The "Editor's Corner" features work created by the Morning Glory's editorial staff.
Featured here: "Amen" by Riley Civerolo Douglas, "Ode to a Grecian Urn" by Nyle De Leon, "Lakefront Youth" by Isabella DePhillipo, "The End" by Sarah Sherwood
Amen
For Saint Anthony: Patron Saint of Lost Causes
by Riley Civerolo Douglas
For Saint Anthony: Patron Saint of Lost Causes
by Riley Civerolo Douglas
The little boy who lives two houses down the street drops his blue raspberry twinpop onto the cracked sidewalk. His face contorts and he lets out a grandiose and ugly scream and it is in this moment you realize that he is God.
You have suspected for a while now. You have seen him walk across puddles and split his graham crackers into neat squares in the front yard, offering them to the ants around him. You’ve witnessed him burn those same ants days later on a concrete altar, knowing even at a young age that someone must be sacrificed for your sins.
Sometimes he says things to you that you don’t fully understand, a true prophet. He catches you one day as you trudge up the driveway to your house two houses down from his, your tie unraveled and shirt wrinkled, and he looks up from his yellow tricycle and babbles about a girl at school who fell off the swingset the other day and chipped both of her front teeth and how she came back with two silver-plated ones instead and how he is scared to lose his teeth now for fear that they will come back like 32 pieces of silver. You nod at his parable and unlock your front door, shutting it slowly behind you.
That night you call Stella and leave a message apologizing for everything. For your job, and your unwashed dishes, and your fear of commitment, of devotion, of believing in something completely, oh ye of little faith. You repent. You confess. And you hope someone is listening.
You often wonder if maybe you are an apostle, or a disciple; you can never remember the difference. Maybe you are a skeptic, a fisherman, a tax collector, and maybe when he leaves his matted stuffed dog and blanket on your lawn the first Friday after it rains it is a sign. An apparition, a Gabriel, a calling. You wonder if this means you should change your name. You pick up the wet animal and fabric and take it gingerly into your laundry room, where you are struck by a vision of you and Stella, and two small children who would have had her hair and your eyes if things had worked out. You place the small toy into the washer, and then the dryer, and consider selling your house two houses down from this small messiah and giving the money to him for alms, or temple donations, or maybe a small Star Wars lego-set that he will never finish. You flinch when you hear a knock on the door, and are inexplicably saddened to see the boy’s mother asking for the tiny relics back. You smile, however, and hand over the slightly warm dog swaddled in a blanket. She nearly sighs with relief, and you hope this outweighs all the Stella stuff on judgement day.
You return to the current moment and look at him in awe as he kneels, crying over the slowly melting popsicle, blue sugar seeping into the cracks and onto the ants. What God would allow this, you think. What God can be good and yet allow such suffering. What God would do this to Himself. The little boy suddenly turns to look at you as though he can hear your questions—tears streaming down his face, fingers sticky with Blue No. 1 and a sort of omniscient mourning—and you feel like you are Lazarus, like you have been given a second chance. It is at this moment that his mother rushes out of the house and picks him up, cradling him to her breast like a Botticelli, or a Duccio, or a Lippi. You hurry inside and pray for the first time since you were a child.
The next morning you go to Costco and buy a 42 pack of blue raspberry twinpops that you leave on the doorstep of the house two houses down from yours, and the little boy believes it is a miracle.
You have suspected for a while now. You have seen him walk across puddles and split his graham crackers into neat squares in the front yard, offering them to the ants around him. You’ve witnessed him burn those same ants days later on a concrete altar, knowing even at a young age that someone must be sacrificed for your sins.
Sometimes he says things to you that you don’t fully understand, a true prophet. He catches you one day as you trudge up the driveway to your house two houses down from his, your tie unraveled and shirt wrinkled, and he looks up from his yellow tricycle and babbles about a girl at school who fell off the swingset the other day and chipped both of her front teeth and how she came back with two silver-plated ones instead and how he is scared to lose his teeth now for fear that they will come back like 32 pieces of silver. You nod at his parable and unlock your front door, shutting it slowly behind you.
That night you call Stella and leave a message apologizing for everything. For your job, and your unwashed dishes, and your fear of commitment, of devotion, of believing in something completely, oh ye of little faith. You repent. You confess. And you hope someone is listening.
