Character List - Frame 328
_______________________________________
1: LAINE:
2: ALAN:
3: GREG:
4: ANN:
Page 1
A school AV lab. A table, diagonal, from mid stage-left to down stage -right. Chairs facing table, away from audience. Laine sits in chair further up-stage, backwards. Alan sits on side of chair further downstage. At the end of "Alan's" end of the table is a metal waste basket, half-full.
LAINE:
It's good, Alan. Not the best I've seen, but then...this is your first video, right?
ALAN nods.
LAINE:
Right. Have you thought about entering a competition with it? I'll tell you now, I'm not sure it'll win...but the experience would be worth it, and it might give you the impetus to clean it up a bit.
ALAN:
Clean it up?
LAINE:
Like the soundtrack. I'm sure you like what you have now, but the topic you're doing...it's uncomfortable enough that it needs...sugar coating so your audience can...accept it more easily.
Pause.
ALAN:
Um...Mr. Thompson...I know this sounds pretty elitist and--self-important--but I'm not compromising my choices so some judge can be pleased she recognizes the songs from a Top 40 station.
LAINE:
He has some backbone! Well, we'll talk about it tomorrow. Don't you want to go grab some lunch? I feel bad about making you come in and talk about the video now, but there just wasn't any time later today, and I knew you'd want to discuss it before the due date.
ALAN:
It's okay, Ann was going to meet me in a few.
LAINE:
Oh. Well, then I guess I'll take another look at the footage
and see if I can find anything else to criticize. You might
want to get started on some homework, though. As far as I
could tell, the rest was faultless.
Smiles at ALAN, who weakly smiles back.
ALAN unzips backpack.
GREG mopes in from down stage right, with backpack on. ALAN looks up.
ALAN:
Hey Greg. How you doing?
GREG:
Hey. Um, I'm doing okay, I guess. Can we talk?
ALAN:
Sure... What about?
GREG moves up stage. Glares at ALAN, who shrugs, gets up, and walks over to him.
As Greg takes his backpack off.
ALAN:
What's up?
GREG:
I can't watch TV anymore.
ALAN:
Huh?
GREG:
I can't watch TV. I feel like slitting my wrists when I turn the television on.
ALAN:
What the hell are you talking about?
GREG:
It's all so perfect. And then I think how much I want to have everything even the most pathetic people on TV have, and then I think of how lame that is, and I realize how my life is shallow and sad. I was channel surfing last night and ended up sitting in bed crying, hugging a pillow until three. Because of a shitty romantic comedy. Think about how sad that is.
ALAN:
Not sure how to respond
Umm...Greg? G--
GREG:
--It's been three months. And I still miss her. Even worse. Why doesn't it go away? It's supposed to go away, right? I'm supposed to get over being dumped. Happens to everyone. It's not going away, Alan. Not at all.
ALAN:
Deciding not to say what he was about to before being interrupted.
That....sucks, dude. That really sucks.
Cringes at how lame that sounds.
GREG:
Mocking Alan.
Yeah, it does. It really does.
ALAN:
Why?
GREG:
Why does it suck? I think that's pretty obvious. It sucks because I'm totally empty now. Or do you mean, "why did she dump me?" I'd like to know the answer to that one too. I expected something big, you know? Like a hugeass fight, or one of us moving away, something that would sear the pain. And I'd been waiting for it, too. Waiting for months now. I knew when we passed the 6 month-point that it was too good to be true. And instead of a goddamn bomb I got...nothing.
ALAN:
Why can't you get over it, though?
GREG:
Remember what she said? That she didn't understand me. That's all. She just hung up then. And wouldn't answer when I called back. And avoided me ever since. I miss her so much. So much. A total fucking waste. I put so much of myself into her, and I'm lost. I'm really, truly lost. And I'm cold--not a loneliness cold, but a personality cold. I was so much more alive, before Laura. I hated and loved people. And then with her, it was like I could just put that in her and do my best to be...hell, I don't know. Cooler, maybe. So now she's gone and I try to be how I was before her, and I just can't. I can't be affectionate to everyone now. I can't be nice or cruel and bitchy to anyone. It just doesn't work. I lost part of myself.
ALAN:
Was it really a waste?
GREG:
How the hell can I tell? It feels like a waste.
ALAN:
To be honest, Greg, what I'd like to tell you right now is to shut up and get over it. Because you are whining. But I can see where you're coming from, and I'm not so sure you should.
