Dakota Storms

8/6/2019 Dakota Storms

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Dakota Storms

By

Nick Turner



ACT I

NARRATORStorm’s coming people. Fast and hard. It’ll build fordays. Hit in seconds. Come out of nowhere and stay. Eat

away at the stone statue everyday all day dictatorshipof your well practiced lives. Blow through your insideslike an old love a whisper away. Storms coming. Wait.It’s a blink away. A door shut, phone call, zip codeaway. Nowhere to go. Run and it crashes at your heelslike never-ending whitecapped waves. Storm coming.Storm sky. Breeze is gone. Stillness. Sudden thunderrumble barrel roll across the prairie plains, until ithits a town and rumbles down the street sectionedgravel alleyed town.

VOICES:I was going to mow the lawn today.

I gotta call Mom.

Pick up some groceries.

Mail some letters.

Find the keys.

They in your pocket?

Have to have that project done.

Have to talk to the boss.

Fill out a report.

Make beds.

Go for a walk.

Weed the garden.

Clean my room. Do homework.

Pick up the kids.

Listen. Would you listen? It’ll work.

Get the pick-up fixed?

Yep. Don’t see much change though. Cept on the bill.



2.

NARRATORStorm comin’ fast.

DADMiki! Get the calf barn closed up. Get the tractor putin. Don’t run over your brother. Hurry up.

VOICESThe National Weather Service has issued a severethunderstorm warning for the following areas -

FIRST VOICEWe could use it.

SECOND VOICESettle the dust.

THIRD VOICECool everything off.

FIRST VOICEProbably hit tonight.

SECOND VOICEThis afternoon.

THIRD VOICELate.

FIRST VOICEEarly evening.

SECOND VOICEYeah. Conditions are favorable.

NARRATORStorm comin’. Hold your breath. Listen. Be quiet forjust a moment. Turn the TV off. Throw open wide thewindows. Listen in the howling wind. The hum drip dropof rain. The ice crackle of snow. Listen closely andyou may hear voices. Voices you know. Voices ofstrangers. Your voice. Echoing in the tempest. Ready?Storm’s here.

FIRST VOICEGray haze of rain burst. Drenching sheets make you run.Drops pool in the puddles of your stomping footprints.Newsprint dribbles down your wrists to your pencildusty cuffs. Your raincoat stops at the knees and raindoesn’t. It stops at the spit shine toes of your officecarpet-dancing shoes. Flash! Crack! Lightning sizzles.Light burst amazes... then you hear it comin’.Thunder’s roar shrinks you to a tiny beast in knit and

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3.

FIRST VOICE (cont’d)magazine card cologne. Nature, baby. Weather. Whetheror not.

SECOND VOICEWe are storm children. Born to a rumbling deeper than

mother’s heartbeat. A sigh sweeter than mother’sbreath.

THIRD VOICEEye of the storm, seeing all. Scared? What else is new.Knowledge is nothing when the heavens burn like neonand the happy home shudders and the TV sizzles white.Yet another noise to drown us out and shut us up.Scared? What else is new. What to do? Whisper, child.Play the words. Talk, kid. Voice the words. Shout,grown-up. Lessons are over. Yell and break the spell.Crack the cover of your deep-welled voice. Shake theair, rattle the cage, roll out your red carpet tongue

and say it all. Put your words on the wind to carry to,breeze through, ear to ear. Make them hear. Hear you.Storm coming. Listen.

VOICESHello!

Look at this.

Look at this.

Look at this.

C’mon, please.

Mom.

Dad.

Grandma.

I don’t believe it.

Do you want to or not?

Listen to me.

You’re kidding.

I’ll tell.

It’s been a long day.

Talk to me.



4.

C’mere and give me a big kiss.

Get out!

Supper.

Turn up the TV will you.

Wanna beer?

Looks bad.

Like to dance?

I don’t know.

Thought your name was Sally?

MIKI

Dad. It’s Thanksgiving. Time for thanking, not workingall day. Great. No one else in the world is workingtoday but us. Thank you.

VOICESOne thing after another.

Anyone see my shoes? Not my chew. My shoes.

Whiskey for me, beer for my horse. He’s driving.

You’re my best friend.

I’m your only friend.

Love you.

Me, too.

Be good.

Take care.

You bet.

DADNo, Miki, you can’t skip chores. I know it’s ChristmasEve. There’s one every year. Santa brings your presentsduring chores.

VOICESOw ow ow ow!

Careful. That’s hot.



5.

Hurry up. Bus is here.

We went to my aunt’s for Thanksgiving.

Lucky some people work.

I remember when I was a kid.

I would have been a helluva football player.

The check’s on the way.

I love him.

You don’t need it.

I don’t need an appendix, but I got one.

Go to your room.

Finish your plate.

I’m not hungry.

There’s starving people on the world. Finish yourplate.

Name three.

Go to your room.

We should go and blow ‘em off the face of the earth.

Who?

I don’t know. Them!

I wish I could cry. I feel like crying.

Telephone.

Who is it?

Somebody.

Right.

SECOND VOICEI know what I want. I think. I just wish I knew what Iwant is the right thing. Maybe it’s not what I want.



6.

NARRATORStorm’s comin.

SECOND VOICEYou know what I want? I’ll tell you what I want. I wantpride. Dignity. Confidence. Strength. Sensitivity.

Under- standing. Knowledge. Wit. Talent. Good looks.Luck. Success. Respect. Fame. Glory. Admiration.Consid-eration. Wealth. Happiness. Love. Devotion.Power. Safety. Seclusion. Popularity. Constancy.Assurance. Magnificence.... The sun. The moon. Stardust. The wind as my breath. Rain as my tears. Rainbowhair. Lightning in my eyes and thunder as my voice. Todrink from the lakes and streams beside wild beasts whosur-round me and call my name. Mountain pillows. Nightblanket. To live in the forest alone.. til I’m lonely.Everything and everybody. Twice. You. Do I ask so much?

