Worse Than Silence
Chris McElwain
Characters: Mozart, 20-25
Taco, 20-25
Dominique, 20-25
Skeeg, 20-25
Setting: A street corner, Southern California
Time: The recent past or near future
Synopsis: On a night like any other, four young people hang out on a street corner expecting a drug delivery. A look at the fear, anger and apathy of Generation Y, a meditation on language’s terrifying inability to address the loneliness of existence, and just another goddamn play about waiting.
NOTE ON STAGECRAFT. Obviously, this play does not require real cars to be driven past the stage any more than it requires real bullets or real blood. Efforts should be made to simulate the effects described in the stage directions as nearly as possible, but realism is by no means essential.
NOTE ON DIALECTS. The speech patterns used in this play attempt to emulate the faux- and pseudo-urban dialects favored by millions of American youth, regardless of race, region or background. Thus, while multiethnic casting is encouraged, it is again not essential.
(The stage is dark, dimly lit by a streetlamp. A car drives by, briefly illuminating the stage with its headlights. It pulls to a stop. A single door opens and slams shut. Mozart enters. He bewilderedly holds a cell phone to his ear. Another car drives by, once more illuminating the set. It too pulls to a stop. Two doors open and slam shut in succession.)
MOZART
Is anyone there?
(silence)
MOZART
Hello?
(Taco and Dominique enter. Mozart doesn’t see them.)
TACO
Hey Moatz!
(Mozart spins around, surprised. Relief spreads across his face as he sees Taco.)
MOZART
What’s up Taco.
DOMINIQUE
Mozart... how’ve you been?
MOZART
(referring to his phone) Where’d you guys go?
DOMINIQUE
We said we’d meet you here.
MOZART
Yeah, but we were talking...
TACO
Dude, I hung up like 5 minutes ago.
MOZART
I thought you might’ve. But what was I gonna do?
(Taco stretches out on a bus bench.)
TACO
I love this spot. It’s a nice spot.
DOMINIQUE
No it’s not. It’s a shithole. I hate it.
TACO
It’s got its charms.
DOMINIQUE
Fuck this place. It’s dirty and smelly. Let’s go.
TACO
We can’t.
MOZART
(still confused) Why’d you hang up?
TACO
We had to call Trevor.
MOZART
(face lighting up) That’s right! What’s the deal?
TACO
He’ll come through. He always does.
(Silence)
DOMINIQUE
Why does Trevor have to meet us on some shady corner?
MOZART
He has his–
TACO
Man, this is a good spot. A famous spot. A lot of shit has gone down right here.
MOZART
He has his reasons.
(Silence. They wait.)
MOZART
You guys want a cigarette?
TACO
Thanks, man.
DOMINIQUE
Thank you, Mozart.
MOZART
Hey, why’s everybody keep calling me that?
TACO
What?
MOZART
Mozart.
TACO
You told us to, man.
MOZART
When?
TACO
Just the other night.
MOZART
(considers this, shrugging) Better keep it.
(Silence. A car drives by, illuminating the stage. They watch it. It does not stop.)
DOMINIQUE
Why wasn’t Trevor answering his phone?
TACO
He never answers his phone.
DOMINIQUE
Oh.
(Silence. Dominique’s phone rings.)
TACO
Answer it. It’s probably him.
DOMINIQUE
It’s not—
MOZART
Who?
TACO
Trevor. Who do you think?
DOMINIQUE
(answering) Hello? Who? No, you’ve got the wrong number.
MOZART
Is it him?
DOMINIQUE
(into the phone) No, I didn’t. Well, I’m sorry. No one called you from this number. Well, then your redial or whatever is malfunctioning. I don’t care. Nobody called you. Listen to me, you stupid bitch: No one called you! Check your fucking caller id or whatever. Fine!
(She hangs up.)
MOZART
Was that him?
DOMINIQUE
Yeah, that was him, Mozart.
MOZART
No, huh?
(Silence.)
MOZART
You guys want another cigarette?
DOMINIQUE
Why?
MOZART
(shrugs) Something to do.
(Silence. Another car drives by.)
DOMINIQUE
Does he have a pager?
TACO
Mozart?
DOMINIQUE
No. Trevor.
TACO
How should I know?
DOMINIQUE
Well did you call his pager?
(Silence. Taco thinks.)
DOMINIQUE
Or was it his cell phone?
TACO
Some people use their cell phones like pagers.
DOMINIQUE
Is that what Trevor does?
TACO
(shrugs) It’s all the same to me.
DOMINIQUE
You can’t tell?
