A Heated Premonition

just yet. Now wasn’t the right time. But when would be the right time to say: “Excuse me, sir, we’ve never met, but the same inexplicable force that led me here today also caused me to draw you on trial for your life”? He just sat there, a huge rotund body, the sweat pouring from his scalp, not speaking. Then he took a red silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.

ATKINSON:

Whew.

NEMEROFF:

(NARRATES) Although this face that looked up at me was the same as in my sketch, the expression was absolutely different – it was one of puzzlement.

Suddenly, the puzzlement was replaced by cheeriness, and he got up and took my hand as if we were old friends.

ATKINSON:

Welcome to you, sir.

NEMEROFF:

(WARY) Thank...you. Look, I’m sorry to just walk up on you like this. I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.

ATKINSON:

Not at all, not at all.

NEMEROFF:

It’s just that I was out for a walk and I just sort of ended up here. I hope you don’t mind.

ATKINSON:

(CHUCKLES) No, I don’t mind. I like company. Whew, it’s hot. Take a load off. Have a seat.

NEMEROFF:

There’s nowhere to sit.

ATKINSON:

Sit on the gravestone; I’m almost done with it.

NEMEROFF:

Gravestone. OK...

ATKINSON:

Nice and cool, huh?

NEMEROFF:

(AWKWARDLY) Uh, yeah.

SOUND:

ATKINSON STARTS CHIPPING AWAY AT THE MARBLE AGAIN.

ATKINSON:

It’s about the only thing that is cool today. Man, I can’t remember it ever being so hot. Can you remember it ever being so hot?

NEMEROFF:

I can’t. I really can’t. This is a beautiful piece of stone you’ve got here.

ATKINSON:

In a way it truly is.

NEMEROFF:

“In a way”?

ATKINSON:

Oh, the surface here is as fine as anything you could wish for, but unfortunately there’s a big flaw on the back, though I don’t expect you’d notice it right off.

NEMEROFF:

Oh, I doubt I would. I’m not really what you’d call a marble expert.

ATKINSON:

In the summer, a flaw in the marble is no problem, but wait until the winter comes.

NEMEROFF:

Winter?

ATKINSON:

Oh, yeah. Believe me, there’s nothing quite like frost to find the weak points in stone.

NEMEROFF:

Really? So what’ll you tell your customer?

ATKINSON:

What customer?

NEMEROFF:

The, uh, the relative of whoever this gravestone is for.

ATKINSON:

Oh, it’s not for a customer.

NEMEROFF:

Then, if you’ll excuse me for asking...

ATKINSON:

I’ll excuse you.

NEMEROFF:

What’s the point? Why carve a gravestone for- well, for nobody?

ATKINSON:

It’s for a trade show.

NEMEROFF:

A trade show.

ATKINSON:

That’s right. Death is big business. Morticians, casket builders, headstone makers, we all attend and present our wares.

NEMEROFF:

I had no idea there was such a thing. Not to be rude but a headstone’s a headstone, isn’t it?

ATKINSON:

Oh, you’d be surprised. There are many different kinds of marbles, some of ’em better suited to withstanding wind and rain, some are easier to work with than others. And fashions and tastes change from year to year – try taking a walk through a cemetery some time.

NEMEROFF:

Ah, no thanks.

ATKINSON:

(CHUCKLES) Squeamish, huh?

NEMEROFF:

I guess so, I never really thought about it before. I mean, I lost both my parents, but my sister took care of all the arrangements. When she died, I had her cremated.

ATKINSON:

We don’t use the C-word ’round here.

NEMEROFF:

Sorry.

ATKINSON:

Oh, it’s a valid choice, but a man’s livelihood is always kind of a sore point, don’t you agree?

NEMEROFF:

I don’t know; I’ve never been successful enough at anything to feel that way.

ATKINSON:

No shame in showing pride, it’s not like it’s a sin. (A BEAT) Oh, wait, actually, it is a sin.

NEMEROFF:

One of the seven big ones.

