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A Foreign Language Makes Any Title Exotic

Scene One
         The curtain rises on a spartanly lit funeral home. The entrance is on the actors' left through ajar double doors. Immediately there are rows of comfortable looking folding chairs for mourners to sit and do what comes naturally. In the far opposite corner of the room is the deceased's coffin, though initially that portion of the room is in darkness and not easily seen. Several larger chairs are arranged in a row perpendicular to the coffin for any family members that feel a need to sit down.
         Empty, the room would be extremely somber, almost prohibitively so. As the curtain rises the room is sparsely populated with various people of all ages, all dressed in dark colors and for the most part randomly milling around. Some are greeting old friends, many through embraces and handshakes. Some are wandering around, eyes moist with tears and faces melted by grief. A few are sitting in the folding chairs, hands in their laps, staring at nothing at all. However, most are forming a line that begins in the front center of the stage and extends toward the coffin, not unlike a procession toward a distant and nearly unreachable object. The family can be vaguely seen near the coffin, but like it they are wrapped in shadows, only identified by the textured outlines of their shapes.
         Everyone in the room appears to be speaking in low whispers, giving the impression that many people are talking about many unimportant things that the audience simply isn't privy to.
         At this point BRIAN and WILL and JACK enter through the funeral home doors. BRIAN is the only one dressed in a shirt and tie, which looks very out of place of him, while the others are dressed in more natural shirts and slacks.
         They enter together, walk five steps until they are completely inside, and then stop.

BRIAN:          Damn, I think there's more people here than last night.
JACK:          It's probably not a good thing when I don't see anyone I know.
WILL:                              We're just here early.
JACK:          Then when did these people get here?
WILL:          (archly ) Earlier.
BRIAN:          (to himself )          Don, I really can't believe you did this to us.
JACK:                    That's not right. You can't have it both ways.
WILL:          Why not? If I get up at six in the morning and you get up at four, I'm early, you're earlier. It's that simple.
JACK:                    But how do you define early? Maybe they're early. In which case we can't be.
BRIAN:          (aside )                                        If it wasn't your family standing up there, Don, I wouldn't think it was you in that. (stares at the coffin, glances away quickly, as if stung) Why did you do this to them? The last time I saw you I told you, any time you need help, call me, please.
WILL:                                                                                          Technically any one here after the place opened can't be early, right? They'd be on time. Which would make us late.
JACK:          But what about the people coming in now? What are they?
WILL:                    Later.
JACK:                              I'm not sure if that's right.
BRIAN:                                                                                          I feel so out of place here. There are all these people of all ages here and yet we're the peers. We're the ones knew him the longest.

He shakes his head, takes a few steps toward the dark and distant coffin, stops and then takes a step forward finally. The line has barely moved since they walked in.

WILL:          What I'm saying is that basically everyone is late by default. It's almost physically impossible to be anywhere early.
JACK:                                        What about getting on a plane? You have to be early for that.
WILL:                                                  No, you're on time. Early would mean you get there before the plane is ever in the airport.
JACK:                              See now that depends on how you define it. I say as long as the plane hasn't left, you're early.
BRIAN:          I remember one time someone from school, their father died. And so all of us, most of the class, we went to the wake. So it was like this, all these young people. But it's not the same.
WILL:                                                            Frankly it's all a matter of perspective. I never said it wasn't.
BRIAN:          Back then we were there for support.
JACK:                                                                                That's the problem, there's no absolutes anymore.
BRIAN:                                                                      Now, we're the mourners.

BRIAN shrugs fatalistically at the audience, a sort of universal "Oh well" gesture. There should be a relatively steady stream of mourners coming in at this point, solo or in groups. If you can get the lighting just right and have the mourners move quickly enough, you might be able to have them basically go off one end of the stage and then come back around and return after a few minutes, perhaps with a fast costume change. Or not.

Either way the focus should remain on the three characters in the center. Everything else should be in the background and they should stand out.

BRIAN is half in the line and half out, looking like a man not sure if he should break up a fight, but feeling the need to do it anyway. He's not facing WILL or JACK but is still speaking to them, and doesn't seem to realize they aren't talking to him.

BRIAN:          When did this all stop making sense, guys? We're violating some law, to be dying this young. We deserve at least a mid-life crisis, right? A chance to have the fling with the younger woman, buy the fast car, grow the grey ponytail, all that stuff.

During all this WILL and JACK have been talking animatedly but the audience hasn't been privy to their words. Think of it like the end of game shows, when the credits are running and everyone looks like very happy mimes.

After BRIAN speaks their words become audible to everyone else.

