Fireworks

Act I, Scene 1

(The time is the present. We find ourselves on a porch, it is a hot, muggy, summer day. A small wooden table and two chairs are set on the center of the porch. On one side of the porch sits a small, well stocked bar. The porch is old and weather worn. It is unclear whether we are in the South or the North, maybe perhaps a bit of both. At rise we find a young man, in his late 20s to early 30s sitting in a chair, enjoying a drink, scotch maybe, perhaps something stronger. He's a well-built man, dressed rather comfortably. There seems to be a simple air that comes from him, a harkening to the past... a vision of the simple life. He whistles a catch of a tune, perhaps Dixie, maybe His Truth Marches On, it seems to constantly change, always invoking a different melody, a different rhythm, a different remembrance. He stares out at the vastness of a land, a simple land. There's a sharp rap at the door, disturbing his meditation. At first he is unaware of the knock and looks around for it. As he settles back into his meditation, the rap comes again. Again the same agitation at looking for what doesn't seem to exist. Finally...)

MARK: Come in...

(The door opens and behind it stands another man, roughly the same age. Very tan, well proportioned, the epitome of a business physique. He is dressed in a suit and tie, very well mannered. He slowly walks onto the porch and shuts the door behind him.)

MARK: Can I get you something to drink?

(The man thinks for a moment before sitting.)

VICTOR: Gin... no tonic.

MARK: Taking them rather strong lately?

VICTOR: It's the nerves.

(There's silence as MARK crosses to the bar and pours the drink. He sets it on the table next to VICTOR.)

VICTOR: Thank you. (Drinks.) Hot enough for you?

MARK: Might be, then again it might not be. You never were one for the sun.

VICTOR: Curse of the modern age. Air Conditioning conditioned us to not enjoy the heat as much.

MARK: Curse of a Northern boy if you ask me.

VICTOR: I'm sorry, not all of us had the privilege of growing up in the mugginess of the South.

MARK: Touché'.

(Another silence. MARK and VICTOR sit and stare out at the land before them. They both drink.)

VICTOR: Grow it yourself?

MARK: What?

VICTOR: The wheat.

MARK: Oh.. no. It grows naturally out here. I don't have a means to harvest it myself, so I just let it grow wild.

VICTOR: I see. I thought all you farm boys knew how to harvest wheat.

MARK: Misconception of the farmers. How would you like it if we compared all you Italians to Don Corleon?

VICTOR: Hey, I grew up in Brooklyn, not the Little Italy. You always have to pull the nationality card, don't you?

MARK: Just like you have to pull the good ole Southern boy card.

VICTOR: It was a joke, nothing more then that.

MARK: A joke worn thin. I don't even know why I invite you out here anymore.

VICTOR: Tradition. For over twenty years we've been meeting down here on your porch, even back when it was your parent's house. Say, what happened to them?

MARK: They died.

VICTOR: Oh.

(There is a tense silence. They both drink.)

MARK: I invited you down for the funeral. You refused to come. Said something about a big business investment or something like that. You never did care for them much. I guess they were just too Southern for you.

VICTOR: For a man who lived until he was ten in New York, anything south of Jersey is too Southern for me. I just never saw the fascination in fried chicken or cornbread. Give me a good hearty pasta and meat sauce any day.

MARK: You have no appreciation for the simple things, you never did.

VICTOR: I like the simple things. I find pleasure in them, they just don't amuse me for long. I'd rather have a souped up sports car then a rattled pick up truck. While you may find your pleasure in the simple things, I find my pleasure in the high-tech side of life.

MARK: Computers, the curse of the devil if you ask me. It's the mark of the beast slowly coming forth before us.

VICTOR: But without computers we wouldn't be able to do half the things we can now.

MARK: Are half the things we're doing now even worth it? What good is a nuclear bomb if it just sits in a warehouse rotting away? What good is a bank account that is monitored by a computer system that tells you when and how you can draw money from it? You always have failed to see the big picture. I'm amazed you've lived this long.

VICTOR: If I'm so wrong of a friend, why keep me around?

MARK: Tradition. (There is silence. MARK rises and crosses to the bar. He pours himself another drink.) Another?

VICTOR: Yes.

MARK: Yes... what?

VICTOR: Yes, please. Why have you become all manners on me suddenly?You never use to make me say please and thank you. You were always the rough and tough boy, no time for manners.

MARK: Sometimes things change, Victor. (MARK pours VICTOR a drink. He contemplates for a moment, staring out at the vastness of the land.) It's beautiful, you know? Such a simple, calm, peaceful place. It's almost like God's country. A quiet Eden tucked away amongst the chaos of Babylon. The oceanic sky, the wheat fields silently blooming and growing towards the sky, the gentle whisper of a melody of the wind. It's too peaceful sometimes. I wonder how long it will all last, how long will there be peace here, peace in the world. (He sets the drink before VICTOR. He takes a swig from his.) Long ago, our fathers would of killed to know this peace, to see the gentle rain come sweeping down and washing the land clean. Now, what do we do? We complain every time a rain drop threatens to fall. We cringe in fear of the washing rain. Makes one wonder how deep our sins really are.

