Delivery

A play.

—

Curtains up.

Darkness.

Rain fades.

Lights up.

A bench at center stage.

At the back: a bust of Epictetus.

Adrian enters. Hurried. Sits on the left side of the bench.

Hands on knees. Tapping. Checks his watch.

Beat.

Zoltan enters. Unhurried. Whistling. Sits on the right.

—

ADRIAN

You must have been in an accident.

ZOLTAN

Beg your pardon?

ADRIAN

You’re late.

ZOLTAN

Oh.

ADRIAN

Were you?

ZOLTAN

No.

ADRIAN

Preposterous.

Beat.

Do you have it?

ZOLTAN

I do.

ADRIAN

How is it?

ZOLTAN

As expected.

ADRIAN

Good. How’s your wife?

ZOLTAN

Dead.

ADRIAN

My condolences.

ZOLTAN

Twenty years now.

ADRIAN

Time flies.

ZOLTAN

They say it heals.

ADRIAN

Does it?

ZOLTAN

No.

Adrian looks around.

ADRIAN

How big is it?

ZOLTAN

Standard.

ADRIAN

Fits in your pocket?

ZOLTAN

Mhm.

ADRIAN

Open casket?

ZOLTAN

Urn.

ADRIAN

Of course.

ZOLTAN

She wanted to be scattered.

ADRIAN

And?

ZOLTAN

Not yet.

ADRIAN

Why?

ZOLTAN

No place, yet.

ADRIAN

You have time.

ZOLTAN

You don’t know that.

ADRIAN

It’s likely.

ZOLTAN

It isn’t.

Adrian glances behind him.

ADRIAN

Is it easy to use?

ZOLTAN

It takes practice.

ADRIAN

Steep learning curve?

ZOLTAN

No.

ADRIAN

How did the kids take it?

ZOLTAN

They were too young.

ADRIAN

You never remarried?

ZOLTAN

No.

ADRIAN

Must’ve been hard on them.

ZOLTAN

Indeed.

ADRIAN

They turned out well? Regardless…

ZOLTAN

Define well.

ADRIAN

Work? Family?

ZOLTAN

Yes.

ADRIAN

Both?

ZOLTAN

Yes.

Beat.

ADRIAN

So… its effect immediate?

ZOLTAN

No.

ADRIAN

But guaranteed?

ZOLTAN

Yes.

ADRIAN

Even with repeated use?

ZOLTAN

Yes.

ADRIAN

Where do you keep it?

Zoltan looks at him. Waits.

I mean the urn.

ZOLTAN

Ah.

ADRIAN

Yes.

ZOLTAN

In a box.

ADRIAN

Hard to look at?

ZOLTAN

No. Less dust.

ADRIAN

Practical.

ZOLTAN

Mhm.

ADRIAN

You ever take it out?

ZOLTAN

On birthdays.

Adrian looks right.

ADRIAN

Will I use it?

ZOLTAN

I see no reason not to.

ADRIAN

And it works?

ZOLTAN

Yes.

ADRIAN

Certain?

ZOLTAN

Mors certa; hora incerta.

Both turn, as if mirrored. Toward the bust of Epictetus. Stare. Then forward again.

ADRIAN

May I see it?

ZOLTAN

Here.

Zoltan produces a brown paper bag. Adrian opens it. Looks in.

ADRIAN

Remarkable.

ZOLTAN

Common.

ADRIAN

Perfect.

ZOLTAN

Only for the imperfect.

ADRIAN

Price?

ZOLTAN

As agreed.

ADRIAN

When do you collect?

ZOLTAN

Already did.

Adrian stands. Still looking into the bag.

ADRIAN

Thank you.

ZOLTAN

Mhm.

Adrian exits left. Fast. Still looking inside the bag.

Tires screech. A honk. A thud. A distant cry.

The brown paper bag slides back on stage. Stops at Zoltan’s feet.

Zoltan taps his foot. Thrice.

Looks down.

—

ZOLTAN

Memento mori.

—

Curtains fall.

—

-ck