my one act, mark II
I took b_vainamoinen's suggestion and added a little. Hopefully it fits in well. Take a read...
COVERED UP IN RUST
CHARACTERS
John - a young man
Berry - a polite, middle-aged man with an archaic way of speaking
SETTING
A lonely bridge late at night in a cold midwestern town
ACT I
John is standing, looking sickly, at the railing of the bridge. Sweat is dripping from his brow; he is clearly distraught and possibly a bit intoxicated.
Berry enters.
BERRY: Good evening, young man.
JOHN: (startled) Wh...what?
BERRY: I said, (loudly and slowly) good evening, young man.
JOHN: G-good evening. Wait, who says "good evening" anymore?
BERRY: Polite folk do, one might assume.
John contemplates this, then looks back down over the bridge.
JOHN: Well, then, uh...good evening.
Berry stands there for a moment, observing John, who is still staring down from the rail of the bridge. He then exits, seemingly unaffected by John's attitude. John pauses for a moment, then looks up.
JOHN: Oh what a terrible, terrible life. Terrible. I can't go on like this.
Berry enters again, hanging back and observing John in silence.
JOHN: Mary, why did you leave me? And mom, and dad, and...ah I hate you all!
John pulls a flask from his pocket and takes a quick drink; he proceeds to toss the flask over the edge of the bridge, sobbing quietly. Berry meanders up close to John, then begins speaking over his shoulder, startling John.
BERRY: What sort of way is that to treat such a lovely carafe?
JOHN: Jesus Christ!
BERRY: Now, now, young man. No need to bring martyrs into this. What's troubling you so that you would toss such a fine piece of pewter into such a cold old river?
John pauses.
JOHN: It wasn't pewter. It was cheap. I mean...leave me alone old man.
BERRY: (humorously acting insulted) My, my, my. No respect for your elders. Old man...pff! Old man.
JOHN: I just want to be alone, ok?
BERRY: (pauses, considering, then continues) Alright, young man. You're entitled to your privacy. Have a good evening.
Berry exits. John hesitates a moment, then begins climbing up on the railing. Berry hurriedly enters again.
BERRY: What the devil are you doing young man?!
JOHN: What does it look like I'm doing?
BERRY: Come down from there, you silly knave.
JOHN: Silly what? What in the hell are you-- Damn it, man, just go away.
BERRY: (pauses) Ah, suicide...how absolutely maudlin. And jumping off a bridge, that's a hoot. Well, before I try to talk you out of this, young man, I believe we should be properly introduced. The name is Berry. What's yours?
Berry extends his hand to John.
JOHN: J--John. My name's John. Now go away.
BERRY: Well, I can't just do that now, can I? You seem to have invariably involved this stalwart soul in your endeavor to end the life you call your own - so I would feel quite responsible if you actually mustered up the courage to go ahead with it.
JOHN: Shut up, just shut up and go away.
John begins to weep. After a beat, Berry begins patting him on the back.
BERRY: There, there, young man. No need for tears. Tell old Berry what's on your mind.
JOHN: It's none of your business, old man. Now go away.
BERRY: Girl troubles, son? Troubles at home? Not doing so well in school? What troubles a young man's conscience so that he would risk the icy waters that travel quietly beneath this road?
JOHN: (brutally) I said, it's none of your business.
BERRY: Alright, alright. You don't have to tell Berry twice. Or perhaps you do, I seem to have lost count. Well, goodnight, young man. Enjoy what little life you have left.
Berry begins to exit slowly, when John steps down from the railing.
BERRY: Now, that's what I thought.
JOHN: God, you're still here?!
BERRY: So are you, from the looks of it. Have a seat, young John, you look like you are going to faint.
John sits down on a park bench at the edge of the bridge, and folds his head into his hands.
JOHN: I just can't seem to do it. This is, like, the third night I've come down here and stared at that damn river.
BERRY: Ah, that damnable river. It's claimed a lot of young men like you.
JOHN: I just can't seem to do it. I can't do anything right. I can't even kill myself. Jesus, I can't even do that right.
BERRY: Come now, John. I'm sure you could do it quite well if you really tried. Not that I think...ah well, you know what I mean.
JOHN: Thanks.
BERRY: You're welcome. So - why would you choose to jump in the river? It seems like such a miserable way to go.
