Originally Posted by "Afterall" by Despanan Act I Scene II
A beat, then from the darkness and the silence we hear:
Redmond: [Recorded; Scratchy, like an old record] I died, and the world began…
Spotlight on a funeral, the rest of the background is black. The service is over and the coffin is still above ground, having yet to be lowered. ETHAN and SAM, two young men in their mid-20s, stand in their own spotlight stage left of the coffin. They are dressed formally, but their funeral garb has a distinct “post-punk” feel to it. SAM wears a long coat which has been hand-customized. They stare at the coffin while they converse.
Ethan: There’s no headstone.
Sam: They haven’t bought it yet.
Ethan: I kinda just assumed it’d just be there. Like they came with the plot or something…I mean grave, headstone…they go together. Always; and now a piece is missing and, it doesn’t make sense, to my mind.
SAM says nothing.
Ethan: It’s not right.
A beat.
Ethan: What the fuck. It’s just a hunk of stone right? I’m sure Redmond’s Mom has a lot more to worry about now than some heavy-assed piece of granite…it’s just. There’s an emptiness…there’s a hole, a black fucking hole in the universe where something should be and…(A beat) When are they going to lower him?
Sam: After we leave.
Ethan: (Shaking his head) No. Doesn’t seem right. Seems like we’re just leaving him. Just dropping him off in the ground. In the old days they did this better…In the old days they built you a pyramid, and filled it with traps, and crazy writings, and they fucking cursed it. In the old days they wrapped you in a sheet and stuck coins in your eyes for the Boatman. They had games in your honor. Funeral games that lasted a week; assholes throwing discus and javelin’s to your memory. In the old days you didn’t have some preacher no one knows using your death as a soapbox to lecture your “freak” friends.
Sam: He didn’t call us freaks.
Ethan: Might as well have. “To the young” he said. As if we weren’t supposed to be there. As if somehow we were a corruption invading his pristine world. As if we were lost fucking sheep or some other condescending bullshit.
Sam: Hmm.
Ethan: I should’ve said something. I wish I’d said something. Jesus and Hell get a whole fucking Sunday every fucking week. Fifty-two weeks a year. Fifty-two weeks a year dedicated to hellfire and brimstone and hot-assed pitchforks, and he couldn’t even let Redmond have one overcast Wednesday.
A Pause.
Sam: Yeah, I suppose; Guy can fuck right off.
Ethan: He got his name wrong. I should’ve told that smug, wrinkled asshole he’d got it wrong. Who the fuck is Arthur? His name was “Redmond”. It was always “Redmond”.
Sam: Yes it was.
Ethan: You know; I could never get him to swear.
Sam: I know.
Ethan: I’d say “Redmond you’re twenty-five, you need to start using big boy words! Bitch, Twat, God-damn!” And Redmond…Redmond would just lean back and rock from side to side; like he always did. He’d rock, and he’d grin and say “goodness”. Goodness. Good old Redmond. Best damn human being on the planet. Best friend I—Best friend we ever had. When I was new in town, and nobody would fuckin’ talk to me, who invited me to play Dungeons and Dragons with you two in his Mom’s basement? Shit…Dungeons and Dragons. Who cut his hand on the stove-pipe while making you that tin glove so you could be Ash from Army of Darkness at Becky McGowan’s Halloween party? Who covered his face in that ridiculous fucking Kiss makeup and played base in that god-awful band we started?
Sam: Redmond.
Ethan: Redmond.
Sam: You know he was writing a book?
Ethan: No shit?
Sam: No shit. A fantasy novel. He said it was going to be about us…the three of us.
Ethan: Was it any good?
Sam: Don’t know. I didn’t see it.
Ethan: I bet it was good. Fucking Redmond. He was always going on like he was Beowulf or some shit…Fucking Dungeons and Dragons.
Sam: They said it was a heart-attack.
Ethan: Yeah, they said a lot of things.
Sam: He was an epileptic, do you think maybe—?
Ethan: Who cares? It happened.
Sam: You ready to go?
