About eight weeks ago, I had surgery to upgrade my left knee. For the first three weeks, I was confined to a reading chair in which I did not read. Instead, I streamed TV shows and watched movies, including several I owned. One of them was “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” which includes a famous scene of Butch and the Kid arguing about the leap they must make into what appears to be the Colorado River in order to escape the posse hard on their heels. Watching it, I thought how impossible — in my present condition — it would be for me to take that leap. But then I remembered the draft I wrote about a year ago of the conversation that may have occurred between the two stunt people who actually made the leap. Needless to say, I think it is safe to assume that the “Louise” character is me with knees that work. Furthermore, it’s fairly obvious that the title, “Leap” has more than one meaning. Duh. Thank you for reading.
“Cut! Cut! Cut! Damn it, cut!” yelled Walter. “What in the hell is the matter with you two? Do I have to come over there and do this myself? Jesus, a 10-year-old could do this jump. Jump, damnit! Jump!”
“Jump! Jump!” said Louise to Matt, mocking Walter with her Wicked-Witch-of-the-West voice. “Walter can’t even get out of bed without falling over. I’d like to see him try this. That’s the Colorado River down there. Not his hot tub.”
“Shut up, Louise,” hissed Matt. “The point is, we are getting paid to jump in as few takes as possible and we’ve already blown four. We almost had it last time and then you froze up. Get a grip for Christ’s sake! We’re holding up the entire production! What’s going on?”
“Do you think I was born a lesbian,” asked Louise, “or born with a strong disposition toward lesbianism that environmental factors took advantage of?”
“What?! What are you talking about?!” stammered Matt. “What does that have to do with anything?! I’m not your therapist or your priest. I’m just a stunt guy wanting to make this leap, get my five thousand bucks and go home.”
“But really, Matt, what do you think? Born a lesbo or made one?”
Matt’s eyes were frozen on Walter, who was gesticulating wildly for them to jump. “Louise, I’m telling you we have to make this leap now or we’ll never work in Hollywood again.”
“Real lesbian or manufactured?” quipped Louise. “Pick one and then I promise to leap.”
“Jesus, I don’t believe this,” said Matt. “Okay, okay. You were manufactured. Now let’s get this jump the hell over . . . .”
“What makes you think so?” interrupted Louise, her back to Walter, the camera crew, and the Colorado River. “Did you read that somewhere? See it on ‘Oprah’? Or do you just have a feeling about it?”
“How in God’s name am I supposed to know, Louise! You asked me to pick one and I did. I didn’t even think about it. It’s no big fucking deal. Now, let’s jump! You promised!”
“I have sisters and none of them are lesbians. We all grew up under the same roof with the same parents. Ate the same food. Went to the same school and church. Even had some of the same friends.”
“Alright, then, Louise, you were born a lesbian,” said Matt, leaning back into the rockface, exhausted. He looked toward Walter and held up an index finger. “You were born a lesbian and you will die a lesbian because I am going to push you off this edge in about 30 seconds.” Matt moved his index finger within two inches of Louise’s nose.
“Okay, if I was born a lesbian, that means I never had a choice,” replied Louise. “I love women because I can’t help it. There’s no authenticity in my relationships because I’m not in control. Someone else is pulling all the strings.” Louise squatted down in front of Matt and then leaned back against the rockface and stretched out her legs as though she was taking in the sun at a beach.
“Get up!” screamed Matt. “What are you doing?! There’s a camera crew over there charging one hundred grand a day, and you decide it’s time to figure out the meaning of your fucking life!”
Louise said nothing. Her eyes closed toward the sun and away from Matt, Walter, the camera crew and the Colorado River.
“I swear to God, I’m going to roll you off the edge,” said Matt. “Maybe you can afford to blow five grand, but I can’t. I’m getting paid to do a job and by God, I’m going to do it. I’m not going to hide my fear behind the pity pot. Who in the hell cares whether you were born a lesbian or if your mommy and daddy made you one? Shit, when you get right down to it, who in the hell cares about you, period? Or me? We’re nobody right now. Just a couple of stunt patsies willing to risk our nothing lives to jump 100 feet into the Colorado River so Robert Redford and Paul Newman don’t damage their pretty, insured faces.”
Matt could see Walter and the camera crew taking turns drinking from a silver flask. “God, I could use a drink right about now myself,” said Matt as he squatted next to Louise.
“Come on, take a load off, Matt,” said Louise. “It feels great. Just look at them over there, waiting for us. They don’t know what to do. I say, they can just wait.”
Louise began to untie the bandana around her neck. “Come on, Matt . . . you and I know that we were the only ones they could find who were willing to do this jump, and if I have to wait a while before I leap, then that’s just what I’m going to do. I’m tired of people telling me what to do. I’m so used to it, I can’t even answer my own questions. No sir, I’m not making the leap until I’m good and ready.”