NARRATOR

What do you hear? Here in little child lane where adilly dally dash of your scraped kneed memories arestored. A misty- eyed sky world, cobwebbed and morningdewed, where there are millions of me, you and us. Alittle baby burbles and reaches with sticky fingers fora man standing in the dark scared of life for what itdid and didn’t do to him. This sad-eyed man baby is tobecome. Here on Suess, Goose and Grimm street, hand inhand we stand with ourselves and we listen once inawhile to rhymes and good times gone by and longforgotten.

VOICES

Ollie ollie oxen free!

Let’s play.

Quickly, quickly ‘fore the sun goes away.

Boy games.

Girl games.

Our games.

Kick the can.

Red Rover.

Hide and seek.

Sardines.

In the night, under a porch, behind a tree.



7.

Ollie ollie oxen free.

Are you brave? Are you daring? You think it’s funscaring me? Take a shortcut through the graveyard, thenwe’ll see.

Ollie ollie oxen free.

Home by ten and no later

Home by nine.

Maybe eight.

Home by seven.

VOICEJust stay home where I can watch you. No, you won’t goto school. I’ll teach you. Just stay home where I can

watch you. Round the clock and back again. Nothing willever, ever happen to you.

Home is where is the heart is. And my toys.

Don’t be late.

Late. Late. Lock the gate.

Don’t lie.

Liar liar pants on fire.

Lying makes the angels cry.

I never, ever lie.

Was that a lie?

Maybe.

I can never tell.

Don’t you tell, Tattle Tale!

Cry, baby, cry. Stick a finger in your eye.

No time now. Playing.

What?

Make believe.

A rusty old car makes a great armored tank.



8.

Or submarine.

Or space ship.

And bunk beds make a great pirate ship.

Hold your tongue and say “I was born on a pirate ship”.

Play, play, play.

Before the day gets away.

Before the end of the holiday.

And school comes our way.

School days, school days. Oh, those golden rule days.

Recess and wrestling and pick up sticks.

Played to the tune of a licorice whip.

I get A’s all the time. In recess.

I’m on a dean’s list. Dean Jensen’s. He’s in the sixthgrade.

Last one on the playground’s a rotten egg.

Can’t play tackle on asphalt.

Can’t slide into home plate on gravel.

Who’s great idea was that? A tar and cement playground.

Kids need grass and soft dirt and a tree or two to dowhat kids like to do.

Roll and tumble, trip and fall. Wrestle and leap andlay on the ground til you fall asleep.

Cinderella at a ball. Cinderella had a fall. Cinderellalost her shoe.

And I...blame...you!

Tag, you’re it.

You’re it.

You’re it.

Freeze! Statues!



9.

I see you there.

I see you. I see you. I see you in the dark

Oh, you do, do you?

I do.

Who am I?

You’re...

you!

Step on a crack.

Break your mother’s back.

INQUIZZATOR

Truth, dare, double dare, promise to repeat.

THE BOYTruth.

INQUIZZATORWho do you love?

THE BOYThat would be “whom”.

INQUIZZATORWhom?

THE BOYWhom.

INQUIZZATORWhom, then.

THE BOYMy mom.

INQUIZZATORBoo! Everybody does.

THE BOYNot everyone.

INQUIZZATORWell, who do they think they are?



10.

THE BOYWho?

INQUIZZATORWhom? Younger girl.

THE FRIENDAnd don’t say your sister.

THE BOYLike I was going to.

INQUIZZATORWho do you love in our grade?

THE BOYDare.

THE FRIEND

Too scared to say?

INQUIZZATORThen you’ll have your way.

THE FRIENDA dare it is.

INQUIZZATORKiss Hannah, oh, so sweet.

THE BOYI can’t.

INQUIZZATORYou can’t?

THE BOYPromise to repeat.

ALLYou must, you must or get hit by a bus.

INQUIZZATORSay, “I’m a fraidy cat.”

ALLFraidy cat, fraidy cat, frumpy, plumpy, big and...

Acabaca soda cracker. Acabaca boo. Acabaca sodacracker.

Out goes you!

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12.

SHILOHIt was nothing less than wonderful. High on the shelf,it was out of reach. The bright colors splashed acrossthe lid were bewitching, painting a world prehistoricand monstrous. In that cardboard box were the roars ofTyrannosaurus Rex and Triceratops. Right in there, thebrave shouts of cavemen with beards and big muscles,

clutching puny clubs and spears. I knew there weren’tsupposed to be cavemen in the dinosaur days. Didn’tcare.

NARRATORThere were even trees and rocks to decorate the savageterrain and Shiloh wanted it so bad. He talked his mominto reaching way up and taking it down from theshadowy shelf. Motes sifted down like fairy dust.Shiloh held the colorful cardboard, his breath catchingas his eyes flashed over the world pictured there inneon colors.

SHILOHCan I please, Mom? Please? It’ll be my birthday,Christmas present for the next three years.

LYDIADon’t be goofy, Shiloh. You just had your birthday andChristmas is a long way away.

SHILOHMom, please. Please? Sugar on top, whipped cream and acherry in the middle?

LYDIA

No.

NARRATORKids always want that one toy. That one toy they’resure comes complete chock-full of true happiness. Thatone toy that is truly the epitome of the magic of allchildhood. How do you know which one it is?

SHILOHWalking down the street one day. A street I haven’twalked down since I was a kid. On the corner, a store.Something pulls me inside. The door jingles open andthen shuts out the street with a hush. A cranky, whitehaired man and a creaky, slanted wood floor. I smileeach step. Up. Way up on a shelf, behind the HotWheels, I reach and find a box. The colors are brighteven through the streaked dirt. Whooophh... the sparkleof fairy dust that announces The Great Dinosaur andCaveman set. This would make a great gift for a littleboy.



13.

THIRD VOICERemember the time...

SECOND VOICEI remember.

FIRST VOICENever forget that.

THIRD VOICELike it was yesterday.

SECOND VOICERemember the time...

THIRD VOICEThe time you were carrying feed buckets and ran intothe tractor loader with your head? Wham!

SECOND VOICEYeah. Yeah.

