The Man who was Radio Static pt 1
By Teddypickerrrr
Tue, 28 Jan 2020
- 254 reads
A bright and frosty winter morning in Queens, New York. Maria, a petite, mousy, middle-aged woman (and native of Queens) with straw-like, unwashed, dirty-blonde hair and a nervous disposition, sits at a small square table, covered with a thick chequered, linen cloth, in the kitchen of an upper-floor apartment on Flushing Avenue (in the Maspeth district). Perpendicular to her, on her right side, sits a short, balding man (slightly her senior) reading the New York Post. His name is Jim. Though physically unattractive he exudes an air of charm and warmth, smiling with perfect, white teeth in his imperfect, chubby face. Behind him there is a hatch in the wall (approximately half a metre wide and half a metre high). The sliding door of the hatch, which conjoins the kitchen to the foyer of the apartment, is currently open, shining in bright colourful light from the stained glass window in the foyer. Behind Maria (and to the left of Jim) stands a gaunt, hollow woman who neither of them can see. This woman is also Maria (Maria Autre). She is paler, thinner and more depressive in demeanour than the version of Maria who sits at the table (Maria Notre). Maria Autre stares disconcertedly at the version of herself sitting at the table with Jim. She is visibly muttering under her breath, something unintelligible.
Maria Autre darts her eyes around the kitchen, pausing with pensive glances at various inanimate objects: fridge magnets, coffee mugs, old newspapers piled next to the rubbish bin. She is visibly ridden with anxiety as she fidgets her hands and twitches her face. She begins to walk around the setting, picking up knick-knacks and observing them like alien objects. She pauses before passing through the colourful light beaming in through the hatch. She then takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and crosses it in one long energetic stride. Maria Notre and Jim are undisturbed by the noises she is causing. They definitely cannot see her at all. Maria Autre continues to explore the room nervously, occasionally reaching out to touch Maria Notre or Jim but recoiling her shaking hand before contact each time. She finally finds herself standing directly between Jim and Maria Notre, looking down at their faces as the sit at the kitchen table. Suddenly, she is startled and jumps backward when Maria Notre slides her chair away from the table, stands up and walks directly toward her. Maria Autre Stumbles backwards, taking tiny panicked steps as to avoid the inevitable collision. However, just as the impact looks certain to occur, Maria Notre reaches past Maria Autre and opens the fridge. Maria Autre, though still physically shaken, realises that truly she is invisible.
JIM (nonchalantly): I hear the FAA are keeping steadfast with these new routes. Have they been noticeably disruptive down here?
MARIA NOTRE: At least half-a-dozen times a day. The noise is hellacious. The entire block gets plunged into momentary darkness; the radio dies and the light fixtures swing.
JIM: I don’t think it would bother me too much.
MARIA NOTRE: Yeah, well you live in Manhattan. You were born in the motorized rumble.
Maria stands up, walks over toward the counter and begins to pour two cups of murky, brown coffee. She pauses to tap the plastic casing of the radio, then returns to the table.
JIM: Something wrong with the radio?
MARIA NOTRE (simultaneously): No.
MARIA AUTRE (simultaneously): Yes.
JIM: So, what? Your face is like sour grapes. Is there something wrong here?
MARIA NOTRE (simultaneously): No.
MARIA AUTRE (simultaneously): Yes.
Maria Notre and Jim sit is content silence, but for the sound of sipping coffee and rustling newspaper pages.
MARIA AUTRE (sullenly, speaking directly to Maria Notre): Yes, there is something wrong, Maria. Please, realise this before it consumes you. Squash these thoughts. The man sitting at your kitchen table is not who you think he is. (Speaking to audience). The woman sitting at that table is me. And the man she is looking at with doe-eyes? It doesn’t matter who he is, what he is. In any case, who he isn’t and what he isn’t will destroy me. And, so I’m destined to walk through this sunken dream; this tortuous nightmare until I can convince her – convince myself – that this man, this strange unexplainable man, isn’t who he seems to be.
