Screwdriver - Entry 1

 SCREWDRIVER

A series of excerpts.

by Adam Andrews.

Copyright©2025Andrews. All Rights Reserved 

I found this transcript. Looks like it’s from a tape recording from 1958. It’s a lot to unpack. It gets brutal at times, so I apologize in advance. Read at your own discretion. Here is the first entry:

Data Entry 1 - Introduction 

A tape player slowly starts; it lags a bit. Low hissing eases into a softer, quieter, white noise, a little bit scratchy, and then it thins out into clean air.

There’s the flip of a light switch and the clink of a lone, bare bulb turning on. It’s hanging on a wire in the center of the room.

A man clears his throat. Breathes deeply. Lets out a long, slow exhale.

Taps on the recording device.

“Good… it’s on.”

Scratching noises; the flick of a lighter lighting up. 

Puffs. He takes several short, quick drags on a cigarette.

Long, slow exhale. 

Footsteps walk away from the microphone.

Another drag.

Wooden chair legs scuff across a plank wooden floor.

He sits down.

Takes a drag.

The cigarette tip sizzles.

“There there, don’t cry. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

Long pause.

Takes a drag.

He stands up. Walks back toward the recorder. 

“I’m not advocating that a person in my position should do the things that I’ve done. I’m not seeking your approval. I don’t even want your forgiveness.”

Last drag. Puts it out. Sets the ashtray back down by the recorder so loudly it sounds like a door slam.

“You wanna know why? Do you? Do you really want to know why I did it — all those things that I did? Oh, yeah… it’s all true. Whatever you’ve heard, I did it… and probably some things you didn’t hear about, too.”

Slapping sounds.

Several lighter flicks.

Puffs. 

Long exhale.

“Maybe you don’t know what I did… Oh yeah… By the look in your eyes, I can see that you don’t. You haven’t heard anything yet, have you?”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“That’s alright. Don’t worry. I’ll tell you all about it. Maybe you want to hear all about it.”

Swirling, scraping sounds.

Spins something on the table with his fingers, something metal.

“I don’t think you really do. But I’ll tell you anyway. Because I would do it all over again — everything, exactly the same way that I did… all of it, every last bit.”

Takes a drag.

Walks away, back to the chair. Leaves the item spinning on the table, slowing down until it stops, with a little wobble.

“The first one I did.” Sits down, scuffing the chair legs against the floor again. “Guess which one it was. Guess who it was. Go on… guess.”

Takes several drags in a row; it crackles and pops.

“No?… Ok, then I’ll just tell you. It was so easy. I didn’t think it would be so easy. I must be really good at it. Huh, I’m actually good at something.”

Chuckles. 

“I have a talent.”

Takes a drag.

“I’m an artist. I’m a performer. Frankly, you should be proud. I’m good… Oh, I’m really good. I’m a downright genius. You should be so lucky.”

Rotates the chair around. Straddles it backwards.

Whispers high and airy, “The beauty is, he didn’t even see me coming; not until…” 

Still whispering, but in a lower register. “Well, I’ll get to that part in a minute…”

Takes a drag. Drops it. He twists it out with his shoe on the floor. 

“It was dark. Not really dark, but dark enough; getting dark, dull and dim, near dusk. The house was lit up, so I could see inside, and I knew that it was getting harder for them to see out. Like a mirror, they could see themselves, but they couldn’t see me.”

Talks through a smile. “I’ve got your attention now, don’t I?”

The smile widens. “I can see it in your eyes. They’re getting bigger.”

Laughs as he gets up and walks to the table with the recorder. 

“Hah! You don’t even know who I’m talking about, do you?… Do you?”

Lights a cigarette.

“I wonder who you think it is. Who… are you… afraid it might be? Who don’t you want it to be? Or… more interestingly, who would you prefer that it be? Between all of the people who you love and care about, who would you prefer it to be: your brother’s family, your parents, your best friend… your lover?”

Walks back and sits down.

“I really like that look in your eyes right now. Oh yes. What is that? It’s not merely a single emotion. It’s not a simple expression. It’s… it’s delightful… complex; a myriad of surprise, panic, and helplessness all rolled into one look, all at once. Why, I can almost taste it — the bitterness, the dread, the sheer horror; it envelops your whole being. This goes beyond sympathy. Oh my. I thought I understood empathy before, but I truly did not. My taste buds are tingling. This is a whole new level. Look at me. Look at my arm. It’s peppered with goose pimples like a plucked turkey. I feel it all over my body like a wave. It’s almost… It’s orgasmic. I don’t know what to say… Thank you… I guess…” 

Chuckles. 

“Or, better yet… thank me. For you wouldn’t be serving up such a devourable entree of… Let me see; how should I put this?”

Rolls his fingers on the back of the chair.

“You exude anathema. Hah! Anathema… not the kind of word one often gets the chance to use in day-to-day conversation. Not that I thought I would ever get the chance, so I hope that I used it correctly. It’s the kind of word we hold on to, shelved somewhere in some reserved, recessed pocket of intelligence, just waiting to slap somebody with, like a wake-up call. A ‘someday word,’ like ‘someday I hope I get the chance to use this’ and show somebody, anybody, maybe the whole world that I’m not as stupid or simple as they thought. And when I do, they’ll finally realize that they grossly underestimated me…”

Elevated his voice a bit.

“But it’s too late. And see… that’s it; I hit the nail on the head. That’s the real horror, the true horror, the horror that you are feeling right now.”

Screeches the chair closer.

Softens his tone a little.

“It’s too late. You don’t know yet what terribly terrifying things that I have done. And you don’t know to whom. They can’t be undone. It’s the unknown that brings us horror. The unknown, the helplessness, it’s being trapped — it’s all of it. You’re feeling all of it, every bit of it right now, and you’re… let’s just say unintentionally, but nonetheless, sharing it with me through that expression on your face, and I do thank you for that.”

Shouts, “There! There it is. All wrapped up in that single tear rolling down your cheek. The lip quiver is nice too, but that tear, that sojourner of anathema, that's the real gold. Don’t cheapen it with more tears. Be strong in your emotional failed state. Hold back the River.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

Walks back over to the table for a drink of water. Gulps loudly.

The proximity makes his voice louder.

“But then again, I would not have done what I did to provoke such an articulate cascade of emotions, this tasty buffet of pain that you’re laying out in front of me right now; I would not harvest the benefit from this without you first causing my original pain. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I’m not the man that I was before, and you have played a tremendous role in helping me discover who I really am — the real me. Few things in life are sweeter than an artist finally finding and knowing their true calling.”

Taps his fingers on the table.

“Hello. I’d like you to meet the new me. I’m Benny. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Takes a few long, slow drags off his cigarette. 

“Now… let’s see. Where were we? Oh yeah, so I’m standing outside the window looking in.”

A phone rings in the background.

“Hold that thought. I’ll be right back. You stay put, right there.”

Laughs as he walks away.