You often wonder if maybe you are an apostle, or a disciple; you can never remember the difference. Maybe you are a skeptic, a fisherman, a tax collector, and maybe when he leaves his matted stuffed dog and blanket on your lawn the first Friday after it rains it is a sign. An apparition, a Gabriel, a calling. You wonder if this means you should change your name. You pick up the wet animal and fabric and take it gingerly into your laundry room, where you are struck by a vision of you and Stella, and two small children who would have had her hair and your eyes if things had worked out. You place the small toy into the washer, and then the dryer, and consider selling your house two houses down from this small messiah and giving the money to him for alms, or temple donations, or maybe a small Star Wars lego-set that he will never finish. You flinch when you hear a knock on the door, and are inexplicably saddened to see the boy’s mother asking for the tiny relics back. You smile, however, and hand over the slightly warm dog swaddled in a blanket. She nearly sighs with relief, and you hope this outweighs all the Stella stuff on judgement day.
You return to the current moment and look at him in awe as he kneels, crying over the slowly melting popsicle, blue sugar seeping into the cracks and onto the ants. What God would allow this, you think. What God can be good and yet allow such suffering. What God would do this to Himself. The little boy suddenly turns to look at you as though he can hear your questions—tears streaming down his face, fingers sticky with Blue No. 1 and a sort of omniscient mourning—and you feel like you are Lazarus, like you have been given a second chance. It is at this moment that his mother rushes out of the house and picks him up, cradling him to her breast like a Botticelli, or a Duccio, or a Lippi. You hurry inside and pray for the first time since you were a child.
The next morning you go to Costco and buy a 42 pack of blue raspberry twinpops that you leave on the doorstep of the house two houses down from yours, and the little boy believes it is a miracle.
Lakefront Youth
by Isabella DePhillipo
by Isabella DePhillipo
THE END
a 10-Minute Play
by Sarah Sherwood
a 10-Minute Play
by Sarah Sherwood
CAST OF CHARACTERS
LAUREL— 20 years old, dealing with the kind of emotional and academic burnout 20-year-olds are so prone to. She is smart and quick witted, but generally laid back. Probably listens to Mitski.
MAY— 19 years old, starry-eyed dreamer. Optimistic and friendly, but not afraid to stand up for herself. She speaks her mind, and sometimes says too much.
BRANDON— 19 years old, the stereotypical college athlete. Plays baseball. He’s just kind of kickin’ it right now, honestly.
MAY— 19 years old, starry-eyed dreamer. Optimistic and friendly, but not afraid to stand up for herself. She speaks her mind, and sometimes says too much.
BRANDON— 19 years old, the stereotypical college athlete. Plays baseball. He’s just kind of kickin’ it right now, honestly.
TIME
Yesterday, today, or tomorrow. It doesn’t matter; it’s the end of the world. It’s late in the evening, but not as dark as it should be. It will be very dark soon enough.
PLACE
The rooftop of an academic building on a college campus in a state that it would suck to die in. Possibilities include (but are not limited to) Kansas, Arizona, or the northern part of Texas.
---
Calamity can be heard faintly from off-stage. The sound of sirens, car horns, alarms, and voices shouting fades to a dull roar as the lights come up, glaring red and apocalyptic. It’s all very distant to May, who is preoccupied even now.
May is yanking on the handle of a firmly locked door situated upstage center. It’s not opening, no matter how she twists the handle or pulls with her whole weight. She pats at her pockets and searches around the stage for something she could try to use to pick the lock but finds nothing.
As it seems there’s no chance of getting the door open, May starts banging on it with two fists.
MAY: HEY! Open up! Please, somebody, let me in!
There is no response. May tries the handle again.
MAY: Hello? Anybody? For fuck’s sake.
She kicks the door, hard, then recoils in pain, hopping away on one foot. She retreats downstage, still limping, and sits. A moment or two passes in silence as May stares up at the sky.
There is a lot of stillness, with the eerie sounds of danger still present but hushed to the point of being barely audible.
Just when that stillness becomes unbearable, Laurel enters through the door. May jumps to her feet.
LAUREL: Sorry--
MAY: Wait, wait, wait!
It’s too late. The door swings shut behind Laurel before she can register what May is saying and stop it. Laurel reaches to try and open it again and realizes that it has automatically locked behind her.
MAY: (sigh) Great. Perfect. This is awesome. Thank you so much.
LAUREL: Oh, shit.
She tries the door again, with more force, but it remains firmly locked shut.
