Three Minutes from the Day it Rained Watermelon

11:13 AM
B_____, Delaware

MARY
What's happening?

COLIN
It's raining watermelon. I mean watermelon.

MARY
Like the fruit?

COLIN
Yes, the fruit.

11:14 AM
W_____, PA

GEORGE
Fluffy! What- how did this happen?

FLUFFY
(whimpering noises)

GEORGE
This is terrible. Is that watermelon? Jesus.

11:15 AM
A_____, NY

ELEANOR
Gosh, it's really coming down out there.

LARRY (from bathroom, shaving)
Oh yeah?

ELEANOR
Yes. Plus, that's definitely watermelon.

LARRY
Don't call me melon. And what else would it rain?

So Many

There were so many, it was like drowning in a swimming pool full of cats and let me tell you why: water is cold and silent like a giant block of solid carbon dioxide carved into the shape of a serial killer, but cats squirm around so much that would just be an unpleasant death. Can you imagine that? Kittens in your mouth? I once had an aunt who snored and she told me once her cat crawled into her mouth and she almost bit it. A cat crawling in your mouth, I mean come on. That is as unexpected as a bat getting caught in your hair while jogging and then having it turned into a novel which is turned into a movie which is turned into a tragic broadway musical love story entitled "AT BAT: HAIR TODAY, GONE TOMORROW", which is a major hit and wins several Tony awards. The Tony awards part, that is the most unlikely, especially when you consider the musical's most well-known songs, including "White Nose Syndrome Took My Baby Away (Fungus Ain't Fun)". Gosh that song is terrible.

Systems

What she said a lot was I need to get this out of my system, like there was poison in her and she had to talk it out, like it would be a gross and messy death if she didn't say what was on her mind: That whistling is driving me crazy, and I really like that shirt. Her friends would recommend something like this: that when you hear her say that, you have to imagine the tiny versions of herself inside looking at the screen and thinking, Keep this, Keep this, and then, No. This has to go. Get it out.

So she just talked things out - little things and big things and happy things and sad things, which was an issue because they all became poison, they all became things she had to get out of her system, until over time she was just talking to save her life.

Swing That

In case you guys didn't hear, I'm experimenting this month with updating regularly every Monday, Thursday, and Saturday at 12 AM.

Love and Videogames

Curtain opens very tight on two desks, two chairs, and two computers - a small portion of the Friday night LAN party at a local internet cafe. PLAYER 1 is at the left computer, playing a game. He faces the audience.

Beside both of the desks are two large televisions hooked up to the computers, displaying what's happening on the computer. PLAYER 1 is doing pretty well on his game. The other screen is a screensaver.

PLAYER 2 walks on and sits at the other computer. He stares at the monitor. PLAYER 1 looks at him, then turns back to the computer.

PLAYER 1
What's going on, man?

PLAYER 2
I've made a huge mistake.

PLAYER 1 keeps playing.

PLAYER 2
You know that girl who comes here sometimes? She plays, like, sick pyro and everything?

PLAYER 1
Sure.

PLAYER 2
I was just talking to her, right? And last time we were kind of joking around about her bringing me a Mountain Dew for me to drink this week while I'm playing.

PLAYER 1's character dies. He sits back from the computer and waits for the respawn.

PLAYER 1
Speaking of playing, do you want to, like, play? I could seriously use some medicking here.

PLAYER 2
Medic - that's not a verb. You could use a med-

PLAYER 1
Yeah, okay. I could use a-

PLAYER 2
I'm just saying, maybe you could use some healing or something.

PLAYER 1
Just stop griping and get on the damn game.

PLAYER 2 grumbles a bit about verbs as he turns to his computer and opens up the game.

PLAYER 2
So anyway, we're talking about this Mountain Dew thing.

PLAYER 1
I'm on the server we use all the time.

PLAYER 2
The server we use all the time.

PLAYER 1
Yeah, I'm on that server.

PLAYER 2
You're saying the server we use every time - all the time - one hundred percent of the time. You're on that one. That's the one you want me to know you're on.

PLAYER 1 (clueless)
Yeah, man! Connect or whatever!

A beat. PLAYER 2 connects or whatever. There is some silence as his game loads the server. He selects his class - not a medic - and begins playing.

PLAYER 2
She forgot the Mountain Dew, though. That's the thing. She forgot it.

PLAYER 1
Huh?

PLAYER 2
The Mountain Dew she promised me last week. She forgot it.

PLAYER 1
Oh yeah, right.

PLAYER 2
So she says, "oh," you know, like, "I forgot your soda. How can I make it up to you?"

Silence. A spy saps one of the engineer's buildings on PLAYER 1's screen.

PLAYER 1
Spy! Spy, there's a spy. That soldier is a spy.