Maria Notre leaves the table, taking her empty cup of coffee as well as Jims toward the kitchen sink, she stares vacantly out the window. Jim continues to read his paper.
MARIA NOTRE: You hardly touched your coffee (looking into the two mugs then facing Jim) You haven’t touched your coffee?
JIM: (waving a dismissive hand) Haven’t I?
MARIA NOTRE: For as long as I have known you Teddy, you have never let a cup of coffee go cold.
JIM (with a sudden, sharp change in demeanour): What did you just call me?
MARIA NOTRE (in panic): Jim. I called you Jim.
JIM: The fuck you did. Call me that again and I’ll put my fist in your mouth.
MARIA (stuttering): I’m sorry, Jim. I didn’t… I didn’t…
JIM: You what? You didn’t mean it? Well, maybe I won’t mean it when I throw my coffee in your face next time it happens.
MARIA: It won’t.
MARIA AUTRE (saunters slowly around the stage and lets out a small, incredulous laugh): Teddy. I called him ‘Teddy’. I suppose that’s what this is all about. My husband, Edward. I reckon I must have called Jim by Teddy’s name at least half-a-dozen times a week. It always went like that, though. He’d berate me for my mistake; always threaten me with violence. I have scars all up my forearms from a result of that; burn marks on my legs. My husband, Teddy, was a firefighter who died in the line of duty. Sitting at that breakfast table there (gesturing toward Maria Notre) I still hadn’t cried over his death which happened four months prior. I didn’t know how to mourn yet. I couldn’t let him go, and so Jim wormed his way into my life like a maggot burrowing into the brain. He was my escapism. I was so grateful for the escapism our little talks brought – so enamoured with the sensation of projecting my dead husband onto this man – that I could not see Jim for what he was. That’s why I’m here. Not to be wistful and pensive about my errors; to wallow in my former delusion. I’m here to kill that toxic bastard – that rat which crawled into my kitchen through the drains. In doing so, I’ll lift the chains of delusion from myself. Like I said – though Jim shares qualities with a rat, a maggot and a toxin – the nature of who and what he is remains unimportant; who and what he isn’t is much more pressing. He isn’t Teddy.
Act Two
Early the next morning. Maria Notre is alone in the kitchen. It is a small cluttered space. There are piles of black bin bags; dishes stacked above the brim of the sink; the walls are thick with dust atop torn, faded, nicotine-stained wallpaper; there is visible grime between the cold, neutrally coloured floor-tiles; in one corner sits a stack of yellowing newspapers; in another sits a dustpan which contains the cigarette ash of a fallen ashtray and the shards of glass from it, too; propped against one of the walls is a bucket, in which stands a mop, which is full of water the colour of rust.
JIM: (appears instantaneously at the hatch, having entered through the exterior entrance into the adjacent foyer) I let myself in.
MARIA NOTRE (begins to wipe down the kitchen unit then gives up, drying her damp hands on her jeans): Come on through. And excuse the mess; I was going to clean but… I couldn’t… I didn’t.
JIM (entering the kitchen): There are newspapers stacked here as high as your hip. (Jim thumbs through the papers). Some of these are dated July. It’s late November, now.
MARIA NOTRE (surprised): Oh, is it really? It’s incredible how quickly time can creep upon you, don’t you think?
JIM: I suppose so. You ought to burn these things. Will you burn them, Maria? For me?
MARIA NOTRE (anxiously): For you, Jim. Ye-yes. But not all of them. There’s on I want to keep, it’s near the bottom.
JIM: What’s so damn special about it?
MARIA NOTRE: Well… it has his, you know, his, obituary in it. The mayor even added a personal statement. It doesn’t make up for anything, not even half-ways, but it was touching, nonetheless…
JIM (interrupts with incredulity): I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about Maria. Who’s obituary?
MARIA NOTRE (becoming hoarser and fainter with each syllable): His! Teddy…
JIM: Ted who? Roosevelt? Bundy?