JOHN: I guess it just seemed...right.
BERRY: Right, you say? Having the local authorities dredge your swollen little carcass out of that murky bilge in the middle of winter? Sounds like outright cruelty to public service, if you ask me.
JOHN: Thanks. Any better ideas?
BERRY: Well, I don't know. There's always pills. Grab grandma's bottle of Valium and...shall we say...relax?
JOHN: I don't take pills. I never have.
BERRY: Well, I can't say that I could think of a better time to start.
John glares at Berry for a moment.
BERRY: Fair enough, no pills. Besides, they leave you rather unsightly and embarrassed when they don't happen to work. In any case, leave the mop and bucket handy. What else?
JOHN: I thought about, you know...cutting myself. Slitting my wrists.
BERRY: Ah yes. Little boy in the bathtub with the straight razor. That's absolutely droll, I tell you. Light up all the candles, turn the volume up on whatever device it is you use to play your favorite morose tune, and drain your blood for all to see. Now that, my boy, makes a statement.
JOHN: I just - I don't know.
BERRY: (Chuckling) Can't do it? I bet you're one of those folks who can barely take a needle. Did you cry as a child until the doctor gave you a Looney Tunes bandage to cover the evidence of your vaccinations?
JOHN: Old man, you are such a -
BERRY: Now, now, young John. Let's not be so hasty with our words - a young man like you should not hear example in the sarcasm of an old dog like myself. Have you tried, oh I don't know...hanging yourself?
JOHN: Actually, yes. I tried hanging myself from a pipe in my parents' basement last week. It didn't work. The pipe broke...
Berry begins laughing hysterically.
JOHN: Stop laughing! It's not funny.
BERRY: Oh, oh dear, my boy, you're correct. Nothing funny about that whatsoever. Imagine the mess. Hopefully it was a fresh water pipe...
JOHN: Yeah. I thought it was at the time...
Berry laughs heartily again.
BERRY: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, young man. That's just far too silly to not put some jollies into an old man's heart. In any case, it's best you didn't hang yourself anyway. Rather humiliating way to be found dead, what with the (makes a rising motion with his hand) and all.
JOHN: The what?
BERRY: Well...(clears his throat)...it's a commonly known fact that when a male of the species is killed by hanging from the neck that his...shall we say, protuberance, becomes...well...umm (clenches his fist and holds it up, pausing for a moment)...it's a byproduct of blood pressure and the like.
JOHN: Oh God.
BERRY: Yes...that's precisely the reaction your poor old mother probably would have had finding you in such a compromising position.
John puts his face into his hands and shakes his head.
BERRY: How about shooting yourself? It seems to be all the rage these days; people are doing it on national television, I hear. It can be quite inspired - the shocking violence of it all - the danse macabre with a loaded barrel.
JOHN: I don't even own a gun.
BERRY: You mean father doesn't have a case full of hunting rifles waiting ripely for his angst-ridden young progeny to pick up and play with in the most morbid of ways?
Berry mimes firing a rifle at his own head.
JOHN: I -- what? Man, you talk in circles.
BERRY: Fair enough. So, given the options, jumping off a bridge it is. I hope those friendly old policemen get overtime while they're digging around in that big cold stream for your carcass.
JOHN: Thanks.
Berry pauses for a moment, circling John and the park bench. Eventually, John looks up at Berry.
JOHN: What?!
BERRY: Oh, nothing, nothing. Just waiting for you.
JOHN: Waiting for me to do what?
BERRY: As they would colloquially say at the taverns down the road, "to shit or get off the pot."
JOHN: What in the hell are you talking about?
Berry sits down next to John.
BERRY: Well, are you going to do it? Or are you going to spill your proverbial guts to this wise old sage who has so reluctantly crossed your arrogant young path.
JOHN: Arrogant? What's that supposed to mean?
BERRY: Oh, come now, dear John. When I was your age, I was just as arrogant and cussed as you; Perhaps I drank a bit less, but we can't all be perfect, now can we?
The two pause a moment, looking out over the river.
JOHN: So I got a call from my girlfriend tonight. She is, as you might say, "colloquially" fucking my best friend.
BERRY: Lovely.
JOHN: Yeah, just lovely.
BERRY: Well, then. Matters of the heart it is. Hmm...what chapter is this?
Berry mimes flipping through a book.
