(a small town funeral chapel with a doorway, a table, a chair and a podium. thomas weaver enters dressed in an expensive black suit and carrying a briefcase. he stops in the doorway. he is very familiar with this place. remembering the past, he smiles and makes his way to the podium
He opens his briefcase and takes out a notebook. he opens the notebook and reads as though addressing a congregation.)
{thomas}
"we are gathered to honor the life of alvin kelby. he was my best friend."
(pause)
(he takes a pen from his jacket pocket and makes a correction. it becomes clear that he isn't delivering the eulogy, but is in the process of writing it.)
"my good friend."
(he corrects the correction.)
"my oldest friend", "my... insert adjective later friend."
(he tears this page from the book.)
"hello, my names is thomas weaver, i'm a multi-award winning best-selling author and i have absolutely no idea what to write!"
(he stares at his notebook.)
Write what you know, tom
Write what you know
(he starts writing.)
We met in first grade
We were friends for years
Good friends
Inseparable
That much i know
That much i know
Write what you know, tom
Write what you know
He was a smart kid
He was sort of odd
(he reconsiders his choice of words.)
No - interesting
(he finally decides on...)
No, odd
He worked in his father's bookstore
His father got sick
That much i know
That much i know
But that's not the story
This is just fact
What was the crisis that went undetected?
When was the instant it sputtered and cracked?
What was the moment?
I missed it somehow
And if i could narrow it down to a moment
What good is knowing that now?
What was my responsibility?
What did i owe?
Am i to blame for all of the details
I'll never know?
But how could i know?
Write what you know, tom
I went to college
Alvin stayed behind
His father passed away
I left him here alone
That much i know
That much i know
Some lives hurtle forward
And some never budge
And sometimes, a life takes a different direction
With an innocuous, innocent nudge
Did i do the nudging
When his life careened?
Now how do i bounce through a lifetime to pinpoint
When i should have intervened?
Where is that story?
What should i say?
I gotta do this right, alvin
I've gotta find the piece of the puzzle
That brought me here today!
(thomas tears the page from his notebook. the walls of the funeral chapel fade, and thomas is transported into the landscape of his own mind. it is filled with massive shelves crammed with papers and books - a lifetime's accumulation of memories and stories. seated comfortably among them is alvin kelby. thomas seems unaware of alvin's presence.)
What is the moment?
What is the story?
Use your own words, tom
Write what you know
{alvin}
(indicating the shelves)
There's gotta be thousands of stories in this head of yours, tom!
{thomas}
Don't bother me, alvin, i'm writing
{alvin}
No, you're not, there's nothing there
{thomas}
Writing's a process. words are just the final step. now, be quiet, i can do this on my own
{alvin}
Really? and when was the last time you actually wrote something, tom?
(as he searches through papers on the shelves)
So! here's what we're gonna do. we're gonna pick a story, and you're gonna write it down. then we'll pick another... and another, and another... you get the idea. that's all a eulogy is, tom: you tell a bunch of stories, save the tearjerker for the end, and...
(alvin sets a stack of stories triumphantly on the table.)
...there you have it! my eulogy! the story of my life, written by best-selling author thomas weaver!
{thomas}
You make it sound so easy
{alvin}
Isn't it?
(thomas goes to the table and looks at the stack, not knowing how to proceed.)
Here's a thought... why don't you begin with this one?