Ricky, 24
The 19th Letter
New York
FADE IN:
INT. Richard’s flat – Day
Protagonist RICHARD sits on a grubby couch, centre shot, still and alone. The buzz of the city vibrates the windows.
RICHARD
I’m not leaving this couch today
What a damn mess. The apartment was a shithole. Tim was supposed to clean up like he promised but as usual, he let it slide. Not that I’m much better. I let myself go after losing my job last month. I stank, the couch stank, the carpet stank, not that the carpet was in sight.
“Rick my man; we’re getting some more food, you in?” my roommate Nathan yelled.
“I’m good thanks, you need money?” I said.
“We’re good” Thank Jesus, cause’ I didn’t have any money. “Chip and I are gonna go now, so catch you later? Oh, and there’s mail for you here.” Nathan said squinting his eyes and looking for the envelope. He really needed glasses, but he never admitted it. He thought that he’d look silly; even though I guaranteed him he looks sillier with that squint.
“While I’m out I’ll check on your bets and see if you won anything.” He said. I honestly don’t know what I would do without Nathan. He’s the only one that let me move in when I decided to reject my parent’s money, fly the nest and deny anyone control over my life but me. Great job I’m doing.
“Hey, Rick, maybe you better give your Dad a call or something?” I looked at him puzzled and he hesitated.
“What for? If he cares about his troublesome son so much he can come find me. And I pray to God he doesn’t care cause’ I don’t want to see him! And don’t go playing happy families and try and sort shit out behind my back alright?”
“Okay, Okay, just a suggestion” Nathan pulled out a yellow envelope from the pile and chucked it my way. It landed at my feet that were flung on the coffee table. Nathan loitered by the door, eyes to the ground, and I clenched my jaw. He quickly said, “cause’ he will want to talk to you at some point.”
He took the sense to leave that second before I had the chance to yell at him. To tell him to get the hell out of my business and stop talking to my poisonous father. To be honest I don’t think I had the energy. Instead I was left on my own. Sitting on the couch as I heard the door shut and the apartment went silent.
If we had a clock I would probably have heard it tick
And tock.
And tick.
But we didn’t.
Instead I heard the constant beeping of cabs outside. I saw the bleak view of glass building blocks, partially blocked by bird shit on our window. I smelt the stale cheesy odour of the flavoured chips I’d been eating, or perhaps it was from my feet.
The TV remote sat on the coffee table, about two feet away. Too far away. We were behind on the bills, so hey, I’m saving electricity, I mused. Though this meant I was left alone with my own thoughts.
The harsh words from earlier that day swam in my head like the aftermath of a natural disaster. Like the protagonists’ flashbacks in a film, where the camera continues to zoom into his pain-stricken eyes.
An older man appears like a mirage. His face pale, his eyes narrow. Zoom in.
DAD
You have a choice son. I will always give you a choice to make.
I felt myself sink further into the couch and a sudden need for food arose. I hated how much weight I’d gained recently. I should cut down, eat less crap.
Fuck it. I need doughnuts. What can I say? There was a void that needed to be filled, and food did the job. What I really needed was to have a car so that I could go for a nice, long, fast drive. God how I missed driving. Since leaving home I lost the use of Dad’s Porsche. I lost a lot of things.
I looked to the yellow envelope still at my feet. It was probably just a bill. Or something else to add to the ever-growing throbbing in my head. The screeching and beeping of cabs on the streets didn’t help, let alone some creep screaming ‘the end is nigh’. If only dude. If only.
Protagonist gets off the couch leaving the envelope and rushes about the corridor. He searches the kitchen cabinets for aspirin. Close-up of a pack of 20. With no hesitation he rips open the packet and takes them all washing them down with water. A few seconds pass, he staggers. He goes to bed.
-
Protagonist gets off the couch to grab the knife at the end of the coffee table. He sits back down and puts the knife to his wrist. He pushes the knife down vertically. His breathing quickens. Close-up of blood trickling down his arm. Bright red drops appear on his trousers and the floor. His breathing quickens further and the blood spurts out in a mass, the pool beneath him growing. Roommate walks through the door.
NATHAN
We forgot the lousy list- Dude!
What the hell do you think you’re doing!? Richard? Richard!
Blood everywhere. They both cry.
-
Protagonist gets off the couch and heads to the front door to grab the phone. The other end rings 3 times before it’s picked up.
DAD
Hello?
Protagonist hesitates, with sweaty palms and teary eyes.
RICHARD
W-why? Why wasn’t I good enough? Why?
DAD
Son-
RICHARD
No, you know what? You’re a fucking asshole. There I said it.
A gun suddenly appears in Richard’s free hand. He lifts it to his head. Muffled mutters are heard from the receiver. Perhaps shouting. Richard shoots the gun and falls to the floor.
DAD
Son? Son!