THIRD VOICEYou ricocheted off. Rubbed your head a little, wentand dumped the buckets, went back and filled ‘em againand wham! Right into the loader again.

SECOND VOICEHm hmm.

THIRD VOICEOh, man.

SECOND VOICEI was thinking.

THIRD VOICEYeah, you were. Bet that rattled the old thoughtsaround a bit. How about the time the bull kicked you inthe...

SECOND VOICEHow come all your stories just have to do with me andpain?

THIRD VOICE(Wham!)

NARRATOROh, the days of our lives. Ask away. There’s plenty totell. All we need is an ear to listen to your talestold round a car jacked up and oily, across a damp ragand a counter worn with conversation, cup of coffee in

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14.

NARRATOR (cont’d)the kitchen, porch steps or a sleeping bag coveredfloor. Maybe around the still warm pick up hood, enginetick tocking.

FIRST FARMER

Workin’ hard?

THIRD FARMERChanged horses twice already.

SECOND FARMERSo, what’s it supposed to do?

FIRST FARMERRain this afternoon, next few days.

SECOND FARMERYeah? Don’t know what weather you listened to, but I

heard hot and dry the rest of the week.

THIRD FARMERYou’re both wrong.

FIRST FARMERHere we go.

THIRD FARMERPrincess has been drinking a lot of water and shedoesn’t go too far from the barn.

SECOND FARMER

And that means you’re cow’s thirsty and it’s going toblizzard in July?

THIRD FARMERNope. Hot, dry today but, Princess doesn’t like to getwet. Rain tomorrow.

FIRST FARMERShe do your taxes, too?

THIRD FARMERGet your combine fixed?

SECOND FARMERYep. $300 for a piece of metal the size of my finger.

FIRST FARMERAnd they say crime doesn’t pay.



15.

SECOND FARMERBought it from your cousin the crook.

FIRST FARMERMy cousin? He’s your cousin.

SECOND FARMEROh, no.

NARRATORThey killed flies as they flitted by fat and lazy andsoon had a nice little pile in the middle of the hood.They killed them gracefully with thick, rough hands asthey passed the time and the sugar whiskey. And alwaysthere’s one story that must be told.

SECOND FARMERYou remember Old Jahoy? Well, he hears a commotion outin his coop one night. Wind’s howling, kind a stormy

out and his old hound Duke is barking and baying soJahoy pulls on his boots and grabs his shotgun and allhe’s wearing is his old raggedy long underwear and heclomps bowlegged out to the coop to see what the dealis. He gets up to the door and he eases it open withthe barrel of the shotgun. He’s peering in to seewhat’s in there in the dark besides chickens and rightabout then Old Duke comes up behind him sniffing andsticks his wet nose in the back flap of Jahoy’sdrawers. Jahoy jumps. Boom! Both barrels. And in themorning, he sees he got something all right. A coopfull of feathers.

NARRATORThe stories are told and never grow old. Day to day thewords are said and sweep into the air. Do you hear? Doyou remember? Voices in the storm.

SECOND VOICESome voices have names.

FIRST VOICEMiss Lydia and her three bad boys.

THIRD VOICECal and the Lady.

SECOND VOICESlacky Mills, who lies swaddled in blankets, agegroaning in his weathered timbers.

FIRST VOICEAngel.



16.

NARRATORCoulda Carson. Who coulda and woulda done anything andeverything if only he’d wanted to and the had the sparetime.

SECOND VOICE

Benjamin Wilderson known as Whistler. Only his mothercalls him Benjamin.

THIRD VOICEMiki. Her father’s only son. Grows up on a farm hatingevery minute of it. Spends the rest of her lifethinking every day of it.

NARRATOROthers. People too many to be named just now. Some intheir prime at age eight, age fifteen, thirty-five,sixty eight. Some in the deep dusk of their days.They’d love to be young again. Even for an hour. When a

storm hits, they stare out the picture window andwonder.

FIRST VOICEDidn’t everything taste different when we were young?

SECOND VOICEI hate it.

THIRD VOICEI love it.

NARRATOR

No in-between. It wasn’t ...

SECOND VOICEWell. It’s okay. I could take it or leave it.

THIRD VOICEWhen we were young it was ...

FIRST VOICEYech!

SECOND VOICEBleah!

THIRD VOICEIck! I’d rather starve than eat this.

NARRATORSo we sat at the table til we ate it or starved. Whenwe finally did - eat it, cold and congealed.



17.

FIRST VOICEIt’s ten times worse.

NARRATORDidn’t everything smell different?

SECOND VOICEWatermelon bubble gum. Made everyone in the house sickwith the smell.

FIRST VOICEChew it outside.

THIRD VOICEDrive-in food. Carhops with raspberry slush smiles.

SECOND VOICECook-outs on summer nights. Whole town smells likecharcoal.

FIRST VOICESocks. Three days old.

THIRD VOICEWet dog rainy days.

NARRATORWith the smell of worms. Smell a worm once, you’ll see.

SECOND VOICEBologna and tomato soup.

FIRST VOICEMom. Dad.

THIRD VOICEGirls.

SECOND VOICEThe smell of home.

FIRST VOICEGrass. Dirt. Weeds.

THIRD VOICESquished bugs.

NARRATORNow it has to be right under our nose. Didn’teverything feel different?



18.

SECOND VOICESunburn.

FIRST VOICERaindrops.

THIRD VOICEWalking for miles.

SECOND VOICE‘Squito bites. Itches. Pain.

FIRST VOICEStep on a rusty nail you get lock jaw.

SECOND VOICEI wish you’d get lockjaw.

NARRATOR

Stickers, slivers, scrapes, bloody nose, chipped teeth.All this before lunch. Play war. Flip and tumble, fall,scramble, flop, rolling and rolling about twenty feetof rock, dirt, gravel, bouncing off a tree. Lay deadabout ten seconds. Long enough to catch your breath.Get up to die again like the Duke always did. Now...

THIRD VOICEOuch! Paper cut.

FIRST VOICEDidn’t everything look different?

SECOND VOICEHere to there.

THIRD VOICEFrom up a tree.