TACO
Who knows what’s at the other end?
MOZART
Man, communication’s complicated.
DOMINIQUE
Call him up again. Maybe he’ll pick up.
MOZART
Not if it’s a pager.
(Taco stares at his phone.)
TACO
Let me go try his other number.
(Taco exits)
MOZART
(calling after him) Where’s his other number go? (No response, to himself) How many numbers can one man have? (Silence) Why did he leave?
DOMINIQUE
To try the other number.
MOZART
Is the number in the car?
DOMINIQUE
(confused, as if by Mozart’s stupidity) The car?
MOZART
(now slightly anxious) Well why did he have to leave?
(Silence)
MOZART
You want another cigarette? (Silence) I think I’ll have another cigarette.
(The stage is suddenly once more bathed in light as a car drives up and slows. Mozart stares out, literally caught in the headlights. It pulls to a stop.)
DOMINIQUE
Yes! It’s Trevor! I knew Taco’d get through to him.
MOZART
That’s Taco’s car?
DOMINIQUE
No! Trevor’s.
MOZART
I meant Trevor. He’s here?
DOMINIQUE
Of course. I knew he’d come through.
(A single car door slams shut)
DOMINIQUE
Finally. I was beginning to go crazy.
(They squint through the darkness at the approaching Trevor.)
DOMINIQUE
Shit.
MOZART
What?
DOMINIQUE
It’s not Trevor.
MOZART
Are you sure? I think it is.
DOMINIQUE
It’s Skeeg.
MOZART
(disappointment turning to anxiety) Shit.
(Skeeg enters, carrying a large can of beer)
SKEEG
Yo, what’s up Dominique? Where’s Taco at?
DOMINIQUE
He’s making a call, Randall.
SKEEG
Man, what’s all this Randall bullshit this bitch gotta be pullin’ on me all the time? Fuck. Yo, what’s up Mozart.
MOZART
Hey, dude. What’s going on?
SKEEG
I saw T’s car parked over there, and I thought I’d stop by to chill. Where’s he at? Bring him out!
(Skeeg begins rattling trash cans.) Bring this fool out! (Taco enters.)
SKEEG
Tac-o!
TACO
What’s up, Skeeg! Where’d you come from?
SKEEG
What?
TACO
Where’d you come from?
SKEEG
Where did I come from? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
TACO
Like “how’d you get here”? I’m just surprised to see you. I don’t know... “Where did you come from.” You’ve never heard anyone say that before?
SKEEG
Nobody I know says that shit.
(A car drives by, catching Skeeg’s attention. Skeeg follows it, attempting to intimidate the passengers.)
SKEEG
What! What! (turning back, muttering) Motherfuckers...
TACO
What’s crackin’ tonight, Skeeg?
SKEEG
Shit, man. I don’t give a fuck. I got the whole night to myself, man. Fuck. My girlfried’s out with Dominique eatin’ some Or-gan-ic food or some shit. Like some kinda fucking weird-ass grass or some shit, man. I don’t know. Fuck.
MOZART
(contemplating) Organic food?
DOMINIQUE
(at the same time) Wait. Out with who?
SKEEG
(ignoring them both, to Taco) I tell ya, man. Girls are like some of the weirdest people I know. Eating some of the weirdest shit. Like fucking animalistic. Like animals, man. Know what I’m sayin’? But that’s cool. She’s off doing her thing and I’m doing mine. Fuck. We all got our... like, we all got our... (looks down at the beer in his hand with sudden fury) BAM! (throws the can against the wall with full force) That’s what we fucking do. BAM! That’s how we treat Mr. MGD. Mr. Fucking MGD Light. That’s how we treat him when he’s out like BAM! Throw his ass out the car. Fucking bitch. What!
(Silence.)
DOMINIQUE
Wait. What were you saying?
SKEEG
Huh?
DOMINIQUE
What did you just say?
SKEEG
Fucking MGD Light?
DOMINIQUE
No. Before that.
SKEEG
Fuck, man. I don’t know.
DOMINIQUE
No. You said something. Before. And I asked a question.
(Silence)
MOZART
Did you get through to Trevor?
TACO
I left a message. He’ll call.
MOZART
Let’s go to 7-11.
TACO
You want some fruity fruit?
DOMINIQUE
What’s that?
TACO
Pretzels.
SKEEG
Dude. Let’s just go fuck some shit up. Man, I’m ready. Let’s go. Fuckers won’t know what hit ‘em.
MOZART
Who?
DOMINIQUE
Organic gardening!
MOZART
What?