BERRY: Ah yes, here it is. Chapter thirteen, how to stop a heartbroken young male from building himself a watery grave.
JOHN: Very funny.
BERRY: I thought so. So tell me about her, young man.
JOHN: She's all I really have, man. I'm a musician. I have a shitty day job, a failing band, and nothing much else to do but drink and throw bottles at things, you know?
BERRY: Heh, you might be surprised by this, but I know quite well.
JOHN: So we've been together for almost two years, me and Mary-
BERRY: Mary and I
John looks over at Berry with a hint of anger, then backs down.
JOHN: Mary and I. We were going to have a big wedding in June. Now she's fucking my best friend. Colloquially.
BERRY: Ah, so it's betrayal of the carnal variety that's driven you to this, no offense, rather pathetic position.
John returns the angry look to Berry.
JOHN: No, it's not just that. It's everything, man. My job, my life. Fuck my life.
BERRY: Fuck it, indeed. (giggles) Oh, excuse me for my bluntness. I tend to lose my tact at such a weary hour.
JOHN: Yeah, whatever. I just don't want to keep going, you know?
BERRY: Well, then don't.
JOHN: I'm working on it, alright?
BERRY: Working on it like you're working on your job and relationships?
JOHN: What in the hell is with you, old man?
BERRY: Berry.
John stands up, exasperated.
JOHN: Berry! Ok I get it alright!
BERRY: Just making sure.
JOHN: Just leave me alone, Berry.
John steps back to the railing. Berry sits and stares for a moment, then rises and exits.
JOHN: Alright, I'm going to do it. I'm finally going to do it. Enough of this bullshit.
John pulls a crumpled up piece of paper from his pocket, unfolds it, and begins reading.
JOHN: "Dear Mary, this is the last thing you will ever hear from me. It's been a long and beautiful time being with you, even when you cheated on me with Mark. And Bill. And Jared. Anyways, I have loved you with all my heart and I don't think I can go on without you. My music means nothing anymore. Nothing means anything anymore. Goodbye, my darling, and goodnight."
Berry laughs offstage.
JOHN: What the hell?!
Berry enters, laughing heartily.
BERRY: That is the funniest thing I have ever heard.
Berry continues laughing for a inordinately long period of time. Eventually, John walks over to him, crumpling the suicide note back up into his palm.
JOHN: What's so damn funny about it? I'm trying to kill myself, here, for Christ's sake.
BERRY: Young man, young man. You silly, young man. If you're going to leave this world, you need to at least be a bit more eloquent with your goodbyes.
Berry continues chortling as John fumes more.
JOHN: Alright, old man. What would you say if it were you jumping off this bridge?
BERRY: Well, well. Now he wants my advice. Not when I'm trying to save his life will he take a single word of advice - but now that I offer my editorial services, the young lad is all ears.
JOHN: Seriously. Just tell me.
Berry considers this for a moment.
BERRY: I've always been a fan of "short and sweet." You know, something simple. Like "Rosebud." People remember you for things like that.
JOHN: Rosebud?! What the hell are you--
BERRY: Yes, yes, young musician. Under-cultured. You're probably a disingeuous vegetarian punk rocker or something of that sort. Typical.
JOHN: Thanks, Berry. Thanks a lot.
John sits down on the bench again, looking defeated. Berry sits down next to him, gingerly wrapping an arm over his shoulder.
BERRY: Aww, young man. Either I hit the nail on the head, or I touched a nerve, either way, there is some metaphor to deftly describe what has made you react as thus.
JOHN: Man, I'm so unoriginal. I'm a hack. I can't even write a good suicide note...let alone a good song. I'm worthless.
BERRY: Well, probably. I mean, to a point we're all worthless. Little husks of genetic material, marching around like ants on our pitiful little hills, making the best of everything just to please the queen. Sucking up the precious air for eighty-odd years, less in your case I suppose, then off to your friendly neighborhood dirt farm.
JOHN: Wow, great.
BERRY: See, eloquence?
JOHN: I see.
BERRY: Good, you're not totally blind. That's a plus.
JOHN: So...what would you say if you were about to kill yourself?
BERRY: What would I say? Well I guess I've never given it a whole lot of thought. It's trite to think of one's own last words, the way I see it. If it happens out of context, you go down in history as a buffoon. If it just wreaks of melodrama, then you go down in history as a pretty crying queen.