VICTOR: Aren't we the philosophical one today?

MARK: The quietness of the place does it to you. Solitude makes a man think.

VICTOR: Solitude will also drive you to insanity. So that's why you still live here? Solitude?

MARK: Not quite. It's nice to be able to get away from all the chaos of the world. It's a deep reverie from the sins of the soul. There are times I still want to dance in rain, to let it wash me clean.

VICTOR: You speak like a man whose committed a crime of passion.

MARK: I sometimes wonder if I have...

VICTOR: What do you mean?

MARK: Nothing. (Drinks.) So how are your folks?

VICTOR: (Laughing) You mean the great Mr. and Mrs. Contini? Oh, they are doing remarkable well for two senile old people who have no idea where they are and why they are still living. They have this odd fascination with clothing right now.

MARK: They do?

VICTOR: Yes. Mother thinks that clothing comes from the devil, so she's wearing next to nothing, and Father, well he's busy trying to keep Mother's hands from ripping off his clothing while at the same time trying to force some on her. It's quite a sight to see when I go home to visit. Unfortunately, it's not all that often.

MARK: Why?

VICTOR: The mental image of your mother naked sticks with you for life. It's something I would rather not see. Plus, they don't entirely approve of my current profession.

MARK: What are you doing now?

VICTOR: (Drinks.) Insurance agent.

MARK: I wouldn't approve entirely either.

VICTOR: It's not that bad. Jesus, your almost sounding like my father. When I told him I was in insurance, he said his son has made a deal with the devil. He hates the field. He calls most agents, and I quote, "insolate pricks that institute high rates in place of their small pricks."

MARK: (Laughs.) Sounds like your father had it about right. Insurance is a crock. It's probably one of the many great things wrong with this country. I've never understood why I should pay out thousands of dollars for protection, if when I need it I can't use it.

VICTOR: It's not that you can't use it. It's just so many people have scammed it over the years, they are trying to crack down on it.

MARK: At the expense of the poor working man. Corporate moguls, that's what they all are. Corporate moguls. (MARK takes a drink, dries his lips, and looks right at VICTOR.) Some small part of me has missed you.

VICTOR: Small part huh? Nice to know I rate so high on your list of important people. The great Mark Fowler, and his henchman Victor Contini. We were quite a riot in our high school days, and all I get is "some small" part of you?

MARK: When you are simple, a small part is enough. I can still remember those days. The nights after the football games, the parties, the women.

VICTOR: I remember you being the womanizing one. You use to berate me because I wasn't Italian enough. I wasn't the Casanova you thought I should be. Although, if I remember correctly I did sleep with more girls then you did.

MARK: You only beat me by one.

VICTOR: Still, all's fair in love and sex.

MARK: The feminist would make you the poster boy of rapists.

VICTOR: Small price to pay for a few moments of intimate pleasure. (Drinks) So, Mark... tell me... how are you really?

MARK: I'm getting by. I could do without all this war propaganda. I swear, every time I turn on the radio I hear another announcement about this war.

VICTOR: Pop says it reminds him of the 70s too much. He said the only thing we need are a bunch of long haired hippies running around, high on some new drug, and death metal blasting from the speakers.

MARK: In a lot of ways we are facing another Vietnam.

VICTOR: I wouldn't say that too loud if I were you, the government does have ears you know.

MARK: Let them hear me. I'm American, I have the right to say what I want. If I wanted to call the President a commie bastard, that's my right.

VICTOR: While it is your right, it's not always good to abuse them. They're cracking down on it you know?

MARK: Yeah, I know. Great to live in a country with so many freedoms but I can't use a single one of them. (Looks out at the land.) That's why I like it here, so quiet. So peaceful. It makes a man forget things.

VICTOR: Yeah... it does. Like how to hold your liquor.

MARK: I can still drink with the best. I don't see you complaining about my drinks.

VICTOR: Never complain about free alcohol... Collegiate rule number two sixty four.

MARK: Oh, you think you're so high and mighty because you completed college.

VICTOR: I didn't say that.

MARK: You implied it.

VICTOR: No, I didn't. All I said was collegiate rules... nothing else.

MARK: (Drinks) What's happened to us Victor? We use to be as close as any friends could be. Hell, do you remember what we said Graduation night?

VICTOR: I would of said anything being in my state on that night.

MARK: We said.. "Hell hath no fury, Heaven holds no keys, Brothers as we were raised, Brothers ever shall we be." Do you remember that?

VICTOR: Vaguely.