WILL:          Technically you could extrapolate this whole thing to life and death.
JACK:                                        I'm not sure I see your argument.
BRIAN:          I mean, our parents got to do it. It's our turn now. All of us.
WILL:                              Think of it this way. No one is ever really born early, right? You're born when you're supposed to be and that's it.
JACK:                                                  And what about premature babies?
WILL:          Again, all perspective. (shrugs)
BRIAN:                                                            My God, Don, we were barely half way to the tenth reunion. (casts eyes briefly skyward) Couldn't you have at least made it that far? It's like you called us all here too early.
JACK:          They put those babies in incubators, I'm not sure perspective is the right term here.
WILL:                                                                                Of course it is. If you were really too early, you'd be dead, right? If you live though it, then while everyone else might think you're early, you're actually right on time.
JACK:          So early babies die. What about late babies?
WILL:          That doesn't make sense. How can you be born late? It's like the sun rising a half hour later than it's supposed to. (looks at audience, as if expecting them to laugh uproariously at joke)
BRIAN:                                        All these people I used to know and I've got nothing to say to them. The only thing we can talk about is you. We're at a party and the guest of honor isn't showing up and all we can do is talk about why he's not here.
WILL:                                        The time you are born automatically becomes the time you are born. You're on time. It's not waiting for a bus.
JACK:                                                            That perspective thing again.
WILL:          Not quite. Simple fact. Birth is birth.
BRIAN:          I don't want to think it's like that though. I don't want to. We're supposed to be here to remember you and that's not right.
JACK:                                                  If you say so. But what about death?
BRIAN:                    I don't want to admit that there isn't anything more. That from now on, when we talk about you, it'll be all old stuff. There won't be anything new.
WILL:          What about death?
JACK:                                                  Wouldn't you say he died too early?
BRIAN:          All of our memories of you will just stop. But we'll go on, getting older.
JACK:                                                  Or is that all perspective too?
BRIAN:          He's older than all of us now. And yet he'll be forever young in our heads.
WILL:                                                            Maybe. Maybe not. Logically though, how can you die before you're supposed to? Nobody really knows when, right?
BRIAN:                                                                      But what about his sister? One day she'll be older than Don was and that'll just be weird. Like picking up the baton someone dropped and continuing to run. It's not your race. It's not her life. But she'll be running it anyway.
JACK:                    So cheating death then isn't dying late?
WILL:          It's not cheating if you weren't supposed to go.
JACK:          Even suicide? That's cheating death the other way. Taking all the mystery and waiting out and saying, "I'm going to beat you to it."
WILL:                                                            Except you die anyway. So you're right on time.
BRIAN:                                                  Everyone will talk about "Oh Don would be thirty this year" or "Don would have been doing this" but that's not right. (visibly more agitated, whirling to face the audience completely) It's not right. He deserved to live but he didn't. We have to accept that.
JACK:                                                  That's awful twisted logic.
BRIAN:          We can't just make these manufactured memories and play the what if game. It's not the same as saying, "What if we didn't drop the bomb?"
JACK:                                                                      Are you sure that's right?
WILL:                    I can't claim to have given much thought to it.
BRIAN:          So what are we supposed to do? (looks frustrated, takes a step back from the line, then toward it again) We can't sitting around reminiscencing about you because we're just stirring up old dust.
JACK:          Not many people would.
WILL:                                                  And yet here we are.
BRIAN:          And still, we don't want to think about what might have been, because frankly that's just cruel. To all of us and especially to you.
JACK:                                                  I know. (snaps fingers with look of clarity) My God, I think I see finally. This isn't about being early versus late.
WILL:                                                                      It's not?
BRIAN:                                                                                          No, we can't do that. But what else are we supposed to do? Forget you ever existed? What good will that do?
WILL:                                                                                Tell me then, what's it about?
JACK:                              Free will and destiny, my friend. It's what you've been talking about all night.
WILL:                                                                                Really?
BRIAN:                                                                                          I can't remember you and I can't forget you. You were my friend and now you're dead and I don't know what to do.
WILL:          I don't think so.
BRIAN:                                        So what do I do?
JACK:                                                                      Think about it. If you're born or you die when you're supposed to, that's destiny. There's no early or late. (excited, feeling the pieces coming together) And yet if there's free will then you can decide the time and everything else.
BRIAN:          I'm too young to get used to this and old enough to understand how bad it is. (shakes his head, steps closer to the line) So I guess all I really can do is what everyone else is doing.
WILL:                                                            You might have something there.
JACK:                    So which do you think it is?
BRIAN:                                                                      Pay my respects and try to move on.
WILL:                              Who can say?
JACK:                                                  Which would you rather have?
WILL:          Both. Neither. I don't know.
BRIAN:                                                            Whether I want to or not. Whether I should or not. It doesn't matter. I have to.
WILL:                    Neither are really great options.
JACK:                                                                                It's all we have.
BRIAN:          That's just the way it is. (looks down at the floor, glances up again) That's all.
WILL:                                                                      There should be more options. We should get more than we do.
JACK:                                                                                We get the same as everyone else.
BRIAN:                                        So what are you supposed to do? (shrugs) Complain? (stares at the coffin, voice accusatory) Life's too short.
WILL:                                                                      I still say it's not enough.
BRIAN:                    But I'll remember. It's the least I can do.
JACK:          You can say it. But it doesn't change a thing.
WILL:          No, I suppose it doesn't.

The line has been shifting ever so slowly while BRIAN has been talking and there is now a noticeable gap between him and the next person. For a few moments he stands there, apparently lost in thought and then, suddenly, as if signaled he looks up and realizes that the line has gone on without him.

BRIAN turns to his two friends.

BRIAN:          Hey, you two. Come on! You're holding the line up!

JACK and WILL have gone back to their murmuring conversation but when BRIAN speaks the two of them look up sharply, glance at his other as if for confirmation and then take several fast strides over to him, talking as they go.

JACK:
         (simultaneously) Coming!
WILL:

As they walk, the lights begin to darken, slowly, emulating a creeping dusk. WILL and JACK should just about reach BRIAN when the lights go out completely. Let there be a heartbeat or two of absolute silence before someone, either actor, you can even alternate between shows who says, in a voice equal mixtures of passive acceptance and resentful rage:

VOICE:          It doesn't have to be this way.

Curtain.

If the audience feels like applauding, then this would be the time to do so.

Scene Two
         The curtain opens again and the setting is the funeral home again but from a different angle. The view has moved so that the coffin is on the immediate right and the audience is looking out on the rows of chairs. Shadows of the family can be seen in that corner, sometimes moving, sometimes not and occasionally snatches of speech can be heard. The voices included here are only suggestions and director can add those that he feels are appropriate. It's good to be flexible sometimes.

In the front row, in about the center JINA and BROWN will already be seated. As before they will be talking as the curtain rises but the audience won't hear their words until the scene actually begins. Scattered around them at random will be other mourners, again some sitting, some engaging in silent conversations, getting up and moving, others coming in and out. This is to give the impression of a busy and decently attended wake. A lot of people are coming out for this guy. I like to think he'd be flattered. But who can say?

JINA is sitting in an almost defensive position, legs crossed, arms folded in her lap, like she unconsciously feels herself in a hostile place. BROWN, meanwhile, has seen worse and as such looks fairly comfortable, even if he can't avoid getting a twinge of sadness in his face every now and then. BROWN should be portrayed by an actor with actual regeneration abilities if possible, that way the inevitable action sequences will be easier to film.

BROWN:          (mid-speech) . . . easier than I thought actually. It really is possible to pick someone who looks like they know where they're going and follow them until you get where you want to go. (almost wistfully) Of course it helps to spot that glazed and desperate look before you start. Jitters and tremors help too. Then I guess it's almost too easy.

JINA:          (staring at her lap) I guess it is.