Berry begins to chuckle again.
JOHN: I'm serious. If you want to help, help me out.
BERRY: Oh, alright, alright. I am obliged to oblige. Let's see that.
Berry pulls out a pair of glasses from his pocket. John hands him the crumpled up paper. Berry re-reads the note, chuckling all the while.
BERRY: "Dear Mary, this is the last thing you will ever hear from me. It's been a long and beautiful time being with you, even when you cheated on me with Mark. And Bill. And Jared. Anyways, I have loved you with all my heart and I don't think I can go on without you. My music means nothing anymore. Nothing means anything anymore. Goodbye, my darling, and goodnight."
JOHN: Will you please stop laughing?
BERRY: Oh, John, please. This is horrible. You're a musician, correct? A songwriter? Where on earth is the poetry? Where's the passion? I see only silly little trinkets of a love-lorn fool here.
JOHN: Thanks, you're no help.
BERRY: Now, now, young man. Let me think a moment on this. Brilliance certainly doesn't happen with spontaneity. At least, not in my world.
Berry stifles a laugh as he silently re-reads the note.
BERRY: Ok, ok (wiping his face) I think I have a few ideas that might help you be more - shall we say - appropriate in this situation.
JOHN: Really? You're not just playing me are you?
BERRY: No, no, young John. Despite my rather comical demeanor on the subject, I certainly would not joke with the destiny of a young man wishing to end himself.
JOHN: (Pauses) Thank you.
BERRY: Don't thank me. Thank several years of debt to higher education. Now, let's start here.
Berry pulls out a pen and works at the note for quite some time, John curiously looking over his shoulder the entire time.
BERRY: There, now. Feast your eyes upon that glory.
John reads for a moment.
JOHN: "Into the sea, my love dies with me?" What?!
BERRY: Short, and quite to the point.
JOHN: What is this shit? This doesn't say anything I want to say.
BERRY: Now, now. No need to insult. Sometimes you can just say...more while saying less, no?
JOHN: I guess so. I'm still not sure. I mean, will she get it?
BERRY: Of course she will.
JOHN: Gah, it rhymes and everything! What the hell?
BERRY: Trust me.
Berry holds out his hand, motioning toward the railing at the edge of the bridge. John slowly stands up and walks over to the rail.
BERRY: (smiling) Goodbye, young man.
John stands by the edge for a moment, then steps up on the rail.
JOHN: Thanks, Berry.
John holds up the letter and reads it aloud again, boldly.
JOHN: "Into the sea, my love dies with me!"
John drops the letter to the ground, then throws his arms up around him. Berry begins to chuckle.
JOHN: Could you not do that?
BERRY: (feigning confusion) Do what?
JOHN: Just shut up, ok?
BERRY: Your last wish is my command.
John closes his eyes again, face to the sky, arms outstretched. He waits for a long time.
BERRY: Well?
JOHN: What?!
BERRY: Are you going to do it?
JOHN: I thought I told you to shut up.
BERRY: Young man, I have gone completely out of my way at such a cursed hour to try to help you either not kill yourself, or kill yourself, and I'm frankly growing a bit impatient.
JOHN: Shut up old man! Why couldn't you just mind your own business.
Berry's mood quickly changes from jovial to angry. He stands up and trounces over to the edge, grabbing John by the back of his coat.
BERRY: Just do it already, you foolish boy!
JOHN: H-hey! Hey, let go of me! You crazy son of a-
BERRY: You're just like all of the other children these days, you don't even have the damnable motivation to properly jump off of a bridge!
Berry and John struggle for a bit, then John breaks free of Berry's grip.
BERRY: Why won't you just do it?! Do it!
JOHN: Man, you're crazy! What the hell is wrong with you?!
John steps down from the ledge and runs offstage. Berry stands there for a moment, his anger turning back to the indifferent warmness he possessed previously. He circles around the letter on the ground, then slowly picks it up. He unfolds it again, and steps up onto the railing.
BERRY: Kids, these days.
Berry steps over to the river-side of the railing, balancing carefully.
BERRY: They don't have the first clue.
Berry unfolds the letter further, holds it up, and begins to read.
BERRY: "Into the sea, my love dies with me."
Berry gingerly steps off the railing into the river.
