Directed by Sean Garahan
Featuring Megan Luis, Sarah David & Ray Renati
Man Ray is painting water colors….Daughter Megan is studying Weather for Dummiesquietly getting more and more frustrated:.
Note: a slash / indicates an overlap of dialogue where the next character interrupts the previous speaker.
Daughter: Undulatus asperatus, cumulus mediocris, cumulus pileus, cumulus Arcus, cumulonimbus…Oh god. There are just too many of them.
Daughter: Names of clouds.
Daughter: To remember.
Man: You’re good at names.
Daughter: Not this many…and all in Latin!
Man: Latin….oh, yes….Arma virumque cano trojae qui primus ab oris.
Daughter: No, not like that, Dad!
Man: Latin is latin.
Daughter: That has a story. “I sing of arms and a man…”
Man: Make a story then. You’re good at that.
Daughter: Easier said than done.
Man: Could you hand me that drink? I mean pour me some/more
Daughter: /The pitcher is right there.
Man: (Holds up hands) Hands are full of paint. Don’t want to dirty the handle.
Daughter: Oh, be…wild, Dad! Dirty the handle for a change.
Man: You won’t like it.
Daughter: I don’t mind…this once.
Daughter: All right, I’ll pour it.
Daughter: (She fills his drink from the pitcher.) Why do I always manage to pick some subject that I’m guaranteed to fail at?
Man: Whose failing? You haven’t even taken the test yet. You’ll pass. You’ll see.
Daughter: I’ll never remember these terms. I don’t even know why I need to learn them. I’ve never heard any weatherman woman person describe a cloud properly. Have you?
Man: I wouldn’t know.
Daughter: But you paint them.
Man: Different skill set.
Daughter: It’s high clouds or low clouds or no clouds…I mean can you even remember a day when there were any clouds in the sky?
Man: Can’t say that I can.
Daughter: Or rain? Paint rain!
Man: And it will come?
Daughter: In Miami, it’s not called rain. Just cloud bursts.
Man: Maybe they don’t mean that kind of cloud.
Daughter: Who’s they?
Man: The ever-present they.
Daughter: What other kind of clouds could “they” mean?
Man: The kind with all the information…where the computers go.
Man: You know. The data…on the computers… resides in some cyberspace that’s one big cloud.
Daughter: But is it cumulus, nimbus or altocumulus castellanus?
Man: That’s impressive.
Daughter: No it’s not. I’m just reading from the list.
Man: How many are there?
Man: Really? Let me see that.
Daughter: Slight exaggeration. But it feels that way. (Shows him the list.)
Man: Aren’t there flash cards you could use.
Daughter: That would take more work then I’m willing to put in. Besides people don’t use flashcards to learn things anymore.
Man: Always worked for me. Maybe you could download them.
Daughter: Maybe you could paint them for me.
Man: You’re the one taking the test. (with a rag he hands back the list to avoid getting it dirty.) It’d be a good way to learn them. A picture’s worth a….
Daughter: Don’t say it, Dad. And you’re the artist, not me.
Mom Sarah enters with grocery bag. Begins unloading them.
Mom: Yes, you are.
Daughter: No, I’m not.
Mom: Well, artistic. Look at the way you dress. If that isn’t an artist then I don’t know what is. Great scarf!…Is that mine?
Daughter: I know you’re trying to make me feel better but it’s not helping.
Mom: (Looking at her husband’s work. It.excites her) Ooh, moody clouds! (She kisses him mid-air above his head)
Daughter: Why did I ever choose to study weather?
Mom: You wanted to be on TV and make beaucoup (pronounced
bokoo) buckets of moolah, wear red jackets with no lapels and silk scarves.
Daughter: I did?
Mom: That’s what you told me. It looks better on you. Keep it.
Daughter: Thanks, But that was when there was weather to report.
Mom: There’s still weather to report. Hot today, Hotter tomorrow, Slightly hotter on Sunday and much hotter next week.
Daughter: And no clouds. Damn.
Mom: Complaining about it isn’t going to/… (make it happen)…
Daughter: /Please, Mom. Spare me the lecture I’ve heard since I was five year’s old.
Mom: Is it possible your behavior has a tendency to repeat itself?
Man: A pattern we all have in common with the weather.
Daughter: I’m not a quitter. I’m not a dilettante. I’m not a Jacqueline of all trades. I just can’t stand waiting on tables.
Man; It’s not the end, it’s just the beginning something new that’s sometimes difficult.
Mom: I certainly don’t begrudge her trying to advance her career.
Daughter: What career? I don’t have a career. I’m a failure.
Mom: I’m not buying it.
Daughter: Then help me.
Mom: Help you?
Daughter: Dad! Please defend me in my hour of need.
Man: Didn’t I just…
Mom: (To daughter) I’m not attacking you. (To Man) Am I attacking her?
Man: In my dotage, I have finally learned the wisdom of not interfering in family matters.
Daughter: Cumulus mediocris!
Daughter: Mesospheric cirriform!
Mom: Stratospheric cirriform!
Daughter: Wait, How do you know all these…?
Man: Really, Sarah, how do you?
Mom: (Short pause to think for a moment.) I read…and remember …and had a life once… when it rained and stormed and I studied the clouds that brought that rain…because the sounds they made were music and texture that made me wanton enough to fall in love with a man who painted those clouds. Only I knew their names even if he didn’t. Names that described their design and shape and where they lived in the heavens. And I was so happy when you told me you wanted to be a weather woman and knew you’d have to learn their names too…even though it would be more of a challenge because you haven’t seen them as I did…we did, and maybe never will because this is the Hottest Year Ever and who knows if it will be the end and not just the beginning of more. So, come, I’ll help you learn them. They’re not as frightening as they sound and if you ask, I’ll even tell you how the rain feels when it hits your face and washes away the years of loneliness when you finally meet the person you know you will embrace…until the end of time.
Daughter: Okay. Okay. You win.
Mom: So,(She takes list from daughter) first: Undulatus asperatus. Next?
Daughter: Cumulus mediocris.
Mom: Good! Next?
(Lights slowly fade as the daughter continues with “cumulus pileus”, Dad returns to his painting and the sound of gentle thunder catches their attention or is it just the sound of rain against a window heard in distant memory)