Flight

A screenplay.

 ACT ONE

Scene 1

AT RISE:  Lights slowly come up to the interior of an operating room. JAKE is laying on an operating table dressed in scrubs. As the lights grow brighter, a MAN dressed in black emerges. He is resolute. JAKE comes to and begins to sit up, stopping to take note of the MAN.

JAKE

I guess you’re here to tell me the operation went well.

MAN

Does the bird tire of flight, Mr. Boyd?

JAKE

Excuse me? 

MAN

I said, does the bird tire of flight?

JAKE

You mean there’s a bird in the operating room?

MAN

Not necessarily, but wouldn’t it be magical if there was.

JAKE

Who are you?

MAN

I am neither here nor there, what you must focus on is whether the bird tires of flight. It is a simple question, so answer it.

JAKE

I want answers first.

MAN

Do you want answers? Then start thinking, Mr. Boyd.

JAKE

Tell me who you are—wait, where are the doctors.

MAN

Mr. Boyd, you have very limited time. I suggest you conjure up that useless degree you received from your junior college and find out, quite simply, whether the bird tires of flight.

JAKE

JAKE stands up and gazes at the MAN. He keeps his distance.

How do you know who am I? How did you even get in here? You’re not supposed to be here.

JAKE eyes the small table where surgical tools are being held. There is a scalpel.

MAN

You seem to be asking the wrong questions, answering nothing, and wasting away your life on an operating table. So, I will ask again: Does the bird tire of flying?

JAKE

No. Birds are designed to fly, that’s how they live. Okay? I answered your question. Now, answer mine. Who are yo—

MAN

Do you really think you answered the question? Do you really think that is how the bird lives? Merely beating his wings, waiting for a lover to come home to nest? Waiting, in-flight, mind you, to merely die? No, no. That answer will not do, Mr. Boyd. You must think—think as if your whole life was weighted upon your answer to my simple question.

JAKE

I’m dead, aren’t I. It didn’t work.

MAN

The operation was actually quite successful. I’m glad we both made it out of there. 

JAKE

We?

MAN

There was something that happened afterward though, and the doctors are still trying to sort things out. It shouldn’t be too long if you can answer our question.

JAKE

So, this is a dream. And you…you’re some kind spirit, you’re trying to tell me something.

MAN

You and I don’t have much time. 

JAKE

JAKE moves closer to the table with the scalpel, resting a hand nearby.

You have to give me more information. You need to tell me who you are, what’s going on, and wh—

MAN

I think you’ll find all of that in the answer to my question, does the bird tire of flight. Do its wings give out in the storm? Do muscles in its weak, fragile body fail after a lifetime of beating and beating and beating?

JAKE grabs the scalpel and rushes towards the MAN. JAKE holds the scalpel to the MAN’s neck.

MAN (cont.)

That wasn’t a very wise move, Mr. Boyd.

JAKE

Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t end this.

MAN

You know why. For the same reason, you know the answer to my question. 

The MAN grabs JAKE’s arm with little resistance, even though JAKE is struggling to keep the scalpel to the MAN’s neck.

MAN (cont.)

You know the bird does indeed tire of flight, just like you. You know that you’ve been beating against this damned life for all too long, do you not? You know who I am.

Jake writhes under the MAN’s effortless grip on JAKE’s hand. 

MAN (cont.)

You know I was there when your father destroyed your house, leaving you and your mother to pick up the pieces. You know I was there when you thought of your cousin in that sick, perverted way, and I know you liked it. You know I was there when you ran home from school because you couldn’t breathe. You know I was there when your world gave way to oblivion as you gasped for air and sobbed in corner of your room, I know you felt everything and only wished for nothing. Mr. Boyd, I want you to answer my question definitively and I want you to answer it with some damn thought: Does the bird tire of flight? The sheep of bleating? The river of flowing?

JAKE

On the floor, hyperventilating.

Oh fuck, oh God, why? Why? Why?

MAN

(Authoritatively)

God cannot hear you now, Mr. Boyd. You best start thinking or we will both return to that familiar place.

JAKE immediately stops hyperventilating. His pain disappears.

MAN (cont.)

Yes, I am intimately familiar with the dark place. You thought it was just for you? You thought nothingness was for you? No, Jake. That special place is for us.

JAKE

The bird always tires of flight, but knows that he must fly. The sheep always tires of bleating, but must to keep living. The river always tires of flowing, beating against the rocks, as you would say, but will do so forever. It has the privilege to do so, unlike the bird and sheep. 

Jake picks up the scalpel and returns it to the table. He sits on the edge of the operating table.

JAKE (cont.)

Some of us can fly all of our lives, never thinking of the ground…

MAN

And what of the others?

JAKE

The others can no longer fly. 

MAN

And why is that?

JAKE

Some of us can only beat our wings against the rising tide for so long before our hollow bones break, before we plummet from the sky and fall into the sea, sinking deeper and deeper and deeper and deeper.

Jake lays down on the table

MAN

You know who I am now, don’t you.

JAKE

I am you.

MAN

And you are me.