DOMINIQUE
You said your girlfriend went to go eat organic foods with Dominique.
SKEEG
Yeah?
DOMINIQUE
I’m Dominique!
SKEEG
So?
DOMINIQUE
So I’m right here! Was it a different Dominique?
SKEEG
Who? I don’t know any other Dominiques.
DOMINIQUE
Well, how can I be eating organic foods or whatever with Stacey if I’m right here?
(Skeeg stares at her)
SKEEG
Taco, your bitch is seriously tripping me out.
DOMINIQUE
You are such an idiot. I’m going.
(Silence. A car drives by.)
SKEEG
What!
(Silence)
MOZART
I’m hungry, man. Let’s go to 7-11.
(Skeeg perks up)
SKEEG
Hungry?
MOZART
Yeah, dude.
SKEEG
(slyly taking a banana out of his pocket) You want a banana?
MOZART
Wow. Sure, dude. Thanks.
SKEEG
What are you? A faggot?
MOZART
What?
SKEEG
You like sucking cock, huh?
MOZART
No.
(Skeeg laughs violently)
SKEEG
(to everyone) You see? You see how ingenious I am? I offer people a banana and then when they say ‘yes,’ I call ‘em a faggot!
(Skeeg laughs uproariously, then throws the banana in his hand against the wall, splattering it everywhere.)
MOZART
(getting out his pack again) Whatever. You guys want a smoke?
SKEEG
Hey hey. Don’t try and change the subject, man. (to Taco) Hey Taco, you saw that right? (Taco nods) Moatz said he wanted a banana. Wouldn’t you say that makes him gay?
TACO
Your logic is inphallical.
(Skeeg laughs triumphantly. Mozart sullenly shakes his head and begins to put away his pack.)
SKEEG
Dude, you gonna hook me up with one of those?
(Mozart takes his pack back out and hands a cigarette to Skeeg. Skeeg takes another one and sticks it behind his ear)
SKEEG
I’m sorry, man, but you walked right into my fiendish trap. I was just way too clever for you.
MOZART
Whatever, dude.
(Skeeg cannot sit still. He paces back and forth in front of the audience, smoking his cigarette and occasionally practicing kung fu moves against imaginary opponents. The others sit in silence. A newspaper floats onto the stage. Skeeg chases it down and steps on it.)
SKEEG
What the fuck is this trash doing here?
TACO
There’s a lotta trash here, man. It’s a trashy place.
(Skeeg wads up the paper and throws it at Mozart who is caught unawares)
MOZART
Ow! What the fuck was that?
TACO
Just a newspaper, dude.
MOZART
A what? (picking up and unfolding) Oh.
DOMINIQUE
(to Taco) Are you sure you have your thing on?
TACO
Probably. What thing?
DOMINIQUE
Your cell.
TACO
(checks) Yeah, I’ve got it.
DOMINIQUE
Do you have it on?
TACO
on where?
DOMINIQUE
What?
(A car drives by. Skeeg follows it.)
SKEEG
What! Hey, what! You wanna scrap? I’m ready! What! (The car failing to prove a satisfactory opponent, Skeeg turns to Mozart, getting close in next to his face) What! What!
(Skeeg’s demeanor shifts rapidly. He suddenly backs off and gives another triumphant laugh.)
SKEEG
(addressing the entire company) Man, one little word! No other word has the power to just piss somebody off. In my hands it is a tool. A tool to annoy the fuck outta anyone. (shouting to no one in particular) What! What! (laughs)
(Silence. Taco looks at his phone)
TACO
Shit!
DOMINIQUE
What?
TACO
My phone’s not on!
DOMINIQUE
I asked you if it was on!
TACO
(confused) What did I say?
DOMINIQUE
What if Trevor tried to call? He wouldn’t have gotten through! Maybe he’s given up on us.
TACO
He knows where to meet us.
(Silence.)
SKEEG
Man...
(Silence. The newspaper is still in Mozart’s hand. He reads it with difficulty.)
MOZART
Killer slays seven. No motive found.
SKEEG
Modiff? Modiff? What’s this fool over here talkin’ about “modiff”?
MOZART
I was just reading the paper, dude.
SKEEG
Well shut the modiff up.
(Skeeg tears the paper away from Mozart, wads it up and throws it at him.)
MOZART
Hey, man.
DOMINIQUE
Leave Mozart alone, Skeeg. I was interested.
SKEEG
Oh you like that modiff shit, huh?
DOMINIQUE
Yes I did.
SKEEG
(throwing up his hands) Hey, some people like to modiff! What can you do? I’ll just leave you guys and your modiffs and go do some fun shit.