LAUREL: Oh my God. It locks automatically?
MAY: Yes.
LAUREL: But that’s so stupid. Wouldn’t they want to stop people from getting up here at all? Why wouldn’t it be locked from the inside?
MAY: I don’t know. Maybe someone unlocked it from the inside, but they assume if you can get out you’ve got the keys to get back in, or something.
Laurel crouches down and begins inspecting the lock.
MAY: You can try whatever you want, there’s no way to get it open unless you’ve got something to pick the lock with. I’ve been up here for a while, I’ve tried everything.
LAUREL: I don’t have anything; I didn’t even bring my phone.
MAY: Why not?
LAUREL: (shrugs) I… didn’t really want to talk to anyone. I just kind of wanted to be by myself, I guess.
MAY: Oh, weird.
LAUREL: (mildly offended) Okay, well, where’s yours?
May takes out her cellphone and sets it down on the ground beside her.
MAY: Dead.
LAUREL: Excellent.
Laurel tries the door one more time, then also kicks it, though not with enough force to hurt herself.
MAY: I tried that too.
LAUREL: Why are you even up here, anyways?
MAY: I just…. (She gestures vaguely towards the sky) You know. I wanted to see. I thought I could get a good look and figure out what direction it was going, and then book it the other way.
LAUREL: They’re saying it’s not going to make a difference where you are when it hits.
MAY: How much longer do we have?
Laurel checks a watch on her wrist.
LAUREL: Not long.
MAY: Wow. (beat) How long do you think the government has known for? Probably a long time, huh? I’ve been thinking about it. I saw tweets on Monday about people saying they saw something in the sky, and everyone just sort of wrote it off. They’ve probably known for weeks, and they only decided to tell us about it when they realized there was nothing they could do. Six hours feels like just enough time to give people a warning but not so long that everything completely descends into chaos. Not that it isn’t chaos down there, but. You know. Could be worse.
LAUREL: I have to get down from here.
Laurel steps up to the edge of the rooftop, looking down to the street below.
MAY: An 80-foot drop onto solid concrete is not a way down. That’s not a flight you want to get on.
LAUREL: Can you shut the fuck up for a second? I’m trying to figure this out.
MAY: (unphased) I know you, don’t I?
Laurel cups her hands around her mouth and begins shouting down to street below.
LAUREL: HEY! Someone get us down from here!
MAY: You’re in my marine biology class, aren’t you?
LAUREL: HELLO!!
MAY: You’re the girl who sits in the front and sleeps through the lectures. You’ve got one of those yellow artsy girl backpacks, right? Aren’t those things crazy expensive?
Finally giving up, Laurel lowers her hands from her mouth and sits down beside May, though she keeps her distance.
LAUREL: Yes, that was me. The backpack was a cheap knock-off. Honestly, now… I wish I had just spent the money. It looks like it’s going to do me about as much good as that marine bio class is.
MAY: God, I hated that class.
LAUREL: Well at least you don’t have to worry about it anymore. It doesn’t matter what lives in the oceans if there aren’t any oceans.
MAY: I guess. I was getting like a 94% though. (beat) Isn’t it funny that I’ve been staring at the back of your head for the past four months and now I’m stuck up here with you? I never would’ve guessed.
LAUREL: Life is funny like that sometimes.
MAY: I wish we knew, when we met people, if they were gonna be important or not. I wish we got some kind of alert, like, “Hey, pay attention to this one.”
LAUREL: Yeah, maybe.
MAY: Yeah.
Some more time passes in silence. Finally, Laurel stands and paces a wide circle around the stage, trying the door one more time half-heartedly as she passes it. A little over halfway through her circle, she freezes, and squints at something in the distance offstage.
LAUREL: Who’s that over on the science building roof across the street?
MAY: Hm? Oh, yeah, the baseball team. I tried screaming at them earlier, they can’t hear us. They’re not stuck, either, they keep leaving and coming back with more beers. I saw them earlier trying to see who could kick the empty cans the furthest off the roof. One of them landed all the way on the other side of the street and hit the wall of the admin building, it was kind of impressive.
LAUREL: What, they’re tailgating? The mass extinction event?
MAY: Yeah, I mean, it sure looks like it.
Laurel begins waving her arms.
LAUREL: You’re absolutely sure they couldn’t hear you?
MAY: Oh, yeah, but you can try again if it makes you feel better.
