Jewels Turned To Clay

EXT. BUS STOP - NIGHT

Black empty parking lot. Two street lights shine orang-ish, one flickers now and then. An OLD WOMAN sits at the bus stop. A pile of carefully wrapped gift boxes lay around her. She stares at the light...her eyes are heavy.

A FIGURE emerges from the dark, walking towards her. The footsteps are heavy.

 FIGURE: Just make it easy on me. 

OLD WOMAN looks up, slowly.

FIGURE: C'mon. C'mon, let's make it easy. I'm tired. You're tired. Fuck, you out here sitting at Walmart. Old as hell.

OLD WOMAN starts to laugh.

FIGURE: Alright, let's just make it easy, gimme all that shit.

FIGURE nods towards the pile and half heartedly raises their shirt to show a gun at the belt. It's an empty threat.

OLD WOMAN smiles.

OLD WOMAN: I'm immune to that. I'm immune to that. Vaccines, STD's, death, peanut allergies, sunsets, gag reflex, scissor blades. If they can't get me, no one can. Oh and medical care. I'm immune to that too.

FIGURE: Bullshit

OLD WOMAN: Nope, I'm immune to that too. Good bye.

FIGURE stands awkwardly, unsure for a moment.

OLD WOMAN reaches into her fanny pack and retrieves a cigarette.

FIGURE: Yo, gimme that. Don't be weird. I'm tired.

OLD WOMAN hands him the cigarette and pulls out a lighter. She insists on lighting it for him.

FIGURE: I hope I never get to that type of old where I'm all disturbing and weird and shit. Old people be making people uncomfortable for no reason. What is it, bro, crack? Meth? Everything? All at once? One at a time? Taking turns, like, equally? Or less, like evenly dispersed? Every which way or just to the side like sideways like you gotta be high, which way is it? Longways?

OLD WOMAN: Just waiting. Just waiting, that's all.

FIGURE: The bus doesn't come. You're wasting your time and bein' all reckless, like, putting yourself in compromising positions, y'know? Just asking to get robbed.

OLD WOMAN: Bus?

OLD WOMAN slowly looks around and discovers where she is. A bus stop. She seems confused.

OLD WOMAN: No, no...no. I'm just waiting. I don't need a bus. You're easily disturbed, I'm just waiting.

FIGURE: For?

OLD WOMAN: You wouldn't remember. Not about all that.

OLD WOMAN reaches for the cigarette and FIGURE hands it to her. She smokes. FIGURE sits, clearly exhausted.

FIGURE: You got a lot to say about nothing and you ain't got shit to wait for. Old as hell. Only thing you immune to is fertility.

OLD WOMAN: Ribbons, whips, uncertain meaning, shells. And train stations. They're wrong every time. I'm immune to all those too...oh now, what did you say?

FIGURE: Nothing

OLD WOMAN: Waiting! Oh, yes...waiting. I've got plenty to wait for. But it's like train stations. It's all the same.

FIGURE: What is?

OLD WOMAN: Wrong every time, and all it takes is one time, you know, then it's done for. Then there's that other time, but that's no big deal til you get to that one other time that's after or before. Then you're screwed. Then what? Huh? Then you walk around parking lots stealing from old people, or then you wait around on a bus stop but you're not waiting for a bus. Where's the fun in that? At least I wait for things that take time, real time, not like bus time. Once I waited so long all the jewels in my throat was turned to clay.

FIGURE: Ew

OLD WOMAN nods her head

OLD WOMAN: Ew

They sit in silence for a few minutes, both staring ahead. FIGURE smushes the cigarette butt with his toe once it goes out. OLD WOMAN searches for another, hands it to FIGURE, and again insists on lighting it.

OLD WOMAN: It's all about the wait. You wouldn't remember, see, I told you. You don't know about storms, bad weather, panic, slithers, all slithering in your bed, all panicky. Scary. I told you, you'd forget it, but you gotta know it to forget it. You don't know about...See, see, I hold on fast, see I didn't budge. Held on fast and didn't budge, that's how it's done.

FIGURE: You don't know me like that. I been waiting for you to stop talking. So.

OLD WOMAN: See that?

OLD WOMAN points to a flat rooftop.

OLD WOMAN: It's a flat rooftop. That's all it is. Waiting just like me. Not telling you what though. I'm immune to that uncertain meaning.

FIGURE: You wish.

OLD WOMAN: Don't we all.

FIGURE laughs without humor. FIGURE stands up, tosses cigarette to the ground and turns to leave.

OLD WOMAN: I hate train stations. Always get it wrong. Fate...destiny...in some sort of, some sort of evil aspect.

FIGURE: Go to bed.

FIGURE exits. The heavy footsteps echo for a while. Then silence.

OLD WOMAN waits for something. Not sure what.