BROWN:          (oblivious) And the whole time you're following you're thinking of all these grandiose plans, these scenarios. About the way it's going to go. And they keep getting more and more outrageous, until by the time I'm knocking on the door I picture myself diving into a hail of gunfire before sending the building sailing into space. (grins and shrugs) Yet, when you come down to it, simple is the way to go.

JINA:          Yeah. Simple.

BROWN:          (catching the tone of her voice, turning to her) Hey, are you okay? You've been quiet.

JINA:          (warm, yet strained smile) I think you've been more than compensating.

BROWN:          I suppose I have. Why don't we talk about you, then? (switches posture so he's facing her, his face deathly serious) Is it true you find me irresistibly attractive?

JINA stares at him for a moment, caught between disbelief and surprise. BROWN raises his eyebrow questioningly, as if waiting for an answer. JINA bites her lip and then, turning away sharply, barely suppresses a laugh.

JINA:          Stop doing that!

BROWN:          (innocently) Stop being irresistible? I can't. I'm sorry.

JINA:          You know what I mean. Don't . . . oh forget it. (twists in his seat) Where's Tristian? I need someone to balance you out.

BROWN:          He'll be here.

JINA:          Knowing him, he will be. Even though he doesn't have to. He didn't know Don that well, nobody would think otherwise if he didn't come.

BROWN:          He'll be here.

JINA:          (sighs) Yeah, I know. It would never occur to him to do anything else. (to herself) He makes me feel guilty for not wanting to be here.

BROWN:          Trust me, you're not alone on that. Nobody likes going to these things.

JINA:          It's different when it's some relative you've never met or who's been sick for a long time . . . I mean you're sad but it . . . it doesn't feel like this. It hits you harder, I guess. I don't know.

BROWN:          He was our friend. Even though we hadn't seen him for a while, he was still our friend.

JINA:          Every time I start to feel really sorry for myself, I wind up looking at Jackie, at his family . . . they look like they're in shock and can't figure out how to hide it. I feel so bad for them.

BROWN:          Why pretend? We're all shocked. They have as much right to it as anyone else.

JINA:          Even Jackie . . . people come up to her and say they're sorry and give their sympathies and she looks like they're speaking to someone else. Or talking in another language.

BROWN:          It's hard. To stand up there and weather all those people reminding you over and over that your brother is dead, for hours at a time. I don't envy her. Not at all. (there's a hard line to his face, his eyes briefly lost in the past)

JINA:          The worst is when people her age, her friends, our friends, when they come up and try to console her. They don't know what to say. She smiles at them and they smile back and seem almost embarrassed. For us, it's all a formality, just part of the process. Say your part and be done.

BROWN:          The adults know what it's like, a little bit. If you've been there, you know what to say. Even though you know it doesn't do any good, you say it anyway. Because someone has to.

JINA:          I give her a lot of credit, staying there like that. I'd want to just run away and cry somewhere.

BROWN:          Tristian would know what to say, I think. He just wouldn't say it because he'd feel it would make no difference. Sometimes he's an idiot.

JINA:          And you aren't?

BROWN:          It wasn't an exclusive statement. (grins devilishly) I just figure if I'm going to do something stupid, it's going to be as flamboyant as possible.

JINA:          (shaking her head) I still can't believe what you did. What were you thinking?

BROWN:          (sitting proper and upright) While in the presence of a lady, I can't say.

JINA:          But what did it accomplish, other than getting you hurt?

BROWN:          Hurt? Hey, you know me, I bounce back quick. With luck, I might have scared the right people. Sometimes all it takes is a little nudge.

JINA:          If you call that a nudge.

BROWN:          Gentle push? (trying different variations, finding each met by a stony glare) Determined bump? Brisk shove? Forceful thrust? (falling silent, before shrugging and giving up) Okay, it was a tackle with a running start. I wanted to do something. Can you blame me?

JINA:          I swear, you and Tristian are both in a race to see who can get killed first.

BROWN:          (smiles somberly) Oh I won that already. In both the short and long term.

JINA:          (slightly uncomfortable and trying to change the subject) Well at least he's behaving himself this time. He does more rash things than you'd expect from someone normally so level headed.

BROWN:          (deadpan) That'd be my influence.

JINA:          (fond smile) I'm starting to wonder. (glances around again) I still don't see him. I hope he comes. Except for you nobody's seen him since . . . since Don died . . . (sits back in her seat, letting her sentence trail off)

BROWN:          He's fine.

JINA:          (crossing her arms) Can't a girl worry?

BROWN:          Tristian would say you have enough to worry about.

JINA:          Hm. I'd tell Tristian to mind his own business. I'll worry about who I want to.

BROWN:          He'd say he doesn't deserve your worry.

As they're speaking AGENT TWO saunters in from the right wing. His stance is casual and loose. The stage should be set up so that the audience gets the impression that he just strolled through a solid wall. His ultimate path leads to the chair next to BROWN but it's a meandering route. He greets people who don't see him, weaves in and out of groups, etc.

JINA:          (offhandedly) That's his opinion. (after a moment's thought) I really wonder if he's coming. Everyone heard what Jackie said to him. He might not feel comfortable coming back.

BROWN:          Nah. We're here. He'll come.

AGENT TWO stops and whirls, as if hearing BROWN's voice for the first time. He then walks over and sits right down next to BROWN, crossing his leg so that one ankle rests on the knee, one arm draped on the back of the empty chair next to him. His look is interested, yet detached, if not slightly amused.

JINA has been looking down again, or at least in the opposite direction, perhaps searching for Tristian. She finally goes to look at BROWN again and see AGENT TWO.

JINA:          Where did you come from?

BROWN:          (turning) Who? (seeing the newcomer, experiences a double-take and does his best to avoid jumping out of his seat) Jesus, how long have you been there?

JINA:          (amused) I don't know, Tristian, you're depriving the country of a master spy by doing what you do. Sure you don't have time for some espionage work on the side?

AGENT TWO just grins widely. In the dim room, his eyes seem to emit light. Keep in mind his voice is raspy, not the thousand cigarettes kind, but almost hoarse, even though he has no trouble talking at great length.

AGENT 2:          Who says I don't freelance?

BROWN does another double take at the sound of his voice. JINA seems to note the discrepancy as well, even if the immediate implications are less than obvious to her.

