I LOVE JACK KEROUAC

CHARACTERS
JK. a customer, any age
CRYSTAL. waitress, very blind eyesight, any age
MUMSIE. Crystal’s mother, any age

PLACE
Diner on the outskirts of Sailor Springs, Illinois

TIME
October

THE SCENE
A misty, October morning, 5a.m.  The Cross Roads Diner on the outskirts of  Sailor Springs, Illinois. In the dark,  Off-Stage sound of a car horn – two hoots.

MUMSIE:  (O.S. gravelly voice): WHAT’S THAT!!
CRYSTAL: (O.S.) CAR HORN!
MUMSIE:  (O.S. gravelly voice) WHY?
CRYSTAL: (O.S.) WHO KNOWS!

LIGHTS UP : Interior of bare-bones diner. Door Opens – triggering overhead door chime . . .JK, ENTERS – stops, looks around

MUMSIE: (O.S. gravelly voice) WE GOT A CUSTOMER!  EARLY!
CRYSTAL: (O.S.) I KNOW

JK crosses to a stool at the counter; sits.  His eyes dart around occasionally, taking in some of the features of the diner.  He lifts the sugar dispenser and sees it is empty. He lifts the salt shaker – it is almost empty; the pepper shaker-full.
CRYSTAL enters from the kitchen and stops.

CRYSTAL: Hey.
JK: Hey.
CRYSTAL: Oh, there you are.

She feels her way along behind the counter using her hand on the counter-top – so discreetly it is practically unnoticeable.

JK: Yeh . . . (drums his thumbs on the counter-top) … bop-bop . . .

She proceeds to approach him from behind the counter- every bit a waitress, smiling, coquettish, yet an air of being worn out and desperate for some change in life.

. . . bop-bop . . . be-bop.

CRYSTAL: (chirpy) Welcome to our Cross Roads Diner here at Sailor Springs, Illin-ois.
JK: Nice.
CRYSTAL: Up early! – 5 a.m!
JK: Yeh.  . . . bop-bop . . . be-bop.
CRYSTAL: Menu?
JK: Sure.
CRYSTAL stares over JK’s shoulder and recites flatly.
CRYSTAL: Ok.  Here goes – it’s this –
One egg any-kind nuked in microwave; hash-browns –nuked; white-toast – nuked; no-meat-any-kind; no-cheese-any-kind; no-onion-any-kind; no grits-no-fancy-grain any-kind; dry-cereal-Cheerios; raisins-pineapple-juice;-sunflower-seed-trail mix; have-a-good-and-a- filling-day.   (she smiles)   That’s it.

A ROSE, A CANE

MRS. ROSE  (Angrily):  I mean that generally you need assistance, and that’s what KARL was doing.  You mustn’t treat him so rudely.  We’re fortunate to still have him, and . . .

(Her voice trails off as KARL enters with a platter of broiled trout.)

KARL:  Madam . . .
MRS. ROSE:  No thank you, Karl.
KARL:  But the trout are very fresh, madam.
MRS. ROSE  (Glancing at MR. ROSE) I know, I know . . . they’re always fresh.
KARL:  Broiled, crisp . . .
MRS. ROSE:  No . . .
MR. ROSE (waving KARL back) Take them back, Karl.
KARl: (showing concern)  Will there be vegetables, sir?
MR. ROSE:  Catherine?
MRS. ROSE:  No.  But tell Hilda . . . tell her that I’m sure they’re delicious.
KARL:  And you, sir?
MR. ROSE:  What are they?
KARL:  Brussels sprouts, sir.  In sherry cream.
MR. ROSE (Ponders, then)  She’s a wonderful cook, Karl.
KARL:  Indeed, sir.
MR. ROSE:  I might . . . no.  (Sighs)  None for me.
KARL:  Will there be salads?
MRS. ROSE:  No.
MR. ROSE: No.
KARL:   Perhaps . . . perhaps a little desert?
MR. ROSE:  What is it?
MRS. ROSE:  Apricot flan.
MR. ROSE:  Hilda’s?
KARL:  Yes sir.
MRS. ROSE (somewhat angrily)  Naturally!  (Raising her water glass to drink) Whose did you think?  Sara Lee’s?
KARL:  In a hot caramel sauce with . . .
MRS. ROSE (Drops her water glass to the floor):  Ohhh . . . dear . . . dear . . .

(MR. ROSE – (anxious, pushes his chair back, stands, starts towards her.)

MR. ROSE:  Careful!  Don’t step on it; Catherine.  Sit still!

TWO ROADS DIVERGED

CHARACTERS:
WILFORD – 50.
MILA – 40
KLIG – 15, Mila’s son.

LIGHTS UP: summer. A board sits atop the wall, a tablecloth spread over it— a light picnic is underway. WILFORD, sits atop a short step ladder on his side of the wall; MILA sits atop a short step ladder on her side of the wall . . . Wilford, holding a poetry book, is instructing Mila, who too is holding a book of poetry.  Her ill-fitting bonnet reveals a part of the appendage growing from h er head.

MILA: (reads slowly) “And    I   shall   be   tell–ing   this   with   a   sss  ii  ghh  … with  a  sss ii  gghh …”  (suddenly looks up, to Wilford) . . . what is that?  what is “a   sss ii ghh?”
WILFORD: What, a “sigh?”
MILA: Say it again.
WILFORD: “Sigh”
MILA: No . . . say, “a sss ii ghh.”
WILFORD: Well, that’s just not how we do say it.  Ha ha.  (beat)  Wonderful picnic, isn’t it?
MILA: Well, how just do you say it?  (beat)  “Picnic?”  What’s that?
WILFORD: “Picnic?”  Oh-well-then, should we learn “sigh” or “picnic?”
MILA: “Then,” when?  When is “then?”  And where is it?
WILFORD: (looks at her, a moment.) Ha ha.  Well.  I see.  We’ll do all three, one at a time, how’s that?
MILA: Duricle.
WILFORD: Duricle?  Ha Ha.  Duricle – from your language, no doubt.
MILA: Begin, Willy.
WILFORD: Ah . . . “Will.”  “Will” will do.  Ha Ha.
MILA: “Will will do” – “Will will do” –  “Will will do” . . .
WILFORD: (excited) You see?  You see?  What you are doing, is “rhythm!”  Three beats!  Very poetic!
“With a sigh” – “With a sigh” –  “With a sigh” – do you see?
MILA: “Do you see?” –  “Do you see?” –  “Do you see?”
WILFORD: That’s it!  Three beats!  “Two roads diverged” – “Two roads diverged” –  can you hear it?  Three beats?
MILA: (counting on her fingers) “Two roads di-verged” – “Two roads di-verged” – four beats, right?