FIRST VOICEThe world from Grandpa’s shoulders.

SECOND VOICEThe world at night. Any bush could be a monster.

NARRATORLying with your friends on a hill. Watching the starsat night. The clouds in the day. Shifting shapes. Amagnificent medley.

THIRD VOICEGirls eyes so big. So bright.



19.

FIRST VOICEDirty little boys.

NARRATOREverything so much. Almost too much.

SECOND VOICENow.

THIRD VOICENot enough.

FIRST VOICENever enough.

NARRATORCal and the Lady move in the darkness of their house onthe edge of town. The storm is slow to come. Teasingand cruel to the dusty waiting. When it’s finally there

it’s relentlessly constant. Rumble, rumble, rumble,crash and the flashes are like a little child on alight switch flicking on and off, on and off. Thepeople in their beds awakened shift and sigh sweetlyand the rain drips and dribbles the muddy air fresh andclean. They move in the night to the bathroom, to thekitchen, to the window and they smile at each other,moving in the white flashbulb light, looking likeplayers in an old time movie. “Yep. There it is. Yes,sir.” they say and think about cool relief and puddleddust and they kindly remark in their knowing way, “Thisis good for the farmers. Yes. Oh, yes.” Rumble rumbleflicker flicker flash dash drip sigh boom hiss.

SECOND VOICENow, Cal wasn’t necessarily meant for marriage - allthings bright and beautiful. He took what many mightcall a dark perspective of life. He saw things in thehonesty of their appearance. Most things didn’t havethe perseverance to dive deep down through the murkywaters of Cal’s insides to plant a water lily. They gotchilled and soaked down like a puffed up, fluffy catdropped in a water bucket by a mean child. They cameout scrawny and ratty looking. Cal wasn’t necessarilymeant for marriage, but he was meant for the Lady andthe Lady was meant for him and that suited Cal justfine. Now the Lady dived in with strong lungs andplanted a water lily in the mudhole of Cal’s heart.People shook their heads to see them.

THIRD VOICEPrettiest homecoming queen we ever had.



20.

FIRST VOICEWhat does she see in him?

SECOND VOICEHe is sack ugly.

THIRD VOICEEver see him smile?

SECOND VOICEHe’s dirt poor.

FIRST VOICEMean. Just plain mean. He spit at me one day. At leastin my general direction.

THIRD VOICEShe seems happy.

SECOND VOICEI warned her about him and she just smiled at me.

FIRST VOICEWell, I warned him. Women. Everything’s just fine andhere they come and they start broadening your horizons.Soon, he’ll be going to ballets and stuff betcha’.

SECOND VOICEWhen have you seen a ballet around here?

FIRST VOICEThey have them on PBS. Men in pantyhose. Gotta shave

their legs to put those things on, you know. Guys withshaved legs. Long hair and shaved legs. Decline ofhuman civilization as we know it. Mark my words.

THIRD VOICECal would never go to a ballet, anyway.

NARRATORMaybe he wouldn’t. But the Lady has brought manyunexpected things to his life. Things he growls aboutbut does because they’re with her. Like putting onmatching canary yellow raincoats in the dark of thenight and sitting on the front steps in the rain.

LADYCal, look. The clouds are darker than the sky. Ooh, didyou see that?

CALI see... trees. Trees and rain.



21.

LADYDo you want to go in, Cal?

CALNo. No, no. I’ll stay out here with you. In the rain.Get struck by lightning.

LADYWhat are you looking at?

CALRocks. Wet rocks and grass. Wet grass.

LADYLook at the sky, Cal. The lightning is beautiful.

CALIf I look up the rain’ll hit my glasses, I have wetglasses, can’t see anything. At least now I can see

rocks and grass.

LADYOh, Cal. Listen to the thunder.

CALI hear rain hitting my hood.

NARRATORLove’s trial by storm.

SECOND VOICEValentines Day. Day for lovers, love and loving. I

bought a bag of candy hearts for my girl with messageson them like Be Mine, Cutie, Love You.

FIRST VOICEKiss me.

THIRD VOICEMy girl.

SECOND VOICEHow are you?

FIRST VOICEHug me.

THIRD VOICEGuess who?

SECOND VOICEMarry me.



22.

FIRST VOICEDon’t tell.

SECOND VOICELove me... I ate all the “Love me” ones. Sounded toomuch like begging.

THIRD VOICEI’m sorry. That’s all I can say. When I’m with you Iwish it was her. She’s always there, just waiting to bereminded of. Sorry I kissed you. I shouldn’t have. Notthat you’re not a good kisser. Not at all. Justshouldn’t have. Lost my head for a second there. I sawit in your eyes that you wanted me to. I had no choice.To tell you the truth, I kissed you to see if there wasany magic. I’d see stars or something. But, I didn’t.Our lips don’t fit so good. Yes. I’m a jerk. Can’t helpit if I’m in love with somebody else. I’m trying not tobe. I thought maybe you might be the one. But our lips

just don’t fit.

NARRATORBack inside, Cal hangs up his Big Bird raincoat andlooks at his wet feet. He hears the Lady humming as shechanges for bed and thinks if he doesn’t end updrowning in the rain some night, or dying of pneumonia,he’ll be in love forever and the day after.

THIRD VOICEAnd the next day it is - in Coulda Carson’s bar. TheKit Carson Wrangler Saloon. Full of folks chock-full oflonesome. It’s a gray, misty, wet leather, mud

spattered day. Dakota in one room, all drinking drinksand drinking in conversation. If you can call it that.

FIRST VOICERainin’.

SECOND VOICEYep.

THIRD VOICEAll day looks like.

FIRST VOICEWet.

SECOND VOICEGood.

THIRD VOICEMmm hmm.



23.

NARRATORIt’s one of those days you stare out into the air, yourthoughts so big you can’t even begin to think of them.It’s one of those days people who love to talk live for- most everybody else mute with the storms enormity andthem with a captive audience and nothing but time.