BROWN:          Oh geez. Oh no.

AGENT 2:          You know, that sort of reaction gets real old after a while. Whatever happened to a big ol' manly hug as a greeting? And yes that's a hint.

JINA:          (catching on) That's not Tristian, is it?

JINA edges away just a little bit, uncrossing her legs and looking as if she's ready to go sit somewhere else, preferably outside. This isn't the type of thing she really wants to deal with now, perhaps understandably so.

BROWN:          Great, you can see him too. Wonderful.

AGENT 2:          (confused) You don't seem too thrilled with that.

BROWN:          I could be accused of that, yes.

AGENT 2:          (exasperated) Cripes, are you ever happy? I think you just like to complain. I think that's it.

JINA:          It wasn't like this before.

BROWN:          (to Jina) It's not the same one. There are two. (to Agent Two) Now why are you here? Acting as Tristian's stand-in again?

AGENT 2:          (ignoring Brown, leaning over to speak to Jina, nearly smooshing Brown against his seat in the process) Hello . . . Jina, is it? We've never met before. Or I've met you but you've never met me. You know Tristian digs your roommate quite a bit. If you could help at all with that, I'm sure he'd really appreciate it. We're all pulling for him over here, you know, even buddy boy here (playfully punches Brown on the shoulder).

JINA:          (very confused, but a little amused) Ah . . . okay. I'll see what I can do.

AGENT 2:          That's the spirit. That's what I like to see.

BROWN:          (in a strained voice due to being squished) Know what I like? When people answer my questions.

AGENT 2:          (sitting back) Perhaps I'm simply paying my respects. Or was this an exclusive gathering? If so, I can leave . . . (he goes to stand up)

JINA:          (quickly) We shouldn't let Jackie see him!

BROWN:          Right. (puts his hand on Agent 2's shoulder and shoves him back into his seat) Down you go . . . argh! (jerks back as if shocked, slumping in his seat limply, head lolling back dazedly)

JINA:          Joe!

AGENT 2:          Now you see, that was one of those things you do that, as you do it, you're thinking "Maybe this isn't such a good idea." (cranes his neck, as if looking for someone) Still, he does have a point, I guess. (points) That her over there?

JINA:          (nervous now) Y-yeah. That's Jackie.

AGENT 2:          Fret not, then, she won't see me.

JINA:          But . . . how? You're right here.

AGENT 2:          (serenely) Because she's looking for Tristian, dear.

JINA:          But you look just like . . . you look . . .

AGENT 2:          Best not to think about it too much. (smiles and pats Brown on shoulder gently) And don't worry too much about this soldier here. As he so famously said, he bounces back quickly. Think of it as a brief but well earned rest.

JINA doesn't say anything, just glances as BROWN, searching for signs of consciousness. She's clearly debating getting up and going somewhere else but she's afraid that AGENT 2 might do something while she's gone. Various people are still sitting down and getting up at random, but BROWN's state doesn't catch anyone's attention.

AGENT 2 meanwhile, is still staring at the coffin and the shadows gathered around it. His eyes are intent and searching, like he's watching the people but seeing something else as well.

The actor playing AGENT 2 really has his work cut out for him because he has to be comical and serious, scary and goofy in a matter of the same sentence and has to leave the audience guessing as to whether he's actually experiencing these emotions or it's all just (ha ha) an act. The trick is to probably play the character as slightly detached and not grounded, moving freely from emotion to emotion.

When he does speak, he doesn't immediately take his eyes off the casket.

AGENT 2:          She keeps thinking about Tristian.

JINA:          What?

AGENT 2:          She thinks about Tristian because she doesn't want to think about her brother. But something about Tristian distresses her too and so she doesn't want to think about him either. (nudges Brown) About the only pleasant thoughts she has are of Tall, Dark and Limp here . . . and even those she feels guilty about, like they're inappropriate. (shakes his head) Humans. Everything has to be in spades.

JINA:          How do you know these things? Are you just making it up or . . . (stops as Agent 2 turns to look at her) Which of those was a silly question?

AGENT 2:          Coming from you? Neither. (settles back) She seems to be a nice girl, though. (abruptly looks at Jina) What about you? What do you think? Any strong opinions?

JINA:          Me . . . I mean, no, I don't . . . I really don't know her that well. Honestly. When she was a kid, I mean I knew her through her brother but the last few years, I . . . no, she's a nice girl. You're right. She is.

AGENT 2:          Do you think she's the type of person you'd consider putting yourself in mortal danger for? (smiles beatifically) In your opinion.

JINA:          (taken aback) No, I . . . yes, no, I mean . . . what kind of question is that? (pauses) This is about Tristian, isn't it?

AGENT 2:          Seems that way, doesn't it?

JINA:          What is he doing? Is he okay?

AGENT 2:          (offhandedly) He's just fine. Why wouldn't he be? He's doing what he thinks he wants to do, right? He wants to help people.

JINA:          What's wrong with that? There's nothing wrong with wanting to be a good person.

AGENT 2:          Now, now . . . you're not listening. (wags a finger) Two demerits, child. Helping someone and being a good person aren't the same thing. There were people who helped the Nazis find those they were searching for. Were those good people? I think not. Yet they were helping.

JINA:          I don't understand . . .

AGENT 2:          Is he helping? That's my question. She wants answers, but so does everyone in times like this. It's perfectly natural, really. But in time you realize that there are no answers and you stop asking. That's the process. That's how it always goes. You question and you accept. (cocks his head to the side and looks at Jina) At what point did I lose you here?

JINA:          He's helping her accept-

AGENT 2:          (in a cold voice) Her brother is dead. He killed himself. There's nothing left to accept. (gently) Jackie knows this, but she's holding out, hoping for some other explanation. There aren't any, but she can't help herself.

JINA:          (slowly) And you think . . . Tristian is making things worse?

AGENT 2:          (sighs) Honestly I don't know what he's doing. Tristian's problem is . . . and (points at her) don't ever tell him I said this . . . but he doesn't accept anything. That's what makes him the way he is. That's why when you point him in the right direction, he's all kinds of effective. (clasps hands together, taps forearms on knees) Except when he's left to his own devices, there's no way for him to distinguish between who he should help and who he shouldn't. (laughs) In a weird way, we're supposed to supply those little voices until he figures it out on his own. Sort of like the anti-conscience, we tell him to mind his own business. (somber again) Lately I think our track record is starting to slip, though. Which bothers me quite a bit. (cheerfully) Don't you worry though. It's not like Tristian is going to start overthrowing governments on his own or anything.

