Brian Rawlins ~ Tiny Organs

Things final­ly start­ed to feel okay after I stole the car, paid twen­ty dol­lars for a Slurpee and vowed nev­er to wear shoes again.

The lux­u­ry car was left run­ning out­side the mega church when I hap­pened upon it after decid­ing to walk to work at Walgreens instead of tak­ing the bus, a walk that would have tak­en six hours.

I want­ed to be a physi­cist because I under­stand all the invis­i­ble things that hap­pen to make the world work, so I like to spend a lot of time walk­ing and think­ing about those things.

Prior to that moment at the mega church, I felt like the invis­i­ble things were con­spir­ing against me to make my life slow­ly unrav­el into a waste prod­uct, a feel­ing that became all too over­whelm­ing yes­ter­day when I had to put my dog, Samantha, to sleep because her tiny organs were done work­ing right.

But when I saw that lux­u­ry car, under the large cross, I thought it might be an apol­o­gy, from the invis­i­ble things, for what they did to Samantha, which is why I put the seat belt on, real slow, wait­ing to see if they would stop me.

They didn’t stop me, so I drove out of the church park­ing lot, like I was just a nor­mal believ­er in God, in Phoenix, Arizona, who drove a lux­u­ry car.

When I noticed a twen­ty dol­lar bill fold­ed up under the hand­brake, I decid­ed to stop at a 7‑Eleven and get a Slurpee because I had always want­ed to give an unful­filled employ­ee a crisp bill and say, “keep the change,” which I did.

With the Slurpee still too cold to drink, I pressed play on the stereo and right before the most beau­ti­ful song I ever heard came out of the speak­ers, the dig­i­tal let­ters said, Andrea Bocelli, Con te partirò.

The way that man sang, in Italian, I think, sound­ed like he too was break­ing apart because of Samantha’s departure.

After lis­ten­ing to Con te par­tirò twen­ty times, I drove into the desert, turned up the song real­ly loud and sucked up the Slurpee until my brain felt like it was in a vise grip that was squeez­ing out every­thing that wasn’t beau­ti­ful, leav­ing room for only Samantha and Andrea Bocelli.

Since the car was wait­ing for me under a cross, I thought I should do some­thing like Jesus, so I walked into the desert bare­foot, with the car door open, as Con te par­tirò blast­ed, and I felt no pain from the empti­ness in my heart or from all the pointy things that were cut­ting into my feet.

~

Brian Rawlins, a WGA screen­writer, has co-writ­ten a thriller movie, Blumhouse’s UNSEEN, and sold a hor­ror project to Paramount Pictures. He has also writ­ten and direct­ed a dark com­e­dy short film PENNY & PAUL, which was an offi­cial selec­tion at Academy-Qualifying fes­ti­vals and won mul­ti­ple awards, includ­ing Best Short, Best Actor, and Best Screenplay. Another one of his dark com­e­dy short screen­plays, NEW WORLD, won the Austin Film Festival. In addi­tion to screen­writ­ing, Brian loves prose fic­tion writ­ing. He likes to write about emo­tion­al­ly volatile char­ac­ters pushed to the edge. His work is dri­ven by a fas­ci­na­tion with guilt, trau­ma, pow­er, and sur­vival in con­tem­po­rary America, often expressed through a dark­ly com­ic lens.