(KERRY
is sitting at a table. TIM enters the
room.)
TIM: Hi Miss
Gold. Sorry to keep you waiting.
KERRY: That’s not my
last name.
TIM: We call everyone
Mr. or Miss Gold. It simplifies things.
KERRY: Why not just
refrain from using last names?
TIM: I don’t
know. Government, right? Go figure.
You’re pretty.
KERRY: Thank you.
TIM: Don’t
worry. I’m not attracted to you.
KERRY: Well, that’s a
relief.
TIM: But I do think
you’re pretty.
KERRY: That’s a
contradiction.
TIM: Not really. I’m only attracted to bald women.
KERRY: Bald women?
TIM: Yes, you know—like
Sinead O’Connor or Annie Lennox.
KERRY: You’re into
BALD women?
TIM: Yes. I’m sure if you shaved your head, I’d be into
you.
KERRY: Well, I’m not
going to do that.
TIM: Okay, well, that’s
your choice. So—you have a superpower?
KERRY: I think I
might, yes.
TIM: Great. Can you tell me what it is?
KERRY: If I don’t
like someone, they drop dead.
(A
beat. TIM slowly moves his chair away
from her.)
TIM: Uh, how did you—
KERRY: I disliked my
kindergarten teacher. She used to make
me sit in the corner, because I was chatty.
That was her word for it—‘chatty.’
She died of a heart attack on the last day of school. Two other teachers I disliked died suddenly
even though they were both in perfect health.
A mean uncle died suddenly. My
mean grandfather on my mother’s side. A
mean woman in the supermarket who got mad at me for eating a grape when nobody
was looking. Oh, and all my
ex-boyfriends have died. Four of
them. Each one the day they broke up
with me.
TIM: I’m sorry, but
how do I know you’re not a serial killer?
KERRY: I faint at the
sight of blood.
TIM: You could be
poisoning them.
KERRY: I could be,
but then I doubt I’d be here confessing to a government agent.
TIM: Oh, I’m not an
agent. I’m an associate.
KERRY: What’s the—What’s
an associate?
TIM: I—go over forms
with people.
KERRY: I think I’d
like to speak to an agent.
TIM: The agents are
training for when the aliens land and we have to engage them in hand-to-hand
combat.
KERRY: Why aren’t you
an agent?
TIM: I also faint at
the sight of blood.
KERRY: Listen, I’m
willing to take care of this whole alien problem. You just have to get the aliens to make me
angry.
TIM: How would we do that?
KERRY: I don’t
know. Get them to say mean things about
me. Tell them to say they don’t like my
hair. Ooooh if they say that—
TIM: Can’t you just
be mad about the fact that they’re going to destroy the planet?
KERRY: Mmmmmmm I feel
like that’s not going to do it. I mean,
there are days I want to destroy the planet, so how could I judge them?
TIM: Can you destroy
the planet?
KERRY: I don’t think
so. I feel like I can bring about death
in people on an individual basis, but one time, these two twin girls at my high
school made fun of me, and I was only able to bring about the death of one of
them. But then the other twin kept
talking in half-sentences waiting for her sister to finish them for her, people
stopped inviting her places, and she had to get a job at the Container
Store. And if you ask me, that’s its own
kind of death.
TIM: Okay, well, I’m
glad you can’t blow up the Earth, but how are we going to get aliens to speak
to you in a way that’ll get you angry so you can blow them up?
KERRY: Are the aliens
prettier than me? Because that might be
enough to do it.
TIM: We have reason
to believe they look like bowls of jell-o with a horn sticking out of it.
KERRY: Oh, that
sounds adorable!
TIM: Miss—
KERRY: Like a jell-o
unicorn!
TIM: Well—
KERRY: Oh, I’d like
to—Uh oh.
TIM: What?
KERRY: It’s just that—When
I’m fond of someone—or something—the reverse tends to happen.
TIM: The reverse of
what? Dying?
KERRY: Well, sort of.
TIM: What’s the
reverse of dying? Do they live forever?
KERRY: No! Oh God, no.
They just—get luckier?
TIM: Luckier?
KERRY: Those aliens
sound so cute.
TIM: No! No, they’re not! They’re killing machines! They’re murderous bowls of unicorn jell-o
with these little feet that resemble a chicken’s—
KERRY: Ohhh they have
chicken feet?
TIM: Stop it! Please, stop it.
KERRY: Ew, don’t tell
me to stop. I can think the invaders are
cute if I want to.
TIM: I’m just—
KERRY: You’re so
bossy.
TIM: Please.
KERRY: Ugh, just drop
dead already.
(A
beat.)
KERRY: Uh…oh.
TIM: Why did you just
say that?
KERRY: I’m
sorry. I’m so sorry! I just get angry sometimes!
TIM: Can you take it
back?
KERRY: I don’t
know! I don’t think so. I’ve never been able to before.
TIM: Before? You’ve tried to take it back before?
KERRY: Yes.
TIM: When?
KERRY: This one time
when my I thought my boyfriend wanted to break up with me, because he seemed
distant, but it turned out he was just getting ready to propose to me, but by
then, I was already really angry with him and then—
TIM: Oh my God.
KERRY: Okay, I think
I know a way to fix this.
TIM: How?
KERRY: Kiss me.
TIM: Kiss you?
KERRY: If you kiss
me, it’ll make me really happy, and then you’ll be really lucky, and it should
cancel out me wanting you dead.
TIM: But you’re not
bald.
KERRY: Are you
kidding me?
TIM: Is there any way
you could shave your head before I kiss you?
KERRY: Okay, now you’re
making me angry again.
TIM: Fine, fine!
(He
kisses her.)
TIM: So?
KERRY: I mean, I’m
not thrilled, but you probably won’t die.
TIM: Excellent. I’m going to mark you down on my form as ‘Total
Failure.’
KERRY: So you don’t
want me to help with the aliens?
TIM: Noooo, I think
you’re better off just hanging out on the sidelines.
KERRY: Are you
sure? I mean, as much as I’d hate to
kill those adorable-sounding extra-terrestrials—
TIM: Please, don’t
think about them anymore, okay?
(He
stands up.)
KERRY: Is there
anybody else you might want me to think about?
Terrorists? Dictators? People who say ‘moist’ a lot?
TIM: Just—try and
stay calm.
(He
exits.)
KERRY: Where’s the
fun in that?
(Lights.)
No comments:
Post a Comment