JINA:          What is he going to do, then? You keep talking like you're not sure if something terrible is going to happen or not.

AGENT 2:          Not so much terrible as . . . as well, deceptive, I guess. Let me ask you this . . . you've had the brief and no doubt eternally delightful pleasure of my brother's company . . . would you say we're capable of many great and wonderful things?

JINA:          I . . . well, I would say . . . (fidgets) really I would say that you're really kind of . . .

AGENT 2:          Mm?

JINA:          (blurts out) frightening. Sorry. But you are.

AGENT 2:          (shrugs) Fair enough. We probably deserve that. We're not exactly playing up the cute and cuddly stuff lately. It's a grim world out there, my dear. We just have to dress the part for it. (grins manically) But would you say we know . . . (hushed) everything?

JINA:          Everything?

AGENT 2:          (leans back, epitome of casual) Yeah, you know, all the knowledge in the world, why everything happens, stuff like that. You think we know it all?

JINA:          Ah, well you, ah . . . you act like you do.

AGENT 2:          (springs forward suddenly, causing Jina to nearly leap out of her chair) There you go! That's the problem! We don't! And we keep saying it and saying it and nobody believes us. I don't know who started that vicious rumor but frankly it's getting tiring.

JINA:          I see, I . . .

AGENT 2:          So poor Jackie thinks we can reveal the secrets of all creation to her, or perhaps more relevantly, why her brother died. The problem is . . . there is no big cosmic reason why he died. He got stupid and killed himself. That's it. End of story. His story, at least.

JINA:          But you can't tell her that. That'd be cruel.

AGENT 2:          Exactly. (grinning) Now you're seeing. And Tristian knows that too . . . and he doesn't want to say it either, so the next logical step in his mind is to go out and find a reason. Now you might be saying, "What's so bad about that?" (holds up a finger, waiting expectantly)

JINA stares at him, a cross between bewildered and amused

AGENT 2:          Ahem. (coughs) Well you're thinking it at least. And to answer your unspoken query, my dear, our boy Tristian, his logic bus don't stop at Reason Station.

JINA:          What do you mean?

AGENT 2:          (serious again) Tristian won't stop at finding a reason. For him, that's the point when he starts to look for solutions.

There's a long silence after this, as JINA tries to digest this information, staring at her hands in her lap, at the coffin, at the ceiling, anywhere but at AGENT 2, who is sitting demurely, waiting patiently for some kind of response from JINA.

JINA:          (hesitantly) So . . . what are we going to do?

AGENT 2:          (raises eyebrow) Do? We?

JINA:          Yeah, (stronger) . . . me and you and Joe . . . and Lena too, she's not going to want to see Tristian hurt. All of us, we have to do something.

AGENT 2 starts laughing, a low chuckle at first, shaking his head in disbelief as he does so. The noise gradually gets louder, coming almost in waves, like he's never pausing for breath (breathing exercises would be a plus here) becoming almost embarrassingly loud though none of the people passing by seem to notice the near schizophrenic reaction. JINA stares around nervously, obviously debating whether to reach over and clap her hands over AGENT 2's mouth, but possibly remembering what happened to BROWN and so does nothing.

AGENT 2:          (wiping away an invisible tear, still chuckling) Ah, the boundless optimism of youth. If I was only two billion years younger and still possessed it. I would have accomplished just as little, but at least I'd've felt better about myself. (almost instantly, his manner is serious again, almost apologetic) Do, child? There's nothing we can do at this point. I'm sorry.

JINA:          (nearly getting up) Wait, what do you mean there's nothing we can do . . . what's wrong with Tristian, what's-

AGENT 2:          (puts a finger on her lips) Hush. The denouement is upon us and we're carried along in its wake. It's best not to fight it. This was probably inevitable from the moment she asked the question. I suppose it's almost poetic, in a sense. (appears to consider his own statement, then shrugs offhandedly and grins again, clapping the dazed BROWN on the shoulder) Either way, tell chuckles here he's been appointed damage control again. Okay? By now he knows the drill.

AGENT 2 stands up, laughing as he does so, but keeping the sound low, almost a humorous rumbling. Standing at attention he tips an imaginary hat to JINA, who is standing up as well.

JINA:          Wait, where are you going? Don't go! We have to help Tristian!

AGENT 2 turns and walks toward the wings.

JINA:          Come back! What's going to happen? You didn't say what was going to happen!

JINA takes a few steps forward, so she's past BROWN but AGENT 2 has already departed, vanishing back to where he came from. His laughter lingers behind like old perfume. JINA just stands there, as if she just watched a man either disappear or walk through a wall. She may have seen both.

JINA:          Oh God . . .

She walks after AGENT 2 a few more steps, stops, turns back to glance at BROWN and then runs off toward the wings as well. There's the sound of a door opening and shutting and a clatter, but its origin is suspect.

After a moment, BROWN slowly lifts up his head and peers in the direction where both JINA and AGENT 2 vanished.

BROWN:          (mutters) Damage control? Again? (shakes his head) Bastard.

He glances at the audience as if for support, then sighs and begins to get up from his chair. As he starts to stand up, the lights fade out again, leaving BROWN's ultimate destination unclear. It's more fun that way.

Curtain.

Scene Three
         One more time the curtain opens. The view of the funeral home has tightened yet again, until now the only thing that can really be seen is the coffin. The lights are extremely dim this time out. If the audience isn't straining their eyes to make out facial expressions and the like, then you aren't trying hard enough. The coffin itself is a very fine coffin. The area all around it is decorated with flowers, many with cards and other notes. A picture of the deceased sits on a table near it, but the features can't be made out. The coffin rests near the center of the stage, but slightly to the audience's right. Several big and empty chairs line the right edge of the stage like silent guards. The first row of the other chairs can be partially seen on the left edge of the stage.