TALKER ONESo I said “if” I was going to do it and I’m not sayingI’m ever going to, you’d bet your bottom dollar andyour old ladies iron girdle I would do it right thefirst time. There’s no second time to get it right.There’s no “gee, can I try that again?”. You screw itup, BAM! you are done. Finito!.... Hey! Sally HomeFries? Another beer for me and my best friend here.What’s your name, pal?

TALKER TWOA bullet right through the engine block. Dead. Right

there. No chugga chug, just silence. A big clank andthen silence. My brand, new, shiny, red Ford F150. Newsmell inside still. New smell and now the smell ofgunpowder and he’s real quiet. Seeing what I’d saysince he just shot my pick-up out in the middle ofnowhere. So, I kept calm and I sat back and I thoughtabout it. I thought, the next few seconds tell thetale, you know. What I have ta’ say about what justhappened. Lotta years we’d been hunting, together.Lotta beers and a lotta tears. Of course, not in thebiblical sense, we’re not out weeping and hugging whenthere’s game to be hunted and shot, but a lotta yearswe’d been hunting together. in all those years he never

shot me. So, I watched a ten point mulie disappear overthe ridge and I looked at the hole in the floor and Ilooked at him and I said, “It’s gonna be tough tomount.”

NARRATORCoulda is doing his fair share of talking, tellingabout the big family reunion he’d recently survived.

COULDAYou should of heard ‘em. Pitiful. Me, I made my choicesand I stick to ‘em. But them...Aie, aie, aie.

KEN CARSONI coulda done that. Pass the potato salad.

KIM CARSONCoulda been a model. I was a looker. Everybody said so.Before I got married.



24.

KYLE CARSONCoulda gone pro.

KARL CARSONI know what you mean.

KARL CARSON JR.

I don’t like Jello.

MRS. KARL CARSONEverybody likes Jello.

KRISTY CARSONWe coulda been married, but I said no. Pick up your hotdog, honey, and just wipe it off.

CLIVE CARSONI coulda danced under a Paris moon.

KIP CARSON

I coulda had Mary.

CAPTAIN CARSONWho couldn’t.

KISSY CARSONCoulda made my dreams come true.

CHRIS CARSONI coulda been happy.

CAMI CARSONI coulda too.

NARRATOR

Coulda Carson sits there at the end of the long worncounter slowly turning into a stool. Most days, helaughs loud right along, but a lot lately he shakes hishead when the wives come in - pretty and sweet withgaggle of toddlers in tow. He gives the kids fries andtells the wives “they’ve gone to Whimpy’s for HappyHour”. But, he thinks “... if only I. If I’d bemarried to you.” Sometimes he catches a woman’s eye fora moment and he dreams. Late now, he whispers into hisbeer so only he can hear.

THIRD VOICEUh oh, watch out when they start talking to theirbeers...

NARRATORClosin’ time. Go home, cowboys, go home. Go home tobed. Make sure you throw in your hat first and hope themissus doesn’t throw it back.



25.

ACT II

FIRST VOICEThunder rocks the cradle of your double warm bed.Crashing train-engine link up across the neighborhoodof your early days. Mid-life, old times not forgotten.

Laying there, the ceiling flat overhead, a movie screenfor fuzzy images. Press your eyes hard with yourfingertips and see the colored spots explode. What doyou see? Not Frankenstein in the folds of your robe onthe closet door. Ghosts in the careless toss of yourclothes on the chair. Storm sprites in the shock of thestorm. Comfort in the shadowy snowflakes on the ceilingmixing with the color bursts in your eyes. Not a kidanymore.

NARRATORWhat sweet fruits will you remember when you’re old andripe? Something simple that faded an instant after

happening or something that burned deep enough to scarand that’s the scar you show and tell - most often.

NARRATORIn The Mood sweeps old loves sweet as sage, sweet asyoung love, but better. Like solid chocolate is betterthan a hollow bite of air. A-Train - choo choo highschool sweetheart, ride the rails, piano solo, allaboard. Stop at the despot of my heart.

CLAUDEPut the watery warm drink down, dear, and dance withme. Willow weep for me. Claude is tired and a little

soused and he left his dancing shoes at home under theLazyboy.

FIRST VOICEPolka beer barrel roll and twirl ladies and gents roundand round don’t fall down on the wood creaky floor ofthe church slash community center slash dance hall.Satin Doll, just a doll of my own. Skylark is thesaddest song. The glisten gone from the dust in yourhair, girl, but I’m your love. Kick up the dust. Make awish, make a wish she’d be back.

THIRD VOICERemembering, Slacky Mills, remembering. A girl’s face.A woman’s name. He loved her and loved her.Remembering.

SLACKY MILLSDance night. Shuffling in the dark, all snickering atthe scented shadowy stars who seemed on the other sideof the moon. Maybe one might shoot by and I could catch

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26.

SLACKY MILLS (cont’d)her in my net. I’d be a constellation hero. Shadows hadfaces we found out and bright light eyes and satinsmiles. Her hand damp in mine as I glanced through herspun silk hair at all the other dancing pairs. Dared,double dog dared to steal a kiss. And her lips were

softer than a pillow and fresher than any old aunts andshe kissed back. She kissed back. So just likeyesterday.

LITTLE MANDYDad. Do I have to change my name when I get married?

HER DADNo, Mandy, you don’t.

LITTLE MANDYCan I if I want to?

HER DADWhat do you want to change it to, sweetheart?

LITTLE MANDYJennifer.

SLACKY MILLSStorm comin’.

SECOND VOICESlacky Mills lies in bed and moans because he is...

SLACKY MILLS

Bedridden!

NARRATORIt is early morning though many folks would argue thatclaim of morning. The folks that think it’s areasonable hour to wake up use words like “dilly dally”and “ain’t that a pickle”. The rest of the Mills familytake the opposing view. They’re not quite awake, yet.Father...

FATHERI’m up. I’m up. Not sleeping. Up.

NARRATORMother.

MOTHERIs sleeping. A deep, restful sleep. This is the onlytime he’s not snoring.



27.

NARRATORLeslie. Who dreams of...

LESLIETall, dark and domestic.

NARRATORDylan.

