| General Script posted May 25, 2017 |
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one scene script
Now lissen t'me, boy.
by LIJ Red
The scene is the backyard of a small frame house, on the top of a hill, under tall shade trees in full leaf. An old man, grey-haired and very thin, sits in a folding lawn chair. Beyond the house, some seventy yards, a small mobile home is visible.A younger man approaches from the mobile home's direction.The cicadas and a few sleepy birds cry into the midafternoon heat. Young man Hi, Pop. How ya doin'? Pop(the old man) He lets his pocketknife and the piece of wood he was whittling rest in his lap. I've been better, Bud. How was the creek? Bud Just right in this kind of heat. Such arms. What'll you weigh now? Pop About a hundred pounds. Lotsa naked girls in the creek? Bud He rolls a thick butt-cut of firewood close to the old man's chair and sits on it. Pretty good turn-out. Yes, I got my eye on one. Pop Good to know. Living alone ain't what it's cracked up to be. Take better care of this one. Bud Just hesh talking like you're not hanging around. Pop You know, I lived alone for forty years. On the road a lot. On the jug a lot. It was killing me, and I couldn't fight it alone. I asked the Lord for help and he helped me, so I found a church and joined it. Met your ma there and married her. Taught you as best I could, now you don't go any more. Why? Bud Mostly just lazy. But it hit me, any God that could run a one-car funeral would not have a place like Hell. Pop Things get blowed outa proportion. But it ain't good to think you are just a mess of cells flung together by chance, in trial and error, over a billion years. Not even ma nature would make a creature think and let it die. Or so I feel. Bud That old ma nature that if she wants a rat, she has a thousand born and kills off the nine hundred and ninety-nine weaker ones in the most awful ways. Pop That dear old mom. No, I think there is a God, and he works a little different. He thinks, and that's how we are in his image, and he won't let our essence evaporate. Bud Don't tell me about no tacky cities with plated roads and big glass bowls and 144000 singing Jews. Pop He speaks to each in their own language and parables. Primitive folks never think about Job's scars and the graves of his first born. When your ma finds me cold and stiff, just call Ernest. I've told him what I want. He's got my will, but it jest echoes the law. Your ma gets everything. Bud She'll poison you for your vast fortune. Pop She's a good woman. I've set it up so she don't have to do much of anything. Take care of her, Bud. And find you a church someplace. The clock's running. Who's the girl? Bud A foundling from the Dalton Larkins, staying with old Granny Larkin. She's six years younger than I am. Pop I'd like to hang around just to see what happens. There's a great shitstorm a-coming, Bud. Lay back a few dollars and a good rifle. Things can't go on like they've been going. Everybody wants to get rich, nobody wants to work, and they all want to hide in a fog of dope. They think the good things of life are getting high and fornicating. America has had it too good, and there's lean, mean hungry people wanting all the goodies. All we've got is capitols fulla lazy, stuck-up windbag bureaucrats and rear echelon lifers for a military. And you can tell when the newspeople are lying--their lips are moving. Bud Told you to hush. You'll outlive me. Pop Let's hope not. You know, I don't think I ever told you I was sorta fond of you. Bud Naw. Jest in everything you ever said or done. Pop Don't be fretting when I'm in the ground. I believe I'll be in a better place. And this old carcass is mighty rundown. Time to go on. I was always fond of trading horses and then later cars--the next one was always gonna be the best ever. Reckon maybe it's the same with existences. 
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