normalsville – season 01

episode 01 – secrets in the wind...

act 01 – stir crazy

It starts with the camera panned upon a city, slowly moving across the landscape.

Through the magic of sight, you can see that everything that a city needs is there. In the middle, there are gargantuan structures that attempt to pierce the sky with the important looking spikes that protrude from their tops. To the sides of these, are slowly sloping structures that go from big housing buildings that hold hundreds of mindless occupants, to malls, which flash and scream "BUY! BUY! BUY!", to all walks of houses and parks and other such necessities, which don't look important, nor scream, and so are easily forgotten, despite the fact that they themselves house the people that keep the city from being something less.

It's a nice establishing shot, but it doesn't advance the story any. So.

Zoom inwards. Fly between the impressively large buildings, swirl through a colorful array of cars, people, traffic lights, signs, vendors, animals, and on and on and on.

Now stop.

There's a building in front of you. It's not a very nice looking building, truth be told. But it's not absolutely horrible, either. It'll do. Hell, it'll have to, because our story begins here, on the seventh story, in an apartment just like all of the others below and above and around it.

A guy by the name of Taylor Mathew lives there. He moved there about five years ago, shortly after he graduated from high school in a small town in the middle of nowhere, and he has been happy ever since.

Or so he tells himself.

He comes careening out from the tiny little kitchen area in his apartment, into the center of the main room, perched upon a spinney seat with wheels. Pushing his socked feet on the floor, he gradually grinds to a halt about five feet from a large, faded white wall.

"So," he states calmly, leaning back in his chair, moving his arms to that they are behind his head, "We meet again, Mr. White."

The wall stares at him blankly.

"Ah. Still not talking, I see," he says to the wall pointedly. He leans forward menacingly and raises an eyebrow, "Well, we have ways of making you talk."

He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a slightly nubbed red crayon and holds it upright with three fingers.

"Do you see this crayon?" he asks, voice trembling with malicious intent, "I could have some kids to come over and draw all over you. And not in an organized fashion either. No pictures. Just the long, jagged, troubled scribbles of a toddler who will one day grow up to be the twitchy psycho running the Tilt-a-Whirl at the local fair. What do you say to that, Mr. White? Hmm?"

The wall doesn't even flinch.

Taylor scrunches his face in anger, snaps the crayon in half. He leans back into his chair, "So. You're one of these coy ones, eh? Think you're too good to break, do you? Well, let me tell you. My ways don't just stop at the crayons. Oh no, that's just the beginning. Next, I'll just leave you all alone so that your head can just... stew inside of itself, until you go stir crazy and start talking to inanimate objects, and then..."

He pauses for dramatic effect.

"Then you'll be ready to talk. Trust me."

The wall stews silently.

"That's right, you think about that," he says, grinning coyly.

He thinks he has the wall right where he wants it. Well, he knows he has the wall right where he wants it, because if it weren't there, he would be having some very awkward conversations with the next door neighbor, whose room bordered Mr. White, but in the same sense... the wall actually has Taylor right where it wants him: inside and alone. And crazy. So crazy that he actually talks to the wall, spilling his secrets of loneliness through accidental exchange.

It's sad, really.

But, it's the life Taylor chose.

See, he could've stayed back in the small town he had lived in. There, he had people. Friends... family... relationships... stability... sanity...

But it wasn't enough for him. It never was.

Taylor wanted the world, you see. And the world wasn't just going to come to him in little ol' Normalsville. He had to go to it.

And so he did.

He left behind his family. The mom and dad, he didn't really have a hard time saying good-bye too. As he had grown, he had become more distant from them, as all remotely normal people do, so there was no pain there. However, when it came to telling his brother he was leaving...

"Fuck you."

About five years ago.

Taylor had taken Jason for a ride around town (which didn't really require a car for the size of Normalsville), with the promise of a stop at Squeezies, home of the greatest burgers and shakes known to man. And yes, they had stopped there. But they were still out in the car, parked in the street.

Taylor blinked, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Jason growled, "Fuck you."

"Jason..."

"No, you can't just decide to leave! Fuck! What am I supposed to do if you leave?"

Taylor shrugged, "Get your own friends? Stop relying on me to bail you out every time someone tries to toss you in the garbage can and roll you down The Hill?"

"Fuck that!" Jason exclaimed angrily, "You have a good thing going here. You have friends... and, and a good job, and fuck, Jason, you have a girlfriend! What are you and Jessie going to do if you just leave?"

"Don't pretend like you care about how this is going to effect other people," Taylor retorted sharply, "I know you Jason. You're just pissed that you aren't going to be able to live on coast until you die. You're lazy, and you desperately need to get a life. Consider this a shove in the right direction."