PLAYER 2
"How can I make it up to you?!" That is just asking for it! I could have just said you can go on a date with me on Friday. Why didn't I say that?

PLAYER 1
Right, man, you've got to- the spy is going to get away. He's cloaking hit him hit him! Ax, man! Use your ax.

PLAYER 2
I just said you can bring me one next week.

PLAYER 2 kills the spy.

PLAYER 1
Good, good, now, can we get some more people around here? [Shouting to the surrounding, off-stage LAN partiers] Can we get some more people around me and player 2? We're going to go for the flag and we need a few more people.

Murmurs of assent from off-stage, but no one is appearing on screen.

PLAYER 2
I don't even like Mountain Dew. What is wrong with me? You can just bring me some next week.

PLAYER 1
Hey, alright, I don't see anyone here. Where are you guys?

PLAYER 2
I bet that could have been something sweet she could have found out about me, that that whole Mountain Dew thing was just an excuse to talk to her.

PLAYER 1
Seriously, no one?

PLAYER 2 (suddenly paying attention to the game)
Let's just go without them.

PLAYER 1
No man, that'll never work. It's safer to wait for a few more guys.

PLAYER 2 starts to run his guy out of the base.

PLAYER 2
I'm sick of doing what's safe! I always just do what's safe! I want to take a risk!

PLAYER 1
What are you talking about, man? Where are you running off to?

His character is running out the door.

PLAYER 2
I want to go! I don't want to be cautious. I just want to-

In the daylight, outside his base, PLAYER 2 is sniped like a n00b. The respawn screen turns on.

PLAYER 1
I told you that would happen. Hey, listen, will you switch classes? I need someone to medic me.

Blackout.

That's So Right

"Is it okay that we've been driving around this much?" Raymond asked, "do you want me to give you gas money?"

Carver answered, "it's no problem. I have my parents' card."

He tossed the disc over the fence, and then they both hopped over awkwardly after it. Carver thought about that a lot, that he wished he could just vault over it like other kids from school. He was short though. That was the problem.

The sun beat down. It was Saturday.

They both stepped cautiously down the hill to the turf football field below, feet turned sideways. Raymond slipped a little. He didn't fall.

"Gosh, I can't believe Burk was trying to invite himself to come with us after lunch today," Carver said.

Raymond shook his head a little. "He's a nice guy, but he's just so boring. It drives me crazy."

"That's so right," Carver said.

On the field, they stood thirty yards apart and then started tossing. Forehand, backhand, hammer. It went like that. There were no words.

After a few tosses, Raymond's hammer slipped up and went the wrong way.

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't worry about it," Carver responded, "I mean, it happens to everyone."

In December, Drinking Horchata

I sing in chorus, also: camerata.

Whoa!

"It is stupid to just write a story to make people sad," she said, "I am leaving you."

Then some kittens died.

Technical Fowl

This May represents my upcoming second annual Readers' Week! Please email me your stories, photographs, and puns. I'll post 'em up here for all to see.

THREE BREAKS

Based on my script for "An Exposition", published in January.

The Waiting

Sometimes, after I have missed several easy hucks or if I'm in a long line or at a school concert or listening to a boring speaker - in short, if I'm faced with a long and unbounded wait - you will hear me make a joke that goes something like this: "eventually, I will make an actual catch," and, "the potential longest we could have to keep doing this is until we die, right?"

The joke is just exaggeration, a way of expressing that terrible feeling when you are at a bad place and you could be there for much longer.

But it is worth mentioning that it is not just a joke. Sometimes what I am saying is that this wait sucks but that it will not be much longer and that things will improve, what I am saying was recently and expertly explained to me as Thorton Wilder's message in writing Our Town: that ordinarily life is beautiful, even if you've got a weird chorus of ghosts following you around, and I'm saying that there will be time for us after this wait that will have made it worthwhile, and that it will not be too much longer before this is over. Everything ends some time, and the wait was never that bad in retrospect. I heard this last song is pretty short, and you can take off your bow tie on the ride home if you want.

April

THE PROSPECTIVE STUDENT
I was accepted to nineteen schools.

The stage is suddenly lit brilliantly, harshly. The AUDIENCE winces and blinks. THE PROSPECTIVE STUDENT stands in the middle of the stage in front of a long, plain table with nineteen identical glasses of water in a row. He's holding a manila file folder.

THE PROSPECTIVE STUDENT
I went to nineteen different sleeping bag preview weekends and stayed with nineteen RA's and listened to nineteen different presidents tell me not to come to their school if I only wanted the brand name experience and that I wouldn't hear that anywhere else. Nineteen tour guides told me to tell them if a car was coming, nineteen sets of people watched me awkwardly wander in late to the information session, nineteen College Prowler Off The Record books are on my bedside table.

THE PROSPECTIVE STUDENT walks upstage to stand behind the table. He places his fingertips on its surface.