Scattered about randomly near the chairs are mannequins, dressed in proper wake dress. A line of them forms a discreet and respectful distance from the casket. The effect should be of a frozen moment, a eternal space in between the gaps between the seconds on the clock.

The only actual person on the stage is JACKIE. In her dark funeral clothing she seems to almost disappear into the stage, giving her a small, pale look. As the curtain opens she's pacing around aimlessly, occasionally politely smiling at a mannequin. Her movements are almost forced, like she's trying to keep moving through sheer inertia for fear that if she stops moving, she won't be able to start herself back up again.

JACKIE:          I'm dreaming this. I have to be.

She touches the coffin, then jerks her away as if burned, paces away from it again, eventually winds up facing the picture on the small table.

JACKIE:          I heard once that if you say something enough times, it turns out to be true. Of course they don't say how many times you have to say it before it becomes true, but that's what I've heard.

She taps the table and gives a weak laugh. Her voice here should be flat but conversational, the kind of person who knows that they could very much experience a breakdown if they allowed it and so are exercising enough self control to make sure it doesn't happen.

JACKIE:          So far it hasn't worked. (crosses her arms and turns away from the picture) The funny thing is . . . once, only once I swear I wished you were dead. That's it. (rubs her shoulders, tucks her chin into her arms) When I was, I don't know, thirteen or fourteen, I had a crush on one of your friends. A stupid teenage thing but . . . your friends were so much more . . . attractive? I guess, than any of the guys in my grade were. You'd all sit on the front steps after school and talk and . . . mostly it was just making fun of each other but it seemed so much more exciting than anything anyone in my class would do.

She's pacing around now. Her steps form a pattern but it won't be immediately obvious, more like a lopsided figure eight than a pure circle.

JACKIE:          And . . . I told you I guess. I don't remember how. Maybe I was just blurted out, "God, he's hot" or maybe you just picked up on it. I don't know. Either way, you found out or just knew. And you guys probably thought it was the funniest thing, I imagine (briefly looks like she's addressing a mannequin), Don's little sister pining after one of his friends. I'm sure the jokes were even worse than before. (voices becomes deeper, imitating her version of a gruff teenage boy) "Hey, there's a Disney movie opening Friday, maybe you two can go on a date." "You can take her to the prom, as long as you're home by ten." "You can make up some date money by babysitting her at the same time." (normal voice again) And those are just the ones I heard. I can only imagine what went on when no one else was around.

Back in front of the picture again. JACKIE stares at it, like she's waiting for it to blink first, like if she keeps talking it might just respond.

JACKIE:          So one day I heard all of you guys snickering out on the front steps . . . he was out there too, I remember his voice being the loudest. I remember thinking, maybe I should go out there and ask if they want anything to drink or eat or . . . you know, stupid girl stuff.

Smiles, remembering a private joke that has no place here. Her eyes are downcast and her composure appears tightly controlled, her sentences casual but measured, each one plotted out carefully in advance to try and avoid any emotional landmines.

JACKIE:          But you called me out there and I should have known from your voice that you were planning something. But I was young and stupid and so I went out anyway (smiles again and closes her eyes tightly, as if the memory is still embarrassing, before opening them again) I walked out and you were all arranged in a little half circle and . . . oh God I remember it so clearly, he started singing that song . . . from the movie? I think it was "You Lost That Lovin' Feeling" (speeds up) and all of you were there, warbling this off key rendition of this song, trying not to crack up and all I could do was just stand there. Just in shock. All I had were two thoughts. "He told everyone" and "It's just a joke to them"

JACKIE stops again, her lips twitching with a long faded smile. Suddenly she breaks out into a giggle, before stifling it with a near mortified look.

JACKIE:          (in a small voice) Sorry. I'm sorry.

She nearly giggles again before covering her mouth and turning away. With a quick motion she wipes her eyes but then crosses her arms again, keeping them across her chest with a great effort.

JACKIE:          I don't remember if I started crying before or after I ran back into the house. I like to think after so at least I spared you that little brotherly victory, but as we all know how calm and collected I was back then, I highly doubt it. (sniffs, dismissing the memory) But as I threw myself onto my bed to sob into the comfort of my pillow, that's when I thought it. "I wish-"

Stops, stifles a small noise. When she speaks again her voice is very tight and nearly inaudible.

JACKIE:          "I wish he was dead." (raises her head, pointedly not looking at the coffin) And how about that, it came true . . . (barely makes it to the end of the sentence and the last word is almost garbled)

Folds her hands in front of her and paces around again. She sways a little as she walks, as if she's been standing too long but it is too stubborn to take a break and pause her vigil.

JACKIE:          Wow. You're dead. (her words could be interpreted as detached observation but her tone indicates anything but) It's so just . . . strange. I feel like I'm in a dream where every time I manage to wake up it's just the next morning and nothing's changed. I'm here and . . . not here. (absently ducks under a mannequin's outstretched arm) All these people, Mom and Dad, all your friends, my friends . . . everyone's here and looking sad or crying or both or they're just in shock and . . . I can't make myself believe it's all for you. (quickly) Not that I don't feel you deserve it but . . . there's, there's a place in my head where you're still exiled from the house and you're out there, doing . . . doing whatever it was that you did, but eventually, somehow, you'll come back and things will be the same again. (smiles without humor, glances at the coffin) That place shrinks a little more every day. And one day soon it'll be gone and I feel like . . . like you'll be gone forever. (hugs herself again, twists her body away from the casket) But you are, aren't you? So I guess it's happened already.

Gives a very false laugh and then pauses.

JACKIE:          (head bowed in thought) I wasn't ready to let go, Don. Why are you making me? Making us?

She steps away from the casket, like she wants to break out into a sprint but wishes to maintain some dignity. Pushing some hair back behind her ears, she laces her fingers behind her head and put her arms on either side of her ears, like she's protecting herself from someone trying to beat her senseless.

JACKIE:          Dad was the one who told me. I was in my room and . . . I wasn't even thinking about you. I hadn't thought about you in a while. You can take that however you want but I guess I had just accepted you not being there. And . . . and the phone must have rung but . . . I didn't hear it. I just . . . Dad came up the stairs and his footsteps were slow, like each step was covering less distance, you know, like those math problems where you keep halving the number and somehow prove that the bullet that will never reach . . . (stops herself) . . . he didn't want to tell me. And he had to. I don't know how he did it. He looked so old. That was the first thing I noticed when he came into my room. How old he looked.

