The Rehash
           by brian cleary
       

       Brian is cooking some ramen on the left half of the stove.  
       Saying 'the left half' is important because the left is not 
       like the right:  the left is old and battered with exposed 
       wiring and foil tape, but the right half is new and totally 
       clean with none of the innards showing.  In fact the whole 
       apartment is like this.  The left half of the room is dark 
       and dismal with debris about.  The right is new and clean and 
       lightly colored with decor the likes of which Ikea would be 
       proud.  The two halves mirror each other.  Beds against 
       opposite walls;  one new with a white frame, the other of the 
       type that the salvation army would throw away -- exposed 
       springs covered with duct tape, etc..  Desks;  computer 
       versus typewriter.  Refrigerator versus dry goods.

       Brian turns off the stove and turns, pot in hand, towards the 
       table.  He realizes that he's lost his spoon.  He looks about 
       for it and looks in the drawers on his side for a 
       replacement.  Some of the drawers are broken, some missing 
       altogether.  The handle snaps of one as he tried to open it.  
       He steps on some thing in the kitchen rug.  The rug is also 
       divided.  One side is shell pink in perfect shape.  The other 
       side is fraying with hair and dirt intertwined with the 
       purple shag.  Brian bends down and retrieves his spoon, then 
       heads for his bed.

       He leans against the crumbling sheetrock and sets the pan in 
       his lap.  He is wearing a bathrobe, boxers, an undershirt, 
       and white socks which do not match.

       Paul enters.

       

                           PAUL  
                 What are you doing?

                           BRIAN
                 Eating Ramen noodles.

                           PAUL
                 Why?

                           BRIAN
                 That's what people do with them.

                           PAUL
                 Aren't they nasty?

                           BRIAN
                 Yes.

                           PAUL
                 So then, why are you eating them?

                           BRIAN
                 Don't have anything else.

                           PAUL
                 How's the scurvy coming?  Why don't you 
                 buy something better.  God knows that 
                 can't be too hard.  We have the money.

                           BRIAN
                 Because i should be eating bad.

                           PAUL
                 Badly.  Adverb.

                           BRIAN
                 No, I mean "Bad," the noun.

                           PAUL
                 Is that what Ramen is, should've guessed.  
                 Why are you ingesting evil?

                           BRIAN
                 To suffer.

                           PAUL
                     (incredulously)
                 Why?

                           BRIAN
                 Because I should.  For my art.

                           PAUL
                 What?

                           BRIAN
                 Most people don't have it good.  I don't 
                 want to be better than anyone.

                           PAUL
                 Trust me.  You're not.  

       Paul sits down at his desk.  A single keystroke brings his 
       computer screen to life.  He begins typing as the dialogue 
       continues.

                           BRIAN
                 How can you live like that?  Like a 
                 prettier table lamp makes you a happier 
                 person.

                           PAUL
                 Happier than who?

                           BRIAN
                 Me.

                           PAUL
                 You don't have a table lamp.

                           BRIAN
                 Exactly!!!  Who does and why?

                           PAUL
                 I'm guessing people with tables and to 
                 see better what is on them.

       Brian sets the empty pan on the floor and stands.  He pulls 
       his bed away from the wall a few inches and reaches behind 
       it.  He plugs in an orange extension cord which has multiple 
       lumps of electrical tape holding it together.  It is strung 
       haphazardly along the wall by duct tape and hooks.  It 
       terminates in a bare light bulb hanging above Brian's desk.

       Brian's desk wobbles as he sits down at it.  

                           PAUL (cont'd)
                 Going to write some?

                           BRIAN
                 If you are, I should.

                           PAUL
                 Why is that?

                           BRIAN
                 Guilt.  I call myself an artist, but I 
                 usually just watch TV.  It'd be really 
                 hard to enjoy anything with you over 
                 there getting something accomplished.

                           PAUL
                 Don't you feel guilty about watching TV 
                 when the downtrodden can't?

                           BRIAN
                 No.  Everyone has a TV.  Cortical 
                 submission due to the bombardment of 
                 patterned electrons is universal.  
                 Television has no cultural or economic 
                 barriers worth mentioning.  People will 
                 buy a Sony before they pay to have their 
                 children vaccinated.