Ethan: (Doesn’t answer. He approaches the coffin.) You know what they’d do in the old days Redmond?…in the old days they’d put you on a boat, and on that boat they’d lay you out with all your best swag; And then they’d set that boat on fire and give it a push…And off you’d go: blazing into the horizon like some kind of supernova…Well I don’t have a boat…but check your pocket. I slipped them in there when no one was watching. At least I’m good for boat fair. I—
ETHAN breaks down, and turns away from the coffin. SAM puts his arm around his friend to comfort him.
Ethan: (Sobbing) At least they left him in his old T-Shirt and jeans. I couldn’t have seen him in a suit. Not Redmond.
Sam: I know.
Ethan: And they left his glasses on. That was nice. He didn’t ever look right without his glasses. I kept a class picture of him in my wallet with no glasses on and a suit. Used to tell him I used it to substitute for mace, I— Oh god, I told him…
Sam: It’s okay.
Ethan: I mean, he didn’t think…I mean, he knew—
Sam: He knew.
Ethan: Yeah?
Sam: Yeah.
Slight Pause.
Ethan: We need Whiskey.
Sam: I have a bottle back at the house.
Ethan: (Collecting himself) That’s good. A wake. Libations. We’ll toast to the dead.
Sam: And to the living.
Ethan: Yeah.
ETHAN looks back at the grave.
Ethan: It still doesn’t look right.
ETHAN starts to leave. SAM stops him. ETHAN looks at him quizzically. From out of his coat SAM pulls a sword. It is a replica, modeled after a medieval knight’s sword. The kind of thing someone might buy on impulse at a renaissance fair.
Ethan: That’s—
Sam: (Nods) I took it from his Mom’s basement.
ETHAN is speechless. Very deliberately SAM strides over to the grave. He draws the sword from the scabbard and stabs it into the dirt where the headstone might have been. It sticks. SAM tests it, and then looks at ETHAN, who nods in approval. SAM rejoins his friend.
Ethan: Goodbye Redmond.
They exit. The lights change and the background becomes visible. The coffin opens and Redmond climbs out awkwardly. He is wearing his favorite old, black, Edgar Allen Poe T-Shirt, Blue-Jeans, black sneakers, and a coffin wrist watch. He rocks slightly from side to side as he watches them offstage and appraises his surroundings. He seems confused, and squints then takes off his glasses. He realizes that he doesn’t need glasses anymore.
Redmond: Goodness.
He removes the glasses and places them in his left pocket. REDMOND walks slowly around the coffin and over to the sword. He pokes the pommel experimentally with his finger. The sword wobbles slightly.
Redmond: Curiouser and curiouser.
REDMOND reaches into his right pocket and pulls out two pennies. He looks at them, smiles, and looks offstage where his two friends have made their exit. A beat.
Redmond: Bye guys…I really wish I could join you for that drink I—(Looks at the coins in his hand and realizes something.) HEY! You two had better pour out some of that whiskey for me! (Quieter)You know how much I like…(Trailing off) whiskey. (A beat) So…I’m dead. I don’t feel dead. Then again I’ve never been dead before so how am I supposed to know how it feels? I remember going to bed…and I remember having a fit, worst one I’d ever had, and just when I was sure I couldn’t take it anymore…It stopped. (a beat) I hope Mom’s gonna be okay. I really wish they wouldn’t make such a fuss over me. I mean…I’m here…Aren’t I? And you were here…I think you were here, but maybe not here and…and we can’t—
Pause.
Redmond: I guess we can’t…not anymore.
REDMOND walks back to the sword.
Redmond: I remember when we bought this. We were sitting around sweating, and there she was, sitting in the bargain barrel at “Trevor: the Blacksmith’s”. None of us could afford her but Sam…you had that Black hunting horn you’d bought; and Ethan, you had that spear with the ravens engraved on the shaft; and you guys…you guys said I needed something. So you each loaned me your last thirty bucks, and I got Durendal.
He looks at it a moment.
Redmond: I wonder if…
REDMOND places his hands on the hilt and pulls the sword out of the ground. He inspects the blade and gives it an experimental swing. Satisfied, REDMOND picks up the scabbard, sheathes the sword, and secures it to his back using the shoulder-strap.
Redmond: Well, no sense staying here…(He pauses, looks around) I guess to die would be an awfully big adventure…come on feet. (He grins broadly. He’s always wanted to say that.)
SET CHANGE
|
