovery, but so is Les. There’s a sense that they’re hardened people who don’t believe in undue reactions to life’s inevitabilities. Joe and Les return to the barge, where they also live with Les’s wife Ella and their son Jim. The seemingly benign Joe rubs his calf against Ella’s bare leg during breakfast and moves his hand toward her crotch until she eventually stops him. He later coaxes Ella outside and fucks her on the dirt path besides the barge, beneath the moonlight. Thus begins Joe’s affair with any female of significance in the film.

It was shortly after that scene beside the barge that I ran some comparisons. There’s a scene at the start where Joe presses his hand against the dead woman’s upper back, and this flashes on screen again at key points in the film. It reminded me of Jindabyne, an Australian film based on a Carver short story called “So Much Water So Close to Home.” That film also features a dead woman found in the water and discovered by a group of men on a fishing trip. The male lead envisions the dead woman’s naked body as he comes home and rubs his hand over his wife’s breasts. Joe’s wanton desire to fuck every woman he deemed present and willing then reminded me of last year’s Shame, which was a personal eye-opener and the same style of gray, subtle film with undertones of entitlement, violence, and dominance.

I connected the three in my head. I decided it was a significant moment, and significant moments are the spark of inspiration. I stood up to look for a pen. A pencil. Charcoal. A nub of food I could rub on a napkin. Nothing immediately presented itself.

Another thought entered as I scrambled to find a writing utensil.

Someone who thinks he knows.

Then more thoughts. You don’t know shit. I can do that. Uh huh. We are steeped in misogyny from the moment of birth.

I was losing focus. Focus. Shame. Jindabyne. Young Adam. Someone who thinks he knows. I repeated the note in my head. I paced from the entrance door to the drawn curtain. I repeated it again, and again, and again.

The bed and the film continued as I paced. I said it aloud and snapped my fingers to the beat of my memory.

“Shame, Jindabyne, Young Adam. Someone who thinks he knows.”

It went on for five minutes or until the film called my attention again. I returned to bed and repeated the note as I watched.

About thirty minutes later I received an annoying ring from the room telephone. It was just past midnight.

“Hello?”

“Hello, sir. This is Jeffrey from the front desk. How is your stay with us so far?”

“It’s fine, thanks.”

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you but we’ve received multiple complaints about loud banging noises coming from your room.”

“My room? 105?”

“Yes. We’ve received complaints from rooms 104 and 106.”

“The TV’s a bit loud I guess. I’ll turn it down.”

“Is anyone in there with you?”

“No.”

“Okay, well please keep it down.”

“Sure.”

I hung up and sat down for a moment, then dialed 0 on the phone.

“Front desk.” She had a distinctly Indian accent.

“Hi. Did someone from your desk call room 105 about noise complaints?”

“No, sir.”

“I just got a call about noise.”

“It wasn’t us, sir. Perhaps a prank call.”

“Probably. Thanks.”

The phone rung again 5 minutes later. It was the same smug white guy voice.

“Sir, I just received more complaints. I don’t know who’s in there, but you need to cut it out. I don’t normally do this but when we get this many complaints it’s ridiculous. We’re going to send someone there. Expect them in the next five minutes.”

I’m no expert on the art of the prank call, but the plot was lost to me. All I could think was someone was physically going to come by, and I was more than willing to meet him at the door with a multitool in hand.

I blurted the most base sentiment I could muster. “You know what? I lied. Your mom’s here, Jeffrey. She came over to suck my cock. She’s a pro. I bet your dad loved it until she started sucking all the strange dick she could find.”

There was silence on the line and then a click.

I returned to bed to wait for a possible knock and continue with my movie. I decided I would need to watch it again anyway. It was a quiet film that required focus on every moment to understand it. I repeated my note.

“Shame, Jindabyne, Young Adam. Someone who thinks he knows.”

It ended much the same way it began. No dialogue and the beginning of another story.