And I Mean This Frankly

The Boys Next Door had a strange affect on me this afternoon.  I was reading it outside the cafe on campus while my friend ate a snack.  I took a break, and told her that the random dialogue was making me go crazy.  I put a book on my head and started pacing back and forth, seeing how long I could go without losing my balance.  I felt as though I was going to start speaking and acting just as spontaneously as the characters in this play.  I'm not sure what that was all about.  I just finished reading it a few minutes ago, and found it difficult to begin this post.  My ideas seemed jumbled and "choppy".  They still do.
  I think the passage that struck me the most in Act II was this:
"We had this one guy named Wally something, who'd eat the chocolate part and save all the insides in a box he had.  And he'd keep the box with him all the time.  Until one day he died and one of the attendants just threw the box away.  I mean, it was all Wally owned, this box of the insides of all the chocolates he'd ever had, and they just threw it away.  They didn't even ask his family or anything.  I don't understand that.  They didn't even look to see inside.  They just threw it away."  Barry sobs.
  My thoughts are still forming about this passage.  It reminds me of the fragility and vulnerability of human beings.  A girl in class today said that, when she's dealing with someone she has a very hard time getting along with, she thinks, "They used to be a baby.  Everyone loved them and liked them."  It helps her view them in a more compassionate way.  It helps me too, and I think it's because babies are so vulnerable.  We all have hurt feelings, child-like glee, and things that are special to us and no one understands why.
  I was also struck by the scene with Barry and his father.  The way Barry curled up on the couch and cried, "Don't hurt me."  I think everybody does this, too.  This particular situation was extremely saddening to me. It makes me want to cry. 
The Boys Next Door had a strange affect on me this afternoon.  I was reading it outside the cafe on campus while my friend ate a snack.  I took a break, and told her that the random dialogue was making me go crazy.  I put a book on my head and started pacing back and forth, seeing how long I could go without losing my balance.  I felt as though I was going to start speaking and acting just as spontaneously as the characters in this play.  I'm not sure what that was all about.  I just finished reading it a few minutes ago, and found it difficult to begin this post.  My ideas seemed jumbled and "choppy".  They still do.
  I think the passage that struck me the most in Act II was this:
"We had this one guy named Wally something, who'd eat the chocolate part and save all the insides in a box he had.  And he'd keep the box with him all the time.  Until one day he died and one of the attendants just threw the box away.  I mean, it was all Wally owned, this box of the insides of all the chocolates he'd ever had, and they just threw it away.  They didn't even ask his family or anything.  I don't understand that.  They didn't even look to see inside.  They just threw it away."  Barry sobs.
  My thoughts are still forming about this passage.  It reminds me of the fragility and vulnerability of human beings.  A girl in class today said that, when she's dealing with someone she has a very hard time getting along with, she thinks, "They used to be a baby.  Everyone loved them and liked them."  It helps her view them in a more compassionate way.  It helps me too, and I think it's because babies are so vulnerable.  We all have hurt feelings, child-like glee, and things that are special to us and no one understands why.
  I was also struck by the scene with Barry and his father.  The way Barry curled up on the couch and cried, "Don't hurt me."  I think everybody does this, too.  This particular situation was extremely saddening to me.  It makes me want to cry -- I can feel it in my throat and in my stomach.  I wish I could help him.