Are They Comets Or Are They Shooting Stars Sir? Read online



  "Are They Comets Or Are They Shooting Stars, Sir?"

  Copyright D. Bruno Starrs 2012.

  ISBN: 9781301083107.

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  Are They Comets Or Are They Shooting Stars, Sir?

  By D. Bruno Starrs PhD. Copyright 2012.

  (EVE and ADAM, two fourteen year old schoolchildren, are at opposite sides of the stage. They come progressively closer to each other with each section of dialogue)

  EVE: (To audience) From now until the end of time, whenever I spy a comet streaking ‘cross the face of the moon, that’s when I will remember the thrill of that moment, the magical instant when your lips against mine created electricity enough to rival all that the Heavens can produce.

  ADAM: (To audience) I was walking home after footy practice the other night and I looked up and saw a shooting star. It was so cool and naturally, I made a wish: Please God, please let Mr. Stewart select me for the Under 15s State tryouts. And then I saw another one so I wished again: You know how Big Jim reckons he’s got a killer workout plan that’ll pack the beef on me like nobody’s business, enough even to get me playing alongside him in the second row, well, please God, please make it work.

  EVE: (To audience) I will never forget that night: above us the stars dazzled, like a symphony of celestial power, a wanton display of the universe’s might. A slideshow of shock and awe played out on a velvet-black background as the sky erupted into a shower of blazing meteorites, and we were small and short-lived in comparison. But then you leapt onto our two-person stage and the gods were belittled, for even they could not compete with the fireworks your corporeal tongue ignited, as it flicked, like a storm-blown loose power line, against mine, its earth.

  ADAM: (To audience) Last Saturday morning I had an absolute blinder! Thirty two tackles and an intercept try right on full-time! We would have lost the game for sure, if it wasn’t for me, so I won Man of the Match, no problems. Mr. Stewart wasn’t there but I know he heard all about it. Shit, the whole school was talking about me. Big Jim reckons I’m a shoo-in for the state side’s halfback position. Maybe even the Australian Schoolboys team!

  EVE: (To audience) Hit by your lightning, I melted into the inert ground, an unconscious, unfeeling, unaware, molten lump of a woman. Only later did I come to, and realise, with dismay, that you had left me alone, safe at my front-door. But you, my god-man, you I worship and you are my teacher, and as your pupil, there are those who will say that what we have is wrong.

  ADAM: (To audience) It’s a shame my girlfriend Eve wasn’t there to see it. She’s the most fly girl in Year 10, but I wish she was more into sports. Even if she just played netball or did swimming, it’d be better than all that dumb-ass writing she does. It’s not right for an up and coming sports star like me to have a nerd for a girlfriend.

  EVE: (To audience) My mortal boyfriend, Adam, is a fellow student of Year 10, and the relationship between us began to die that night. The two days that have passed since then have been tasteless and stale. All I can do is strain my shell-shocked brain for a reason, a rationale for me to get myself back into your office, and then back to where I can feel alive again, back into your arms of such electric power.

  ADAM: (To audience) Then Mr. Stewart takes me aside yesterday arvo. He says he’s concerned that some of the bros are fooling around with steroids. He didn’t come right out and say it but he didn’t have to: he reckons Big Jim is on the juice. So on and on he goes dissing the gear and how at our age we’re nowhere near our natural potential and that steroids will just shrink our balls and give us more zits. Promote fits of roid rage. Make us grow puffy little bitch tits. Yeah, well, it’s OK for him to talk. Granted, he’s still pretty hardcore but he retired from footy centuries ago and only has to teach P.E. now. If I’m gonna make first grade by the time I’m 17 I’ll have to take something more than just protein powder.

  EVE: (To audience) That first time together had been unplanned. I had a consultation with you over my essay and you naturally urged me to pursue my dream of being a writer. But it went on too long: the last bus had left and I was stranded at the school. Like a perfect gentleman, you offered to drive me the 9 kilometres home, believing the lie I told about my parents. Your car was a warm refuge from reality. An Italian antique, I think, from the 60s at least. Its cosy leather seats matched your elbow patches and we discussed the unit’s essay again, between my directions to the folk’s homestead. I know people will believe otherwise when we recount the story at dinner parties to come, but when I said turn left instead of right, it was without forethought. No motivation on my behalf had anticipated you stopping at that secluded lookout overlooking the gentle valley on that brisk clear night, nor had I expected your suggestion we take a stroll. On the edge of the precipice you lent me that elbow-patched jacket against the wind. Adam is hardly even shaving, whereas you are a man in every possible sense of the word and it seemed so natural to take your hand.