THE PROSPECTIVE STUDENTS
I have nineteen glasses of water here. They're from nineteen different taps from nineteen different freshman bathrooms I visited on nineteen different college tours, and they're numbered.

A beat.

THE PROSPECTIVE STUDENT holds up his folder.

THE PROSPECTIVE STUDENT
I also have a spreadsheet.

Another beat. He puts down his folder.

Then he starts drinking. The AUDIENCE realizes what's happening now, and they hate it. He drinks every drop from the first glass and then breathes and then puts it down and moves to the next one. There are no pauses, just bottoms up and for god's sake don't spill. It's clean. It's mechanical. The AUDIENCE's quiet murmuring turns into nervous chatter. Onstage, it is bright and still. THE PROSPECTIVE STUDENT is on his twelfth glass and shows no signs of stopping. People begin vomiting in the crowd, and then the screaming starts. It's chaos.

The PROSPECTIVE STUDENT finishes the last glass of water. He stares for a second, and then he opens the folder.

Kilmer? I Hardly Know 'Er!

I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as frisbee,

A sport with hucks thrown outside-in
find Steve, whose mark was fronting him,

A sport where swing cuts are divine
to get your handler off the line

A sport that I in summer play
A pick-up game most every day

Upon whose fun does not rely
On sunny days, e'en rain is fine.

Yes, poems may bring you fame and glamour,
But nothing ever beats a hammer.

On the Final Knight

Here is the problem, he said, moving the pieces around, letting the soft, heavy bases bump deeply against board. Your skewer is good, and it makes me make the move I did (more clicking here, she loved that sound) But after that, it's done. The rook is protected, and it's not worth sacrificing anything for. Take advantage of the position you're in.

She blinked at him and then stared at the board some, and after a while she moved a knight to fork the rook and his white-square bishop, a long queen's fianchetto back in the opening - he liked those indirect occupations.

No! She noticed he almost yelled now, and the way he touched his hair and then his ear, struggling, frustrated. He moved his rook and looked back up at her. The rook can move now, you have to-

She took his bishop and handed him the note, and then she left, because sometimes you just have to give up on a good thing.

Storage

1 - Ext. Storage Facilities - Morning - 1

An early August morning - hot and humid. You know this kind of dawn, when the dew gets in the grass deep and your shoes get as wet as your armpits and the sun rises fast and ugly before six.

2 - Ext. HANK's Car - Morning - 2
HANK's 1989 Aries is parked outside the site's chain link fence. Its blue paint is faded and chipping.

3 - Int. HANK's Car - Morning - 3

HANK's cargo shorts are sticking to the driver's seat, his Hawaiian shirt soaked with sweat, a woven fedora doing little to conceal his shiny scalp and thinning, wispy hair. He's talking on the phone.

HANK
Listen man, you'll get the stuff or my name isn't Hank Havner.

A pause.

HANK
I know. I would have paid the rent last night if you had given me the cash, but now we lost the storage and I have to bid just like everyone el-

He is cut off. He listens. Whoever he's talking to doesn't sound happy.

HANK
Sorry - yeah - okay. I know, it's totally my fault. You don't have to do that.

A further pause.

HANK
I'll win the auction. It's all in boxes, and they're not allowed to open anything. No one will know any of it's mine or that it's worth anything. As long as I act casual, I'm just another bidder on some random crap.

A shorter pause, then:

HANK
Yeah, listen, they're about to start. I gotta get down there.

4 - Ext. Storage Facilities - Morning - 4

Wide shot. HANK gets out of his car and hustles down through the gate down towards where a crowd is gathered around outside of one the storage units.

Overlay on screen: STORAGE
Overlay on screen: FEATURING...

5 - Ext. Unit Eleven - Morning - 5

HANK approaches a group of around twenty or twenty-five people milling around outside storage unit eleven. He slows to a walk and examines the crowd. JAMES is standing on top of a milk crate right next to the unit's door, a head above the crowd.

Freeze frame on HANK. Overlay on screen: HANK HAVNER as THE PROTAGONIST.

On resuming: HANK bumps into LESLIE, who gives him a dirty look. She's a teenage girl with a prada purse and a scowl that could kill a plant. He doesn't notice and doesn't apologize.

Freeze frame on LESLIE, looking annoyed. Overlay on screen: LESLIE BRADFORD as THE OPPOSITION.

On resuming: JAMES glances at his watch.

JAMES
Okay everyone, settle down.

Freeze frame on JAMES. Overlay on screen: With JAMES SHURGARD as THE AUCTIONEER.

On resuming: WAYNE, a maintenance man at the storage place, strolls by at the back of the crowd. He looks over at JAMES.

Freeze frame on WAYNE: Overlay on screen: And WAYNE HUGHES as THE TWIST.

