This Is What Happens Next by Daniel MacIovr Page A

wheels.
    If he ever calls.
    The phone rings.
    KEVIN is excited.
    WILL
    Oh shut the fuck up.
    Light shift.
    Music: “Happy Ending.”
    Well I’ve been described a lot of ways in the past but never as “a teeny tiny guy.” I don’t think so. I’m bigger than all of you. Listen to…
(re: music)
    Okay I think we’ve made our point with that.
    I said I think I’ve made my point.
    WILL gestures sharply. Record scratching. Music ends.
    Listen to the teeny tiny guy. Tell your story, Warren. Go and get your stuff.
    WARREN
    I’m walking. I’m walking. I’m walking. Around the corner. Past the market. A man in a green suit, a golden retriever at his side, a net bag hangs from his arm, inside the bag is a bottle of wine. I’m walking. I’m walking. The pastry shop. The liquor store. A woman in a tailored coat and polished shoes passes carrying a case of imported lager, a younger woman walks beside her whining—the woman snaps “shut up.” I’m standing in front of the smoke shop. I’ve quit but I go inside. Time passes and I’m opening a pack of cigarettes as I cross the street. An angry taxi driver. An old dog. I get a light from a crazy man who smells like something sweet. In a window over the bookstore across the street three blond men with bare chests toast one another with glasses of something clear. Passing the Italian bistro. My car keys are in my hand. On the patio a couple talk seriously. He is in a blue cap; he drinks beer, tall, cold just poured. She is in a high-necked sweater and brown pants; she’s not drinking; she picks at the skin on the back of her hands. He leans across the table to make a point and knocks over his glass. The beer runs across the table and pools at the edge dripping onto her brown pants. Drip drip drip drip drip. But she doesn’t react. And as I pass she looks up at me. And her eyes are full. Her eyes are full of everything. Then a blank spot. And I’m in a bar. And a blank spot. And a third shot. And a blank spot. And I’m in my car. I’m driving but I don’t want to be. Yes yes I do want to be! I do want to be! I want to get my stuff. I want my windbreaker and my sneakers and that book and my tax stuff and my John Denver CD . Why didn’t he know I liked John Denver? He didn’t even care enough to know. John Denver left his wife. His first wife Annie. He wrote that song for her. He was sorry he left. His second wife got his name.
    VOICE OF WILL
    That’s right, Warren. The second wife turned out to be quite a cunt.
    WARREN
    Don’t say that! That’s not nice, that’s not nice. But that’s not him. He’s not like that. That’s not you. I just make you sound that way because I’m afraid. I’m afraid I won’t see you again. I just want to hear you laugh. I just want to see you smile. He used to do this happy dance. I want to see the happy dance.
    VOICE OF WILL
    That bastard wasn’t smiling he was laughing at you.
    WARREN
    I’m driving fast. I take the hill hard. I think I lose a hubcap but I don’t even look back to see if it’s on the road. I’m headed down the hill toward the school. The soccer field. It must be Saturday because the soccer field is empty. I used to play soccer there. I hated playing soccer. The house is just two lefts and a right from here. That big house. That pool I paid for. Empty schoolyard. Chain-link fence. Keep my eyes on the road.
    VOICE OF WILL
    Is he happy now? Is he happy now?
    WARREN
    Bike wheel spinning. Bike wheel spinning. Little boy’s face. Little boy’s face. He’s learning how to ride. His dad runs beside him. Gives him a push. Bike wheel spinning. Little boy’s face. You never took care of me. Why didn’t you take care of me? Did you expect me to ask? I couldn’t ask. I just wanted you to know. Keep my eyes on the road.
    VOICE OF WILL
    Why didn’t he take care of