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Nothing really comes to mind.<br />
ERICA<br />
Please, spare me your good manners. I say the most awful<br />
things to people. I hear myself saying them and think only<br />
an awful person would say that. Am I awful?<br />
We both speak our minds.<br />
BRIAN<br />
ERICA<br />
Not always. Not now, thank you. Thank you for not<br />
mentioning the breathing.<br />
BRIAN<br />
I’m all for it. Breathing.<br />
ERICA<br />
How shallow it is. <strong>The</strong> pulmonologist is not so circumspect.<br />
As a child I hated being kept inside for<br />
mere sniffles. I would bang around my room, “I’m not sick.<br />
I’m not sick!” I’m not. Sick. What I am is very, very<br />
spoiled.<br />
You’re an artist.<br />
BRIAN<br />
ERICA<br />
Artists are children. That’s why they shouldn’t have them.<br />
But my husband is gone. My art is gone. <strong>The</strong> Davidoff is<br />
all I have left.<br />
It’s a wooden box.<br />
BRIAN<br />
ERICA<br />
So is a house. So is a casket. It’s the life inside that<br />
counts. You held it. I saw the expression on your face.<br />
BRIAN<br />
You want to know the truth? When I first saw that<br />
instrument it pissed me off! Here was something that was<br />
created three hundred years ago that I would never do, never<br />
even approach. But when the Davidoff was in my shop, on my<br />
bench, I held it and felt...forget it, I don’t go for that<br />
mystical musical crap.<br />
ERICA<br />
You felt, for a moment, that you knew what was in the<br />
master’s mind. You felt as if your hand and <strong>Strad</strong>’s were<br />
one.<br />
It’s absurd.<br />
BRIAN<br />
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