TACO
You gonna bounce, Skeeg?
SKEEG
Shit, man, yeah. This party’s gettin’ lame.
TACO
What’re you gonna do?
SKEEG
Fuck, man, this and that. I got the whole night ahead. Shit.
TACO
What’re you leavin’ then for? Wait for Trevor.
(Skeeg has been distracted, staring across the street)
SKEEG
See that car right there? I bet we could flip that shit over. Crack! Flip that shit over on its back.
(Taco looks)
TACO
That’s my car.
(Skeeg takes a long look at both the car and Taco)
SKEEG
So you not down? (Taco indicates that he is not) Alright, man. That’s cool. I understand. Some people are down to flip cars over. Some people are just down to talk about modiffs and shit.
(Skeeg recovers the cigarette he put out earlier and relights it.)
SKEEG
Fuck. I don’t need to go nowhere. I’m happy.
TACO
(in a cartoon voice) “I’m so happy” (chuckles)
SKEEG
(jerking up straight, appearing not to recognize that the falsetto voice came from Taco) What the fuck was that?
TACO
Dude, you haven’t seen that commercial? With the turtle?
DOMINIQUE
It’s that insurance ad. And that little cartoon turtle. “I’m so happy.”
SKEEG
Yeah, I know that turtle.
TACO
Yeah, he’s pretty–
SKEEG
Fuck that guy.
DOMINIQUE
Ah. He’s cute!
SKEEG
Fucking turtle. I’d fuck that guy up. Pow! Pow! Little bitch.
TACO
Why’s he so happy anyway?
DOMINIQUE
I guess cuz he got insurance. I don’t know. The ad doesn’t make much sense to me.
TACO
Yeah.
DOMINIQUE
The turtle’s cute, though.
TACO
I guess it’s more of a character-driven piece.
(Silence. Skeeg begins to eye Mozart, who has tuned out, staring at the paper with bewilderment)
SKEEG
Hey Moatz, you like turtle?
MOZART
What?
SKEEG
Turtle. Turtlin’. You into that shit?
MOZART
What’s that?
SKEEG
You know... turtle. You like it? Hey, it’s ok if you do. I’m just askin’. How’s the turtling going? That shit feel nice?
MOZART
Fuck no. That shit’s disgusting.
(Skeeg’s laugh again)
SKEEG
Look at this fool. He doesn’t know what the fuck I mean by turtle. Paranoid piece of shit.
TACO
What do you mean?
SKEEG
Fuck if I know! Shit. Words mean whatever I want them to mean. That’s why I’ve got the skills. What!
(Silence.)
DOMINIQUE
Let’s go. Trevor’s not coming.
TACO
(looks at watch) Yeah, ok.
(Silence.)
SKEEG
Trevor?
TACO
What?
SKEEG
Were you just talking about fucking Trevor?
TACO
Yeah.
SKEEG
That fool’s coming here?
MOZART
Where the fuck have you been?
SKEEG
(to Mozart) Shut the fuck up! (to Taco) Shit, T. I think maybe I oughtta bounce.
DOMINIQUE
What?
SKEEG
I think maybe Trevor and I got beef. I don’t know. (Silence.) Fuck it.
DOMINIQUE
Let’s go.
TACO
There’s no place to go. Where do you want to go? (Silence.) Alright, let’s go.
SKEEG
I don’t give a fuck! If Trevor thinks he’s hard, let that fool come. Fuck it.
(Silence. Mozart takes out his pack of cigarettes, opens his mouth, thinks the better of it, puts the pack away.)
TACO
(chuckling again) “I’m so happy.”
MOZART
Hey, who says that?
TACO
Turtle.
MOZART
What?
TACO
That fucking turtle, man.
MOZART
Oh right. I forgot.
DOMINIQUE
That was like five minutes ago. Jesus! What’s the point of even talking if it doesn’t stick?
(Silence.)
MOZART
So...
(Mozart trails off. Without warning, Skeeg violently pitches his face against one of the trash cans. He lifts his head and blood trickles from his nose. The three others react with surprise.)
DOMINIQUE
Why did you do that?
SKEEG
(as if explaining) Fuck it.
DOMINIQUE
“Fuck it”? That’s not an answer. Why did you hit your face like that?
(A car drives by. Skeeg stares out, the headlights of the car illuminating the gore on his face eerily.)
SKEEG
What! What!
MOZART
Didn’t that hurt?
SKEEG
Lotta shit hurts.
DOMINIQUE
You fucking moron.
(Skeeg sees someone across the street.)
