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.)