DYLANOtherwise known as Malok the Destroyer. Lord King ofthe Dakota Wasteland after the Third World War. Masterof all the jerks at school and the only guy the girlscan go out with - without turning into mutants.

NARRATORSlacky moans again.

SLACKY MILLS

Moan!

NARRATORSlacky lives here because the security he worked forall his life isn’t enough for him to live on.

SLACKY MILLSOkay.

NARRATORHe tips over a lamp. CRASH!

FATHER

Dad!

DYLANGramps!

LESLEYGrandpa!

NARRATORThey all rush to the bedridden Slacky Mills.

SLACKY MILLSWhen I’m sick, by God, I want sympathy!

NARRATOROn the road that criss-crosses the country, Miki drivedrive drives. Been in the city so long. Her friends arethere. They didn’t believe someone could actually befrom South Dakota.



28.

MIKIWe do have TV, hot running water and an indoor toilet.Although, if you want to go outside no one will see youexcept gophers and rattlesnakes.

NARRATOR

Miki’s answering a call. A call to the west. To home.

MIKIGrowing up on a farm has made me all I am and I’m notthat bad. It will always be a part of me. I workedhard. But when I’d work I’d dream. Dream of everythingI was going to do and be. My body would be doing, I’dbe dreaming. That’s the difference between me and mydad. To him, farming is everything. He’s part of it.When he’s doing, it’s mind and body. It’s not a job, ahobby. It’s what music is to a musician. Heaven to apreacher.

NARRATORMiki drives on. Like she has for two days. Not stoppingeven when the car stops. She keeps going back tochildhood.

DADMiki. Let’s go. Up and at ‘em. Chore time.

MIKIAgain?

NARRATORMiki is eleven years old. She’s been doing chores for

years. She’ll be doing them for years to come. Twice aday. Every- day. She stumbles out at five a.m. afterputting her overboots on the wrong feet and waddles outto the barn to feed the calves, wandering aimlesslyonce and awhile, sighing and taking short naps.Finally, she reaches the barn and slides the door open.

(SOUND: Other actors start “bawling” like calves.Silence. One lone bawl.)

Thirty calves stare at her over the rough board pens.They stare at her with big, brown, wet eyes - drooling.

MIKII’m too young to be a mother.

FIRST VOICEShe turns and there at the end of the lane is a fiveday old Holstein bull calf out of his pen. He has whitecurls across a bony ridged head that is already hard asconcrete. He’s also looking at Miki with big, wet eyesand drool. You’d swear a smile curls his mouth. He paws

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29.

FIRST VOICE (cont’d)the ground in a miniature imitation of the two thousandpounds he’ll soon grow into. He puts his head down andcharges straight at Miki with twenty feet to gainspeed.

MIKI

Oh, for crying-out-loud.

THIRD VOICEMiki stands there shaking her head. The calf dips hishead and snorts. It’s a battle of wills. Miki turns andruns up a stack of bales. The calf follows. Trappingher at the top.

MIKIYou’re hamburger, fuzzball.

NARRATORThe calf trots away over to the milk bucket, sticks his

head in up to the ears and spills all five gallons. Hegleefully jumps and bucks out the open door and intothe rising sun.

MIKIYou’ll be back!

NARRATORMiki drives toward home. Not knowing if it is stillthere, for sure. Driving in the heat. The summerripples straw chaff and hot tin, kosher weed andhuckleberry yellow. Ripples the highway outside theair-conditioned car.

THIRD VOICEThere is this man who is very rich. I mean this guy hasbucks and he’s powerful, too. They go together. Richand powerful. He’s president of a big, fat company.He’s the source of thousands of people’s lives. Richand powerful is what he’s always wanted to be. Like alot of people, but he is. He wouldn’t give it up foranything in the world. He takes a month off everyspring and every fall. Has for ten years. No one askswhere he goes. No one dares. He keeps an old beat uppick-up under a canvas tarp in his five car garage and

two months a year he drives out to the great plains,finds a farmer who needs a hand. Tells the farmer tocall him Red. He works from dusk til dawn, planting inthe spring and harvesting in the fall and smiling thewhole damn time.

(SOUND: Actors - Single bird whistle gradually joined by a bird chorus celebrating sunrise. Thenreceding to one lone bird whistle.)



30.

WHISTLER(He exchanges calls with bird.)

NARRATORBenjamin Wilderson is up in his room whistling out hiswindow with the morning birds. From his nest to theirs.

Whistler hasn’t spoken in six years. He’s sixteen yearsold. He doesn’t talk, he whistles.

MRS. WILDERSONBenjamin, honey! What do you want for breakfast? Eggsor cereal?

WHISTLER(Whistles several notes.)

MRS. WILDERSONFried or scrambled?

WHISTLER(Replies.)

MRS. WILDERSONHurry up, then. You’ll be late for school.

NARRATORWhistler is an Everyboy, cept a little wounded. He tookit upon himself at a young age to weather the worldscares upon his shoulders as if he thought he couldchange them and had found he’d miserably failed. Hisreward? The uncanny ability to do absolutely nothingright.

MRS. WILDERSONBenjamin. Mrs. Larson called. The church organist?She’d like you to turn pages for her for Sunday’scantata.

WHISTLER(Whistles his response.)

MRS. WILDERSONI know. But’ she asked for you. I told her she pickedthe right person. You’d do it better than anyone.

NARRATORAnd Whistler talks to himself deep inside with words,though he even whistles in his dreams.

WHISTLERPage turner. Page turner. Me? I could do that - Sureyou can. In front of the whole congregation. In mysuit, turning pages. Benjamin “Ball bearing”

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32.

THIRD VOICE (cont’d)shaft slipping in through the cellar door wide open forthe kids to enter the sky again. The kids sit onboards, buckets and bundles of shingles, crackingpeanuts from an oak barrel that’s never empty.

ANGELYep. There’s a storm coming all right. A good one. Canyou hear it. It’s grumbling. Sounds grouchy. It’s anancient storm. Been collecting clouds for years, I’llbet. Bet it’s sucked up all the oceans dry on its wayto us. Bet it’s eaten up all the lights for lightning.Headlights, flashlights, street lights, nightlights.Everyone’s been pretty good here? No one’s beennaughty?