"Consider this a shove right up you ass," Jason muttered coldly.

Taylor exhaled deeply.

"Look, Jason. I knew, that out of all the people I would tell this to, you were going to be the most difficult," Taylor told his brother, "Not because it would particularly hurt me the most, but because you'd be an asshole about it."

"I'm not being an asshole," Jason yelled, "I'm being perfectly reasonable. Why in the ass-fucking hell are you being so... so... fuck I don't know what you're being, but you better stop it."

Taylor shook his head and smiled a little.

"Listen," he said, "I'm going to go inside. I promised Jess that I'd meet her here today, and I'm going to tell her the same thing. That I'm leaving. And I'm not going to lie to you; it's going to hurt more than anything has ever hurt me before. But I'm still going to do it, because... if I don't... I won't even get the chance to live my life the way I want to, and... I don't think I'd be able to be happy here if I didn't at least try."

Jason continued to look grumpy and defiant.

"So. You are welcome to sit in my car and piss your last few days with me away, or you can come inside with me and have a burger and shake and deal with it. Because like it or not... it's going to happen."

Jason continued to say nothing.

"What's it going to be?"

A few more moments of hateful silence.

"You know, you're going to break that poor girl's fuckin' heart," he told Taylor.

Taylor sighed.

"I know..." he muttered, "But... it's... it's not fair to her if I stay either."

"And how do you figure that?" Jason asked.

Taylor shook his head, "It's just not."

"Oh... kay," Jason muttered, "So. You're going to break the poor girl's heart."

"Yeah."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

A pause in conversation.

"Well. I wouldn't miss that for the world," he said, half smiling with a mix of morose pressure and sincere masked pain, "Let's go in."

Yeah. Needless to say, that wasn't the most gratifying moment in Taylor's existence. But that was just the start of the good-byes for him, and the toughest was before him.

Jessie.

He looks up at the wall.

"So. Just a question. I know you might not want to answer, what with me interrogating you and all, but... have you ever actually told the your entire world to fuck itself and choose to go off somewhere, all alone and everything?" he asks.

The wall gives him a look.

"Oh right. I forgot about the whole... not being able to move thing," he mutters, "Sorry. But wait, wait. You know what it's like to be alone, right? Like way back when, before I got here, and the apartment was empty? You remember that right? What was that like for you? Bet you wish you had some company, right?"

The wall doesn't reply.

"I can tell you did. I can see it written all over your blank expression," Taylor points with his right index finger, "So. You know how I feel now, right? You can appreciate the whole... empty inside, wondering if I made the biggest mistake in the world kind of feeling that I'm feeling right now?"

The wall continues it's silent treatment.

"Oh what. What it the torture?" Taylor asks, "Is that why you won't talk? Listen, I didn't mean anything by it. I think you're a nice guy and everything. I was just bored, okay? I needed something to do. And so yeah, maybe I could've gotten my jollies in a way different from teasing you with crayons and children, but... I'm not that smart a person, okay? So... please... stop with the cold shoulder and just... talk to me."

Nothing.

"Please?"

The wall ponders for a moment. Then, it begins to make slow, rhythmic creaking sounds that gradually increase in speed and ferocity.

Taylor twists his face into a look of disgust and dismay, "Oh, yuck! UGH! That's disgusting, you insensitive jerk!"

He pushes off the ground once again ("I can't even be around you anymore..."), this time flying through the open doorway that leads to his bedroom, plowing into the side of his bed.

"Uft," he exhales, as the wheels beneath him lift slightly on one side, before (thankfully) returning to their grounded position.

"Jeeze. Hit hard enough?" he asks the bed.

The bed just sits there, looking overly cushiony and very comfortable.

'Ah, you're right," he smiles, "I can't stay mad at you, you ol' softy."

He pushes himself up from the chair and flops his body face down on the mattress and comforter.

"You know something? You're a much better friend than that punk wall, Mr. White," he tells the bed, "Turn my back for one minute, and he starts screwing around."

He sighs and turns his face to look at his bedside table. There is a phone sitting there, and it is... there is something strange about it almost. It's almost as if... the phone is at peace with itself, perfectly content in its dormant state.

It looks happy, almost. Happy. And cocky. That can't be tolerated.

Obviously it needs to be disturbed.

"Heh," he laughs to himself, "God, I am going crazy."

He rolls over on the bed and bumps into the wall. Sticking his hand up, he grabs the lever that sticks out a couple feet about his head and pulled. The window opens, and a cool, drafty breeze swirls into the room. It's nice.

"I wonder if she'll phone me tonight," he breathes into the air.

The words fly into the breeze and blow away...

end act 01