May covers her ears with her hands as Laurel shouts to the other rooftop.
LAUREL: HEY!! (She waves her arms again) Wave to me and I’ll take my shirt off!!
There is no response.
LAUREL: Yeah, they can’t hear us.
MAY: Sorry.
Laurel continues waving her arms wildly.
LAUREL: I just want them to know that we’re here.
MAY: Why? They’re not gonna let us down from here.
LAUREL: You don’t know that.
MAY: I’m pretty sure.
Laurel continues to wave.
MAY: They’re fully turned away from you, they’re not going to see you.
LAUREL: They might.
MAY: What does it matter?
LAUREL: I don’t know, I just want them to know we’re here.
Laurel waves one more time, then drops her arms, still watching the other rooftop.
MAY: I thought you wanted to be by yourself, why do you care?
LAUREL: You know, I do remember you from that biology class. You’re the one who asks all the questions!
MAY: Okay, whatever, don’t tell me then.
LAUREL: I don’t know, okay? It’s different now that I’m stuck, like it’s not my choice anymore. (beat) I just want someone to know that I’m here.
MAY: I know.
LAUREL: Yeah. I guess that’s true.
Laurel gets an idea. She pulls an old iPod and begins trying to angle it so that the screen reflects sunlight onto the other rooftop.
MAY: What are you doing?
LAUREL: I’m trying to signal to them, like they do to planes in those survival movies.
MAY: What are you using?
LAUREL: Oh, it’s my sister’s old iPod.
MAY: You stole your sister’s iPod? For what, your doomsday soundtrack?
LAUREL: End credits music. And it’s not like she was going to use it.
MAY: How do you know?
LAUREL: She’s been gone for a long time.
MAY: Oh.
LAUREL: It’s okay. It’s not a big deal.
For once, May doesn’t know what to say. Laurel continues trying to reflect the sun off of the iPod screen while May watches.
MAY: Is it working?
LAUREL: I… can’t really tell. I don’t think there’s enough sunlight anymore. (beat) No, I guess it isn’t.
MAY: I’m sorry.
LAUREL: Whatever. It’s just one more party that I’m not invited to. God knows I’ve seen enough of those, what’s one more?
MAY: No, I mean, I’m sorry that you’re stuck up here.
LAUREL: Oh. Yeah, I don’t know.
Laurel crosses the stage to peer over the edge again. May stands, stretches, and joins her.
MAY: It’s a long way down, huh?
Laurel nods. After a second, she spits off the edge, down to the sidewalk below.
MAY: Ew!
LAUREL: What? You’re worried about manners right now? We already established that nobody around can see us.
May considers this for a moment. Finally, she spits.
LAUREL: (laughing) There you go!
Laurel circles around and sits, a good distance from the edge. May sits down next to her, closer than before but still with some distance between them.
MAY: What happened to your sister?
Laurel sighs.
LAUREL: I don’t know. It was, like, a sudden thing. Something with her heart. I was too little to remember, and my mom doesn’t really talk about it. I remember her pretty well, though.
MAY: That must be hard. Do you have other siblings?
LAUREL: Step siblings, but we’re not really close. You?
MAY: Yeah, I have two sisters. My family’s all out of state, though. So.
LAUREL: Oh.
They both turn their heads to look up at the sky.
MAY: You know, I thought there’d be more of a sunset. I’m just seeing a big fireball.
LAUREL: It looks fake, doesn’t it?
MAY: Oh, absolutely. This is like a bad movie.
LAUREL: And how many bad apocalypse movies have come out in the last couple of years? Nobody had any idea… They were all so wrong.
MAY: Yeah, for sure.
After a beat, Laurel fishes the iPod and some earbuds out of her pocket. She plugs them in and takes a second to untangle the wires.
LAUREL: Do you want to listen to some music?
MAY: Oh. Uh, sure.
Laurel moves in closer, handing May one of the earbuds, which she puts in her ear.
Laurel navigates the iPod, choosing songs or maybe shuffling a playlist. After a moment, she sets it down between them.
They listen in silence for a moment.
LAUREL: What’s your name?
MAY: May.
LAUREL: With an E or a Y?
MAY: Y. Like the month, M-A-Y.
LAUREL: Hm.
MAY: What’s yours?
LAUREL: Laurel. L-A-U-R-E-L.
MAY: It’s nice to meet you, Laurel.
