Play #11, 1/10/21 © 2021, Lucinda McDermott

4 things: a rose, urn of ashes, spatula, waffles

Event:  Someone has died

Location: Shore of a lake

Characters: 2 brothers; SMITH and FLINT, in their 50’s, unmarried.

At rise: A lake shore. The brothers stand at the water’s edge in suits. It is uncomfortable. SMITH has the Covid hair, beard, and holds an urn.

FLINT:   Like glass.

SMITH:  Not a ripple.

FLINT:   Mama always loved it when it was like this. Well, little bro, no time like the present.

SMITH:  No, sir.  [FLINT reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small child’s inflatable float. He blows it up.]

FLINT:   Let’s see if it’s gonna fit first. [SMITH places urn in float.]

SMITH:  Aw, look at that, Flint. Like it was made for Mama!

FLINT:  I like the color. That rose pink she/

FLINT and SMITH: /absolutely loved.

SMITH:  You got some string?

FLINT:   Oh, yeah. Always. [Reaches in another pocket for string.]

SMITH:  You can tie it right there. You got Daddy’s spatula?

FLINT:  Aw, shit. That’s what I forgot.

SMITH:  Flint!

FLINT:  C’mon now, Smith, don’t do me like that, I can’t remember everything on top of grievin’!

SMITH:  Where is it?

FLINT:  Let me think. Oh. . . yep. Breakfast. I was makin’ waffled you wanted an egg, and the only thing I could find to flip it with was the golden spatula.

SMITH:  Now it’s my fault for wantin’ an egg.

FLINT:  Look at us—we’re sending our Mama off and here we are a’ arguin’.

SMITH:  She’d knock us both upside our heads. Well, c’mon, let’s send her off for a little float. Then we’ll head on to the cemetery. We can place the Golden Spatula on the grave.

FLINT:   Between her and Daddy. I like that, brother. [Both men squat and as they go to give a little push, blackout.]