The Appointment A One Act by John Christensen
Scene 1
Narrator) The light is dimming over the city park, as the evening sun begins to give way to the inevitable coming of night. The last reluctant children are being pulled away from the play equipment, by impatient parents eager to get going. A sharp whistle pierces the air, as some unseen person, summons their dog, and a team of soccer players give one last hoorah before sprinting from practice. The day dwellers head in, back to their cozy homes, to go to bed, sleep, and prepare for the next hours of light. But in that park, there is also a man, who does not appear in a hurry to go really, anywhere. He makes his way through the park, seemingly oblivious to the fast-setting darkness. To a stranger he would appear troubled, relentless, and perhaps, somewhat intimidating in his disconnect. He makes his way down the sidewalk, around the edge of the pond, and comes upon a bench overlooking the water. A strange sense of fatigue suddenly overcomes him. The man plops down on the bench and stares at the water. There he sits alone until he is quite suddenly surprised by the presence of a stranger.
Old Man: “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Jamey: “What the?”
Jamey turns to look upon the Old Man, who had sat down next to him on the bench overlooking the water.
Jamey: “Oh! Hello, you startled me! I didn’t even hear you coming! Where did you even come?”
Old Man: “My journey to this appointment is of little importance. Now let us…”
Jamey: “I believe you’re mistaken, I’m not expecting anyone. As a matter of fact, I’ll just be going, that way you can meet with, whoever it is that you thought was me. Have a good one….”
Old Man: “There is no mistake, and rarely does anyone expect me, but I was to meet you right here, right now, it was always so.”
Jamey: “What are you talking about?”
Old Man: “The time has come.”
Jamey: “Have a good night.”
Jamey stands to leave, clearly made uncomfortable by this stranger’s presence. He takes two steps away from the bench.
Old Man: “Sit back down Jamey.”
Jamey: “I’m good, but wait, how the hell do you know my name?”
Old Man: “I told you there was no mistake, now please take a seat.”
Jamey feels the urge to run but finds himself unable to. He slowly returns to the bench and sits down.
Jamey: “Tell me! How do you know me and what do you want?”
Old Man: “It’s not what I want, that’s the question. For it doesn’t matter in the end, cause in the end, the result remains the same. Are you satisfied with what you have done?
Jamey: “What?!”
Old Man: “I said, are you satisfied with what you have done?”
Jamey: “What the fuck kind of question is that? Just who the fuck do you think you are?
Old man: “Just answer.”
Jamey: “No! I’m not answering any of your questions. I don’t know you and this is already beyond weird, can you please find another bench?”
Old Man: “Time grows short. Answer the question.”
Jamey: “I suppose!”
Old Man: “It’s a yes or no.”
Jamey: “What the fuck is your angle? I don’t know… satisfied with what? The weather? life in general? Satisfied with this conversion? Not really!
Old Man: “So you are not satisfied?”
Jamey: “Yes, I am! I mean mostly! I mean I’m an easy-going guy for the most part, and what do you care anyway man?”
Old Man: “Who says I care? Is it simply a courtesy question? Simple words selected by me, plucked by the whirling winds of existence, forced into submission by the power of consciousness, domesticated, tamed by the will of desire, and forced to manifest into a pattern that your head may perceive, and your heart be caressed…”
Jamey: “How…?”
Old Man: “How what?”
Jamey: “Those words you just spoke. They…”
Old Man: “Were yours?”
Jamey: “Yes. Who are you?”
Old Man: “Those were your words. You sat and toiled over them, you wrote, you cried, you raged. Yet the letter remained unsent, but it was much more than that, was it not? I’ll ask again, are you satisfied?”
Jamey: “How do you know me? I’ve never seen you! How could you possibly know about that… have you stalked me? Is this some sick game before you murder me or are you going to try to sell me some soul saving nonsense?
Old Man: “I’m not here to do either.”
Jamey: “Then what are you here for?”
Old Man: “That depends.”
Jamey: “Depends on what? Quit speaking in riddles and state your purpose for imposing on my peace!”
Old Man: “It depends on your answer to my next question.“
Jamey: “What’s the damn question?”
Old Man: “What would you do with a day?”
Jamey: “What would I do with a day?”
Old Man: “Yes.”
Jamey: “Like my last day or just a day?”
Old Man: “You speak of them as if they are separate. You talk as though the days, at least to a certain point, are guaranteed to you. You walk through life with the presumption that time is on your side, when in fact, the sand is falling fast, filling the bottom of the glass, with constant and perpetual persistence. You have been on this earth for 11,036 days. All those days, and you can’t tell me what you would do with one. I simply ask what you would do with a single day, from the first rays of sunlight coming across your face, to when you close them to go to sleep, what would you do with a day?
