scene one
An almost empty café.
A dead man, Gordon, sits on a chair with his back to us.
He doesn’t look all that dead.
He looks—still.
At another table, a woman—Jean—sits, drinking coffee, and writing a thank-you letter.
She has an insular quality, as though she doesn’t want to take up space.
An empty bowl of soup sits on her table.
She looks over at the man.
She stares back at her coffee.
She sips.
A cell phone rings.
It is coming from the dead man’s table.
It rings and rings.
The caller hangs up and calls again.
Jean looks over at him.
She sighs. The phone keeps ringing.
JEAN
Excuse me—are you going to get that?
Would you mind answering your phone?
I’m sorry to bother you.
If you could just—turn your phone—off?
The cell phone rings again.
Jean gets out of her chair and walks over to the man.
Are you ill?
Are you deaf?
Oh, I’m sorry—
Jean signs in sign language:
Are you deaf?
No response.
The phone rings again.
All right.
Excuse me.
She reaches for the cell phone. She answers it.
Hello? No. This is—you don’t know me.
(To the dead man) Are you Gordon?
(To the phone) I don’t know. Can I take a message? Hold on—I don’t have anything to write with.
She sees a pen on the dead man’s table.
(To the dead man) Thank you.
(To the phone) Go ahead.
How late can he call you?
The voice on the phone begins to sob.
I’m sorry. You sound upset. I’m not—
Gordon?
She touches his shoulder.
Oh—
She holds a spoon under his nose to
see if he’s still breathing.
The phone rings again.
She answers it.
Hello? No, he’s not. Can I take a message?
A pause as the person on the other end makes a very long offer.
No, he doesn’t want one. He already has one.
No, I don’t want one.
I already have one.
Thank you, good-bye.
She hangs up.
She looks around for help.
Help.
Hello?
I think that there is a dead man sitting next to me.
I don’t know how he died.
I’m at a café.
I don’t know.
Hold on.
She exits with the cell phone to look at the name of the café and the address.
We just see the dead man and an empty stage.
She returns.
It’s on the corner of Green and Goethe. (Pronounced Go-thee)
Should I stay with him?
There seems to be no one working at this café.
How long?
Thank you.
She hangs up.
A pause.
She looks at him.
His cell phone rings again.
Hello? No, he’s not.
I’m—answering his phone.
Does he have your phone number?
Pause while the woman on the phone says: of course he has my phone number. I am his mother.
The enormity of her loss registers for Jean.
Oh . . . Yes, of course.
He’ll—I’ll leave him the message.
Have a—hope you have a—good day.
Good-bye.
She hangs up.
She breathes, to Gordon:
It was your mother.
She looks at Gordon’s face.
It is transfigured, as though he was just looking at something he found eminently beautiful.
She touches his forehead.
Do you want me to keep talking until they get here?
Gordon, I’m Jean.
You don’t know me.
But you’re going to be just fine.
Well, actually—
Don’t worry.
Are you still inside there?
How did you die so quietly?
I’ll stay with you.
Gordon.
For as long as you need me.
I’ll stay with you.
Gordon.
She holds his hand.
She keeps hold of it.
The sound of sirens, rain, and church.