SKEEG
Hey, who’s that? Bitch ass skater fuck! You want a piece? Little bitch ass pussy skaters! What! This is my street! Get the fuck home! What! (to Taco) See that? I could beat the shit out of any one of those fuckers. You don’t think I could?
TACO
Dude, they’re like twelve.
SKEEG
So? That’s their problem. Shit. I’m just sayin’ they’ll get reamed if they fuck with me. I didn’t ask for no age.
(a car approaches.)
SKEEG
What!
(Headlights brighten the stage. The four characters react. The car stops, headlights still on, blinding.)
MOZART
(squinting) Is that Trevor’s car?
DOMINIQUE
I think it is.
TACO
Trevor! Trevor?
SKEEG
(boldly stepping forward.) What! What, motherfucker? Bring it!
(Suddenly, someone fires a gun. The stage plunges into confusion as deafening gunfire rips through the air. Mozart, Dominique and Taco all duck for cover. Skeeg, at whom the shots are clearly aimed, dives behind the trash cans with a momentous crash. The gunfire stops and the car drives on. Mozart, Dominique and Taco rise and look around, slightly shaken. Long silence.)
MOZART
Was that Trevor?
TACO
That was his car.
MOZART
Was that Trevor though?
TACO
It was his car, Mozart! I don’t fucking know!
(Silence.)
DOMINIQUE
Where’s Skeeg?
TACO
Behind those trash cans I think.
DOMINIQUE
Is he ok?
(Silence. Taco goes to check.)
MOZART
Why’d Trevor try to shoot us?
DOMINIQUE
He didn’t.
MOZART
That wasn’t Trevor?
DOMINIQUE
He was shooting at Skeeg. Don’t you pay any attention at all?
(Taco stands over Skeeg, examining the motionless body, but not touching it.)
MOZART
Did Skeeg get shot?
TACO
No.
DOMINIQUE
Is he alive?
TACO
No.
(Taco walks back to the other two, carrying the squashed banana that Skeeg threw earlier.)
TACO
I think he slipped on this.
DOMINIQUE
He’s dead?
TACO
(shrugs) Broke his neck or something I guess.
(Silence. All contemplate.)
MOZART
(observing) That’s funny.
TACO
(without enthusiasm) Yeah.
MOZART
Not really funny ha-ha.
TACO
No.
MOZART
More funny boo-hoo.
(Taco nods. Silence.)
DOMINIQUE
Have you checked his pulse?
MOZART
His what?
DOMINIQUE
His pulse and shit! Aren’t you supposed to?
TACO
I’ll check.
(Taco returns to Skeeg’s side and clumsily checks his pulse)
TACO
It’s like in his wrist right?
MOZART
(dawning comprehension) Oh, his pulse!
DOMINIQUE
What did you think I said?
MOZART
I don’t know. “Pulse,” I guess.
TACO
I don’t think he has one.
DOMINIQUE
So he’s dead?
TACO
Or I’m not doing it right. (Taco lets Skeeg’s wrist drop back down. He looks around with a hint of anxiety) We should probably go.
DOMINIQUE
Shouldn’t we call somebody?
TACO
Call who?
DOMINIQUE
You’re supposed to call somebody, do something, when somebody dies.
MOZART
Who is there to call?
DOMINIQUE
You’re supposed to do something when somebody dies! You can’t just leave!
(Dominique’s cell phone rings. She answers it. Beat. She dashes the phone violently to the ground, shattering it.)
TACO
Who was that?
DOMINIQUE
Nobody’s there. Let’s just go.
MOZART
You broke your phone.
DOMINIQUE
Fuck you, Mozart! I wanna fucking go home, Taco. (stalks off towards the car)
TACO
(looking up at the stars) Call it a night, I guess.
MOZART
Where are you going?
TACO
We’re headin’ off, Moatz. You should probably go soon too.
MOZART
What about Skeeg?
TACO
I don’t know, man.
(Silence.)
MOZART
Well, what about Trevor? Is he coming or what?
TACO
Dude, Moatz, he just fucking shot at us.
MOZART
He was shooting at Skeeg.
TACO
I don’t know, man.
DOMINIQUE
(off) Taco! Let’s get the fuck out of here!
MOZART
Will you be back?
TACO
Yeah, probably. Gimme a call. (leaves)
(Taco’s car starts up. Headlights illuminate the stage as he leaves. Mozart, alone, paralyzed. The streetlight fizzles and goes out. Complete darkness. A single flame from his lighter casts an eerie glow over Mozart’s face as he lights a cigarette. Curtain.)