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Class Prompt: Cover Dialogue
I don't think this fits the assignment as well as it could have, but I also think the assignment was kind of stupid. It's supposed to be a dialogue in which the characters are talking, but skirting the real issue in favor of things more trivial. Originally only dialogue, then we were asked to revise it and add character movements and behaviors. There was one guy who read his in class, and I thought it was great because it was symptomatic of deeper problems in the friendship he wrote, so I kind of tried to do that here. It's Neil's focus on his job, and Jack's contempt for Neil's focus on his job, and also the inclination to take each other for granted, because they're so comfortable with each other.
The front door slams, and in the foyer, a thump follows the sound of an umbrella being snapped shut and precedes shoes and coat being removed. The man sitting at the table in the kitchen, poring over a stack of children's artwork, fails entirely to notice, devoting all of his attention to the masterpiece in front of him.
“Neil.” A man whose hair is dark with rain walks into the kitchen and leans against the wall beside the table, arms folded across his chest.
“Hello. I didn't expect you'd be home for another half-hour or so.” He makes a mark in his grade book, head bent over as he writes.
“Neil ...”
Neil pulls a crinkled piece of poster paper towards him from the stack, frowning at it. “I'm listening. Some of us can multitask, you know.”
Jack snorts. “It’s a piece of shit; it's just blobs of paint. Fail the kid.”
“I can't do that, Jack, she's seven.”
“Life is tough.”
“Explain that to a kid who still believes in Santa Claus.”
Jack bangs his head back against the wall and gives the ceiling an irritated look. Neil finally looks up from grading. “Did you want something?” he asks.
“I can wait until you're done,” says Jack, pushing off the wall with his elbows and creaking open the cabinets on the opposite side of the room. Creak-open, bang-shut.
“I said I'm listening.” Neil turns around in his chair and holds up the painting for Jack to see. “Do you know what this is supposed to be? I think it's a tree, but I had the kids copying The Sunflowers so I don't know where the tree came from.”
“From whence the tree came.” Jack finishes his inspection of the cabinets without looking at the painting, and comes back with tuna in one hand and a can opener in the other.
“What?”
“You dangled a participle.”
“You're a pain in the ass, you know that?” Neil puts the picture down and stretches.
“I can't help it. The dangling participles, they bat at my soul like cat with a mouse. Pretty much exactly like a cat, in fact, speaking of cats.” He puts the can on top of Neil's head and applies the can opener.
Neil ducks, attempts to bat him away with the pen. “Hey, hey! What are you doing, I thought you said you wanted to do chicken tonight,” he says in a wounded voice.
“Calm yourself, I'm still up for chicken. This is for the cat.” Jack sets the tuna on top of the alleged Sunflowers and fishes a bowl out of the dish drain.
Neil picks up the can of tuna between two fingers, as though afraid it will stain the artwork on which it was so carelessly placed. “Percy died three weeks ago,” he reminds him.
“Yeah, well ...” Jack plucks it out of his hand and dumps it into the plastic bowl. “Now we have another one. Her name is Jane Eyre.”
Neil sits up straight in his chair for the first time, staring as Jack whacks the edge of the can against the edge of the bowl. He caps the pen and folds his hands together. “What. You bought us a cat?”
“Rescued a cat. I rescued a cat.” Jack drops the emptied tuna can into the garbage with a flourish and grins. “From the dumpster. Remember I told you I heard something on my way to work this morning?”
“I think. So you brought it - where did you put it?” Neil asks in alarm, standing as if expecting a bobcat to leap into the tiny kitchen at a moment's notice. Jack puts his hands on his shoulders, pressing him back into the chair.
“It's a her, and she's in Percy's old carrier. I'm not letting her near the couch, she still smells like wet chicken.”
“Wonderful.” Neil rubs his eyes. “You can have the honor of giving her a bath.”
“She doesn't have any ID tags, probably less than a year old ...” The tone implies twiddling of thumbs and hopeful, boyish expressions, although Jack is actually getting out another bowl and filling it with water.
“You should put up signs. She might have just wandered away and gotten trapped,” Neil suggests without hope.
“In a closed dumpster, in a torrential downpour?” Jack picks up both bowls and makes as if to walk back to the living room, looking back over his shoulder.