MARK: I remember that promise. We swore that night, we promised to be friends forever. Then you went off to college, me into the army. Did a short stint there, two years and a broken arm later I'm back home... you're still away at college, living the college life.

VICTOR: You're jealous.

MARK: No I'm not.

VICTOR: The great Mark Fowler is jealous of the poor Contini boy.

MARK: I never said that. It's just... well... you know.

VICTOR: Yeah, I know. I was out there having the time of my life and you were stuck at home dealing with your parents. Admit it... you're jealous.

MARK: Alright. To a small degree... yes.

VICTOR: I knew it! You never liked being second place.

MARK: As I recall neither did you.

VICTOR: At least there's two things I'm better at then you. College and... sex.

MARK: Funny. (Drinks.)

VICTOR: (Rises, crosses to far end of porch.) Tucked away in your little imaginary Eden. You're so unaware, so out of touch with the real world Mark. Do you know what's happening out there? Do you know what advancements are being made? Do you even know who we are fighting and why?

MARK: I'm very aware. (Rises, crosses to the bar. Pours a drink.) Are you aware of how dangerous the very idea of a war is?

VICTOR: It makes business boom, that's all I care about. We sell Terrorist Insurance now.

MARK: Humph. Sounds just like a terrorist organization. Leave it to the insurance company to cash in on tragedy. What's next, life insurance policies that expire if the person dies in an accidental bombing?

VICTOR: How can a bombing be accidental? The taking of life is never accidental. Someone planned to do it... someone set the wheels in motion.

MARK: So, you're telling me that a loose brick falling out of the building couldn't be accidental? There's a flawed logic there.

VICTOR: I think you just like to argue.

MARK: I just like to make a point.

VICTOR: What's your point then?

MARK: Accidents happen.

VICTOR: Oh, great. Brilliant. Witty.

MARK: I could do without the sarcasm.

VICTOR: And I could do without this moral trip. When did God die and you usurped Him?

MARK: There's typical American for you. God... dead.

(They drink. VICTOR crosses to the bar to fix him another drink. MARK crosses to the chair and sits.)

VICTOR: Jesus! Every time we get together it's always like this. You say I have flawed logic. I say you have no point. It's been like this since you've got back from your "tour of duty." What's your deal?

MARK: The army opens one's eyes.

VICTOR: Yeah, well, I wish you would shut them once in awhile. You say you are a simple man, you're not. You think too much. I know what you're going to say, solitude does it to you. Go out, get your a girl, have some fun.

MARK: I swore after you won the bet I would never sleep with another girl until I find the right one.

VICTOR: How will you find the right one cooped up in here. (Crosses to chair and sits.) Seriously Mark. This isn't good for you. All this thinking. Man wasn't made to think, he was made to act. Leave the thinking to the women. You just go out and do what comes natural. Screw.. screw... screw!

MARK: How you ever became a Casanova is beyond me. Are women just objects to you? Things to be possessed?

VICTOR: They have their uses.

MARK: More then sexual ones. Any woman within earshot would kill you right about now. You objectify women.

VICTOR: You did too, once.

MARK: Yeah, but once you've had a woman kick your ass in combat you change your opinion of them.

VICTOR: I see. (Drinks.) Do you remember Heather Minsky?

MARK: (Stiffens at the name.) The girl who died graduation night?

VICTOR: That's her. The two-at-a-time slut.

MARK: Such wonderful memories you have of her.

VICTOR: Seriously. She's been down on everyone, BUT, the Titanic.

MARK: Nice of you to remember her like that. I never had her.

VICTOR: You're joking!

MARK: No, I'm not.

VICTOR: You can't be serious! Even I had her.

MARK: It wasn't for lack of trying. Heather Minsky wouldn't give it up on Graduation night. Believe me I tried. I plied her with more alcohol then they care at a bar, and she still wouldn't loosen up. She just kept saying not now, not now. I'm not ready.

VICTOR: Heather Minsky? Not ready?

MARK: Yeah.

VICTOR: Funny. I had her three days before graduation. She was the one that put me over the top. (There is silence. MARK downs his drink and crosses to the bar. A catch of an orchestra playing. The sun has steadily been falling. It's twilight.) You couldn't make it with Heather? She's was easily the biggest slut in all of the high school. She's the first girl I ever met that could make a whore look like a virgin. She'd climax and the next words out of her mouth were, "Do it again." And you just sat here and told me that the great Mark Fowler couldn't make it with that two-bit slut?

MARK: (MARK looks out over the land. The same eerie silence comes back. The orchestra continues to warm up in the distance.) Fireworks will be starting soon. Nightfall's here. That's why you came, right? To see the fireworks?

VICTOR: I came because of tradition. I'm getting older, fireworks don't impress me as much as they did when I was younger. You never answered my question. You couldn't make it with Heather?

