Friday, March 13, 2009

Week Eight, Day 54 - “Self-Storage”

“Self-Storage”
Written by Joe Janes
3/13/09
54 of 365

CAST:
Brownie, 40s
Turk, 40s

(Lights up on Brownie sitting at a table in front of his house. Next to him is a large lidded trash can. Turk walks up.)

TURK
Hey, Brownie.

BROWNIE
Turk.

TURK
Kind of small for a yard sale, isn’t it?

BROWNIE
Had a few things in self-storage I thought I’d try to get rid of. Maybe make a few dollars before I just give it all to the city dump.

TURK
I see.

BROWNIE
Had this stuff for years. Dragging it around from house-to-house, some for a few decades, even. Figured it was time to let it all go.

TURK (holding up pieces of something ceramic)
Sounds like a good plan. What’s this?

BROWNIE
Oh, that’s the vase I threw at my ex-wife’s head. A little super glue should make that right as rain.

TURK
I never knew you were married.

BROWNIE
Was. Very was. And the reason it became was is in your hands.

TURK
Looks like there’s some blood on it.

BROWNIE
Mahtilda had to get twelve stitches. Up near the hairline, so it’s not too bad. Not as bad as she thinks. Cost $1500 at the emergency room. Uh, here’s the bill. That’s for sale, too.

TURK
I’m guessing you were drunk as a skunk.

BROWNIE
I wish. Nope. Just an outraged asshole.

TURK
It happens. Broke my kid’s arm, once. Didn’t mean to, just, errrrr…don’t get ice cream on the leather car seat, you know?

BROWNIE
I know, I know.

TURK
I’ll think about the vase. Not much of a flower guy, but my mom might like it.

BROWNIE
Take both. I’ll throw in the bill for free. Just looking to let it all go. You need a gift for your mom?

TURK
Birthday’s coming up. 73, or four, maybe six. Not sure I want to spend too much. She’ll be dead soon and I might not get it back.

BROWNIE (looks around table)
Mom, mom, mom…here’s a birthday card I got my mom and never sent. I wrote all over the front, back and inside about how I hated her, how she never was there for me, how she let dad walk all over her. Really poured my guts out. Lot of hateful, spiteful things. Never sent it, though. Still has a stamp on it.

TURK
It’s heavy. Twenty-cent stamp. That was some time ago.

BROWNIE
College. I was the angry young man. Fuck you, God (flips off the sky).

TURK
Ever tell your mom about it?

BROWNIE
She died two years later. So, no. I think she knew how I felt, though. Let you have it for a buck.

TURK
I’m going to take you up on that. Whew. This smells a little ripe.

BROWNIE
Oh, that. I’ve done lots of stupid stuff out of anger, but that’s probably the one thing I want to get rid of the most.

TURKS
Looks like little kid pants.

BROWNIE
Yep. Tan corduroy. Parents got them for me when I performed in the Christmas pageant at school in the sixth grade. Front and center, me singing “O Holy Night.”

TURK
Solo?

BROWNIE
Solo. I had a great singing voice before the gonads dropped and took my vocal cords with ‘em. Right in the middle of the first verse, right around “Fall on your knees,” I pissed myself.

TURK
That’s awful.

BROWNIE
Shows up nice and dark when you’re wearing tan corduroy.

TURK
People start laughing?

BROWNIE
Howling, convulsing and falling out of their seats is more like it.

TURK
Wow. I feel bad just hearing it.

BROWNIE
Would have finished my solo, too, if I hadn’t freaked out so much that I crapped myself. Left a trail of heel marks when I ran off the stage. That’s when my dad gave me the nickname “Brownie.”

TURK
I always wondered. Well, I’m going to take this card off your hands (hands Brownie a dollar). I think my mother will appreciate the thought. Good luck getting rid of everything else.

BROWNIE
Thanks, Turk. See you at the bowling alley.

(Turk walks off. Brownie sits there for a moment. He sees that no one else is coming up. He takes all the junk on the table and quickly sweeps it into the trashcan, slamming the lid on it and moving it downstage as to put it on the curb. He walks into his house. A moment later, he rushes back out, grabs the can and takes it back in with him. Blackout.)