WAYNE walks on away from the crowd.

JAMES
Settle down folks! I'm not going to ask you again.

They settle down. JAMES looks pleased.

JAMES
The unit up for auction today just defaulted yesterday. I'm going to open up the doors here in a second, but I'd just like to remind everyone of the rules.

A collective groan goes up from the crowd, except for HANK, who looks more confused.

JAMES
You can't touch anything. Bid on what you see. After you win, you have until nine to get organized and clear everything out. Everyone understand?

There are murmurs of agreement.

JAMES
Good. I'll give you a few minutes.

JAMES jumps down to open the garage door to unit eleven. As it slides up, the crowd quiets down. There finally settles upon them a stifling silence. They stare.

Inside: boxes. Boxes and boxes and boxes, all stacked and closed and sealed sight.

And labelled, too. Every one of them, in thick black sharpie and all caps: "HANK HAVNER".

The crowd wanders into the unit. There is not much to see - just more boxes. They whisper quietly.

HANK follows, hanging towards the back.

6 - Int. Unit 11 - Morning - 6

The fluorescent overhead lights flicker on. Another CUSTOMER meanders over by HANK. Both are taking stock of the boxes.

CUSTOMER
Weird lot, huh?

HANK (indicating the rest of the crowd)
Oh yeah, these guys? Yeah, the weirdest! Is this your first time also?

CUSTOMER
I meant the lot that's up for auction.

HANK
Oh, yeah. Yeah.

There is an awkward pause.

HANK
What exactly do you look for in a... lot?

CUSTOMER
Well, different stuff. If everything's messy, it means the owner had a chance to rush through it before they lost the locks got changed. Containers with locks mean valuables sometimes. I have no idea what to expect with these, though. The neatness will drive the price up a little, I guess.

HANK grimaces. The CUSTOMER continues.

CUSTOMER
Sometimes you get lucky and get some jewelry or something, but for all we know this is some guy's collection of old newspapers. Well, not some guy. "Hank Havner," whoever that is.

HANK nods and wipes some sweat off his brow.

Over on the other side of the, LESLIE, on the phone, laughs loudly.

HANK (indicating LESLIE, to the CUSTOMER)
Who's that girl?

CUSTOMER
Leslie Bradford, daughter of the guy who owns the First Federal Bank down on Broad Street. She's not here to resell any of the winnings. She just likes pawing through people's old stuff. She's turned a lot of people off coming to these auctions because the only ones she loses are the ones she's not interested in. If you'll pardon my French, that girl is a real female dog!

HANK laughs weakly, nervous.

JAMES, from the outside, calls in.

JAMES
Alright, guys! Let's get this thing started.

The crowd moves back outside.

7 - Ext. Unit 11 - Morning - 7

JAMES
As usual, we're starting the bidding at a hundred fifty dollars, increments a' ten going up. Do I hear 150?

Someone raises a hand.

JAMES
150, do I hear 160 - 160, we have 160. 170?

HANK bids.

JAMES
170. 180? Who wants 180?

The bidding continues like this for a little while. As it reaches around 250, HANK turns to the CUSTOMER again.

HANK
What do - ah - what do most lots go for usually?

The CUSTOMER ponders the question.

CUSTOMER
If nothin' valuable's in sight, I'd estimate probably around three or four hundred dollars.

HANK raises his hand.

HANK
Four hundred dollars!

JAMES is surprised.

JAMES
Four hundred dollars! We're up to four hundred dollars here, do I hear more?

The crowd grumbles at JAMES. A few people walk off.

LESLIE
Four hundred fifty.

HANK is bothered.

HANK
Five hundred!

LESLIE (on his heels)
Five fifty.

There is a pause. HANK and LESLIE make tense eye contact, then turn to JAMES.

HANK
Six hundred.

LESLIE freezes. She looks over at HANK again.

LESLIE
What do you know that we don't, guy?

HANK laughs nervously.

HANK (weakly)
Oh, just curious, that's all.

LESLIE (to JAMES)
Seven hundred dollars!

JAMES
Eight hundre-

WAYNE (interrupting)
Hank?

There is silence. HANK looks around. WAYNE is standing outside the storage site's offices, dressed in his uniform, looking at disbelief at the crowd.

WAYNE (yelling, running over)
Oh my gosh, Hank! I thought I saw you. Jeez, man! I haven't seen you since high school. What are you doing back? I thought you moved.

HANK looks down, around, anywhere but at WAYNE, who is now walking right up to him.

WAYNE (mock-scolding)
Don't pull that on me, Hank Havner, I'd know that little red face anywhere!

HANK looks at LESLIE, who is open-mouthed with shock and joy.

WAYNE (incredulous, shaking his head)
Hank Havner. I don't believe-

Freeze on WAYNE, overlay: STORAGE.