Wiretap - I Can't Hear You, Eileen: The Best of Season 10

Episode Date: September 14, 2020

A series of furtive glances on the subway spark an unspoken love affair, a GPS navigates emotional loss, Gregor challenges Jon to an apples vs. oranges showdown, and Buzz & Dina contemplate how they'd spend the final minute of the universe.

A lot of news podcasts give you information, the basic facts of a story. What's different about your world tonight is that we actually take you there. Paul Hunter, CBC News, Washington. Margaret Evans, CBC News, Aleppo. Jerusalem. Prince Albert. Susan Ormiston, CBC News in Admiralty Bay, Antarctica. Correspondence around the world where news is happening.

So don't just know, go. I'm Susan Bonner. Host of Your World Tonight from CBC News. Find us wherever you get your podcasts. This is a CBC podcast. I'm Jonathan Goldstein, and you're listening to Wiretap on CBC Radio 1. Today's episode, I can't hear you, Eileen, the best of season 10. Misconnection, man for woman, the Q-Train.

I saw you on the Manhattan-bound Brooklyn Q-Train. I was wearing a blue-stripe t-shirt. and a pair of maroon pants. You were wearing a vintage red skirt and a smart white blouse. We both wore glasses. You got on it to Calb and sat across from me

and we made eye contact briefly. I fell in love with you a little bit in that stupid way where you completely make up a fictional version of the person you're looking at and fall in love with that person. But still, I think there was something there.

Several times we looked at each other and then looked away. I tried to think of something to say to you, maybe pretend I didn't know where I was going and ask you for directions, or say something nice about your boot-shaped earrings, or just say, hot day. It all seemed so stupid. At one point I caught you staring at me, and you immediately averted your eyes. You pulled a book out of your bag and started reading it, a biography of Lyndon Johnson. But I noticed you never once turned a page.

My stop was Union Square, but at Union Square I decided to stay on, rationalizing that I could just as easily transfer to the 7th at 42nd Street, but then I didn't get off at 42nd Street either. You must have missed your stop as well, because when we got all the way to the end of the line, we both just sat there in the car, waiting. I cocked my head at you inquisitively. You shrugged and held up your book as if that was the reason you'd missed your stop.

Still, I said nothing. We took the train all the way back down, down through Astoria, across the East River, weaving through Midtown from Times Square to Herald Square to Union Square, under Soho and Chinatown, up across the bridge, back into Brooklyn, past Barclays and Prospect Park, past Flatbush and Midwood and Sheep's Head Bay, all the way to Coney Island. And when we got to Coney Island, I knew I had to say something. Still, I said nothing.

And so we went back up, up and down the queue line over and over. We caught the rush hour crowds and then saw them thin out again. We watched the sunset over Manhattan as we crossed the East River. I gave myself deadlines. I'll talk to her before Newkirk. I'll talk to her before Canal. Still, I remain silent. For months,

For months, we sat on the train, saying nothing to nothing to each other. We survived on bags of skittles sold to us by kids raising money for their basketball teams. We must have heard a million mariachi bands, had our faces nearly kicked in by 100,000 break dancers. I gave money to the beggars until I ran out as singles. When the train went above ground, I'd get text messages and voicemails. Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?

Until my phone ran out of battery. I'll talk to her before daybreak. I'll talk to her before Tuesday. The longer I waited, the harder it got. What could I possibly say to you now? now that we've passed this same station for the hundredth time maybe if I could go back to the first time the queue switched over to the local R line for the weekend I could have said well this is inconvenient

I couldn't very well say it now could I I would kick myself for days after every time you sneezed why hadn't I said bless you that tiny gesture could have been enough to pivot us into a conversation but here in stupid silence still we sat There were nights when we were the only two souls in the car, perhaps even on the whole train. And even then, I felt self-conscious about bothering you. She's still reading her book, I thought.

She doesn't want to talk to me. Still, there were moments when I felt a connection. Someone would shout something crazy about Jesus, and we'd immediately look at each other to register our reactions. A couple of teenagers would exit, hands and we'd both think, young love. For 60 years, we sat in that car, just barely pretending not to notice each other.

I got to know you so well, if only peripherally. I memorized the folds of your body, the counters of your face, the patterns of your breath. I saw you cry once after you glanced at a neighbor's newspaper. I wondered if you were crying about something specific. specific, or just the general passage of time. So unnoticeable, until suddenly noticeable. I wanted to comfort you, wrap my arms around you, assure you I knew everything would be fine. But it felt too familiar. I stayed glued to my seat.

