Stephen Metcalfe - Writer & Director

Wrirte Me Letters had its world premiere at The Old Globe Theatre in San Diego in 1992. It was written as a companion piece to the one act play, Pilgrims. It is availabe from the author.

WRITE ME LETTERS

(IT IS NOVEMBER, 2006. A HIGH SCHOOL CLASSROOM. DESKS. BLACKBOARD. A TEACHER'S DESK FRONT AND OFF TO THE SIDE.
IT'S LATE AFTERNOON. FAR DOWN THE HALL, A BELL RINGS.
JILLY O'BRIEN IS SITTING IN ONE OF THE FRONT DESKS, BOOKS IN FRONT OF HER. SHE LOOKS PALE, ALMOST FRIGHTENED. SOMEWHERE DOWN THE HALL A BELL RINGS.
SHE LOOKS UP AS A TEACHER, EDWARD COOK, ENTERS THE ROOM. HE STOPS, ALMOST SURPRISED TO SEE HER. SHE LOOKS AWAY, SEEMINGLY EMBARRASSED. HE STARES AT HER A MOMENT. HE MOVES TO THE DESK. THERE'S A PIECE OF PAPER ON IT. HE PICKS IT UP, LOOKS AT IT, PUTS IT DOWN. HE STARES AT JILLY FOR A MOMENT. SHE'S STARING AT THE DESK TOP.
COOK
Miss O'Brien -

JILLY
Yes!?
COOK
(a beat; amused)
I'm surprised to find you here.
JILLY
I'm... surprised to find myself here, Mr. Cook...
(a murmur)
...actually.
(COOK TAKES SOME BOOKS OUT OF HIS BRIEFCASE. JILLY WANTS TO SAY SOMETHING. ALMOST DOES. SHE THINKS BETTER OF IT. SHE RAISES HER HAND. RAISES IT HIGHER. HIGHER STILL. COOK FINALLY LOOKS UP. HE ALMOST SMILES.)
COOK
Yes?
JILLY
Mr. Cook? Is there anything I'm supposed to do?
COOK
Like what, bang out license plates?
JILLY
What?
COOK
That's what prisoners do in prison. They make license plates.
JILLY
Okay.
COOK
That was a joke, Miss O'Brien. I was making a joke. This isn't a prison. By the way, you don't have to raise your hand to speak. Not with me.
JILLY
Okay.
(COOK GLANCES AT HIS WATCH. HE MOVES TO THE DOOR, LOOKS OUT INTO THE HALL.)
JILLY
Mr. Cook?
COOK
Yes?
JILLY
What do I do.
COOK
Study. Read. Pick your nose. Surreptitiously of course.
JILLY
That's my punishment? Reading?
COOK
For a majority of students, Miss O'Brien, it's torture.
(COOK MOVES TO THE DOOR AGAIN, LOOKS OUT IN THE HALL)
COOK
(calling out)
Let's move it, Mr. Hackett. Three o'clock bell should be ringing just about...
(HE LOOKS AT HIS WATCH AS DAN HACKETT HURRIES IN. HACKETT IS ATHLETIC LOOKING, RELATIVELY CLEAN CUT.)
COOK
...now.
(SOMEWHERE DOWN THE HALL A BELL RINGS.)
COOK
Almost late, Mr. Hackett.
HACKETT
(out of breath)
My locker jammed. Then I had to drop some stuff off in my car.
COOK
Take a seat.
HACKETT
Mr. Cook? I was wondering. I'm missing football practice cause of this. And the homecoming game's a week from Thursday. So I was wondering. Can you let me go early? I think it would mean a lot to everyone involved.
COOK
Everyone?
HACKETT
Everyone on the football team.
COOK
What are you here for, Mr. Hackett?
HACKETT
I was late for second period. It wasn't my fault. My locker jammed. And I had to get some stuff from my car.
COOK
Take a seat, I'll think about.
HACKETT
I'd really appreciate it, Mr. Cook. As would the rest of the guys.
COOK
Guys?
HACKETT
On the team.
COOK
Mr. Hackett.
HACKETT
I can go?
COOK
You can sit.
(HACKETT TAKES A SEAT. HE HARDLY GLANCES AT JILLY. MR. COOK MOVES TO THE DESK, PICKS UP THE SHEET OF PAPER.)
COOK
Well... I don't suppose anyone has seen Frank D'Angelo?
HACKETT
(startled)
D'Angelo's here?
COOK
Excuse me?
HACKETT
D'Angelo has detention today?
COOK
It is my understanding that Mr. D'Angelo has detention every day. Have you seen him?
HACKETT
No!
COOK
Would you both excuse me for a moment, please.
HACKETT
You're gonna leave us?
COOK
I thought I might.
HACKETT
By ourselves?
COOK
Is there a problem, Mr. Hackett?
HACKETT
No... you're not going far, are you?
COOK
Define far.
HACKETT
Uh... beyond the sound of my voice?
COOK
Do some homework, Mr. Hackett. I'll be right back.
(HE EXITS. SILENCE.)
HACKETT
Shit. I'm dead, I'm dead.
(a moment)
What are you looking at?
JILLY
Nothing.
HACKETT
Mind your own business.
JILLY
Sorry.
HACKETT
My ass.
(pause)
Shit.
(pause)
I gotta get out of here.
(HE STARTS FOR THE DOOR. COOK ENTERS. HE CLOSES THE DOOR BEHIND HIM.)
COOK
Going someplace, Mr. Hackett?
HACKETT
No! Yes. I... Mr. Cook, I got football practice.
COOK
Should have thought of that before second period.
HACKETT
But the homecoming game's next Thursday.
COOK
It is now five after three, at quarter to four if all goes well, you can go to football practice, until then, sit down.
HACKETT
But it wasn't my fault. I was five minutes late. Not even. Miss Stegerwald's got this weird thing about attendance.
COOK
Mr. Hackett, another word and you'll be sitting here every day this week.
(HACKETT RELUCTANTLY SITS)
HACKETT
If... if I don't start next Thursday you better believe you'll be hearing from my Dad. And he's tight with the president of the school board.
COOK
Are you threatening me, Mr. Hackett?
HACKETT
If the shoe fits.
COOK
Keep talking Mr. Hackett. Maybe you can insert the shoe a little deeper.
(and then:)
Let's do some work, people.
(COOK SITS. PICKS UP ONE OF SEVERAL COPIES OF THE YALE SHAKESPEARE. HE BEGINS TO READ. SILENCE. AND SUDDENLY THERE'S A LIGHT RAPPING ON THE DOOR. A MOMENT. ANOTHER; SHAVE AND A HAIRCUT - TWO BITS. MR. COOK RISES, OPENS THE DOOR. FRANK D'ANGELO ENTERS. HE'S CARRYING A CAN OF COKE AND A COMIC BOOK.)
D'ANGELO
Hey, Mr. Cook! What, you got detention too?
COOK
In a manner of speaking. You're late, Mr. D'Angelo.
D'ANGELO
You want I should leave and return tomorrow?
COOK
Better late then never. If you please.
(HE HOLDS OUT A HAND FOR THE CAN OF COKE.)
D'ANGELO
Aw, that's nice of you.
(D'ANGELO FINISHES THE LAST GULP AND HANDS THE EMPTY CAN TO COOK.)
D'ANGELO
Keep the deposit.