Copyright © 2009 Andy Kulie. All rights reserved.
COVERED UP IN RUST
CHARACTERS
John - a young man
Berry - a polite, middle-aged man with an archaic way of speaking
SETTING
A lonely bridge late at night in a cold midwestern town
ACT I
John is standing, looking sickly, at the railing of the bridge. Sweat is dripping from his brow; he is clearly distraught and possibly a bit intoxicated.
Berry enters.
BERRY: Good evening, young man.
JOHN: (startled) Wh...what?
BERRY: I said, (loudly and slowly) good evening, young man.
JOHN: G-good evening. Wait, who says "good evening" anymore?
BERRY: Polite folk do, one might assume.
John contemplates this, then looks back down over the bridge.
JOHN: Well, then, uh...good evening.
Berry stands there for a moment, observing John, who is still staring down from the rail of the bridge. He then exits, seemingly unaffected by John's attitude. John pauses for a moment, then looks up.
JOHN: Oh what a terrible, terrible life. Terrible. I can't go on like this.
Berry enters again, hanging back and observing John in silence.
JOHN: Mary, why did you leave me? And mom, and dad, and...ah I hate you all!
John pulls a flask from his pocket and takes a quick drink; he proceeds to toss the flask over the edge of the bridge, sobbing quietly. Berry meanders up close to John, then begins speaking over his shoulder, startling John.
BERRY: What sort of way is that to treat such a lovely carafe?
JOHN: Jesus Christ!
BERRY: Now, now, young man. No need to bring martyrs into this. What's troubling you so that you would toss such a fine piece of pewter into such a cold old river?
John pauses.
JOHN: It wasn't pewter. It was cheap. I mean...leave me alone old man.
BERRY: (humorously acting insulted) My, my, my. No respect for your elders. Old man...pff! Old man.
JOHN: I just want to be alone, ok?
BERRY: (pauses, considering, then continues) Alright, young man. You're entitled to your privacy. Have a good evening.
Berry exits. John hesitates a moment, then begins climbing up on the railing. Berry hurriedly enters again.
BERRY: What the devil are you doing young man?!
JOHN: What does it look like I'm doing?
BERRY: Come down from there, you silly knave.
JOHN: Silly what? What in the hell are you-- Damn it, man, just go away.
BERRY: (pauses) Ah, suicide...how absolutely maudlin. And jumping off a bridge, that's a hoot. Well, before I try to talk you out of this, young man, I believe we should be properly introduced. The name is Berry. What's yours?
Berry extends his hand to John.
JOHN: J--John. My name's John. Now go away.
BERRY: Well, I can't just do that now, can I? You seem to have invariably involved this stalwart soul in your endeavor to end the life you call your own - so I would feel quite responsible if you actually mustered up the courage to go ahead with it.
JOHN: Shut up, just shut up and go away.
John begins to weep. After a beat, Berry begins patting him on the back.
BERRY: There, there, young man. No need for tears. Tell old Berry what's on your mind.
JOHN: It's none of your business, old man. Now go away.
BERRY: Girl troubles, son? Troubles at home? Not doing so well in school? What troubles a young man's conscience so that he would risk the icy waters that travel quietly beneath this road?
JOHN: (brutally) I said, it's none of your business.
BERRY: Alright, alright. You don't have to tell Berry twice. Or perhaps you do, I seem to have lost count. Well, goodnight, young man. Enjoy what little life you have left.
Berry begins to exit slowly, when John steps down from the railing.
BERRY: Now, that's what I thought.
JOHN: God, you're still here?!
BERRY: So are you, from the looks of it. Have a seat, young John, you look like you are going to faint.
John sits down on a park bench at the edge of the bridge, and folds his head into his hands.
JOHN: I just can't seem to do it. This is, like, the third night I've come down here and stared at that damn river.
BERRY: Ah, that damnable river. It's claimed a lot of young men like you.
JOHN: I just can't seem to do it. I can't do anything right. I can't even kill myself. Jesus, I can't even do that right.
BERRY: Come now, John. I'm sure you could do it quite well if you really tried. Not that I think...ah well, you know what I mean.
JOHN: Thanks.
BERRY: You're welcome. So - why would you choose to jump in the river? It seems like such a miserable way to go.
JOHN: I guess it just seemed...right.