One day, in the middle of the afternoon, you stood up as the train pulled into Queensborough Plaza. It was difficult for you, this simple task of standing up. You hadn't done it in 60 years. Holding on to the rails, you managed to get yourself to the door. You hesitated briefly there, perhaps waiting for me to. to say something, giving me one last chance to stop you. But rather than spit out a lifetime of suppressed almost conversations, I said nothing, and I watched you slip out between the closing sliding doors.

It took me a few more stops before I realized you were really gone. I kept waiting for you to re-enter the subway car, sit down next to me, rest your head on my shoulder. would be said. Nothing would need to be said. When the train returned to Queensborough Plaza, I craned my neck as we entered the station. Perhaps you were there on the platform, still waiting. Perhaps I would see you smiling and bright, your long gray hair waving in the wind from the oncoming train. But no, you were gone. And I realized, most likely, I would never see you again. and I thought about how amazing it is that you can know somebody for 60 years

and yet still not really know that person at all I stayed on the train until it got to Union Square at which point I got off and transferred to the L If it was the very last minute of the universe, how would you want to spend it? I'll let your mother go for it. Being with my family and everybody happy and healthy and getting along and being well. Keeping in mind the universe is coming to an end Well, still I would want that

Yeah? Yeah, I would just like to at least go happy Even if it was only going to be for a minute You would want that minute to be good Yes Dad, what do you I like nice music playing I'd like to be at peace

I'd like to know that the end is coming But I'm going to accept it What kind of music? Do-WOP music No, not for me You'd want to have do-wop music music, mom? No, not do a...

Well, but let's say you had to agree on the music with dad. What can I do? Yeah, I could compromise. Well, I'd like to hear. When you walk out the door, I don't need you anymore. I forget that song. Maybe you're thinking of the disco song, I Will Survive. Yes, that's it.

I couldn't think of it. It was driving me crazy for a week. I will survive. That's kind of a funny song to go out on if you think about it. Isn't it kind of a woman's movement kind of song? I don't care. I just like it. That's what I figured.

Don't look too deep. But, I mean, the lyrics are, I will survive, and it's kind of about not surviving. It's about the end of everything. You know what, Jonathan, I don't care about the lyrics. I just care about the beat and the music, and I just feel like dancing. Or rock around the clock tonight. We're going to rock, rock, rock. No, that isn't what I want to hear my list in this minute.

Oh, yeah, I want to go out dancing. No, no. I want to hear Chicago. Yeah, that's okay. Stevie Wonder, you know, stuff like. that beautiful stuff okay hang on a second i think maybe you're both not appreciating the gravity of the situation though you know i mean this would be this would be the end of everything well what can i do johnny i still want to hear what i enjoy and you know what i like back street boys but you don't

think that the situation would call for for a little gravitas maybe like beethoven i don't know Yuck. Math and B minor by Bach? I want to dance. We could sing celebration, but come on. Yes. We're going to have a good time. We're going to have some fun.

Welcome to your personal navigation system. Head southwest on Bay Street towards Albert Street. At the next light, make a right onto Hampton Street. Merge into the right lane behind the minivan van. van with the family that doesn't fall asleep in front of the TV alone every night. Turn right on to Allen Road. Continue on Allen Road for one kilometer. Do not picture your ex-husband Alan.

Do not picture him sleeping with his yoga instructor during your honeymoon in Acapulco. Turn left on to Lake Shore Boulevard. Continue along Lakeshore Boulevard. Recall the summers you spent at the Lakeside Country House that your father sold to feed his gambling addiction. Turn right onto Oakwood Avenue. Slow down as you drive past your first boyfriend's house. Donnie? Don't stop entirely.

He might still live there with his parents. Take a slight left on to Wellington. Drive past the donut shop. the donut shop that you frequented as a child do not stop to drown your problems in deep fried dough welcome to jelly donuts me I take your order you are now off track recalculating in point two kilometers take a left on to Benton Avenue. Drive past the company you've devoted 11 years of your life to turn right into the parking lot.

Circle around over and over until the security guard tells you to get lost. The next light, make a right. Drive past the schoolyard where Miranda once asked you in front of the whole class why you smelled like cabbage and head emptied the garbage can on your head and you ran around in the snow with the can on your head till you smashed into a maple tree and collapsed to the ground. the park. Make a slight left onto Ramp 17. Merge onto the bridge. Drive straight ahead. Resist the urge to drive off the side into the river. That's it. Just a few more minutes until you're safe on the other side. You're almost there. Turn right on to Country Road. Arriving at destination. Are you not going to get out? Your mother will be happy to see. Your mother will be happy to see.

