Storytellers explore the secret lives of their subjects

CATHARINE COOPER

Freeze Frame: A slim silver-haired woman balances a tall Starbucks

and a remote control. A single push, the door opens, and she slides

into her matching silver Mercedes.

Catharine starts the ball rolling ... “She’s a woman, well kept by

her husband.”

Cherril responds, “Oh, no. She is single now, and has been for

many years, since her one child was grown. She is a therapist, loves

to travel, but otherwise lives a very simple life with her little

white dog. She likes it this way, it is less messy.”

Catharine flashes back, “Ya think? I bet, she’s kept but quite

lonely. Her husband was the love of her life. They married young and

were dirt poor. Through a fluke, he turned a rotten piece of property

into a golf course, and who would have thought? Golf took off. They

built their dream house and suddenly, he became afflicted with

Alzheimer’s. He occasionally shows signs of knowing her, and she

hasn’t a clue what to do next.

Stories. We Muse Chasers ply our art, be it with words, paints,

sculpture or film. We tell stories. It’s what we do. Some of these

stories are conjured from thin air. Others are based on fact,

supported by hours of research. Some are simply truths. Some are

pulled from the depths of the heart.

We all make up stories about people who cross our paths. Who is

the man in the second row of the 737? What does he do for a living?

Why does he choose a glass of ruby-colored port? In asking these

questions, how do we go beyond stereotypes? How do we move beyond our

preconceptions, embrace the unfamiliar, and more thoroughly

understand one another?

Freeze frame: The cabbie is thin, and his greasy brown hair hangs

well below his faded red baseball cap. His long nails are caked in

grime. As we step into his cab, he starts a running chatter, telling

us his own stories, which are both offensive and irritating.

Cherril: This grimy cabdriver ... is there anything that I can

find to redeem this man? Offended on so many levels -- his dirty

physical appearance shows a lack of self-care or self-respect; full

of himself for what can only be called abusive child-rearing; a lack

of any sense of responsibility for his broken marriage -- all I can

wonder was what was his need to even tell us these things. We wander

the streets captive in his cab, unable to find our destination. Am I

just irritable because we will be late for the wedding? I’d like to

find a reason to like him, if only because of the sweet woman’s

photograph on his dash.

Catharine: Oh, God. What have we gotten into? How can I move

beyond my initial repulsion? I’ll make up a story. I’ll turn his

girlfriend into a woman he’s attempting to help through a bad time,

as opposed to the one he’s trying to bed; that he’s actually trying

to get her off the streets. I’ll pretend that he isn’t an alcoholic,

and that he’s trying to stay the straight and narrow. His sorrow is

caused, not by the scars of his military service, but by a son who

abandoned him because of his abusive behavior.

Freeze frame: Ice man. He’s oddly muscular, has a full head of

grey curls, walks with purpose, and never smiles or says hello.

Catharine: I see a room full of books; the man is a serious

scholar. He is meticulous in his personage and fanatic about the

condition of his home. Each book has its own place on the shelf, and

is dusted regularly. He is a researcher of a rare disease that only

occurs in albino courier pigeons. He keeps one in a cage under a warm

lamp and plays soft music for the bird. His relationship with his

wife is one of distance. She brings him meals in the study, sets the

tray on the table and leaves without a word. He draws the bird

endlessly, and fills sketchbooks with fine details of its feathers

and beak.

Cherril: He works at home and lives alone. Is he a writer? Is he a

columnist for the Independent? The man’s very unwillingness to

respond with a graceful return of a proffered, “Good morning,”

rankles for just a moment. Then, story kicks in. Lonely, depressed,

unable to achieve intimacy in his life, this man walks to shake off

his own demons. Cheery greetings seem only to throw him off his

determined negativity.

Stories. How do we know what we know? How do make new worlds out

of what we encounter? How do we translate our personal experiences

into that which entertains, informs or moves a heart and soul?

* CHERRIL DOTY and CATHARINE COOPER like to make up stuff. They

happily co-wrote this column while people-gazing in San Antonio on

the river.