BERRY: Right, you say? Having the local authorities dredge your swollen little carcass out of that murky bilge in the middle of winter? Sounds like outright cruelty to public service, if you ask me.
JOHN: Thanks. Any better ideas?
BERRY: Well, I don't know. There's always pills. Grab grandma's bottle of Valium and...shall we say...relax?
JOHN: I don't take pills. I never have.
BERRY: Well, I can't say that I could think of a better time to start.
John glares at Berry for a moment.
BERRY: Fair enough, no pills. Besides, they leave you rather unsightly and embarrassed when they don't happen to work. In any case, leave the mop and bucket handy. What else?
JOHN: I thought about, you know...cutting myself. Slitting my wrists.
BERRY: Ah yes. Little boy in the bathtub with the straight razor. That's absolutely droll, I tell you. Light up all the candles, turn the volume up on whatever device it is you use to play your favorite morose tune, and drain your blood for all to see. Now that, my boy, makes a statement.
JOHN: I just - I don't know.
BERRY: (Chuckling) Can't do it? I bet you're one of those folks who can barely take a needle. Did you cry as a child until the doctor gave you a Looney Tunes bandage to cover the evidence of your vaccinations?
JOHN: Old man, you are such a -
BERRY: Now, now, young John. Let's not be so hasty with our words - a young man like you should not hear example in the sarcasm of an old dog like myself. Have you tried, oh I don't know...hanging yourself?
JOHN: Actually, yes. I tried hanging myself from a pipe in my parents' basement last week. It didn't work. The pipe broke...
Berry begins laughing hysterically.
JOHN: Stop laughing! It's not funny.
BERRY: Oh, oh dear, my boy, you're correct. Nothing funny about that whatsoever. Imagine the mess. Hopefully it was a fresh water pipe...
JOHN: Yeah. I thought it was at the time...
Berry laughs heartily again.
BERRY: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, young man. That's just far too silly to not put some jollies into an old man's heart. In any case, it's best you didn't hang yourself anyway. Rather humiliating way to be found dead, what with the (makes a rising motion with his hand) and all.
JOHN: The what?
BERRY: Well...(clears his throat)...it's a commonly known fact that when a male of the species is killed by hanging from the neck that his...shall we say, protuberance, becomes...well...umm (clenches his fist and holds it up, pausing for a moment)...it's a byproduct of blood pressure and the like.
JOHN: Oh God.
BERRY: Yes...that's precisely the reaction your poor old mother probably would have had finding you in such a compromising position.
John puts his face into his hands and shakes his head.
BERRY: How about shooting yourself? It seems to be all the rage these days; people are doing it on national television, I hear. It can be quite inspired - the shocking violence of it all - the danse macabre with a loaded barrel.
JOHN: I don't even own a gun.
BERRY: You mean father doesn't have a case full of hunting rifles waiting ripely for his angst-ridden young progeny to pick up and play with in the most morbid of ways?
Berry mimes firing a rifle at his own head.
JOHN: I -- what? Man, you talk in circles.
BERRY: Fair enough. So, given the options, jumping off a bridge it is. I hope those friendly old policemen get overtime while they're digging around in that big cold stream for your carcass.
JOHN: Thanks.
Berry pauses for a moment, circling John and the park bench. Eventually, John looks up at Berry.
JOHN: What?!
BERRY: Oh, nothing, nothing. Just waiting for you.
JOHN: Waiting for me to do what?
BERRY: As they would colloquially say at the taverns down the road, "to shit or get off the pot."
JOHN: What in the hell are you talking about?
Berry sits down next to John.
BERRY: Well, are you going to do it? Or are you going to spill your proverbial guts to this wise old sage who has so reluctantly crossed your arrogant young path.
JOHN: Arrogant? What's that supposed to mean?
BERRY: Oh, come now, dear John. When I was your age, I was just as arrogant and cussed as you; Perhaps I drank a bit less, but we can't all be perfect, now can we?
The two pause a moment, looking out over the river.
JOHN: So I got a call from my girlfriend tonight. She is, as you might say, "colloquially" fucking my best friend.
BERRY: Lovely.
JOHN: Yeah, just lovely.
BERRY: Well, then. Matters of the heart it is. Hmm...what chapter is this?
Berry mimes flipping through a book.