Jamey: “You know how many days I’ve lived?”
Old Man: “Of course I know how many days you have lived for each one of them I stood witness. Some were triumphant, some were not. Through all of them you have doubted yourself, you allowed doubt to rule over your life, to tarnish instead of polish, and in many times burn instead of build. Yet, within you lies a quest of your making, accept it. It is a mission left unfulfilled, a message yet to be delivered. You’ve lived so many days already and can’t choose what you would do with one. Just answer the question.”
Jamey: “Okay! I would wake up early and watch the sun rise, maybe write lyrics or play guitar until my children and my lady wake for the day, at which point I make breakfast for us all and then my love and I would take the children for a walk somewhere to, well, somewhere like here. I would enjoy every drop of my time with them; I would listen to the trees and crouch down upon the path to smell the fragrance of spring flowers, and to rejoice to yet again behold the feeling of rebirth that comes every spring, and to witness the emergence of life and the breaking of bud. I would listen to the children laughing and watch, with amusement, as they chase each other around the playground. When laughter turns to yawns, together, we would gather the children, take them home, provide for them, and then send them off for a quiet time, at which point she and I would steal a few private moments. Later, when they all have been settled for the night, I would indulge in a drink and smoke. Perhaps I would wander off into the night for a walk.”
Old Man: “Like tonight, you have walked right here to this bench? Why?”
Jamey: “I just need a minute is all. I’m supposed to be happy; I have it all. I’m supposed to feel connected to it all but sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I wonder about the other side, while fearing it. Sometimes I feel alone, even while surrounded.”
Old Man: “You have wandered out into the night and have sat upon this bench. Perhaps you didn’t know, but the appointment was marked all along. To feel alone while surrounded sounds like the most unfortunate of paths, for the pain is self-inflicted, as are the wounds; wounds left untreated to manifest into some ever-worsening existence, the whole time with fate on the other side of the door. I must say, it’s hard, even for me, to fathom how one could arrive at the gate without ever having witnessed the spectacular potential that comes with being alive, never reaches for the stars left to dangle in front of them, never wishes to cross the oceans set before them, or summit the mountains standing tall above them. When the inevitable arrives before possible, it is perhaps the cruelest irony, at least in the mind of the mortal. Yet to me there is no irony as I am indifferent, it is my task.
Jamey: “Your task?”
Old Man: “Yes.”
Jamey: “Okay stop that! Stop it all! This conversation is over! I must go! I have things to attend to! I have people counting on me and I must return home to rest and to get up and grind yet again with the coming of tomorrow. To love as much as I can, to feel the sun on my face, and wind through my hair. To watch my children, grow, to feel myself age, to learn the true depth of what it is to love. I wrote the letter but realized the recipient wasn’t real, realized that I had followed a mirage further from water. I have chased what was not there and now am left to wonder why. You asked what I would do with a day. I would grab it and hold onto it. I would enjoy the sun on my skin and not dwell of the sun set. I would allow myself to feel peace, for a day is so short a time. I would savor each breath and cherish each moment of joy. I would not question whether or not I would send the letter or not. I question whether I should have written it. I don’t know how it is that you know me, but I wish you would leave.”
Old Man: “An appointment is an appointment, Jamey.”
Jamey: “What the hell do you mean! I don’t even know your name! There was never an appointment.”
Old Man: “There is always an appointment, and you know me. You have always known and will meet me here again. The next time we meet there will be no reprieve. Now open your eyes!”
Jamey: “Just when will that be? My eyes are open.”
Old Man: “Open your eyes.”
Jamey: “They are open!”
Old Man: “Open…your eyes…”
Scene change:
At this point the Old Man gets up and fades away into the darkness. Jamey slid from the bench to the ground where he lies unconsciously.
Narrator: “The peace of the evening is broken by the sounds of sirens heading in the direction of the park. An officer on patrol, passing through, notices a man lying motionless next to a bench overlooking the water. At first it appears that another man sat on the bench over him but by the time the officer was able to point his mounted spotlight, only the motionless body of a man could be seen at the base of the bench.”
The police officer rushes to the body and begins life saving measures.
Police officer: “Open your eyes! Hello! Can you hear me? I need EMS to the city park, I have an unconscious male, not sure if he is even breathing. I’m trying to get a pulse! Okay, I have one, it’s extremely faint, yes! Affirmative! Send it now! Over here!“
Medics arriving on scene.
Medic: “What do we know?”
Police: “He was like this when I drove through on patrol. I thought I felt a pulse.”
Medic: “Starting compressions! Let’s get him loaded quickly!”
SCENE ENDS