Coughs and wanders over to one of the bigger chairs but only stands in front of it. There's a window behind the chair but the curtains are drawn and JACKIE only glances at them, since there's clearly nothing to see.

JACKIE:          His voice, it was so flat and numb. He told me and he didn't sound like he believed it. Dad didn't even tell me how you died at first. I think that's what shocked him the most. I thought it was just, you know, some overdose gone wrong, not . . . not what actually happened. Mom finally told me later . . . how you really died. (shakes her head) I still don't want to believe it.

VOICE:          Why not? Disbelieving it won't bring me back.

JACKIE spins around, taking a step back as she does so and nearly falling into the chair.

JACKIE:          (sharply) Who said that? Who's there?

In the chair nearest the picture of the deceased someone should be sitting. The lights should be arranged so that it's dark enough that you can't see their face but light enough so that you can tell that someone is there and make out that it's a guy. Get some eagle eyed crew members to test it out. Try to get someone who looks like me as best you can, but it's not a requirement.

The VOICE is sitting with his legs crossed, not unlike someone watching a play. His tone is a mixture of sarcasm and resignation.

VOICE:          What is this? I'm gone a few days and you don't recognize me? I guess when they say all you have left are memories, that's not too far off.

JACKIE takes a few steps forward and then stops. The VOICE twitches like it was about to run but settles back when she halts.

JACKIE:          Don? Is that you? (shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose) No . . . God, now I'm hallucinating (gradually rising in hysteria) my brother is dead and I haven't gotten any sleep and now . . . now I'm starting to see things . . . am I going crazy? What's going on?

VOICE:          Christ, no, calm down. It's me, Jackie. It's me.

JACKIE:          No. You're dead.

VOICE:          That I am. But who says I can't appear at my own funeral? We're supposed to the architects of our own destinies, right? Where does it says that it ends after we're dead. (looks at a watch) I'm actually a bit late, as it turns out. Sorry.

JACKIE:          That's okay . . . (catches herself) No! You're not here, I'm just seeing things.

VOICE:          (helpfully) And hearing things?

JACKIE:          (agrees) And hearing things. (realizes again) Oh God, stop that! (upset, looking about ready to cry) Is this some kind of joke, because it's not funny. Okay? It's not. I'm not laughing.

VOICE:          That's all right, I wouldn't be either. (pauses uncomfortably) Listen, I can go if you want. Would a hallucination do that for you?

JACKIE:          (covers her ears) Stop talking like that! I . . . I don't know what you are but . . . I don't need this! I don't want to have to deal with this!

VOICE:          You didn't answer my question.

JACKIE:          (whispers) No. No, don't go. (turns away again, pacing uncertainly toward the chairs again) Oh God, Don, if that's you, if it's really . . . why are you here?

VOICE:          That's not what you want to ask.

JACKIE:          (considers) You're right. It's not.

VOICE:          You want to know why aren't I here?

JACKIE:          (suddenly) Yeah, I do. (spins around) Why the hell did you do this to us? Do you even . . . do you know what you've done to us, how I've felt the last few days, with you gone . . . with . . . with (stops, when she speaks again her voice is tight, controlled) Oh God, why did you do it?

VOICE:          (darkly, evenly) Because I felt I had no other choice. Because I had done everything I could and I realized there was no other way out.

JACKIE:          No . . . that's not true. It's not true. Everyone would have helped you, nobody wanted to see this happen. There was always a better way out, you just never saw it.

VOICE:          (resigned) I wish I could say otherwise, but trust me, I did everything I could.

JACKIE:          (on the verge of tears) Then why didn't you ask for help? Why? Oh God, why didn't you see? It didn't have to end the way it did. Don, you didn't have to die.

VOICE:          (flash of anger) Do you think I wanted to die? Do you think I saw it as anything other than a moment past the last resort? Do you have any idea what I was going through? (getting louder) Stumbling around every day in a daze, working my ass off for no reason, knowing it's all going to the same place, feeling myself breaking off bit by bit, slipping away a little more every day? Do you know what it's like to know you're becoming someone else, to know it's happening and not being able to do a damn thing about it and the one thing you do know you can do about it really isn't much of a choice. (definitely shouting now) What part of you thinks that I welcomed dying, that I somehow looked forward to ending it all. Where did you get that idea from? Is that what everyone told you? What Mom and Dad said? "Oh, we knew it was going to happen. There were all these signs." (spits the last word out viciously) Signs? Signs? Goddamn those people, for not knowing what the hell they're talking about, for thinking this was something that I telegraphed for months and just got around doing it because I finally had some spare time in my busy schedule! I did everything I could to not go that route, and I mean everything, and in the end there was just! no! other! choice! (breathing heavily now, ironically enough) The reason there were no signs, the reason I didn't let everyone in the world know is because it wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference to linger over it. You make the decision and do it. You don't sit there and think about who gets all your stuff or write sad notes for everyone to find or drop hints hoping to God that someone stops you. I didn't care about that stuff anymore. I wanted to be done, to get it over with and so I went and did it. That's all. (quieter) That's all.

There's a long silence after this. JACKIE is clearly crying now, she started around when the VOICE started shouting, the whole time mostly standing there in numbed shock, not sure if the words being screamed at her are just echoes of her own grief racked subconscious or this really is a manifestation of her dead brother.

During this silence, the VOICE coughs uncomfortably and folds his hands over his knee.

VOICE:          Ah, oh hell, listen, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I, ah, I shouldn't even really be here, I guess (tries to keep his voice light) it sort of detracts from the reality of the situation, right?

JACKIE sniffs, mutters something unintelligible.

VOICE:          I just . . . I just wanted to let you know . . . I know there a lot of things you have or will or could blame all of this on. All kinds of things. And . . . I just want to say that . . . there's no blame to go around, Jackie. The whole time, it was just me. Nothing else, just me.

JACKIE:          Don, that's . . . it's not good enough. How is that supposed to make me feel?