“You were born crazy, too, Louise,” said Matt as he stretched out next to her, unbuttoning his shirt. “Man, that sun sure feels good.”
It’s just you and me, babe,” said Louise. “Just you where you are and me where I am. Forget the rest of the world.”
“Amen, sister,” whispered Matt, sighing deeply. “Let’s just forget those sons of bitches. Today, it’s just me, jus’ little ‘ol me. Man, that river sounds just like music. You hear that Louise?”
“Yes, Matt, I hear it. Just be quiet and listen. Just listen.”
“Yeah, okay,” replied Matt, as he began to cover his face with his cowboy hat. “But tell me, Louise. Do you think I was born a patsy or did I become one?”
After reading this, Adrienne asked: “Are you still struggling with who you are? I thought you were content. Lesbianism is a non-issue today.”
Good point. I reminded her that “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” came out in 1969 when homosexuality was still considered a “mental illness.” It wasn’t until 1973 that the American Psychiatric Association issued a resolution stating that homosexuality was not a mental illness or sickness.
In 1969, I was 16. I had had intense relationships with female friends, but thought nothing of it. The first time I heard the word, “lesbian” was when my mother brought a dictionary to the dinner table and announced, “Tonight we’re going to find out what Sharie is.” She then read the definition. I was flummoxed. I had never had sex with a woman or even kissed one. What was she talking about?
I didn’t come out until 1986– 16 LONG years later. All that time, I had been on my own. I had grown up in a small town in Western PA (now Trump country), was not supported by my family or high school friends who posted cruel notes in my locker. How did they know and not me? I then had a “born-again” experience that looking back, I used to hide the profound struggle I was having with my sexuality. I attended a Christian college where homosexuality was a reason to get kicked out. I didn’t want to be abandoned. I had no support for all the confusion roiling inside me.
So much learning is taken for granted when “fitting in” comes easily. It’s easy to tell/write/whatever one’s personal narrative when you grow up in an environment or with adults, etc. who let you know that you fit in. When you have no guidance, you are on your own, forced to write your narrative internally. It was very lonely and drove me to suicidal ideation, and perhaps the double depression I still struggle with.
This scene from “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” helped me to write out some of what I struggled with long ago. The humor obfuscates my anger and depression about struggling all those decades by myself. It would have been easier to jump off a cliff.
I’m still pretty pissed about it. Whenever I see two women holding hands or kissing in public, I’m tempted to go up to them and say, “You’re welcome.” I crawled and clawed my way to who I am, leaving bloody tracks that were easy to see and follow. So many wasted years. So little support. You’re welcome.
I hear both the humor in your post and the pissed in your comment.
The dialogue in your post is terrific and authentic causing me to wonder if you actually identify with BOTH of these characters, Louise for the reasons you’ve detailed in your comment and Matt for your years working in corporate America.
Good work, Sharon, both the excruciating internal kind and the writing. I hope that it leads you to the kind of peace which Louise and Matt seem to be enjoying at the end of the story.
Thanks, Beth, for acknowledging both the humor and the anger. The anger has been fairly intense lately, triggered no doubt by the 50th reunion of my high school class last Saturday. I did not attend — masks were not required and there was no social distancing and it was held in the “banquet room” of a medium-sized restaurant. I saw a few photos of the event on Facebook — the room was so crowded, you had to squeeze by to move at all.
Interestingly, or perhaps tellingly, the ONLY person to wear a mask was the photographer they hired to take a class photo — outside. Even outside, the photographer was wearing a mask.
So why am I pissed? Because everyone I looked at offered no support for me when I was in high school. Like me, most probably weren’t all that familiar with homosexuality. Some were, however, and left explicit and cruel notes in my locker. Today, a gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered, etc. high school student can be elected prom king or queen.
You’re welcome.
Lest anyone think that my mother was lovingly helping me to embrace my “narrative” by introducing me to the word, “lesbian,” her presentation was dripping with sarcasm, like I was stupid for not realizing I was a lesbian. She implied that everyone knew.
I didn’t know.
Sharon, your dialogue is delightfully witty, and I very much enjoyed your piece, with fond memories of the movie. Happy to see you back at your blog! But I’m also happy for Adrienne’s verbal response to you, as it gave you a chance to express the anger lying hidden just beneath the surface of your piece. Hope you’ll find ways of un-hiding that anger and incorporating that in your writing as well as the wonderful sense of humor that helped you to survive all the difficulties that made you so angry!
So, I am going to ask an obvious question which everyone else is likely to understand without explanation but me. Why call the piece “Leap” when the characters do just the opposite, dig their heels in?
And btw, I love the ankle boots Redford is wearing.