LAUREL: (laughs) It’s nice to meet you, too.
They fall silent, once again. Sirens and the same cacophony that accompanies disaster can be heard faintly from off stage again. It’s impossible to know for sure, but it seems that they are running out of time.
May moves in even closer to Laurel and sets her hand on top of hers.
Just then, the door opens, and Brandon is seen poking his head through the doorway. He looks remarkably typical, given the circumstances.
BRANDON: Hey, are you ladies okay out here?
Gasps and exclamations from both girls. Laurel jumps up and runs for the door, flinging it open as far as it will go and leaning against it, making sure it says that way. She breathes a sigh of relief.
MAY: Oh, my God.
May quickly stands and approaches the door.
BRANDON: Sorry, we’re over there on top of the science building, we just saw you girls sitting out here and wanted to make sure you were all good.
Laurel, still leaning against the door, sinks to the floor and covers her face with her hands. It’s unclear if she is laughing, crying, or both.
BRANDON: Is she… okay, or whatever?
MAY: Yeah, we’ve been stuck up here for a while. That door locks automatically when you close it. We thought… I mean, I don’t know what she thought. I guess I just thought that maybe this was it, for us.
BRANDON: Oh, for real?
MAY: Yeah.
BRANDON: That’s crazy. Anyways, I think we still have some beers left if you guys wanna come hang with us. You don’t have any alc up here at all, do you?
MAY: No, we were just… (She trails off)
BRANDON: … Cool, yeah. Okay, I mean, whatever you guys wanna do.
May looks to Laurel, who has uncovered her face. This might be the last time she ever feels this kind of elated relief.
MAY: What do you think?
LAUREL: (Almost at the same time, talking over her) You should go, May.
MAY: You’re not coming?
Laurel shakes her head.
May considers this for a moment, then extends a hand and helps Laurel to her feet. The door begins to swing closed, but Brandon catches it, still standing mostly in the doorway.
MAY: I think I’m good here.
LAUREL: Wait.
MAY: Yeah, it’s fine. I think we’re alright.
LAUREL: Hold on.
MAY: (quickly, hushed) I don’t want you to be alone out here. I know you said you want to be by yourself, or whatever, but what if you change your mind in that last second before it hits, and you really do want to be with somebody? I can’t just leave you here.
Laurel doesn’t answer. At least, not out loud.
BRANDON: This feels like kind of a personal moment. I’m gonna go ahead and close the door, but I’ll just stay right there, and you can just knock when you’re ready. Does that work?
LAUREL: Yeah, sure.
BRANDON: Cool, cool, cool. So, I’ll just be right on the other side here.
MAY: Great, thanks. Just give us a minute.
Brandon closes the door slowly, and the girls turn their attention back to one another.
MAY: There is no reason that you should be alone right now.
LAUREL: … Okay, maybe. Still, I just--
MAY: “You just,” what? (beat) Look. Here’s the situation. Either you stay here, and I stay with you, or we both leave together. Honestly, I say let’s go drink some beer with the baseball team. Fuck it. The world will explode when it explodes.
LAUREL: Yeah, I guess.
MAY: We don’t get a choice in everything, but right now we can choose to get off of this fucking roof.
Laurel considers this, then nods.
LAUREL: Yeah, okay.
MAY: Okay. Great.
May approaches the door, raises her hand to knock, then looks back to Laurel.
MAY: Are you sure?
LAUREL: Yes. You know what, you were right. We only have so many choices left to make.
May nods and knocks on the door. After a slightly panic-inducing moment of hesitation,
Brandon opens it.
BRANDON: Are you coming?
MAY: Yep.
BRANDON: Cool. …So how long were you two out there for?
Their conversation continues, fading out as they disappear through the door and it closes behind them. The sound of sirens and car alarms fades back in.
The end.
May is yanking on the handle of a firmly locked door situated upstage center. It’s not opening, no matter how she twists the handle or pulls with her whole weight. She pats at her pockets and searches around the stage for something she could try to use to pick the lock but finds nothing.
As it seems there’s no chance of getting the door open, May starts banging on it with two fists.
MAY: HEY! Open up! Please, somebody, let me in!
There is no response. May tries the handle again.
MAY: Hello? Anybody? For fuck’s sake.
She kicks the door, hard, then recoils in pain, hopping away on one foot. She retreats downstage, still limping, and sits. A moment or two passes in silence as May stares up at the sky.
