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Tiny Play #9/100. (Remember Your Wrists.)

September 20, 2010

This is the tiniest play of all.  So far.  It’s also kind of a cheat.  I wrote this 2 years ago on a challege from my (then very new) friend Matthew to write a play under 5 minutes long in which a particular thing would happen.  But if I tell you what the particular thing is there will be no reason to read this.

As for new plays, I have dozens of beginnings (written + prewritten), + zeroes of ends.  Or actually, a couple of ends without middles, or beginnings, or people to cuddle with.

You know how it is.

SETTING: A bus stop.

AT RISE:  A sits crossed-legged at one end of the bench, wearing headphones and completely zoning out.  B enters, sits down at the opposite end of the bench, gets up again almost immediately, checks the bus schedule, looks at own wrist, which is bare.

B:  Shit.

Checks other wrist.  Bare.  Checks pockets.  Comes up with a few pieces of kleenex and some bus tokens, but no watch.


Approaches A.

Excuse me, you wouldn’t happen to have the…?

B realises that A cannot hear at all.  In fact, A is not even aware that B is there.  Awkwardly, B taps A on the shoulder.  A starts, takes off headphones, stares at the source of the tap.

B:  Uh, excuse me, do you have the time?

A holds up own wrists, also bare.

B:  Shit.  Sorry.  I just…I have no idea what time it is, and if I’m late, it’s a problem.

A:  Well…good luck with that…

The words come out cracked.  A has started crying.

B:  It’s okay.  Don’t worry about it.  It’s not a big deal.  If I’m late, I’m late.

A:  That’s just stupid.

B:  What is?

A:  You just said “if I’m late, it’s a problem,” then immediately turned around and said, “if I’m late, I’m late”.  One of those two statements is obviously false.

B:  Okay, yes, it matters if I’m late.  I just meant it’s not something you should be crying about.

A:  Oh God, I’m not crying about your stupid deadline.  Jesus.

B:  Oh.  Why are you crying then?

A:  What kind of question is that?  Really.  Who goes up to a total stranger and asks why they’re crying?

B:  Well, it’s not like I make a habit of it or anything…but to be fair, I went up to you before you started crying.

A:  So what?

B:  So I feel like I’m…involved now.

A:  You aren’t.  Slag off.

B:  Can I do something, at least?  To help…?

A:  I really fucking doubt it.  Try minding your own business.

B is a little stunned.  Walks to the opposite end of the bus shelter, looks out the glass.  Turns back to look at the bus schedule again.  Back to the glass wall.  Slumps against it.  Cries.


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