VOICE:          (sadly) I know. I wish I could tell you how to feel and I can't. I mean, I knew it would be hard for everyone, I . . . if we were switched, if you were in that casket and I was standing where you were, I'd be a wreck, twice the wreck you are. I'd be pounding my fists against the coffin, screaming for you to come back . . . I wouldn't know what to do, Jackie, if you were gone.

JACKIE:          (sad and angry) I don't know what to do. That's the problem. There was no reason for it, Don.

VOICE:          That's because you don't see it my way. There was only one way it could end, and that had to be the way. I'm sorry. It's just (uncrosses his legs, leans forward) I knew it was going to be hard, but I had to do this for me, you know? For once, I had to do something for me.

JACKIE:          Don . . .

VOICE:          (wistful) And it's not like everything was a total loss. I had a decent life. We had some good times. Didn't we?

There's a long pause

JACKIE:          (unable to make eye contact) Yeah . . . yeah we did.

VOICE:          (leans back again) Like that one time on Halloween, the first one Mom and Dad let us go by ourselves and I went as the vampire and you went as the . . . princess?

JACKIE:          (laughing and crying) Mermaid. It was a mermaid.

VOICE:          That's right. (laughs) You didn't have any flippers though. That's why I got confused. I remember. (voice grows distant again) And we went around and then after we were done you ran back to all the houses we went to, crying and telling the people that your brother had stolen all of your candy.

JACKIE:          So they gave me some more because they felt bad. I remember! How did we get away with that? (sits down on the big chair, hands on her knees)

VOICE:          (chuckles) We barely did. I got dirty looks from that neighborhood for years. But it was hilarious, Mom and Dad couldn't understand why we had so much candy. (pauses) Did we ever tell them?

JACKIE:          (wetly) No. No, we never did. (her voice breaks on the last words and she buries her face in her hands, her shoulders silently shaking)

VOICE:          (softly) It'll get better. In time. It has to.

JACKIE:          (barely audible) It will. But so what? Who cares? (looks up at him, her eyes wet) It won't bring you back. You're gone.

VOICE:          (matter of factly) I am. (shifts nervously in his chair) So what exactly did you think Tristian was going to find?

JACKIE:          (flinches) What? How did you-

VOICE:          I saw. You asked him. (sternly) I didn't think that was very fair of you.

JACKIE:          Fair? (angrily) Me? What about you? Do you think it was fair to leave us like this, to-

VOICE:          (curtly) I made my decision knowing the consequences. I knew not all of them were going to be pleasant. I don't think you had any idea of what you were asking Tristian to do. I'm sure he didn't.

JACKIE:          You know, everyone keeps telling me that. How it wasn't a good idea. How I wasn't thinking. (voice leaps up a notch) No one seems to realize that I knew that right after I said it. And I've said that and said that and no one seems to be listening. Everyone keeps telling me this like I'm encouraging him . . . how many times can I keep apologizing to him before people actually believe that I didn't mean to do it. (pleading) So don't you start with me too. I've got enough to worry about.

VOICE:          (sighs) I know that you're sorry. I know that you feel bad about it. (shakes his head, frustrated) But at the same time, you just don't understand, Jackie. You don't know what you started.

JACKIE:          What are you talking about? (worried) What did I start? What do you mean?

VOICE:          (continuing as if she said nothing) Me and Tristian, we were never pals, but I knew him and he was a stand up guy. No matter what, he'd go the extra distance for someone, exhaust every possibility and even after that, he'd look for a few more. You don't ask things of a man like that lightly, Jackie. Not without knowing exactly what you're asking. (pointedly) And you didn't.

JACKIE:          (despairing without knowing why) All I asked him was why, Don, that's all I wanted to know. And you weren't here to say and-

VOICE:          When you ask why, you assume there's a cause. There never was one. That's how I wanted it. But you didn't know that and Tristian doesn't know that. (pause) He's been looking, asking questions, doing his best to find something. But there's nothing to find and he's starting to realize that. And that's bad.

JACKIE:          (cautiously) Why?

VOICE:          Because eventually he's going to run out of questions to ask. And when he does, he'll still have nothing. And for Tristian, that's not good enough. If he can't find a definite cause then he'll go for the indefinite one and hope it does some good. It's all he wants to do.

JACKIE stands up, crosses about half the distance to the VOICE before stopping. She sways uneasily, not willing to go any further but unhappy with where she is.

JACKIE:          Don, how do you know all of this? I don't even know what you're talking about. What could Tristian possibly do?

VOICE:          (deep breath) Jackie, he has a glowing sword, the ability to beat up a room full of people and the ear of two of the most powerful beings ever. (folds his hands in his lap, but his voice is even) Use your imagination. What couldn't he do?

For JACKIE a realization dawns on her. Whether it's the correct one or not, or if she has any inkling at all of what the VOICE is talking about, there's no indication. It's just that all of a sudden she looks very, very frightened.

JACKIE:          (in a small voice) I didn't know. Don, I had no idea. How was I supposed to know?

VOICE:          You should always remember, Jackie.

A slim light suddenly falls on the VOICE, revealing it to be Tristian, or someone who looks much like him. He's sitting much the same as before, one leg resting on the other knee, his hands folded and tucked near his chin. His expression is very serious.

When he speaks, his voice no longer sounds like me, but more accented, have the actor make up some accent that sounds like any number of nationalities without actually sounding like any of them, to leave the audience guessing. His tone should be very alien and cold. It's not easy to do, but fortunately he only has to sustain it for four words.

VOICE:          Everything has consequences. Everything.

JACKIE:          Who . . .

JACKIE starts walking, almost running toward the VOICE and she's about to reach the chair when the lights all abruptly go out. Even in the theatre seats they should go out, leaving the entire place in total darkness.

After a second passes the audience hears JACKIE speak one word, in a voice rife with helplessness and near despair, a lingering note from a girl who has been through so much and doesn't know if she can take anything else, but knowing she has to.

JACKIE:          Tristian?

Then the stage lights should go back up, showing the funeral home now devoid of anything but the chairs and the casket. Even the mannequins should be gone. Give the audience a couple second glimpse of this empty, lonely room before drawing the curtains.

Final curtain.

So there you go. I'll have to spice things up later with a fight scene or some shooting or something, so the audience doesn't fall asleep. But that's for the revisions.

I wonder if anyone will ever read this.

God, I hope not.