Imaginary: A One-Act Dialogue

Philadelphia in the fall. Leaves litter the sidewalk.

Two men, WILLIAM and BRENT, are sitting on a stoop in front of a rowhome. They are drinking bottled beer. WILLIAM is wearing a light jacket and corduroys, and sits leaning forward, hugging his knees. BRENT is wearing a long white T-shirt under a graphic one, jeans, and a Russian bomber hat. He is slouched away from the street, his legs stretched far away from his elbows.

WILLIAM: When did it get cold? I feel like it was warm yesterday.

BRENT: Today. If it was warm yesterday, and cold today, then it got cold...

WILLIAM: Yes, I get it. Thank you. I'm sorry about the small chat.

BRENT: I didn't mean to offend you. I was only playing. It's definitely colder today though. (BRENT rubs his arms, then puffs into his hands.) Better?

WILLIAM: Much.

BRENT: Small chat. It seems redundant. Are there lofty chats? Esoteric chats?

WILLIAM: Just having a chat about genocide. Chit chatting with Susie about welfare.

BRENT: (Laughs) Aren't chits little paper punches? Chats. Is that French for cat, or from chattering teeth, or chattel?

WILLIAM: I'm not sure. We like that sound though. Chit chat. Tit for tat.

BRENT: Kit Kat.

WILLIAM: Knick knack.

BRENT: Riff raff.

WILLIAM: Jibber jabber.

BRENT: Pitter patter.

WILLIAM: Ticky tack.

BRENT: Wishy washy.

WILLIAM: Splish splash.

BRENT: (Pauses) Dammit.

WILLIAM reaches into a book bag, and he pulls out another beer. He motions to BRENT, who shakes his head.

WILLIAM: So I have an idea.

BRENT: What an odd expression.

WILLIAM: What do you mean?

BRENT: How can you have an idea? It implies that you own it. Or you’re holding it.

WILLIAM: Good point. And it’s just an idea. It’s not even a concrete thing. It’s ethereal at best. An idea isn’t much until an action.

BRENT: I’m all out of ideas.

WILLIAM: Brent, your well has dried up. You had ideas, and now you’re all out. Nothing in the back either. Nothing in stock.

BRENT: Sorry, I sidetracked you. Your idea?

WILLIAM: Yes, my idea. You didn’t really sidetrack it. I was thinking about something similar. It's a question.

BRENT: By all means, ask it.

WILLIAM: How do I word it... (Pauses, sips beer) Okay. Why do you think it feels so wrong to imagine?

BRENT: Don’t ask me, I’m not even real.

WILLIAM: What do you mean?

BRENT: I’m not real. I’m a figment of your imagination. I’m an imaginary friend in your head, William.

WILLIAM: Oh, yeah. I forgot.

A WOMAN walking a dog enters from stage left. She stops and checks her cell phone. BRENT gets up and walks inside the house. The WOMAN moves toward stage right. WILLIAM watches, and struggles as if he wants to say something. He doesn’t. After the WOMAN exits, BRENT returns to the stoop.

BRENT: Did I miss anything?

WILLIAM: Just the girl from down the street.

BRENT: Still working on a line?

WILLIAM: Yeah.

BRENT: It'll happen. But maybe you need less of a line and more of a hello.

WILLIAM: See? That's why it's good to have you around.

BRENT: I didn’t say anything you already didn’t know.

WILLIAM: I’m not sure. I feel like you do the opposite. You say things I might not have come up with on my own.

BRENT takes off his bomber hat and scratches his head. He has hat head.

BRENT: Itchy.

WILLIAM: You have been wearing the same clothes for 25 years.

BRENT: It’s okay. Maybe you can imagine me taking a shower.

WILLIAM winces.

BRENT: You know what I mean. Spruce me up a bit for once.

WILLIAM: I want to go back.

BRENT: Me too. I could have worded that so much better.

WILLIAM: No, to the question. Is it so wrong to imagine? Because it feels like you get punished for it. It seems like I'd be better off if I could put my head down and never imagine again.

BRENT: That's silly.

WILLIAM: Why is it silly?

BRENT: You're basically asking whether it would be better to be a caveman or you. Of course it would be better to be you.

WILLIAM: But you get nothing for thinking about possibilities. It only creates friction. You could glide along so much easier if you were simply accepting of the way things are.

BRENT: Maybe. But that’s resignation. Or denial. Think about where you sit.

WILLIAM: Hm. I’m on a stoop.

BRENT: Talking to a hallucination.

WILLIAM: Mom would be proud.

BRENT: She’s a nice lady. But she'd also be right.

WILLIAM: I guess I see what you mean. It's the thinkers' dilemma. You learn and imagine, and after a while, you become nostalgic for simpler times.

BRENT: Exactly. Remember fourth grade, it was so much better than stupid fifth grade.

WILLIAM: My last job wasn't so bad, after seeing my new job. Or that movie I loved is dumb now. The remake was better.

BRENT: You’re only able to compare because you know about both sides.

WILLIAM: Yeah.

BRENT stands up, stretches, and pats his stomach.

WILLIAM: Going somewhere?

BRENT: Just thought I’d stand up.

BRENT looks to stage right, and claps his hands. He grabs his beer and the bookbag.

BRENT: I’ll get a few more.

WILLIAM: If that’s possible.

BRENT: You’re so cynical sometimes. Try maybe. Maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’s going to be just fine. Maybe I’ll come back with beer. Maybe your imaginings will matter one day.

WILLIAM: Maybe.

BRENT: There you go.

BRENT walks downstage, down the steps to the sidewalk, where he removes his bomber hat and places it on the ground. WILLIAM watches him, puzzled.

BRENT: (Shrugs at WILLIAM) An experiment.

BRENT jogs back up the steps. When he reaches WILLIAM, he grabs the beer out of his hand and pats him on the shoulder.

BRENT: Let’s hear it, Will, one more time.

WILLIAM: (Smiles) Maybe.

BRENT exits through the door upstage. A few moments later, the WOMAN re-enters from stage right with her dog. She stops at the bomber hat, eyes it for a moment, then picks the hat up.

WOMAN: Is this your hat?

BLACKOUT