Telemachos; veterans & comrades; questions; Penelope

FADE IN:

EXT. VFW POST 4793 ‚ DAY

Southwestern Pennsylvania, November, 1982. The Veterans of Foreign Wars building, on the outskirts of town, is a ranch-style brick construction encircled by a cracked asphalt parking lot. A flag pole divides the front walkway, and a patriotic bronze statue, complete with plaque, guards the entrance. The parking lot is sparsely occupied: the vehicles present are mostly of the battered, grimy Ford or Chevrolet variety. One pickup bears a "Carter/Mondale 1980" bumper sticker, flanked by "End the War!" and "Shit Happens." The sky is monochrome gray. A wind toys with the three flags hanging from the pole: the American, the Pennsylvania state, and a black POW/MIA ‚ YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN banner.

INT. VFW BASEMENT ‚ DAY

The lounge is over-bright with fluorescent lighting. It has a low ceiling and fake wood paneling, which are lined with faded photographs of dead men and commemorative artwork. Five or six round card tables with folding seats dot the floor, along with a ping-pong table and, along the wall, a row of vending machines. Cigarette smoke pools thick in the air. Three people are conversing toward the back. TOM THACKER, 16, huddles into his nylon quilted jacket. He wears Levi's jeans and Converse hightop sneakers; his ankles are wrapped around the legs of the chair. SKI, 38, has a woven headband about his forehead, keeping back his shoulder-length hair. He nurses coffee in a Styrofoam cup. PHIL PEARSON, 37, chain-smokes: his fingers are yellow and his eyes are red.

PHIL
And this isn't for some school project, you said? Some damn Veteran's Day thing?

TOM
No, I just want to know for myself.

SKI
There's a change.

PHIL
So, you want to know about your old man. How long's it been since you seen him?

TOM
He left for the war when I was three. I don't even remember him much, really.

SKI
1969. Was it really that long ago?

PHIL
'Course, we were all in high school together. Your dad was on the debate team, unlike the rest of us dumb gorillas. Ladies loved him, and he loved 'em back.

SKI
Until he met your mother, of course.

PHIL
Right. Hey, how is she these days? Haven't seen much of her.

TOM
Oh, she's all right. She's working, does some seamstress stuff on the side.

PHIL
Well, you tell her I said hi. Tell her to stop by sometime and we'll talk.

TOM
Okay.

SKI
You want to hear about Vietnam.

TOM
For starters. I just ‚ people say he wasn't killed there, but he just never came home.

PHIL
He was a difficult man, your father. Good, if you could goad him into it, but pig-headed. Loved using his words. There was this other guy in our company, Pelling, you remember him?

SKI
Private Alexander Hill Pelling. Three years younger than us. Full of himself as anything, but damn good to have in your side in a pinch.

PHIL
Yeah. They hated each other like nothing you've ever seen. Used to try and out-do each other while we were out on missions. 'Course, Pelling got himself killed, but your dad, he got his boots when it was over.

TOM
Was my dad a hero?

PHIL
Hero?

Phil grinds his cigarette butt into an ashtray and fixes Tom with a stare. He smiles without humor, exhaling a plume of smoke.
PHIL
The hell is that?
An awkward silence. Tom looks down at his hands.
SKI
Your dad was a good soldier. Still don't know if being one means you can't be the other.

PHIL
What would you do if he came back, kid? How would you know what to do?

SKI
Phil, let it go. Tommy, you should get going. Thanks for coming by.

Tom nods and stands up to leave.
PHIL
You want stories? I got stories. You sure you want to hear them?

TOM
See you.

Tom hurries out. Ski and Phil exchange looks, each reproving the other. Phil lights up another cigarette.

INT. THACKER KITCHEN ‚ DAY

The kitchen of the Thacker residence is small, and has not been substantially redecorated since circa 1969. A small aluminum table sits in one corner, sandwiched near the fridge and the oven. A window above the sink looks out into the driveway. NELL THACKER, 35, sits at the table, hand in her chin, staring off into space. She has seen better days, but the obvious beauty of her youth lingers in her face and in the delicacy of her hands. She still wears a wedding band. A car pulls up outside, and a dog barks. She turns her head in the direction of the front door, and sure enough, Tom walks in a moment later. She rises from her seat.

NELL
Where were you this afternoon? You didn't leave a note. I was worried about you driving in this light.

TOM
(shrugging)
Just out.

Tom walks over to the fridge and opens the door.
NELL
You smell like cigarette smoke.

TOM
I wasn't doing anything, Mom.

NELL
Well. I wish I could have seen you today. I've got a date tonight.

TOM
(suddenly sullen)
With who?

NELL
Gene Pines. I like him, Tommy.

Tom takes out a plate with a piece of cake covered in plastic wrap. On it is written in elaborate cursive icing "--py 16th!" He walks over to a drawer and removes a fork. He stabs the cake and doesn't look at his mother.
TOM
Yeah, whatever. I'll clear out.
He takes a bite, and swallows.
TOM
Phil Pearson says hello, by the way.

NELL
(disapproving)
Where did you see him?

TOM
I went to the VFW.

NELL
What for?

TOM
To find out about Dad.

Nell closes her eyes and massages one temple.
TOM
I only know about the things you've told me. There's got to be something out there that we just aren't hearing about him! Maybe--

NELL
Tommy, I have to get ready. Gene's coming over at 7:30.

TOM
It's only 5:45! Don't change the subject! I've only ever heard one version--

NELL
Later, Thomas.

TOM
Don't you--?

NELL
(firmly)
Later.

After a moment, Tom nods, puts the cake down and leaves. Nell crosses her arms and looks out the window again.

FADE OUT.


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