There is a lot of stillness, with the eerie sounds of danger still present but hushed to the point of being barely audible.
Just when that stillness becomes unbearable, Laurel enters through the door. May jumps to her feet.
LAUREL: Sorry--
MAY: Wait, wait, wait!
It’s too late. The door swings shut behind Laurel before she can register what May is saying and stop it. Laurel reaches to try and open it again and realizes that it has automatically locked behind her.
MAY: (sigh) Great. Perfect. This is awesome. Thank you so much.
LAUREL: Oh, shit.
She tries the door again, with more force, but it remains firmly locked shut.
LAUREL: Oh my God. It locks automatically?
MAY: Yes.
LAUREL: But that’s so stupid. Wouldn’t they want to stop people from getting up here at all? Why wouldn’t it be locked from the inside?
MAY: I don’t know. Maybe someone unlocked it from the inside, but they assume if you can get out you’ve got the keys to get back in, or something.
Laurel crouches down and begins inspecting the lock.
MAY: You can try whatever you want, there’s no way to get it open unless you’ve got something to pick the lock with. I’ve been up here for a while, I’ve tried everything.
LAUREL: I don’t have anything; I didn’t even bring my phone.
MAY: Why not?
LAUREL: (shrugs) I… didn’t really want to talk to anyone. I just kind of wanted to be by myself, I guess.
MAY: Oh, weird.
LAUREL: (mildly offended) Okay, well, where’s yours?
May takes out her cellphone and sets it down on the ground beside her.
MAY: Dead.
LAUREL: Excellent.
Laurel tries the door one more time, then also kicks it, though not with enough force to hurt herself.
MAY: I tried that too.
LAUREL: Why are you even up here, anyways?
MAY: I just…. (She gestures vaguely towards the sky) You know. I wanted to see. I thought I could get a good look and figure out what direction it was going, and then book it the other way.
LAUREL: They’re saying it’s not going to make a difference where you are when it hits.
MAY: How much longer do we have?
Laurel checks a watch on her wrist.
LAUREL: Not long.
MAY: Wow. (beat) How long do you think the government has known for? Probably a long time, huh? I’ve been thinking about it. I saw tweets on Monday about people saying they saw something in the sky, and everyone just sort of wrote it off. They’ve probably known for weeks, and they only decided to tell us about it when they realized there was nothing they could do. Six hours feels like just enough time to give people a warning but not so long that everything completely descends into chaos. Not that it isn’t chaos down there, but. You know. Could be worse.
LAUREL: I have to get down from here.
Laurel steps up to the edge of the rooftop, looking down to the street below.
MAY: An 80-foot drop onto solid concrete is not a way down. That’s not a flight you want to get on.
LAUREL: Can you shut the fuck up for a second? I’m trying to figure this out.
MAY: (unphased) I know you, don’t I?
Laurel cups her hands around her mouth and begins shouting down to street below.
LAUREL: HEY! Someone get us down from here!
MAY: You’re in my marine biology class, aren’t you?
LAUREL: HELLO!!
MAY: You’re the girl who sits in the front and sleeps through the lectures. You’ve got one of those yellow artsy girl backpacks, right? Aren’t those things crazy expensive?
Finally giving up, Laurel lowers her hands from her mouth and sits down beside May, though she keeps her distance.
LAUREL: Yes, that was me. The backpack was a cheap knock-off. Honestly, now… I wish I had just spent the money. It looks like it’s going to do me about as much good as that marine bio class is.
MAY: God, I hated that class.
LAUREL: Well at least you don’t have to worry about it anymore. It doesn’t matter what lives in the oceans if there aren’t any oceans.
MAY: I guess. I was getting like a 94% though. (beat) Isn’t it funny that I’ve been staring at the back of your head for the past four months and now I’m stuck up here with you? I never would’ve guessed.
LAUREL: Life is funny like that sometimes.
MAY: I wish we knew, when we met people, if they were gonna be important or not. I wish we got some kind of alert, like, “Hey, pay attention to this one.”
LAUREL: Yeah, maybe.
MAY: Yeah.
Some more time passes in silence. Finally, Laurel stands and paces a wide circle around the stage, trying the door one more time half-heartedly as she passes it. A little over halfway through her circle, she freezes, and squints at something in the distance offstage.
LAUREL: Who’s that over on the science building roof across the street?