MARIA NOTRE: Teddy. My Teddy. You know – my Edward!
JIM: Teddy? Edward? I don’t even think you know who you’re talking about, Maria. You’re not making any sense. Who is this nobody? Tom, Dick, Teddy, Edward. Do you even know? Because it doesn’t sound like you never knew this man from Adam.
MARIA NOTRE (tugging at her dank, unwashed blonde hair; almost sobbing; confused; under pressure): My… my… He was a firefighter. He… h-he died.
JIM (vicious, incredulous and sarcastic): Really? And here I was thinking they wrote obituaries for the living. Get real, woman.
MARIA NOTRE: You’re right. It doesn’t matter who he was. I’ll burn them all out back tonight.
JIM (demandingly): All of them?
MARIA NOTRE (solemnly): All of them.
JIM (suddenly pleasant and cheery in disposition and speech): Wonderful. And don’t mention this Ted Nobody again. I hadn’t heard of the guy until thirty seconds ago and I’m already sick of him. The sooner you burn that the better.
Jim makes his way into the kitchen proper and settles down at the table perpendicular to Maria Notre’s chair. He picks aimlessly at a loose thread in the table linen. Maria Notre stares sheepishly at him.
MARIA NOTRE: I’ve an idea. Why don’t I get the chess set out? It’s been so long since I’ve played. Will you play, Jim?
JIM (in suddenly much warmer demeanour): Of course I will. I captain of the chess club at school.
MARIA NOTRE (smiling in relief that the mood which caused Jim’s outburst had passed): I know. You’ve told that story to me before.
JIM: I have? I talk so much it’s hard to keep track of what stories I’ve told.
MARIA NOTRE: I’ll just fetch it, shall I?
Maria Notre exits the kitchen, precisely as Maria Autre enters. The latter can see the former, but not vice versa. Although, a subtle wince can be seen and heard from Maria Notre as the two brush past each other. Maria Autre strides directly toward the kitchen table and sits in Maria Notre’s vacant seat. She glares adamantly at Jim, with daggers in her eyes. She begins edging off her seat and moving closer toward Jims face, until their noses are barely a centimetre apart. Jim remains oblivious to her presence. She motions her throat forward, as if preparing to plant on Jim’s nose a snapping, serpentine bite, but abruptly moves her chair back, creating a screeching effect with the legs of the rusted chair. She walks behind Jim, not taking her eyes off him for a second, she stands next to the radio, which is still switched on and playing some sort of comedic talk-show judging by the murmured cadence of conversation.
MARIA AUTRE (glaring fiercely at the side of Jim’s face over his shoulder as his mind meanders in a daydream): Teddy bought this radio for me. When we were eighteen we used to spend our Saturday night’s in his car, listening to whatever came over the air. It didn’t matter what it was, we just listened. A year later he gave me this tranny. It cost him half a wage-packet, but that wasn’t important. When he joined the Fire Department I couldn’t sleep at nights, knowing he might never come home. So, I’d sit in here, chain-smoking and binging on coffee, as I listened to the radio waiting for him to come home. It brought me great comfort to hear the sounds coming from this old thing: A melody, a radio play, a drama. Even just a voice. Some late-night hack wittering on about his little world in radio-land. I felt like I wasn’t alone. Like I was sitting in Teddy’s Gran Torino, and we were 18 again. (She pauses. Her eyes dart toward the rolling pin on the counter). I wonder, Jim. I wonder what would happen, you bastard, if I just took this rolling pin (She picks up the rolling pin and lifts it above her head with two hands in a swift arc, as if she were an executioner, it was a sharpened axe and Jim’s neck were on a block). What would happen to Jim Matthews if I just… (She swings the rolling pin down, diagonally, missing Jim’s head and slamming it on the counter top next to the radio. It broadcasts inaudibly for a few seconds; the static being accompanied by Jim having a brief coughing fit. Maria Autre retreats to the corner of the room and sits on the floor, with her head buried in her folded arms and her knees pressed against her chest.
