One more thing to do
(This is my next film – a single act play)
Scene one:
(Open with an image of men carrying a wrapped up body out of a brownstone – camera draws back then, slides into images of torn up post cards)
Scene two:
(Danny and Tom meet on the street in front of a store along Kennedy Boulevard in Jersey City, then both start walking towards Hoboken)
DAN:
Hey, Tom
Have you seen the old lady today?
TOM:
You mean you ain’t heard?
DAN:
Heard what?
TOM:
Hey, Man
I don’t want to be the one who tells you about it, you two being as close as you are an all.
But the old lady died this morning.
DAN:
Died?
TOM:
Sure
And her kids started dumping her stuff in the trash the moment the ambulance left with the body.
That’s what’s blowing all around here.
DAN:
I knew her kids wanted her out, but this is rushing it.
TOM:
I guess they waited so long they sort of freaked out for joy when she finally kicked the bucket.
DAN:
I guess so.
Every time they saw her they kept telling her how better off she would be in a nursing home.
But she wouldn’t budge.
TOM:
Yeah, I know.
I used to here them bitching on the stoop after one of their visits.
They used to complain about how stubborn she was and how they couldn’t wait for her to die.
DAN:
She hated their visits
She told me she dreaded their coming and couldn’t wait for them to leave once they came.
All they ever talked about is how she should leave, how valuable her apartment was here in the city.
TOM:
Well, you gotta admit they got a point.
They don’t call this the Gold Coast because of the prospecting.
DAN:
She didn’t care how much her place was worth.
For her the place was home.
She came here right after the war, and was so grateful for still being a live, she vowed she would leave until they carried her out.
TOM:
Well, she got what she wanted, despite everything her kids did to her.
DAN:
They were mean people.
She was always ashamed of them, blaming herself for how they turned out.
TOM:
You weren’t mean to her.
In some ways you were closer to her than they were.
DAN:
I liked to listen to her stories, about the old country.
TOM:
All of them.
I hear she had some tough times over there, especially during the war.
DAN:
Tougher than anyone can imagine.
She told me all of it, even the bad stuff. I guess she needed to tell someone about what she saw and how she felt.
Her kids certainly didn’t want to listen.
TOM:
So she picked you?
DAN:
I found her sitting on a park bench one day, crying.
She had just come back from church...
TOM:
From the synagogue
She was Jewish
Jews go to a synagogue
DAN:
Whatever.
Something during the service upset her.
She never said what
But I think it was some memory from when she was a little girl.
I think she remember how she went to church – to Synagogue – with her parents in Europe before they died.
TOM:
So you just walked up to a crying old lady?
A perfect stranger?
DAN:
I had to, Tom
I couldn’t just let her cry.
She seemed so all alone.
TOM:
Gauging from the quality of her kids, she was.
DAN:
Anyway, I saw her again later and started doing stuff for her from time to time, going to the store and such.
But mostly I listened to her stories.
TOM:
That’s all over now.
And the kids got what they wanted.
They didn’t even bother to look through the old lady’s stuff.
What the Salvation Army didn’t want, the kids put at the curb for the trash truck.
DAN:
No, it’s not over yet.
There’s still one more thing to do.
TOM:
And what would that be?
DAN:
Never mind, Tom
It’s personal.
I’ll see you later.
SCENE THREE:
(Dan approaches the Synagogue – fade to end)