MAY: Hm? Oh, yeah, the baseball team. I tried screaming at them earlier, they can’t hear us. They’re not stuck, either, they keep leaving and coming back with more beers. I saw them earlier trying to see who could kick the empty cans the furthest off the roof. One of them landed all the way on the other side of the street and hit the wall of the admin building, it was kind of impressive.
LAUREL: What, they’re tailgating? The mass extinction event?
MAY: Yeah, I mean, it sure looks like it.
Laurel begins waving her arms.
LAUREL: You’re absolutely sure they couldn’t hear you?
MAY: Oh, yeah, but you can try again if it makes you feel better.
May covers her ears with her hands as Laurel shouts to the other rooftop.
LAUREL: HEY!! (She waves her arms again) Wave to me and I’ll take my shirt off!!
There is no response.
LAUREL: Yeah, they can’t hear us.
MAY: Sorry.
Laurel continues waving her arms wildly.
LAUREL: I just want them to know that we’re here.
MAY: Why? They’re not gonna let us down from here.
LAUREL: You don’t know that.
MAY: I’m pretty sure.
Laurel continues to wave.
MAY: They’re fully turned away from you, they’re not going to see you.
LAUREL: They might.
MAY: What does it matter?
LAUREL: I don’t know, I just want them to know we’re here.
Laurel waves one more time, then drops her arms, still watching the other rooftop.
MAY: I thought you wanted to be by yourself, why do you care?
LAUREL: You know, I do remember you from that biology class. You’re the one who asks all the questions!
MAY: Okay, whatever, don’t tell me then.
LAUREL: I don’t know, okay? It’s different now that I’m stuck, like it’s not my choice anymore. (beat) I just want someone to know that I’m here.
MAY: I know.
LAUREL: Yeah. I guess that’s true.
Laurel gets an idea. She pulls an old iPod and begins trying to angle it so that the screen reflects sunlight onto the other rooftop.
MAY: What are you doing?
LAUREL: I’m trying to signal to them, like they do to planes in those survival movies.
MAY: What are you using?
LAUREL: Oh, it’s my sister’s old iPod.
MAY: You stole your sister’s iPod? For what, your doomsday soundtrack?
LAUREL: End credits music. And it’s not like she was going to use it.
MAY: How do you know?
LAUREL: She’s been gone for a long time.
MAY: Oh.
LAUREL: It’s okay. It’s not a big deal.
For once, May doesn’t know what to say. Laurel continues trying to reflect the sun off of the iPod screen while May watches.
MAY: Is it working?
LAUREL: I… can’t really tell. I don’t think there’s enough sunlight anymore. (beat) No, I guess it isn’t.
MAY: I’m sorry.
LAUREL: Whatever. It’s just one more party that I’m not invited to. God knows I’ve seen enough of those, what’s one more?
MAY: No, I mean, I’m sorry that you’re stuck up here.
LAUREL: Oh. Yeah, I don’t know.
Laurel crosses the stage to peer over the edge again. May stands, stretches, and joins her.
MAY: It’s a long way down, huh?
Laurel nods. After a second, she spits off the edge, down to the sidewalk below.
MAY: Ew!
LAUREL: What? You’re worried about manners right now? We already established that nobody around can see us.
May considers this for a moment. Finally, she spits.
LAUREL: (laughing) There you go!
Laurel circles around and sits, a good distance from the edge. May sits down next to her, closer than before but still with some distance between them.
MAY: What happened to your sister?
Laurel sighs.
LAUREL: I don’t know. It was, like, a sudden thing. Something with her heart. I was too little to remember, and my mom doesn’t really talk about it. I remember her pretty well, though.
MAY: That must be hard. Do you have other siblings?
LAUREL: Step siblings, but we’re not really close. You?
MAY: Yeah, I have two sisters. My family’s all out of state, though. So.
LAUREL: Oh.
They both turn their heads to look up at the sky.
MAY: You know, I thought there’d be more of a sunset. I’m just seeing a big fireball.
LAUREL: It looks fake, doesn’t it?
MAY: Oh, absolutely. This is like a bad movie.
LAUREL: And how many bad apocalypse movies have come out in the last couple of years? Nobody had any idea… They were all so wrong.
MAY: Yeah, for sure.
After a beat, Laurel fishes the iPod and some earbuds out of her pocket. She plugs them in and takes a second to untangle the wires.
LAUREL: Do you want to listen to some music?