GREG:
I know...I wish I could too. And I am trying. I try not to do this, I do. Come over tonight, Alan. I need company. And there's this burning a hole in my pocket.
GREG pulls a ziploc baggie out of his bacpack.
ALAN:
I'm not in the mood, Greg. What the hell's up with you, anyways? What happened to Greg Callard the Puritan, who wouldn't touch a cigarette, let alone a joint?
GREG:
He grew up.
ALAN:
It's not like you. I don't like it.
GREG:
And if you liking it or not liking it was a problem, then I'd be in trouble.
ALAN:
It's gonna screw you up. Seen it happen before. You've seen it happen before.
GREG:
Lay off it, Alan. I know what I'm doing.
ALAN:
Which is why you're waving illegal drugs around in school with a teacher in the room.
GREG:
Alan...shut up.
Nonetheless, GREG steals a glance at LAINE, who's still busily staring at the computer. GREG clenches the baggie in his right fist.
ALAN:
I just don't understand you. I just don't. I know you have an excuse, but Greg....don't you see how, if nothing else, stereotypical that is? Letting life lead you down the Evil Path of Drug-use instead of doing it simply because you want to? If you're gonna do drugs, any kind, I think you should be doing them because you feel like it, not because you're depressed. It's healthier.
GREG:
Who's to say it's not because I simply want to? And what's with this Partnership for a Drug Free America crap?
Pause.
ALAN:
Fine. Forget it.
GREG:
No. You don't like me doing what I want with my life? You win, Alan. You win. I give up. I'll be Greg the Puritan again. Enough with being myself. Being your myself is so much easier.
GREG seems to notice the baggy in his right hand, throws it in the waste basket.
ALAN:
Um.
GREG:
What?
ALAN:
You just threw marijuana away. In a garbage can. At school.
GREG:
Can't please some people, can you? Simply impossible, isn't it? Want me to take it back now? Hey, how about I smoke it right here, hmm?
ALAN:
No. No, it's fine.
Changing topic quickly.
ALAN (cont.):
Want to watch my video? You'll like it. "Teenagers in a Modern Scholastic Environment and Traditional Judeo-Christian Religion: Do They Mix?"
As ALAN walks over to LAINE at the computer, and GREG relaxes.
GREG:
Where do you come up with your titles?
ALAN:
The same place I get my English essays.
GREG:
Hah. Some teachers'll take anything that looks pretty on
paper. Not that I'm complaining.
ALAN taps LAINE, who removes the headphones.
ALAN:
Could I show Greg my video, Mr. Thompson?
LAINE:
Sure. Just put it back at frame 328 when you're done, okay?
LAINE gets up.
ALAN:
Kay. Greg, get over here.
GREG:
Must I?
ALAN:
Just watch.
GREG:
Fine.
GREG walks over, sits down, puts headphones on. ANN enters.
ALAN:
Hey Ann.
ANN:
Hey, sorry, you won't belie--
Alan:
Pointing to GREG.
--What is his problem? You'd think he'd be able to get over Laura after all this time. He's turning being single into Hell for him and anyone around him.
ANN:
What do you mean?
This part quietly, cheating to the audience, making an obvious attempt to keep LAINE from hearing.
ALAN:
He just bitched at me because I didn't think he should be doing drugs. He was flashing some pot around school, wanted me to come over and smoke it with him tonight.
ANN:
Why the hell would you say he shouldn't be doing drugs? And he wanted you to spend time with him, and you refused? What's with that? Aren't you his friend?
ALAN:
Christ. I was only...forget it. Just forget it. At least I got him to throw it away.
ANN:
Where do you get off doing that? It was his decision to make, not yours. And it's definitely not your job to be telling anyone not to do drugs!
ALAN:
I was just trying to help!
ANN gives ALAN a look, then rushes over to GREG, taps him on the shoulder. GREG jumps, turns around, looks at her, smiles weakly, takes headphones off.
GREG:
Hey.
ANN:
Hey Greg.
Pause.
ANN (cont.):
How you doing?
GREG:
Shitty.
ANN:
You'll get over it.
GREG laughs sardonically, ANN ignores him.
ANN:
Anyway, you guys won't believe this. I got a C on my essay.
GREG:
Just a C? Could've been worse. I failed the last one.
ALAN:
Shut up, Greg. You never could write worth shit.