CHILD ONENo, Angel.

CHILD TWONo.

CHILD THREEWhy?

ANGELOh, nothing. Just, it could be.. I’m not saying it is.Could be the Kid Chaser

CHILD ONEWhat?

ANGELThere’s a legend of a storm my father told me aboutwhen I was your age. The Kid Chaser. It brews foryears. Every time a kid does something naughty, it getsbigger. It grows until it covers the world then itheads right for the town with the baddest kids and...Well, it wouldn’t be coming here, anyway. No. Thiscan’t be the place.

CHILD TWOI haven’t done nothin’.

CHILD THREEMe, neither.

ANGELI believe you all. Let’s just hope it passes. Listen.It’s getting closer.



33.

NARRATORThe peanut crackin’ quiets. Every kid its still.Listening to the storm. Getting closer.

CHILD ONEI bet it’s not even us. I bet it’s our parents itwants. They were bad when they were kids and it’s just

now getting here. It’ll think we’re them because welook like kids.

CHILD TWOWe are kids.

CHILD ONESee!

CHILD THREEAre you kidding? Don’t you ever listen to them. Theynever did anything wrong when they were little.

CHILD ONEMine were never little.

CHILD TWOIt’s getting closer, Angel. What do we do?

CHILD THREEI’m scared.

ANGELWell, it’s just a storm. I wouldn’t worry. I rememberyears ago sitting right here with your moms and dadswaiting for a storm just like this one. Turned out it

wasn’t Kid Chaser.

CHILD ONEMy mom?

ANGELYep.

CHILD TWOAngel’s a thousand years old, I’ll bet.

CHILD THREEHow old are you, Angel?

ANGELI don’t know. Let’s see. Well, my father planted thatbig oak in the front yard the year I was born. Guessyou’d have to cut ‘er down and count the rings to seehow old I am. Or I guess... you could cut me in two tosee how old the tree is. Let’s try that.



34.

NARRATORAngel picks up a saw, rippling the blade. The teethflash in a shaft of sunlight. The little people shriekand scramble in the wood chipped, sawdusty cellar forthe after school cloud dancing sky, grabbing handfulsof peanuts on the way. At home in his nest, Whistler’s

buried in a huge stack of Life, People and Us...

WHISTLERPracticin’.

NARRATORHe hears a whistle and runs to the window to wave atthe only person who whistles a similar sad tune. Mrs.Lydia. Mom and dad of three dog-fighting bad boys.

LYDIAWho are never really bad. Hi yah, Whistler!

NARRATORMrs. Lydia, a living painting. Cream colored skincovered with angel kisses, copper red hair, curves andwarmth and a smile that burns the clouds away.Everyone’s mom when they need one. She works nine tofive, makes supper, and curls on the couch to watch aTV other life. Her littlest burrows in the pocket ofher legs and drives his cars from ankle to mountainhip. Four wheeling. He’s safe.

BENNIEAll warm smelling, like a mom. Kid Chaser won’t get mehere.

LYDIAWhat, honey?

BENNIENothin’. Just something Angel told us about a badstorm.

LYDIAOh. Kid Chaser.

SHILOHMom!

LYDIADoor, Shiloh. You weren’t born in a barn. I was there.

SHILOHCan Travis, Jason and Tony eat supper over tonight?



35.

LYDIAExcuse me? Don’t these boys have homes? How come younever eat at their house?

SHILOHYuck. You don’t want to lose your favorite son do you?

LYDIAHe’s not home right now.

SHILOHCome on, Mom. It’s an honor. All the kids want to comehere. It’s the best yard in town and the best mom.

LYDIAUh, huh.

SHILOHThanks, Mom. Give you a hug later.

LYDIAShiloh! Door! All I see of that kid is big eyes anddust. You’ll spend more time with your mommy, won’tyou, baby?

BENNIEVvvvrrroooooom.

NARRATORShiloh leaves a trail of dust and tumbleweeds down thestreet to Angels where the guys are waiting, blowingdandelion parachutes into the breeze and kicking gravelat the few girls that brave a visit.

SHILOHSupper’s on. Let’s see Angel. Go away, girlie girls.

LAURAShut up, Shiloh. Angel said we could come, too. Stickthat in your pocket with your boogers.

SHILOHLaura. You are a booger. Let’s go, guys.

NARRATOR

Angel’s been here forever in Angel’s house. Tellingstories, sharing peanuts, carving arrows out of oldwooden shingles. Flying arrows not hurting ones. Arrowsthat whirl from the kid filled fields to the kitefilled sky. Wooden angels that fall to the ground withpainted children’s names. Bikes lean against treeseveryday but when a storm comes, the winds howl,darkness comes early, bikes fill the yard. Kids fillAngels world.



36.

ANGELKid chaser howls. Kid chaser groans. Kid Chaser scowlsand tosses stones. Lighting crashes and the winds blowwild. Kid Chaser’s coming for the naughty child.

NARRATOR

The kids ring-a-ling home leaving Angel looking intothe setting sun from his doorway. He looks long andhard to see what there is to see.

FIRST VOICEMiki’s car is a small shadow. Getting closer. Dakotabristles across her like a tumbleweed stampede. Shepulls off the highway and grinds down the graveled lastfew miles. Memories chase her like dust devils. Shesees the house on the hill above an empty pasture.

NARRATORAt his nest, Whistler soaks his fingers in warm water.

Sore from practicing. Mrs. Lydia calls in the bad boys.

LYDIAC’mon, boys.

NEIGHBOR BOYHi, Mrs. Lydia.

NEIGHBOR GIRLHi, Mrs. Lydia.

LYDIAHey. You kids head home, too. You’re parents are

probably wondering if you still live there.

NARRATORShe stands on her trailer deck riding the shudderingwave of tall green grass beginning to seed where herdiving dolphin sons roll and tumble not coming up forair minutes on end.