MAY: Oh. Uh, sure.
Laurel moves in closer, handing May one of the earbuds, which she puts in her ear.
Laurel navigates the iPod, choosing songs or maybe shuffling a playlist. After a moment, she sets it down between them.
They listen in silence for a moment.
LAUREL: What’s your name?
MAY: May.
LAUREL: With an E or a Y?
MAY: Y. Like the month, M-A-Y.
LAUREL: Hm.
MAY: What’s yours?
LAUREL: Laurel. L-A-U-R-E-L.
MAY: It’s nice to meet you, Laurel.
LAUREL: (laughs) It’s nice to meet you, too.
They fall silent, once again. Sirens and the same cacophony that accompanies disaster can be heard faintly from off stage again. It’s impossible to know for sure, but it seems that they are running out of time.
May moves in even closer to Laurel and sets her hand on top of hers.
Just then, the door opens, and Brandon is seen poking his head through the doorway. He looks remarkably typical, given the circumstances.
BRANDON: Hey, are you ladies okay out here?
Gasps and exclamations from both girls. Laurel jumps up and runs for the door, flinging it open as far as it will go and leaning against it, making sure it says that way. She breathes a sigh of relief.
MAY: Oh, my God.
May quickly stands and approaches the door.
BRANDON: Sorry, we’re over there on top of the science building, we just saw you girls sitting out here and wanted to make sure you were all good.
Laurel, still leaning against the door, sinks to the floor and covers her face with her hands. It’s unclear if she is laughing, crying, or both.
BRANDON: Is she… okay, or whatever?
MAY: Yeah, we’ve been stuck up here for a while. That door locks automatically when you close it. We thought… I mean, I don’t know what she thought. I guess I just thought that maybe this was it, for us.
BRANDON: Oh, for real?
MAY: Yeah.
BRANDON: That’s crazy. Anyways, I think we still have some beers left if you guys wanna come hang with us. You don’t have any alc up here at all, do you?
MAY: No, we were just… (She trails off)
BRANDON: … Cool, yeah. Okay, I mean, whatever you guys wanna do.
May looks to Laurel, who has uncovered her face. This might be the last time she ever feels this kind of elated relief.
MAY: What do you think?
LAUREL: (Almost at the same time, talking over her) You should go, May.
MAY: You’re not coming?
Laurel shakes her head.
May considers this for a moment, then extends a hand and helps Laurel to her feet. The door begins to swing closed, but Brandon catches it, still standing mostly in the doorway.
MAY: I think I’m good here.
LAUREL: Wait.
MAY: Yeah, it’s fine. I think we’re alright.
LAUREL: Hold on.
MAY: (quickly, hushed) I don’t want you to be alone out here. I know you said you want to be by yourself, or whatever, but what if you change your mind in that last second before it hits, and you really do want to be with somebody? I can’t just leave you here.
Laurel doesn’t answer. At least, not out loud.
BRANDON: This feels like kind of a personal moment. I’m gonna go ahead and close the door, but I’ll just stay right there, and you can just knock when you’re ready. Does that work?
LAUREL: Yeah, sure.
BRANDON: Cool, cool, cool. So, I’ll just be right on the other side here.
MAY: Great, thanks. Just give us a minute.
Brandon closes the door slowly, and the girls turn their attention back to one another.
MAY: There is no reason that you should be alone right now.
LAUREL: … Okay, maybe. Still, I just--
MAY: “You just,” what? (beat) Look. Here’s the situation. Either you stay here, and I stay with you, or we both leave together. Honestly, I say let’s go drink some beer with the baseball team. Fuck it. The world will explode when it explodes.
LAUREL: Yeah, I guess.
MAY: We don’t get a choice in everything, but right now we can choose to get off of this fucking roof.
Laurel considers this, then nods.
LAUREL: Yeah, okay.
MAY: Okay. Great.
May approaches the door, raises her hand to knock, then looks back to Laurel.
MAY: Are you sure?
LAUREL: Yes. You know what, you were right. We only have so many choices left to make.
May nods and knocks on the door. After a slightly panic-inducing moment of hesitation,
Brandon opens it.
BRANDON: Are you coming?
MAY: Yep.
BRANDON: Cool. …So how long were you two out there for?
Their conversation continues, fading out as they disappear through the door and it closes behind them. The sound of sirens and car alarms fades back in.
The end.
Header Photo Credit: Jon Tyson