ATKINSON:

Still, it’s impossible not to feel satisfaction over something you’ve made with your own two hands. Take that bird-feeder, for instance.

NEMEROFF:

It’s nice.

ATKINSON:

It’s nothing ornate, like a gravestone, but- Whew!

SOUND:

ATKINSON STOPS BANGING.

NEMEROFF:

The heat, huh?

ATKINSON:

Bad today – real bad. A man’s not responsible for what he does in this kinda heat. So, you feel like telling me yet?

NEMEROFF:

Telling you what?

ATKINSON:

What it was that turned you pale when I first saw you. You still look a little queasy.

NEMEROFF:

I bet I do.

ATKINSON:

So?

NEMEROFF:

Well, it’s- I guess you could say I’m having a touch of deja-vu.

ATKINSON:

How so?

SOUND:

ATKINSON STARTS TAPPING GENTLY AT THE MARBLE.

NEMEROFF:

Well, somehow, I get the feeling I’ve experienced all this before – the fragrance of the flowers, our conversation about the marble, the heat– especially the heat.

ATKINSON:

All before, huh?

NEMEROFF:

That’s right. And yet I’ve never, ever been in this section of town before, let alone at this yard.

ATKINSON:

And we’ve never met before?

NEMEROFF:

Well... maybe. Your face is... sort of familiar.

ATKINSON:

Is it?

NEMEROFF:

It’s kind of hard to explain. Maybe I saw you once before somewhere. Maybe your face found a place in some out-of-the-way corner of my memory.

ATKINSON:

Possible.

SOUND:

ATKINSON FINISHES TAPPING AND DROPS HIS TOOLS.

ATKINSON:

(SIGHS WITH SATISFACTION) There! I’m finally finished. Well, what do you think of it?

NEMEROFF:

(UNCERTAIN) Uh... I can’t really read upside-down.

ATKINSON:

It says: (READING SLOWLY) “In the midst of life we are in death. Born, January 16^th, 1967.”

NEMEROFF:

(LOW, SHOCKED) January 16^th?

MUSIC:

AN ACCENT - THEN UNDER.

ATKINSON:

Something wrong?

NEMEROFF:

What else does it say?

ATKINSON:

(READS) “He passed away very suddenly on August 20^th, 2012.”

NEMEROFF:

(AFTER A BEAT) That’s today.

ATKINSON:

Yeah, well, we often use a present date on these exhibition stones.

NEMEROFF:

(HESITANT) Do you... do you... usually put a name on them, too?

ATKINSON:

Of course.

NEMEROFF:

Where is it?

ATKINSON:

You’re sitting on it. You have to get up to read it.

NEMEROFF:

Oh. OK, let’s see... (READS, SLOWLY AND WITH MOUNTING BUT CONTAINED HORROR) “Sacred to the memory of... James Franklyn Nemeroff.”

MUSIC:

A STATELY, SOMBER ACCENT - THEN FADES OUT.

SOUND:

BIRDS WHISTLE, CRICKETS CHIRP.

NARRATOR:

A cold shudder sweeps over Nemeroff – and he sits there in silence.

ATKINSON:

Whew. Hot. Hot. Even with the sun almost set, it’s still so damn hot. Got to get a new handkerchief – this one’s all wet from my sweat. Watch this.

SOUND:

DROPLETS OF WATER HIT THE GROUND AS HE WRINGS OUT THE HANDKERCHIEF.

ATKINSON:

See that? That’s a pint of me, right there.

NEMEROFF:

(UNEASY, TO ATKINSON) The name – James Franklyn Nemeroff. Uh, where – where did you – see that name?

ATKINSON:

Hm? Oh, I didn’t see it anywhere. I wanted some name, and I put down the first one that popped in my head. Better to have something a little unusual – you know, you see a thousand Smiths and Joneses.

NEMEROFF:

It’s really a very strange coincidence but – the name happens to be mine.

MUSIC:

IN AND UNDER.

ATKINSON:

Huh? Oh, yeah, right