What can YOU say in six sentences?
In the last phone call Mal received from Jimmy Dodd, she thought he sounded satisfied with his decision to join the members of his commune in Guyana even if his tone was a bit overwrought as if he had to hurry through his conversation before being cut off, and she never took him up on his suggestion to watch Executive Action and The Parallax View to find out “what was really happening.” She could not forgive him for leaving her stranded in San Francisco when he got all hepped up about finding his true calling although she had tried to convince him to “let those hippies do their thing,” without him and was disappointed when he insisted she would someday see the light and want to join them after she gave up on her impossible dreams of making it big on the stage, seeing as how, after six years of trying, she had never accomplished more than waste her beautiful voice in bit parts. When she retorted he was playing a bit part in some charismatic’s outrageous communist scheme, based on what she was able to surmise from news reports, he cut her off saying something like, “personal fame is a fool’s goal.”
Later that year, prepared to spend another Christmas alone and depressed, her voice cracked during an audition as she recalled the horrendous images of all the bodies found at Jonestown, and though Jimmy was never identified as one of the victims, in her heart of hearts, Mal knew she would never hear from him again, and his last angry statement plagued her with its righteousness. When acquaintances, unaware of her true history, began avoiding her in earnest, she consoled herself with sedatives to dull the blood spattered recollections of youthful days by a scrap heap with Jimmy and Cooney. She never considered seeking Cooney’s commiseration, remembering his crestfallen expression observed through a Greyhound’s window so many years earlier.