But in the Summer It’s Beautiful

By Hayden Taylor

 

 

(ROSY sits at her station. Three people are in line some distance away.)

 

Rosy: Next please!

 

(WALLACE steps up to the counter. He has brown hair.)

 

Wallace: Hi.

Rosy: Hi.

Wallace (after pause): Hi.

Rosy: Yeah, you said that already.

Wallace: Oh, sorry.

Rosy (flat, irritated): Name please.

Wallace: Um, Wallace. Wallace Flahpioop.

 

(Rosy laughs impolitely for a few seconds.)

 

Rosy: Okay…Flahpioop, Wallace Flahpioop it is then.

 

(She types his name into the computer.)

 

Rosy: Age?

Wallace: Thirty four.

Rosy: Really?

Wallace: Yeah…

Rosy: Rough life, huh.

 

(Rosy enters information.)

 

Rosy: Eye color…

 

(She leans forward a little to get a look at his eyes.)

 

Rosy: …hazel.

 

(Wallace looks tense. Rosy senses it.)

 

Rosy: Is that correct? (pause) Hazel.

Wallace: Actually, could you just make that “green?”

Rosy (not understanding): I’m sorry?

Wallace: You see, my eyes aren’t really hazel. Cause hazel indicates like a greenish or light brown. And if you look closely you’ll see that my eyes aren’t really hazel, see, they’re really green with brilliant streaks of orange radiating from the pupil. See that? The green and orange are totally distinct. So, while they may appear brown initially, they are truly made up of two colors neither of which is brown. You might call it a luminescent green, don’t you think?

Rosy: You want me to print, “luminescent green” on your card here?

Wallace: Well, just, you know…they’re not brown.

 

(Rosy just stares at him.)

 

Wallace: I’m sorry I’m not so convenient for you to label. You bureaucrats just love to label don’t you? That’s all you do. Well, I’m not going to be a victim of the system. I have a right to make my own identity.

Rosy: Okay, green, whatever you say. Height?

Wallace: 5’10

Rosy: Okay. Weight?

Wallace: 148.

Rosy: Okay, about 150 then.

Wallace: What?

Rosy: We round by fives.

Wallace: Oh, well, I certainly don’t think it’s a fair statement to say that I weigh 150. I mean, if you write 150, people will just round it up to 200 pounds in their heads, and I’m definitely not 200 pounds.

Rosy: Okay, well, we have to round by fives.

Wallace: In that case, I think I’m more of a 145 than a 150. If you had to just look at me, I mean. I’m not a guy who weighs more than something in the 140s; that’s just ridiculous. I’m sorry, but I’m asserting my identity. Even though you make it hard. I am strong enough.

Rosy: Okay, whatever, 145. Hair color. Can I say “brown?” Is that fair? A fair assessment that you’re nice and comfortable with?

 

(Wallace looks uncomfortable, trying to resist urge to object.)

 

Wallace (reluctantly giving in): I guess, maybe…maybe it’s brown now. I can see how you would say that. So, go ahead and write it.

 

Rosy enters this and clicks to a new screen. She reads it over and is about to read from it, taking a big, pre-speak breath (but not of hesitation, just pause.)

 

Wallace: Cause you see…Well, it’s just that, when I was younger my hair was totally blonde, you know, really light. And gradually, it got a little darker every year. You know, sandy blonde, dishwater blonde, as they say, or “dirty” blonde—and I’m not even going to get into that—then I guess light brown you’d call it.

Rosy: Uh huh.

Line person 1 (raising voice to be heard by Wallace): You know what? My hair used to be blonde, too! I feel you, man.

Wallace: Thanks. You know, in the summer, you wouldn’t believe how it lightens. It just really streaks all out. But I didn’t really get much sun this summer, you know, so it’s different.

Line person 2 (to LP 1): That’s like me too. When I was younger I had the most radiant sun-kissed curls. I’m proud of him for standing up to that old bag.

Line person 1: Yeah, me too. In fact, when I get up there, I’m going to tell her to mark me down as blonde.

Line person 2: Yeah! And look at my eyes, people say they are blue, but look. See those subtle inflections of violet?

Line person 1: Oh, yes. Tell her to write down “violet.”

Line person 2: I will. All thanks to the trailblazing of this fine young man.

Wallace (Chuckling to self): Even now, just look here at the lighter hair around the edge of my scalp, see. It’s a lot lighter, really kind of stunning. Anyway, it’s a stretch, but I suppose I can see how you’d call my hair dark.

 

Pause

 

Rosy (with matter-of-fact attitude): So…brown.

Wallace (a little embarrassed pause of realization)…Yeah.

 

(Rosy enters some information into the computer.)

 

Wallace: No, stop. I’m sorry, I just have to assert myself again. My inner identity is blonde. I’m strong enough to see that, so I’m putting it out there. And you have to respect that, okay?

Rosy: Alright, alright! Jesus. You want to be blonde? Fine, you’re blonde.

Wallace: Thank you.

Rosy: Now I need your address. Say whatever you darn well please; I’ll write down anything.

 

(UNKNOWN MAN enters, hangs at edge of stage.)

 

Wallace: It’s 483 North Lakeside Drive, Apartment 9.

Rosy: Isn’t that the Forrest View complex?

Wallace: Yes.

Rosy: Isn’t that a retirement home?

Wallace (pause the embarrassment): Yes.

Rosy: Okay, that should be all the information…

Unknown man: Freeze, sir. You’re under arrest.

 

(Wallace freezes and is cuffed by the cop/unknown man)

 

Rosy: What did he do?

Cop: This man told you his name was Wallace Flahpioop, but it’s not. The man you see before you is none other than the infamous Al Capone!

Rosy (frightened): Al Capone!

Cop: Yes, none other than the infamous Al Capone. Let’s go, buddy.

Rosy: Were you really blonde as a child?

Al Capone: Of course I was! Everyone was blonde as a child. Who cares? I obviously have brown hair now. Being strong enough to assert my inner self? What a bunch of bullshit! I was just preparing this card for my new identity, hoping to lie low for a while. But I guess I’m too late.

Cop: No more fraternizing, Capone. We’re hitting the road in a blue streak.

 

(Cop hauls Capone offstage.)

 

Rosy: Next!

 

(Line Person 1 steps up.)

 

Rosy: Name.

LP1: Mary Jones.

Rosy: Hair color?

Mary: Um, brown.

 

LIGHTS OUT