GREG:
Prose. I can't write prose.
ANN:
Unlike Alan's remark, this is friendly, almost flirtatious kidding.
Sure. That's it. Greg the Poet is just waiting to bloom like a flower in the spring dawn, to captivate the souls of a generation of readers.
LAINE:
I'm surprised, Greg. I always thought you were bright. Not, of course, that intelligence has anything to do with writing acumen, but you always gave me the impression English would be one of your better subjects.
GREG:
Sometimes it is. I understand what we're reading, you know? It's just when I write it down, it always sucks.
LAINE:
Ever take any courses to improve your writing? I think you just need practice.
GREG:
I'll think about it.
ANN:
So, I ask her what's up with the grade, and she tells me I didn't have any evidence for my opinions. I ask her what she means and she's like "The assignment requires three direct quotes." I tell her that the third quote didn't flow in, and anyways, it doesn't have anything to do with my thesis since I wasn't working from the text as much as the theme and she just ignored me and kept on going on about text evidence. Aren't English teachers supposed to have creativity?
LAINE:
How many people do you actually think A: are passionate about English, B: want to work in a highschool, and C: don't mind the pay? Face it, you're in the class for the material, not the presenter. And the material is important. You guys need to learn about the cultures and lives this planet's produced over its lifetime. That's as important as anything else in school. That's the point behind English and history and theatre and art.
ALAN:
And videography too.
LAINE:
Well, yes. Definitely videography.
Beat. Switching back to previous topic.
LAINE (cont.):
The teacher only needs to be a conduit for the content.
ANN:
But shouldn't the presenter be as much of the class as the material? Shouldn't a school try to get all the passionate, intelligent teachers it can? All these years we're told time and time again that it's important to choose a career you love, and that teachers do their job because of the chance to help kids learn.
ALAN:
You're blowing this up way too big.
GREG:
This is all important, Alan. Real important. When you don't care about learning, what is there to care about, for us? Isn't school what our lives are supposed to be right now? Isn't that what they try to shove down our throats?
LAINE:
Write an essay on this, Ann. Then hand it to the principal.
ANN:
Um...sure.
LAINE:
It's worth a shot, and it might get you somewhere.
ALAN:
Yeah, somewhere. Detention.
LAINE:
Not necessarily, Alan. She could wake the school up to this.
GREG:
Musing half to himself.
I never thought teachers did it to help kids learn. Maybe some of them, but not most. They're in it for the chance to utterly control weak and helpless malleable minds. It's a power thing.
Glances at LAINE.
For most, I mean.
Back to Ann.
You showed me that essay last week, didn't you?
ANN:
Yeah, probably.
GREG:
Okay, good, I'm thinking of the same one. That essay kicked ass. You deserved an A on it. You should have an A on it.
ALAN:
Greg, c'mon. It's just one bad essay grade, and it's not even yours, dude.
GREG:
That's not the point. She has no right to judge other people like that.
ALAN:
She's a teacher.
GREG:
So? Teachers are supposed to be teaching, instructing, educating. Not destroying talent because it doesn't agree with what they learned in college decades ago. And what the hell are they teaching us? To always be waiting for the next test, planning our lives around their examinations? That's not preparing us for life. That's not giving us the tools to survive. It's a sick institution, that's all. Why aren't they telling us something important? Why don't teachers teach us.....why don't they tell us to find a love, and live for it or her or him or them or whatever your heart leads you to? To simply live?
LAINE:
That's something you have to find on your own. It's good that you have, already.
GREG:
I have not. I'm saying these things, I know them...but I don't believe them, not really. It's just a mantra, so maybe one day it'll be my life. And really...isn't that the preparation we need? Why don't they tell us that?
ANN:
It'd be too easy. For both sides. Alan, did you ever have lunch?
ALAN:
Nope.
ANN:
Good, neither did I, too busy bitching about that essay. Want to go get some?
ALAN:
Not really. Guess I will, though.
ANN:
Yes. You will. Greg, come with us?
GREG:
Sure. Just gimme a sec.
ALAN grabs his backpack and exits with ANN, as GREG sits down.
GREG:
To himself.
Well, guess I'd better go too. Got a life to live.
LAINE:
See you later Greg.
GREG:
Uh, sure, you too Mr. Thompson.
GREG stops by the waste basket. Reaches in. Grabs ziploc bag. Exits.