BERRY: Ah yes, here it is. Chapter thirteen, how to stop a heartbroken young male from building himself a watery grave.
JOHN: Very funny.
BERRY: I thought so. So tell me about her, young man.
JOHN: She's all I really have, man. I'm a musician. I have a shitty day job, a failing band, and nothing much else to do but drink and throw bottles at things, you know?
BERRY: Heh, you might be surprised by this, but I know quite well.
JOHN: So we've been together for almost two years, me and Mary-
BERRY: Mary and I
John looks over at Berry with a hint of anger, then backs down.
JOHN: Mary and I. We were going to have a big wedding in June. Now she's fucking my best friend. Colloquially.
BERRY: Ah, so it's betrayal of the carnal variety that's driven you to this, no offense, rather pathetic position.
John returns the angry look to Berry.
JOHN: No, it's not just that. It's everything, man. My job, my life. Fuck my life.
BERRY: Fuck it, indeed. (giggles) Oh, excuse me for my bluntness. I tend to lose my tact at such a weary hour.
JOHN: Yeah, whatever. I just don't want to keep going, you know?
BERRY: Well, then don't.
JOHN: I'm working on it, alright?
BERRY: Working on it like you're working on your job and relationships?
JOHN: What in the hell is with you, old man?
BERRY: Berry.
John stands up, exasperated.
JOHN: Berry! Ok I get it alright!
BERRY: Just making sure.
JOHN: Just leave me alone, Berry.
John steps back to the railing. Berry sits and stares for a moment, then rises and exits.
JOHN: Alright, I'm going to do it. I'm finally going to do it. Enough of this bullshit.
John pulls a crumpled up piece of paper from his pocket, unfolds it, and begins reading.
JOHN: "Dear Mary, this is the last thing you will ever hear from me. It's been a long and beautiful time being with you, even when you cheated on me with Mark. And Bill. And Jared. Anyways, I have loved you with all my heart and I don't think I can go on without you. My music means nothing anymore. Nothing means anything anymore. Goodbye, my darling, and goodnight."
Berry laughs offstage.
JOHN: What the hell?!
Berry enters, laughing heartily.
BERRY: That is the funniest thing I have ever heard.
Berry continues laughing for a inordinately long period of time. Eventually, John walks over to him, crumpling the suicide note back up into his palm.
JOHN: What's so damn funny about it? I'm trying to kill myself, here, for Christ's sake.
BERRY: Young man, young man. You silly, young man. If you're going to leave this world, you need to at least be a bit more eloquent with your goodbyes.
Berry continues chortling as John fumes more.
JOHN: Alright, old man. What would you say if it were you jumping off this bridge?
BERRY: Well, well. Now he wants my advice. Not when I'm trying to save his life will he take a single word of advice - but now that I offer my editorial services, the young lad is all ears.
JOHN: Seriously. Just tell me.
Berry considers this for a moment.
BERRY: I've always been a fan of "short and sweet." You know, something simple. Like "Rosebud." People remember you for things like that.
JOHN: Rosebud?! What the hell are you--
BERRY: Yes, yes, young musician. Under-cultured. You're probably a disingeuous vegetarian punk rocker or something of that sort. Typical.
JOHN: Thanks, Berry. Thanks a lot.
John sits down on the bench again, looking defeated. Berry sits down next to him, gingerly wrapping an arm over his shoulder.
BERRY: Aww, young man. Either I hit the nail on the head, or I touched a nerve, either way, there is some metaphor to deftly describe what has made you react as thus.
JOHN: Man, I'm so unoriginal. I'm a hack. I can't even write a good suicide note...let alone a good song. I'm worthless.
BERRY: Well, probably. I mean, to a point we're all worthless. Little husks of genetic material, marching around like ants on our pitiful little hills, making the best of everything just to please the queen. Sucking up the precious air for eighty-odd years, less in your case I suppose, then off to your friendly neighborhood dirt farm.
JOHN: Wow, great.
BERRY: See, eloquence?
JOHN: I see.
BERRY: Good, you're not totally blind. That's a plus.
JOHN: So...what would you say if you were about to kill yourself?
BERRY: What would I say? Well I guess I've never given it a whole lot of thought. It's trite to think of one's own last words, the way I see it. If it happens out of context, you go down in history as a buffoon. If it just wreaks of melodrama, then you go down in history as a pretty crying queen.
