Leland: an earnest and helpful off-duty police officer, takes all things literally. “Get out of here,” is hurtful to him. “You don’t say,” confuses Leland. When asked if he’s kidding, the answer is never yes.
Will: is always saying “what’s up?” It’s become one word, whatsup. His greeting is always the same despite his using it to mean many things. Sometimes he is saying “Hello,” other times “I think you’re attractive,” while often it is “Don’t talk to me. I’m not interested.” He is, in this way, both lazy and imprecise.
Thurman: speaks of himself in the third person. He believes third person is a flexible and powerful perspective which should not be limited to use on others. It makes him seem important, like a character in the story of his own life. When he slips into first person, he feels the words and himself collapse into each other, making him disappear. If you look closely, Thurman shudders ever so slightly whenever he says I, me, or my.
Rhonda: believes “right?” is always an appropriate response. “Crazy weather today,” a friend says. “Right?” Rhonda responds. “How about the stock market?” “Right?” says Rhonda. “I wish you would visit more often?” her mother sadly states. “Right? Mom,” Rhonda chuckles. “You’re confusing me, Rhonda . . .”
Felton: is constantly worried that he has something on his face and, therefore, repeatedly steals looks into a little compact mirror he always carries with him. Felton is also sensitive about seeming feminine, which makes the compact mirror all the more problematic.
Unger: mutters “unbelievable” regarding matters that are easy to comprehend.
Noreen: rubs the tip of her nose once or twice when she’s nervous. She is nervous often. Were she a bronze statue, her nose would shine, golden, a beacon of anxiety.
Paris: is very pretty. Habitually so.
Bernard: is boring though insists on speaking. He is also very good looking.
* * *
Leland enters the large, bright room. “Hello,” he says to Will.
“Whatsup?” Will responds.
“The ceiling, the sky, the Milky Way . . .” Leland begins listing.
As Leland continues to answer, Will begins to look for an escape. He says to Rhonda, out of the corner of his mouth, “Is this guy mad?”
“Right?”
“No, I’m not mad; that’s not right,” interjects Leland.
Ensnared more deeply, Will pleads with his eyes for Felton to join them.
Felton grows more self-conscious and pulls out his mirror. That strikes Will as quite unmanly.
“In fact, I’m feeling very calm and content,” Leland continues.
“Right?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“This is fucking unbelievable,” mutters Will.
“Hey, that’s my line,” says Unger.
“Right?”
“I don’t know,” answers Leland.
Will turns his imploring gaze to Noreen. This makes her nervous.
Felton looks up from his mirror to see Noreen rubbing her nose. I knew it, he thinks, again reaching for his mirror.
Paris sees the very handsome Bernard enter the room and asks Felton if she can borrow his mirror.
Bernard approaches Paris and suddenly begins speaking of commodities. Without transition, he then moves to talk of beetles and is amazed Paris knows nothing about their coloration.
Paris of course immediately regrets her minimal effort, her habitual beauty. She still has the mirror in her hand as Felton anxiously rubs more and more of his face and questions Noreen with his eyes.
Noreen feels ridiculed and tears up. She rubs her nose more insistently.
Exasperated, Felton finally approaches Will and the others. Felton – a glasses wearer – asks nobody in particular “Do I have something on my face?”
“Yes,” replies Leland.
“Right?”
“Yes,” Leland repeats. “I said yes.”
Will and Unger simultaneously mutter “unbelievable.”
“It is believable,” Leland says. “I believe it.”
“Right?”
Leland stares at her. He is, however, unable to help himself and softly says, “Right, that’s right.”
Felton begins to cry.
Paris is a lover of sensitive men and therefore approaches Felton. Bernard follows her while continuing his lecture on beetles.
Right as Paris is about to reach Felton, Will leans in. “Whatsup?”
“The roof. Many airplanes. Satellites,” Leland begins before Paris can think to answer.
“Tree branches. Clouds . . .”
Paris ignores both Will and Leland. She asks Felton if he’s alright.
“Can I have my mirror back?” he asks through his sobbing.
“Oh, of course you can.” Paris presses it into his right hand and then grasps it with both of her own.
Thurman, who had his eye on Paris, cannot believe he is a character in this story. Indeed, he says under his breath, “The story of Thurman’s life.”
Bernard begins saying to the just-rebuffed Will, “The story of my life begins in 1957 . . .”
Will cuts him off to ask Thurman, “Whose story did you say?”
“Thurman’s,” says Thurman, thrilled to finally be in the unfolding story.
“Who’s Thurman,” asks Will.
“Thurman is Thurman.”
“Whatsup with you?”
“Nothing is up with Thurman, why?”
“What the fuck is up with you?” Will says in a suddenly raised voice.
“Thurman is just remarking on how the story of his life always ends with him not getting the girl.”
“Right now? This Thurman fellow is remarking on this right now? You seriously want me to believe that?” Will shakes his head, muttering. “Unbelievable.”
“Thurman does,” Thurman says. “Thurman sees no reason for you to doubt it.”
Quite deliberately Will asks one more time “Who . . . where . . . what is Thurman?”
“I am Thurman,” slips out of Thurman’s mouth. He shudders a little at his sudden removal from the story of his own life.
“Shoot me now,” Will says.
Leland does.
The blood splatters, a small spot ending up on Felton’s nose. This causes Paris, Bernard, Thurman, Leland, Rhonda, and Unger, despite the carnage in their midst, to alert Felton by rubbing their noses.
Noreen begins to cry.
Felton cries harder.
Paris moves closer to him.
At the sight, Thurman, Unger, and, yes even, Leland mutter in unison. “Unbelievable!”
“Right?”
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