4Twenty Questions
Streets of New York. Mid-afternoon. It is raining. A girl, about 19 or 20, stands under a bus stop sign, wearing large, glittering butterfly wings and holding a guitar. A boy about the same age is standing with her.
RYAN:
I don't know why you're doing this.
A car honks. Traffic zooms by.
RYAN:
So. I guess I have twenty questions?
GIRL:
Yes.
RYAN:
19, now. laughs It's not good weather to be out here like this.
GIRL:
…
RYAN:
Do you want to die of pneumonia or something?
GIRL:
…yes.
RYAN:
O-Oh.
RYAN:
Did someone close to you… die?
GIRL:
No.
RYAN:
…Well… have you been… thinking, too much? You know, going over things in your head until nothing looks good anymore… life, people, the future.
GIRL:
… No.
RYAN:
Oh. Well I just thought… I mean, I do that, sometimes. A lot, actually. Did you suddenly discover you were going the wrong way, and now you're trying to fix it as best as you can? Wrong religion, or the wrong job, or something?
GIRL:
No.
RYAN:
That would make sense to me. If I were to do something like this, that would be why.
RYAN:
Ah. Geez. I'm making the same mistake again. You're not me. You're a separate human being—you think differently, reason differently, feel differently. I'm a psychology major, but… I don't think I understand people very well. 5 questions gone, and I'm nowhere near the truth. I think I'm just asking you questions I should be asking myself. Have you been here long?
GIRL:
No.
RYAN:
Are you tired?
GIRL:
Yes.
RYAN:
Tired like you're waiting for something and it keeps not coming?
GIRL:
Yes.
RYAN:
Love?
GIRL:
No.
RYAN:
Can you actually play that guitar?
GIRL:
No.
RYAN: laughing
That's wonderful.
The girl briefly smiles. A woman walks by, sees the girl, and turns sharply on her heel to approach them.
WOMAN:
You need to get out of the rain. Now. She's got some of the first symptoms of hypothermia. See? Cold, and pale. Shivering, too.
RYAN:
What? But she's speaking lucidly. One-word answers, but…
WOMAN: to girl
I'm going to take your heart rate.
Ryan continues to ask questions as the woman places her fingers on the girl's wrist, then neck.
RYAN:
Are you waiting for someone to come asking the right questions?
GIRL:
Yes.
RYAN:
Have any of these been the right questions?
GIRL:
Y-yes.
Her speech is getting thicker, and her eyes are getting an unfocused look. The woman is making attempts to lead the girl away from sign, perhaps toward a hospital, but she is resisting.
WOMAN:
It's a common misconception, that you have to be in sub-zero temperatures to get hypothermia. All you need is cold and damp. Sweetheart, you need to come with me. Do you want to get hypothermia?
RYAN/GIRL:
Yes.
WOMAN:
You've got to get her inside. She's going to die.
RYAN:
I think that's the idea.
WOMAN:
Why are young people always so anxious to die? You have a long time to go before you're qualified to judge whether it's worth it or not.
RYAN: gently
Can you hear me and understand me right now?
GIRL:
Yes.
RYAN:
Have I been getting close to the truth?
GIRL:
No.
RYAN:
Do you think I understand you at all?
GIRL:
No.
RYAN:
Would you believe me if I told you that I am willing to try, for the rest of my life, if I have to?
GIRL:
…Yes.
RYAN:
Can you answer any more questions?
GIRL:
Yes.
RYAN:
Were you out here waiting for something to make you want to keep living?
GIRL:
Yes.
RYAN:
Would you marry me?
A slow tear rolls down her cheek. The woman pulls out her cell phone and dials 911.
RYAN: calmly
You're stuck, now. That was 19. You'll have to answer number 20 eventually.