  ADAM: (To audience) And again with the steroids this morning! Mr. Stewart comes up to me and Jimbo at recess and says if we want to pack on some size there’s no substitute for a quality diet. He says it’s much better to spend our money on the right food than over-priced supplements. He goes, like, “Protein powder is simply isolated skim milk”. He’s probably right, though, so Big Jim and I write a shopping list for bulking up: cans of tuna in springwater, skinless chicken breasts and lots of eggs. Now I just gotta persuade dad to increase my allowance and mum to cook it for me!

  EVE: (To audience) But now you ignore me. At lunchtime I watched you stride across the quadrangle. I figured I could intercept you at the steps to the staffroom. The literature class was only two periods away but I couldn’t wait and besides, I knew I would have to share you then with the 24 other students dissecting Shakespeare that afternoon. I checked my eyeliner in my Bratz compact – still un-smudged – and discreetly tamped down the tissues in my bra before placing myself squarely in your way. “Hello, Mr. Lewis. Don’t you think we need to talk about … us?” Eyes downcast at first then a quick glance to make contact with your gorgeous browns accompanied by a smile just as fast, so that my romantic intent could not be mistaken. But then … tragedy and misfortune on a Shakespearean scale: “Ask me at class. I’m busy right now.” You brusquely swept past me and were gone. The rejection stung like a slap. My throat seemed to be convulsing, my face flushed with shame. And then Adam appears out of nowhere.

  (ADAM and EVE are now face to face)

  ADAM: (To EVE) “Eve, did I just see what I think I did? Unbelievable! I mean, Mr. Lewis? He’s gotta be as old as my Dad.” (To audience) I hope none of the guys saw my own girlfriend coming on to a bloody teacher!

  EVE: (To ADAM) “Fuck off, Adam,” (To audience) Then I use the word of the day I got in my email, knowing it will piss him off quick smart. (To ADAM) “You’re in a highly aroused state of dudgeon, so fuck off!” (To audience) It has the highly desired effect. He rolls his eyes and slouches over t
o where his loser mates are playing handball at the other end of the quadrangle.

  (They head off to opposite sides of the stage from which they started as each of the following sections of dialogue is spoken)

  ADAM: (To audience): This is really, like, so weird, I think to myself but then the bell starts ringing and we’re off and racing for two periods of English which sucks big time because I forgot to do my essay on T.S. Eliot, even though I actually read it all and then I get busted for making fart sounds and Big Jim gets busted for slapping Donato the Dweeb in the back of his woggy head. So the third period after lunch finally rolls around and I can’t believe it, Rosie With The Rack slips me a note after I had to stand up and explain to the whole science class about the difference between astrology and astronomy and the note says will you be my boyfriend and I ask you how hot for it is that chick and I sign up for an excursion to the Mt. Stromlo Observatory because it’s extra credit and besides I reckon it’ll be sick as.

  EVE: (To audience) Which leaves me to reflect on what has just happened. But I don’t get the chance because the bell starts ringing all over the place and I’ve got General Pure Maths for a double period and I have to concentrate on my crappy algebra and my pen starts leaking and Rosie O’Lachlin calls me a country hick and it gets so hectic I almost hit her, the yeasty slag. So the third period after lunch finally rolls around and I can’t believe it, he’s apparently gone home sick - yeah, right - and a replacement teacher takes us for Shakespeare. No more dry mouth and sweaty palms, but.

  ADAM: (To audience) In fact, Mr. Carter says my grades in Physics are pretty good so why don’t I apply for the internship at the observatory and I think, sure, why not? After all, astronomy is a way cool subject.

  EVE: (To audience) The replacement is Mr. Strachan which is not pronounced the way it’s spelt and he’s totally cute. Spiky hair. Real tall. Well, tall-ish. Only about 23 years old, which will make him 27 when I’m 18.

  ADAM: (To audience) So now I’m looking through the observatory’s antique 15 centimetre Farnham telescope, watching the C/2011 L4 comet which has a much closer perihelion than the Elenin. In other words, it is heaps bigger than the shooting stars I saw the other night. And Mr. Carter says there’s a science scholarship on offer to Duntroon college next year and they’ve got a mad footy team with a brilliant itinerary including touring to play matches in South Africa and Wales.

  EVE: (To audience) So now, as I lay in bed with the window wide open in the fresh cool air, I can hear the cows in the front paddock. Highly strung Friesians - something’s spooked them and their cowbells are jangling.

  ADAM: (He is now at the far end of the stage. To audience) To top off a great day Rosie With The Rack sends me a text and says she reckons I’d look super sexy in a cadet’s uniform and I think, a career in the Military? Sure, why not, coz it’s all good. (Sighing contentedly) Happy as.

  EVE: (She is now at the far end of the stage. To audience) Stupid cows, they remind me of Rosie O’Lachlin. I look out the window and see the tail end of a comet and close my eyes, content and ready for whatever tomorrow will bring, coz it’s all good. (Sighing contentedly) Happy as.

  CURTAIN.

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