MARK: (Still staring off.) I find there is beauty in them, the fireworks. That's why I still watch them. The sudden explosion. The burst of light and color and sound. Reminds me of so many things, so many emotions. The burst of red light, the sudden burst of anger rising in the body, in the mind. The burst of green, the sudden burst of envy and jealousy that tempers the anger. The burst of blue, the flash of sadness of an act. I find the fireworks remind me of myself too much. My careless youthful ways. I was never a great man, I could never be that. I think sometimes I stay down here as a way of trying to erase the things I have done. Do you know what I mean? (VICTOR stares at him, silent.) Tranquility. Peace. Suddenly it's all interrupted by a burst of flash, color, and noise. It's beautiful to a man like me.

VICTOR: (Crosses to the bar.) What are you babbling about? You've always been a good man. You are a better man then me. Taking care of your parents. Suffering here on this land, making good on promises from high school days. Mark, you could of been anything, and yet you choose to follow the promises of the heart. That makes you a good man.

MARK: Beneath the exterior of every good man though lies a darker, more sinister person. You've never really understood me Victor.

VICTOR: I think I have. More then you know. (The orchestra begins to play. It sounds like His Truth is Marching On. MARK bristles at the music and quickly downs his drink and pours another. He crosses to the table and collapses in his chair. VICTOR stares wordlessly at him.) I mean, really. You're a great man. Name me one thing you've done that would erase all the good you've done in this life. You speak like you are a man possessed. What demon has you? What are you worried about?

MARK: A man possessed? I only wish I was. Maybe I was possessed that night... maybe I wasn't. I don't know. (Drinks) Have you ever had something happen so suddenly, you didn't know it happened till it was too late?

VICTOR: I can't say that I have.

MARK: I have. It's a gut retching feeling. You can't stop it. You see it happening right before you, but your paralyzed. You can't move. It's like there's this slow motion flow in the world saved for those moments. You just stand there and watch the entire event flow before your eyes... and you're powerless. You're so damn powerless.

VICTOR: We're never powerless, Mark. There's always something we can do to stop it. Maybe not at that moment, but at one point, there was moment we could of stopped the wheels that were in motion.

MARK: I wonder, could I have stopped the wheels that night?

VICTOR: What night?

MARK: Graduation. It just... just happened. So quick. Just as soon as the moment was there... it was over. I couldn't stop it.

VICTOR: What couldn't you stop, Mark?

MARK: Something that never should of happened in the first place. (Drinks) I've always been jealous of you, you know that? You... with your clean slate of life. Meanwhile, I'm damned to this hell... this hall of memories. Do you know how hard it is to wake up each morning and look in the mirror? Do you know how hard it is to face the facts of what you've done, who you've become?

VICTOR: What have you done, Mark?

MARK: (Slightly more drunk, he hears the orchestra and start to sing with it.) Glory, glory hallelujah. Glory, glory hallelujah. Glory, glory hallelujah. His truth is marching on. (The orchestra fades silently out as MARK continues.) When marky comes marching home again, hurrah... hurrah. When marky comes marching home again, hurrah... hurrah... They'll build up a temple and bury him in it, when marky comes marching home, through the snow, through the wind and the sleet and the snow. (Drinks. Speaks.) Burst of flames... that's what they are Victor. Emotions are nothing more then a brilliant burst of a flame. The Technicolor daydreams of our souls. Could you ever imagine what it is like to live with emotions you can't control? To suddenly rocket off into the brain, to fire into some new emotion. It will drive you crazy.

VICTOR: Mark, you're just drunk. It happens to us all. Just enjoy the fireworks.

MARK: Why? Why should there be glory for me? Why should I get to enjoy this beautiful land. After all that I've done, after all that I've done.

VICTOR: What have you done, Mark? What have you done that's so bad. You keep talking about this thing that you've done, but what have you done?

MARK: I killed her. (A brilliant burst of blue and red flash up in the sky. The fireworks display begins to explode in the distance. VICTOR stands shocked. He crosses to the bar and pours a drink and downs it. The fireworks playing across his face.) It was the same night that she refused to go to bed with me. I don't know what came over me. It was just a sudden emotion. A feeling of rage and anger. The next morning, I woke up in a bed. I didn't know where I was or how I got there. The police were in my living room, wanting to ask questions about that night. Heather's body had been found floating in the lake. Bits and pieces of that night come back to me. The anger... so much anger over what? Sex. I squashed her life for no damn good reason, Victor. Do you know what it's like to live with that guilt for ten years? Do you know what it's like to wake up every morning and stare in the mirror and look at the evil that you are? I am not a good man, Vic. I never was. (Downs his drink. Mutters...) I killed her... I killed her.

(The lights fade down into darkness as the last of the fireworks explode illuminating a brilliant burst of red over VICTOR'S face.)