I’ve hit one of those moments when I don’t have anything to say. I’ve been making things up for one purpose and another. Now I’ve no puff and a deadline looms. Here, instead of recounting the state of play in my life at this moment, is the synopsis for something I’ve just submitted for consideration for an open call. Hope you enjoy.
A spinal unit. Grant awaits an operation. It’s minor, classically referred to as a procedure. He’s that age. All the action takes place with Grant in the bed. Almost all of it on the ward. The two main characters are constantly backed up by two secondary performers who create a sense of place and affect scene changes as background characters. Almost silent, they’re the physical embodiment of emotional states.
The morning of the operation, Lizzy, the anaesthetist, turns up to introduce herself and check if he’s any allergies or concerns. Something in the conversation suggests intrigue. Later, in the disconcerting, clinical environment of the pre-op room, patient and Dr perform their roles with relish. He, fully involved, she, guiding the process sensitively.
During the operation, with him under the influence of a mild sedative, she asks about a tattoo on his arm. It strikes a nerve. He details the origins of the image. It’s by a daughter he hasn’t seen for ten years. He’s written a children’s book in which the main character is based on his daughter. In spite of the vulnerability of his situation, Lizzy manages the conversation well, paying attention but not mawkishly so. Moved by the attention, Grant sends a copy of his book to Lizzy. He writes an accompanying note on a scrap of card torn from a box of dressings beside his bed. An orderly brings an envelope for him. He casts his gift into the hospital postal system.
About a week later Lizzy finds herself on the ward again. She notices he’s still on the roster and comes to his bedside to check his progress. Assuming she’s coming to thank him for the book, the conversation goes in a skewed direction initially. It turns out she hasn’t got the book. The mood shifts. Their objectives are re-evaluated. It’s a flying visit.
Still later on, perhaps another week or so, she returns, this time with purpose. Grant is asleep. She tells him she’s there to thank him, that she’s got the book, that she likes it and that she’s touched. When it’s clear he’s not waking up she leaves him.
When he does awaken, he’s told by the nurse, whose name is Destiny, that a Dr came to visit him. Grant assumes it is one of the ward registrars doing a routine check. Thus, he is only mildly phased when he is also told by Destiny that he’s shit the bed.
More time has passed. Grant’s eating. It’s time to go home soon. Lizzy, passing his ward, notices him still there and comes over. She’s found him on Instagram and sent a message. This terrifies him as he thinks of the salubrious people he follows. They have a conversation filled with the longing of imminent absence. She leaves, asking him to message her if he comes back.
Does she really want him back in hospital? He considers this paradox as the lights dim.