LYDIAI got to mow this lawn. Shiloh. Get off your brothershead. Now! That looks like Kid Chaser to me.

NARRATORThunder. The pile of boys explodes mowing through thegrass in all directions. The sidewalks and streets echowith the sound of fast feet.

NEIGHBOR BOYC’mon feet. Please be fast enough.



37.

NARRATORShiloh says a quick goodbye to his second true love.His first was her twin sister.

LESLEYMy parents don’t like it that you’re my boyfriend, but

I don’t care. They say you’re bad, but I never see youdo anything bad.

SHILOHUsed to. Went to jail.

LESLEYWhat did you do?

SHILOHSnuck into peoples houses and took their remotecontrols.

LYDIAShiloh. Now.

NARRATORIt’s bedtime. Dreamtime. Big people quiet time, littlepeople dream time. Whistler rolls restless, tomorrow’sconcert tonight’s nightmare. Visions of wind gusts,sticky pages and sticky fingers. He dreams he wearswhite gloves with grape jelly on the fingertips. Lydialies alone.

FIRST VOICEMiki hugs her mother and says

MIKIHey, Dad.

NARRATORAngel’s alone in his basement carving an arrow shapedlike a bolt of lightning. He watches the wild worldabove. Angel’s voice echoes the storm in childlanddreams.

ANGELDon’t be scared of thunder, kids. It’s only Godbowling.

NARRATORNight. Dream. Hush. Dream good things. Dreameverything’s A.O.K. Dream. Day comes fast enough,friends. Milk cow morning comes by the time tickinghands. It’s still dark out. The sun hasn’t found itsway through, yet. Miki wakes up. Five a.m. She moansand rolls out to get her chore clothes on, wondering

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38.

NARRATOR (cont’d)why her dad didn’t fry her eyeballs awake with a flickof the light switch. Then she remembers.

MIKII don’t milk cows. I sit at a desk.

NARRATORShe smiles and crawls back into the warm sheets.

DADMiki. Rise and shine. Let’s go lazy butt.

MIKIDad. My eyes. I’m sleeping.

DADCome downstairs and have a cup of coffee with your olddad. Come on, get up or I’ll drag you out.

MIKII’m coming.

NARRATORMiki stumbles through the blazing bright room to thekitchen.

MIKII always hated when you did that. Looks ugly out thismorning.

DAD

It’s getting uglier. Just sitting here, not moving.

MIKIMust be nice nowadays. No chores to do. Milk cowskicking and slobbering on you.

DADYup.

MIKIBeen in the field yet?

DADNo. Didn’t want to plant something that would just gettaken away.

MIKIWhat are you going to do?



39.

DAD(Shrugs.)

NARRATORThe red-winged black bird sky covers the church morningtown. The dewy air is heavy, smelling of lilacs, wet

grass and coffee. Whistler is up - bright eyed andbushy tailed. Today’s the concert. Everybody will bethere including Whistler by the piano...

WHISTLERTurning pages.

SECOND VOICEMiss Lydia has the bad boys up. Almost.

LYDIAOut from under the bed, Shiloh, or Mom jumps on it.

SHILOHI’m up.

NARRATOREverybody to church.

VOICESLook at the sky.

It’s going to pour.

Or something.

Morning.

Hey, little fella.

Good morning.

C’mon boys. We’ll be late.

The suit. Put on the blue suit. It matches your sister.

NARRATORThe flock has congregated. The singers are gowned. Mrs.Larson seated. Whistler is

WHISTLERReady.

COULDA CARSONI coulda been in the concert. Had to work rehearsalnights.



40.

WHISTLERI can do it. I can. Fingers are relaxed. Dry. I’m fine.Start the concert.

MRS. LARSONReady, Benjamin?

WHISTLER(Whistles.)

NARRATORThe music rises into the rafters. Singers like angels.Whistler is dynamic. His fingers quick as a surgeons,they remove the pages at the faintest hint from Mrs.Larson, who is beaming at him. His fingers are alive,dancing, conducting the music.

VOICES(Singing softly underneath.) Lift me up, Lord...

WHISTLERIt’s going great. Singers singing great. Organ’s great.I’m turning great.

NARRATORWhistler feels the power of the music rising in him.Echoing in his ears. He knows this song. He rememberssinging it. He whistles along. Happy. Joyous. Mrs.Larson is frantic, confused. Watching the concert flyaway like black specked doves set free in Whistler’shands.

MRS. LARSONBenjamin. Ben. Whistler!

NARRATORNo one is singing. The organ sighs. Whistler opens hiseyes to the silence and sees a sheet of music floatdown softly to land on the alter. The service ends andthe flock departs for the buffet line past WhistlerWilderson sitting in the back pew. Coulda Carson islast, looking for his money clip.

COULDA CARSONHey, kid. Good concert. Best ever. Wish I could whistlelike that.

NARRATOROutside. Listen. Look. The Sunday smelling good,looking good world stands still in their yards for amoment. They stand in the streets, cars still running.The roast burning. TV hissing. They look into amidnight sky and think of fancy words like “foreboding”

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41.

NARRATOR (cont’d)and “ominous”. They feel for a moment like the onlycreature on earth. The air stock still solid. Miki’s inthe yard petting the old cow dogs that never forgether. She walks to the barn. The calf pen door isrusted open.

MIKI

And the sun is simple and steady and the trees sproutup and take over the grain bins if you let them androcks grow in the fallow each year and oil turns darkand gritty in the engines and smells like liquid metalon your hands. And Dad tans through his work shirtsworn thin and Mom can heal anything you find in herstrong hands - calves, runts, hawks and skunks and awatering hole is ice cold below the surface and feelslike Bermuda from a dive off the seat of a tractorticking hot on the way from the field and my body feelsstrong and alive burned brown and dirty, summer heat

dog tired, stacking bales and branding calves, diggingpost holes in ground baked hard as granite and why dowe do it? No one knows but us and sometimes we don’teven know til it’s too late. Why is it so quiet here?Why does it have to be so quiet? Time passes so slow,it makes you flinch.

The End.

Dakota Storms

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Transcript of Dakota Storms