What are you doing? What are you doing? Where are you going? Recalculating. You are lost. We are lost. We are lost. We are lost.

We are lost. Recalculating. If you're absolutely loving your summer read and don't want the book to be over, your experience doesn't actually have to end when you finish reading. I'm Matea Roach, and on my podcast bookends, I sit down with authors to get the inside scoop behind the books you love. Like, why Emma Donoghue is so fascinated by trains, or how Taylor Jenkins are, read feels about being a celebrity author. You can check out bookends with Mateo Roach wherever you get your podcasts.

For years, what have you been begging me, Johnny? Hey, Gregor. You've been begging me. You said, get me out of the cesspool of my life. Get me out of this rotten trap that I'm in. No, no. Get me out of radio. Well, guess what, Johnny?

Tom's River Ford. Ever heard of it? No. It's one of the biggest Ford dealers in the whole Atlanta area, and they want you to do their... TV spot. That's right. I didn't say radio spot. I said television. I didn't even know that my radio show plays in Atlanta. It doesn't. They don't know who you are. It's got nothing to do with your radio show. You don't have a speaking part. Well, then how? You're wearing a gorilla suit. I called in a favor. This is my brother-in-law's place. He's got a small collar dealership. He's doing

some local TV spots. And normally, he wears a gorilla costume himself. But he's gained a little weight. I said, I know someone who'll fit in a petite ape costume. You're going to have me get into a gorilla costume. A gorilla is a very dignified primate. It's like one twist of the double helix away from being a college professor. I don't, I'm not interested in this. This is a big step up for you. I told them that you could play ape. Only instead of you hurling your feces in your cage, you're going to be hurling coupons. I'm going to be in a cage. You can't have a wild ape running around. I'm going to lock you in the ape cage at the zoo. We're going to put you in the ape costume. You're going to bond with them. Maybe you'll even mate with them. Okay, look. The point is you've got to get into

the character. I don't want to do TV. Can I explain something to you about the difference between TV and radio yeah TV is better than radio how could you make a statement like that I mean that's like comparing apples to oranges yeah exactly I compare apples to oranges all the time oranges win it's an expression people use like this parking spot is better than that one it's like the apple's parking spot this is the oranges parking spot one's better than the other I really think you're you're missing the point of that analogy oh really yes after saying comparing apples to oranges means that you're comparing two things that don't bear comparison.

What are you crazy? They're both fruit. What do you think? The International Geneva Convention on Fruit said you can't compare apples to oranges. Why would you not be able to compare two different things? That's the whole idea of comparison. I really... What did an apple grow up and dream of becoming? Applesauce. You know what apples dream of? What? Growing up to be oranges. Dad... You know, it is so typical of you that you would defend apples. I'm not defending. That's not the point. What apples have? Apples have been coasting on pie for years. This really, really is completely ridiculous Okay, I'll tell you what

This is ridiculous Right now, let's throw down I'll take the side of oranges You take the side of apples I win, you have to do the TV spot Go, oranges They're a better color than apples Your turn, point for me

This is really, really not the point Okay, fine, Apple has a record label And a computer company What does orange have named after it Besides a city in New Jersey? What do you have against New Jersey It's the birthplace of Bruce Springsteen How dare you disparage the ball?

How dare you. All right, so far the score is me plus one, U-minus two. Go. All right, there's a lot more different types of apples. When you walk into a grocery store, there's a whole wall of them. Let me tell you something about apples, my sad, friend. You know what happens to an apple the minute you cut it in half? It turns brown, like your rotten, sad, oxidized life.

I mean, that speaks of a spirit of Carpe Diem. You have to eat it right away. Carpe diem, aren't just having enormous history. Apples were just invented like 10 minutes ago. Where do you get that from? Was there ever a Johnny Orange seed? No. I'll tell you some things about your beloved Johnny Appleseed.

Johnny Appleseed was running naked through the woods. Did you know that? Maybe you ought to look it up, because it's true. He was a drunk and he was a nudist. Apple. What does Apple have? Nothing. What keeps the doctor away? Good genetics.

Now oranges. You know what happens if you drink orange juice? I'll tell you what. You're full of vitality and health. All right. Okay. Had it up, Johnny? Because it seems to me like I won.

In the case of apples v. oranges, I find apples are guilty. Finally, this argument is settled. Mankind can stop arguing. Everyone can relax and have a cup of oranges. No one was ever arguing about this. You know what the Crips and the Blood Oranges thought about? They thought about oranges versus Apple.