MARIA NOTRE (from off-stage): Sorry Jim, a piece was missing. (Concernedly) Are you alright in there, James? I’m sorry, I was smoking in there this morning. Open a window if it’s a little musty. (Jim’s coughing ceases). Of course, it could be the damp mould on the ceiling.
JIM (still gasping; dismissively): I’m fine, now, don’t worry about it.
MARIA NOTRE (now entering the kitchen with a wooden chess-board beneath her left arm and a velvet draw-stringed bag of chess pieces): Did I hear static, too? I thought perhaps there was a plane inbound, overhead. Or worse, that the poor thing had finally given up. It was a gift from Teddy, you know.
JIM (furiously): I told you not to mention that nobody, again! I’m sick of it!
MARIA NOTRE (hurriedly): I’m sorry, Jim. I didn’t mean it. Forget it; forget I ever mentioned him.
JIM: Mentioned who?
MARIA NOTRE (quiet and stammering): No-one. J…just some nobody who d-died. I…I didn’t really know him from Adam, anyway.
MARIA AUTRE (sobbing from her corner, rocking back and forth on the tiled floor): No, no, no, no, no. Don’t do this, please. Don’t forget Teddy!
Maria Notre starts, and glances briefly at precisely the spot where Maria Autre is sitting, sobbing onto her own knees.
MARIA AUTRE (indignant; shrill and horrified): You can see me! You can hear me!
Maria Notre has no sooner looked in the direction of Maria Autre than she has looked away, now focusing on the meticulous act of placing all of the chess pieces in their grids. A low rumble becomes audible; the lights begin to flicker and the radio plays short sharp bursts of static. Jim’s cough becomes unbearable – he clenches onto the edge of the table and doubles over as if about to cough out his lungs.
MARIA AUTRE (still in the corner, but rising to her feet; screaming in terrified hysteria): You can see me! I know it! Talk to me! Talk to me!
Jim continues to cough; Maria Autre continues to wail; the lights continue to flicker; the rumble becomes louder – deafeningly so – as does the radio static. And all the while, Maria Notre continues to place the chess-pieces on the board. Her eyes dart from the board, to Jim (doubled over on his knees) and Maria Autre screeching from the corner.
MARIA AUTRE: Teddy! Remember Teddy! Don’t burn his obituary; don’t let him burn again, Maria, please. Remember Teddy!
MARIA NOTRE: No, no, no! You’ll be okay, Jim. I won’t talk about Teddy no more. The plane will be have passed in a minute; the noise will stop and we can play chess. It will be done in a minute. Stop coughing, now; talk to me, James. It’s almost done.
The kitchen is plunged into absolute darkness and the sound of thirty-two chess-pieces can be heard rattling against the tiled floor. The noise in the room is unbearable – Jim coughing violently; Maria Autre caterwauling hysterically; the plane’s rumble seeming to shake the earth and the radio static, high and buzzing, polluting the air.
MARIA NOTRE: It’s almost done, Jim. I promise.
Suddenly, the kitchen light flickers on, brighter than it seemed prior to the plane’s passing and, in the same instant, all is silent. No more rumble, screeching, static or coughing. Maria Notre is alone in the kitchen. There are pots, pans, mugs, plates and various other kitchen artefacts scattered and smashed all around the floor and counters. Around Maria Notre’s feet lay, scrambled, the black and ivory chess pieces. Everything which isn’t fixed to the wall (and even some things which are: cupboard doors, paintings, shelves) is knocked, at least somewhat, out of place: including the chairs and table – the former having been knocked over; the latter having been moved slightly in position and angle. Maria Autre and Jim are no longer hear, having disappeared, seemingly in the instant the light returned and the noise stopped. Maria Notre is alone in the kitchen. She is startled, dishevelled, bedraggled, fraught with anxiety, confusion and fear. She can only muster two words.
MARIA NOTRE: Jim? (pregnant pause) Teddy?
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