                           PAUL
                 Don't you mean photon bombardment.  From 
                 the TV.  Isn't it photons?  Light?

                           BRIAN
                 It's supposed to be, but I have a really 
                 hard time believing that people can 
                 convince an electron to go this way or 
                 that to strike the photo-electric side of 
                 the TV screen.

                           PAUL
                 It's just really small people then?

                           BRIAN
                 No.  Some of the electrons react like the 
                 TV people want and impact in just the 
                 right place when ever they are told to.  
                 But I imagine that a lot just think for 
                 themselves and ignore the TV people.  
                 They head in the right direction, but 
                 then forget or refuse to do what they're 
                 told.  They just pass through the screen 
                 and go about their merry way.  That is 
                 until they get to the audience.  The TV 
                 people had them travelling in the same 
                 general direction as the electrons who 
                 lit up the screen.  And that general 
                 direction targeted the audience.  So even 
                 though they think they are independent, 
                 they still come to a concussive end -- 
                 searing the frontal lobe of anyone 
                 anywhere.

                           PAUL
                 Well you don't have to feel guilty.

                           BRIAN
                 Why not?

                           PAUL
                 I'm not really getting anything 
                 accomplished either.

                           BRIAN
                 I still feel guilty.  You had the 
                 motivation to sit down and try to work.

                           PAUL
                 I'm playing Solitaire.

       Brian looks at his typewriter.  Then back towards Paul.

                           BRIAN
                 That's a useful function.

                           PAUL
                 Yes.  It is.

                           BRIAN
                 If you listen really closely, you can 
                 hear those electrons whistling to 
                 themselves as they hurl towards your 
                 forehead.

                           PAUL
                 At least this is interactive.

                           BRIAN
                 So is channel surfing.
                     (pause then)
                 How long have we been here?

                           PAUL
                 Started in ninety-five.

                           BRIAN
                 Three years . . . Right here for three 
                 years.  Done nothing and gone no where.

                           PAUL
                 Actually I think it's been longer.  I 
                 can't remember, but it sure feels like 
                 it.

                           BRIAN
                 Doesn't it bother you that we're like 
                 this?  

                           PAUL
                 Which part?

                           BRIAN
                 Comfortable.  We don't need anything.

                           PAUL
                 We can't help it.  Our parent's have 
                 money.

                           BRIAN
                 This isn't our roof, it's theirs.  Their 
                 food.  Their stuff.  

                           PAUL
                 It's just the way things are.

                           BRIAN
                 I don't want it.  I try to ignore it.  
                 Pretend I'm an adult.  Act like I'm like 
                 the real people seven years younger 
                 who aren't satellites.  But I'm not.  I 
                 can't help it.  I want to be myself, but 
                 I've done nothing to find out who that 
                 is, because I haven't had to.

                           PAUL
                 Don't worry.  It won't last forever.

                           BRIAN
                 It sure seems like it will.  It seems 
                 like it's already been forever.  I'm 
                 embarrassed, but there's too much inertia 
                 to break away.  

                           PAUL
                 A couple more years.  They'll retire.  
                 We'll be done with school. It all fix 
                 itself.

                           BRIAN
                 Fix itself?  Time?  Inertia?  Bullshit.  
                 We're too afraid or doing anything.  We 
                 try to pretend we happy or normal, but 
                 we're the ones holding ourselves here 
                 night after night.

                           PAUL
                 Why don't we just write something?

                           BRIAN
                 I don't know.
                     (pause)
                 I need something new to say or I'm going 
                 to end up writing rehashes of the same 
                 auto-analytical shit over and over.  
                 Maybe changing my age so people won't 
                 think I'm to young to say certain ideas.  
                 Maybe just changing a little dialogue.  
                 Maybe just changing the character names.  
                 Hell!  Maybe not.  Three years.  What if 
                 I only had one story to tell in me?

                           PAUL
                     (long pause)
                 Tell it again.  They're all the same 
                 stories being told over and over by 
                 different people, but so what?  It's 
                 still the same handful of ideas.   Tell 
                 it again.  
                 I think it's fair for us to tell the same 
                 stories.  Tell it again and again.  Maybe 
                 you'll get it right and never need to 
                 tell it again.  Or maybe every time will 
                 be like this.