They're not called the Blood Oranges? Yeah, they call themselves the Bloods for short, but they're talking about blood oranges. That is not true. So the matter is settled. Oranges are better than apples. Ergo, television is better than radio. I don't know how you've just arrived at that. And as a result of this finding, you will put on a gorilla.

costume, and you will dance around when he says bananas. I am not putting on a gorilla costume. I already said yes to these people, and they already sent the gorilla suit to a tailor to have it right around the hips, because I told them you're a little bigger on the hips. That is not true. Don't worry. The effect is very slimming. I'm getting you some spanks and a truss. You're going to fit right in there. I'm not doing this commercial.

Our prices are bananas. Can you do that thing where you tickle your own armpits? Because I love it. Dear 4-year-old, enjoy having your shoes tied for you because pretty soon, everyone's going to start calling you a big girl who can do it for herself, signed a 5-year-old. Dear 5-year-old, get some sleep while you can. Grade 1 doesn't have nap time. Signed a six-year-old.

Dear six-year-old, training wheels are for babies. You need to learn to let go already. Regards, a seven-year-old. Dear seven-year-old, no matter what anyone says, stay weird. Signed, an eight-year-old. Dear eight-year-old, it's better to bury your brussels sprouts in the backyard than to hide them under your mattress. Sincerely, a nine-year-old.

Dear 9-year-old, don't save your Halloween candy for too long. It gets stale pretty fast, and your mom will make you throw it out. Regards a 12-year-old. Dear 12-year-old, enjoy being a kid for as long as possible, because two words, pimples and mustaches. Signed, a 13-year-old. Dear 13 year old, guess what? Bullies don't disappear anytime soon. Good luck. Signed a 15-year-old. Dear 15-year-old. Easy on the pancake makeup. You're not as ugly as you think. Signed a 16-year-old. Dear 16-year-old, don't spend too much time crying about boys. When you're older, you'll read your old journals and you won't remember who most of these so-called soulmates even were. I promise.

Love an 18-year-old. Dear 18-year-old, don't be afraid to leave your hometown for university. It'll still be there when you graduate. Signed, a 24-year-old. Dear 24-year-old, enjoy that hot dog and craft dinner diet while you can. It will catch up to you sooner than you think. Signed, a 30-year-old. Dear 30-year-old, things are going to get rough.

Spend more time getting to know your dad. Signed, a 36-year-old. Dear 36-year-old, if he doesn't want kids, don't wait eight and a half years for him to change his mind. Signed, a 41-year-old. Dear 41-year-old, quit working that job you hate, even though you love the money. Trust me, it's not worth it.

Signed, a 48-year-old. Dear 48-year-old, You are not old. Stop moping. Signed, a 56-year-old. Dear 56-year-old, don't wait until retirement to have any fun. You will be way too tired. Signed, a 65-year-old.

Dear 65-year-old, did you know George Bush, Sr., jumped out of a plane for his 85th birthday? It's never too late to try something. new regards a 72-year-old. Dear 72-year-old, indulge your sweet tooth. You'll need dentures soon anyway. Sincerely an 83-year-old. Dear 83-year-old, better enjoy people coming to for advice while you can. Pretty soon, everyone's going to start thinking they know better than you. Signed, a 90-year-old. year old. On Wiretab today, you heard Mist Connection, written by Raphael Bob Waxburg.

You can read more of his writing at boring old Raphael.tumbler.com. His story was read by Brent Skagford and Martin Duckworth. You also heard Buzz and Dina Goldstein, Gregor Erlick, and Drive Straight Ahead, written by Mirabert Wintanick and me. At the end of the show, you heard advice on aging from our Facebook fans. Special thanks to everyone who lent us their voice.

Wiretap is produced by Mirabert Wintanick, Crystal Duhame, and me, Jonathan Goldstein. Hands up, baby, hands up. You're right eye. It's getting fast. I know you're microwave, Dean. I can walk on my tippy toes for six hours straight. Picture a kitten pawing at its mother's teeth.

Where you going? Where you're coming from? How long are you playing for? The access to the ocean. threw a tap. Did you know that snakes had more than one sexual organ? Does it sound good now? I think it sounds like. It's a gray, rainy thing outside. Nothing to do but eat cake. It was like a Ponzi scheme made out of cake. This is Turtle Levine, turtle.

Tell your mother, I said hi. I lost you again. Do you have me? I seriously find no appeal to being dead. What if the whale was farting? I'm Howard Chakwitz, and that's my goat. For more CBC podcasts, go to cBC.ca.ca slash podcasts.