Berry begins to chuckle again.
JOHN: I'm serious. If you want to help, help me out.
BERRY: Oh, alright, alright. I am obliged to oblige. Let's see that.
Berry pulls out a pair of glasses from his pocket. John hands him the crumpled up paper. Berry re-reads the note, chuckling all the while.
BERRY: "Dear Mary, this is the last thing you will ever hear from me. It's been a long and beautiful time being with you, even when you cheated on me with Mark. And Bill. And Jared. Anyways, I have loved you with all my heart and I don't think I can go on without you. My music means nothing anymore. Nothing means anything anymore. Goodbye, my darling, and goodnight."
JOHN: Will you please stop laughing?
BERRY: Oh, John, please. This is horrible. You're a musician, correct? A songwriter? Where on earth is the poetry? Where's the passion? I see only silly little trinkets of a love-lorn fool here.
JOHN: Thanks, you're no help.
BERRY: Now, now, young man. Let me think a moment on this. Brilliance certainly doesn't happen with spontaneity. At least, not in my world.
Berry stifles a laugh as he silently re-reads the note.
BERRY: Ok, ok (wiping his face) I think I have a few ideas that might help you be more - shall we say - appropriate in this situation.
JOHN: Really? You're not just playing me are you?
BERRY: No, no, young John. Despite my rather comical demeanor on the subject, I certainly would not joke with the destiny of a young man wishing to end himself.
JOHN: (Pauses) Thank you.
BERRY: Don't thank me. Thank several years of debt to higher education. Now, let's start here.
Berry pulls out a pen and works at the note for quite some time, John curiously looking over his shoulder the entire time.
BERRY: There, now. Feast your eyes upon that glory.
John reads for a moment.
JOHN: "Into the sea, my love dies with me?" What?!
BERRY: Short, and quite to the point.
JOHN: What is this shit? This doesn't say anything I want to say.
BERRY: Now, now. No need to insult. Sometimes you can just say...more while saying less, no?
JOHN: I guess so. I'm still not sure. I mean, will she get it?
BERRY: Of course she will.
JOHN: Gah, it rhymes and everything! What the hell?
BERRY: Trust me.
Berry holds out his hand, motioning toward the railing at the edge of the bridge. John slowly stands up and walks over to the rail.
BERRY: (smiling) Goodbye, young man.
John stands by the edge for a moment, then steps up on the rail.
JOHN: Thanks, Berry.
John holds up the letter and reads it aloud again, boldly.
JOHN: "Into the sea, my love dies with me!"
John drops the letter to the ground, then throws his arms up around him. Berry begins to chuckle.
JOHN: Could you not do that?
BERRY: (feigning confusion) Do what?
JOHN: Just shut up, ok?
BERRY: Your last wish is my command.
John closes his eyes again, face to the sky, arms outstretched. He waits for a long time.
BERRY: Well?
JOHN: What?!
BERRY: Are you going to do it?
JOHN: I thought I told you to shut up.
BERRY: Young man, I have gone completely out of my way at such a cursed hour to try to help you either not kill yourself, or kill yourself, and I'm frankly growing a bit impatient.
JOHN: Shut up old man! Why couldn't you just mind your own business.
Berry's mood quickly changes from jovial to angry. He stands up and trounces over to the edge, grabbing John by the back of his coat.
BERRY: Just do it already, you foolish boy!
JOHN: H-hey! Hey, let go of me! You crazy son of a-
BERRY: You're just like all of the other children these days, you don't even have the damnable motivation to properly jump off of a bridge!
Berry and John struggle for a bit, then John breaks free of Berry's grip.
BERRY: Why won't you just do it?! Do it!
JOHN: Man, you're crazy! What the hell is wrong with you?!
John steps down from the ledge and runs offstage. Berry stands there for a moment, his anger turning back to the indifferent warmness he possessed previously. He circles around the letter on the ground, then slowly picks it up. He unfolds it again, and steps up onto the railing.
BERRY: Kids, these days.
Berry steps over to the river-side of the railing, balancing carefully.
BERRY: They don't have the first clue.
Berry unfolds the letter further, holds it up, and begins to read.
BERRY: "Into the sea, my love dies with me."
Berry gingerly steps off the railing into the river.
Copyright © 2009 Andy Kulie. All rights reserved.