Of course, I never really left the couch. I do this a lot. Fantasise as if my life were a Hollywood movie. Although a shrink would tell me it was unhealthy, I’m sure it’s the only thing that keeps me sane. Fantasy is better than reality.
I had thought about those scenarios a lot, all varying in different details. But they all ended in my inevitable death. I know I know, it’s gross and morbid, but I can’t help it. Sometimes I want to die and that’s just that. I’d never do anything of real consequence, I wouldn’t have the courage. All I knew was that my life was going nowhere. I’d lost my job working in a fucking movie store. I had been there for the last two years. Two years of saying I was going to be ‘the next big name in show business’, ‘the next world-renowned movie critic or director’.
I looked down once again at the yellow envelope I had failed to reach for - my recent, rotund belly had gotten in the way. I braced myself by shoving a mouthful of chips in my mouth, as much as would go in; grabbed the envelope; opened it; started reading, and the sickness in my head disappeared.
I read over the words over and over.
I will never look at stars in the same way, ever again...
Michelle Kinfield.
My Shell.
Writing to this girl had brought things out in me that I would never expect. I’d never been a pen pal. Well that’s lie. My cousin moved to Australia when I was ten so our parents got my brother and I to become pen pals but that dwindled out into birthday cards and Christmas cards, the usual.
…if we ever lose touch
That thought was like a knife to the chest. I reminisced the wild parties. Swimming in the out-of-bounds moonlit pool. Getting chased by the security guard. Exploring spice markets. Her naked body shining in the light of the stars.
She was real. More real than anyone I’ve ever known. I felt like I was actually talking to someone, properly for the first time in a long time. It wasn’t just because she wrote with English charm and used smart words or anything. It was just her. I could hear her voice in her writing, I could see her face in the exclamation marks, I could feel her heartbeat in her childhood stories.
But I had been so fake. Half the man I was two years ago. I flaunted my no longer existent wealth. Talked about flashy cars that weren’t mine. I hid my family feuds behind dreams that I didn’t even believe in anymore. I guess, I just wanted a world where someone believed in me, and she probably wouldn’t if she knew the truth. But she deserved to.
For the first time in two days I really did get off that shitty couch and searched the entire apartment for a pen and paper. Even the printer was busted. My legs ached, and my body felt stiff, but it was a relief to finally move.
Dear Shell,
You have no idea how much I needed that letter. Things have been a bit rough… I
I felt a lump in my throat. The pain from the last few weeks, the things that I had been trying to block out my mind came seeping through in flashes.
Montage of heads and voices swirling around RICHARD.
NATHAN
You still owe me a car dude
DAD
You either work with me and take my orders or leave boy
MOM
Just work for your father honey, you love astronomy.
BOSS
I’m sorry Mr Lakes but we’re going to have to let you go
NATHAN
Have you got any cash for the electric Ricardo, it’s just you still owe me?
MALCOLM
Maybe you need help Bro
MOM
Why don’t you try and be more like your Brother?
DAD
You have a choice son. I will always give you a choice to make
“Fuck off!” I said out loud.
My hand was shaking, so I put the pen down and took deep breaths.
The truth is, I don’t want to get up in the morning, I don’t want to clean this apartment; I don’t want to clean myself; I don’t want to get another job. Yet I can’t be alone with my own thoughts either. I’ll die. I just want to watch TV, with a beer, and sleep. And sometimes, I don’t even have the energy to do that. Just sleep. And not the shitty sleep that I’ve been getting lately, you know real sleep. So deep I might remember what I’ve been dreaming. Or you know what, so deep that I might not have to wake up. The first time that I had felt anything other than bitterness was when I looked at Shell’s letter.
I picked up the pen and kept on writing. And for once it wasn’t too charming, too flirty, too dramatic or too smooth. I threw away the persona I had been pretending to be the last two years. It was just me, and I poured my heart out. With no regret.
I dropped the pen and typed away at my crappy computer and looked up plane tickets online and sighed. The idea in my head was crazy, especially since I didn’t have the money.
At times like this, when I got high on a crazy idea, my father’s voice would come crawling into the back of my mind.
‘You have a choice son.’
I sighed again and looked at my letter. The lump in my throat not budging. I was just signing my name when the door swung open and Nathan came rushing through it, gasping for air.
“You did it again! I knew you would you son of a God!”
“What?”
“You know we passed out last night and didn’t finish watching the Academy Awards?”
“Yeah”
“You won. All of them. You predicted every single fucking winner!” He jumped on me, grabbing at my head to kiss it while the other guys stared at me with huge smiles.
“You’re kidding! Every single one?” I looked at the long column of bets I put on, a tradition I had taken to doing every single year. My eyes gleamed over each red tick. I’d gone from wallowing in my own filth to cloud 9 in the matter of minutes. “How much did I win?”
“Only 500 dollars!”
500 dollars. I had enough to go to England.
I packed what I could into a suitcase and left the apartment without turning back. It was time to make my choice. I closed the door, leaving that letter that I had just written, behind.
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