Intermission » This is not a play for many reasons

This is not a play for many reasons

October 12th, 2006

AT RISE:
It’s yesterday. I’m in the dining room, on the phone, talking to a Great Friend. The doorbell rings.
ME
Hang on, UPS is here.
Opening the door, my skin shivers as I see three SWAT guys holding AK-somethings.
SWAT GUY
Ma’am, we need access to your backyard.
I step aside, and, voiceless, motion them through to the back of the house.
ME
There are cops with guns here. I’ll call you back.
I hang up the phone, and take my dog upstairs and lock her safely in the bedroom. From the window, I see dozens of SWAT guys with AK-whatevers, positioning themselves around a house catty-corner to mine. I return downstairs, as the three SWAT guys tromp back out the front door.
SWAT GUY
Thank you, we’re fine.

This is not a play, p.2
They exit. I return upstairs, to let the dog out and watch a SWAT conference in my next door neighbor’s yard, down below. The doorbell rings again. I retrieve the dog again. One single SWAT guy holding an AK-whatever stands on my front porch.
LONE SWAT GUY
Did anyone tell you what’s going on?
ME
(shaking head ‘no’)
LONE SWAT GUY
There was a shooting in Bay View, and we tracked the shooter to a house behind you.
ME
Thanks for telling me.
Lone Swat Guy walks through my house, out onto the deck, and into the backyard. I dial my Beloved at work. As she answers, the doorbell rings. Panicked, I only say one thing.
ME
I have to call you back.
UNIFORMED COP
We’re evacuating you and your neighbors.
I grab my cell phone, wallet, a small notepad, keys, and my dog. My pen is already around my neck. It hangs on a chain. The four other writers in our little enclave, working at home, are also ‘evactuated to street level.’

This is not a play, p.3
FAVORITE NEIGHBOR
I head the dogs barking and the shouting, but I assumed it was the construction guys.
ME
The guy got into the house with the pit bulls in the yard?
Over the next couple of hours, one by one, my writer neighbors leave to run errands and wait the siege out elsewhere. My sweet dog helps ease me into conversations with cops. A couple of animal control officers show up to check on the pit bulls. They cannot get to the dogs without getting in between guns, so they wait along with me for the all clear.
The ordeal lasts over five hours. I cannot leave, and wonder why the other writers complain about the inconvenience. For one writer, this event is old hat to him. He’s a former Special Forces type of guy. I wonder about the other writers who leave. I wonder why I don’t, and why I don’t take my normal walk down to the cafe. I cannot leave. I am obsessed with people’s behavior. I observe my neighbors, the cops, the animal control people, and my own behavior, reactions and thoughts.

This is not a play, p.4
My dog gets treats, water, and I’m offered, but decline, a hot dog. A cop shows me a photo of his ever-so-pregnant wife posing with their cute labrador retriever.
No one wants to tell me why the Bomb Sqaud is parked at the corner.
A loud POP occurs when a smoke bomb is fired into our neighbor’s house, exploding their windows, trying to drive the shooter out.
More time passes, as the cops search the house. The four o’clock wind has risen up, and it’s getting cold. They do not find the shooter. They search more houses. A cop walks through mine.
COP
All clear.
Me and the dog are allowed back inside. The Beloved, who has natural dramatic timing, arrives home five minutes later. The dog and I are exhausted and soon are asleep.
These are the basic events.
It’s the behavior observe, which I will use in a myriad of ways down the road.
I observe behavior. This, I often think, is what makes me a playwright.

Posted in Process