“All right,” says Neil. He sighs, covering the beginnings of a resigned smile. Chair legs scrape against the floor, though before he rises he flips over the artwork and marks it with his pen. “Charlotte gets a B. Show me the kitty.”
“Jane Eyre.”
“I didn’t say we’re keeping her, I just said I wanted to see her."
“Ha! She’s a ‘her’ now, she’s staying."
The front door slams, and in the foyer, a thump follows the sound of an umbrella being snapped shut and precedes shoes and coat being removed. The man sitting at the table in the kitchen, poring over a stack of children's artwork, fails entirely to notice, devoting all of his attention to the masterpiece in front of him.
“Neil.” A man whose hair is dark with rain walks into the kitchen and leans against the wall beside the table, arms folded across his chest.
“Hello. I didn't expect you'd be home for another half-hour or so.” He makes a mark in his grade book, head bent over as he writes.
“Neil ...”
Neil pulls a crinkled piece of poster paper towards him from the stack, frowning at it. “I'm listening. Some of us can multitask, you know.”
Jack snorts. “It’s a piece of shit; it's just blobs of paint. Fail the kid.”
“I can't do that, Jack, she's seven.”
“Life is tough.”
“Explain that to a kid who still believes in Santa Claus.”
Jack bangs his head back against the wall and gives the ceiling an irritated look. Neil finally looks up from grading. “Did you want something?” he asks.
“I can wait until you're done,” says Jack, pushing off the wall with his elbows and creaking open the cabinets on the opposite side of the room. Creak-open, bang-shut.
“I said I'm listening.” Neil turns around in his chair and holds up the painting for Jack to see. “Do you know what this is supposed to be? I think it's a tree, but I had the kids copying The Sunflowers so I don't know where the tree came from.”
“From whence the tree came.” Jack finishes his inspection of the cabinets without looking at the painting, and comes back with tuna in one hand and a can opener in the other.
“What?”
“You dangled a participle.”
“You're a pain in the ass, you know that?” Neil puts the picture down and stretches.
“I can't help it. The dangling participles, they bat at my soul like cat with a mouse. Pretty much exactly like a cat, in fact, speaking of cats.” He puts the can on top of Neil's head and applies the can opener.
Neil ducks, attempts to bat him away with the pen. “Hey, hey! What are you doing, I thought you said you wanted to do chicken tonight,” he says in a wounded voice.
“Calm yourself, I'm still up for chicken. This is for the cat.” Jack sets the tuna on top of the alleged Sunflowers and fishes a bowl out of the dish drain.
Neil picks up the can of tuna between two fingers, as though afraid it will stain the artwork on which it was so carelessly placed. “Percy died three weeks ago,” he reminds him.
“Yeah, well ...” Jack plucks it out of his hand and dumps it into the plastic bowl. “Now we have another one. Her name is Jane Eyre.”
Neil sits up straight in his chair for the first time, staring as Jack whacks the edge of the can against the edge of the bowl. He caps the pen and folds his hands together. “What. You bought us a cat?”
“Rescued a cat. I rescued a cat.” Jack drops the emptied tuna can into the garbage with a flourish and grins. “From the dumpster. Remember I told you I heard something on my way to work this morning?”
“I think. So you brought it - where did you put it?” Neil asks in alarm, standing as if expecting a bobcat to leap into the tiny kitchen at a moment's notice. Jack puts his hands on his shoulders, pressing him back into the chair.
“It's a her, and she's in Percy's old carrier. I'm not letting her near the couch, she still smells like wet chicken.”
“Wonderful.” Neil rubs his eyes. “You can have the honor of giving her a bath.”
“She doesn't have any ID tags, probably less than a year old ...” The tone implies twiddling of thumbs and hopeful, boyish expressions, although Jack is actually getting out another bowl and filling it with water.
“You should put up signs. She might have just wandered away and gotten trapped,” Neil suggests without hope.
“In a closed dumpster, in a torrential downpour?” Jack picks up both bowls and makes as if to walk back to the living room, looking back over his shoulder.
“All right,” says Neil. He sighs, covering the beginnings of a resigned smile. Chair legs scrape against the floor, though before he rises he flips over the artwork and marks it with his pen. “Charlotte gets a B. Show me the kitty.”
“Jane Eyre.”
“I didn’t say we’re keeping her, I just said I wanted to see her."
“Ha! She’s a ‘her’ now, she’s staying."