Post by Cormack MacNeill on Nov 24, 2013 12:56:24 GMT -5
Halifax, 2001
Scene opens on a cold, snow-covered street. The wind blows through the branches of a leafless tree bring a chill to the air that's palpable. A low brown tenement sits to the left, squatting against the winter's bite with frosted impunity. Stray dogs wander up and down the road, seeking food and warmth. A solitary boy trudges up the street, his boots crunching on the crisp snow. His patched jacket and threadbare pants mark him as kin to the stray dogs, another lost soul in need of food and warmth.
He moves toward the door to the squatting building and the stray dogs follow cautiously, their keen canine senses alert for the curses and kicks that always result from human interaction. The child opens the door, letting out a rush of warm air and the smell of someone frying onions and cabbage. He heads for the stairway, moving slowly in the warmth of the entrance way. The stairway, like the rest of the building, is worn, battered, seen better days. The whole building product of a post-war building boom, and like so many other on the street uncared for since. He stops upon the first step, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a brown paper package. With an eye on the dogs, who have now crowded around the front door to take in as much heat as they can, he tosses the package to the doorway. As he ascends the stairs two at a time, the dogs inch closer, sniffing the package before one cautiously paws it.
A long hallway stretches out in front of the boy, filled with the sounds and smells of dinner and family gatherings. He walks slowly, gathering in all those sounds and smells and a brief smile crosses his face. He continues on to the end of the hallway, still smiling, and as his hand closes on the doorknob he pauses. The sounds of barking and chewing come from the front entrance way as the dogs unwrap and discover the ground beef given.
Putting on a forced smile, he opens the door and steps into the apartment with a sigh. The small but well kept unit is spotless in spite of the look of the threadbare couch and chair, and the old radio sitting on a side table, all which have seen newer days.
'Mack, is that you?'
'Yes mom, it's me. Be right there.'
He strips off his coat and sweater, the latter clearly handmade, and drapes them on the back of the couch. He rummages around in the pockets of the coat, finding a small bag, and turns toward the voice. Moving slowly to the back of the apartment, he enters a bedroom. A woman lies in bed, covered up to her neck by a quilt, also clearly handmade, and she puts on a smile when he steps into the room. He places the bag on the battered nightstand and gives her a smile.
'I brought you some medicine. Let me get a glass of water so you can take it.'
'Mack, where did you get this? You didn't steal from John's again did you?'
Ignoring the question, he drew a glass of water from the kitchen tap and returned to her with it.
'Mack, answer me! Did you steal this?'
'You needed it. John wouldn't give me any more. I did what I had to, what we had to.'
He took a pill container out of the bag, and shook two pills out of the bottle.
'Here, take these. You'll feel better soon.'
She smiled wanly, and took the offered pills, grimacing as she swallowed them with water.
'Thank you. When I get better, we'll square everything away with John.'
'Sure we will Mom. Sure we will.'
scene fades out
Halifax, 2013
scene fades in
A cold northwestern wind blows across the barren street, swirling snow and the remnants of leaves through the air. A solitary figure trudges through the snow, his jacket and kilt worn but well-maintained. A black toque sits snugly on his head, and his hands thrust deeply into the leather jacket, seeking warmth and a respite from the bitter wind.
A brown tenement building squats on the corner, stiffly resisting the wind and the passage of time. On the air he can smell the ghosts of frying onions and cabbage. He trudges past, onto the next block and the large grey building that stands therein. The sign on the storefront exclaims 'Pharmasave Saves You Money' but to him, it's still old John's drug store.
He pulls back the door, fighting the wind and the coldness seeping into his hands. Stepping into the store, he sighs a sigh of relief from the frosty air. Walking to the back of the store, he nods politely to those he sees. All eyes are on the bearded man as he moves slowly to the pharmacy counter, hands still stiffly in his pockets.
'Yes Sir, what can we help you with today?'
'I'd like to see the owner please lassie.'
'And who may I say is here?'
'Tell them Lucy MacNeill's boy is here to see him.'
With a odd look, the pharmacist nods and picks up the phone. She speaks for a moment or two, and then hangs up again.
'He will be right out to see you Sir. Please have a seat.'
Cormack sits at one of the waiting chairs, ones normally reserved for consultation, and waits patiently. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the pharmacist glancing over. She seems more concerned about the hands still stiffly in his pockets than with any sort of appreciation for his rugged good looks or devastatingly fashionable wardrobe. He slowly pulls his hands out of hs pockets and rubs them together.
'Relax lassie, just cold. No need to call the Mounties on me,' says MacNeill with a smile.
She smiles back, and returns to her work. But the glances keep coming. Maybe she does have an appreciation for the finer things in life, he thinks. Too bad she's qualified for seniors discounts.
At that moment, an elderly gentleman walks out from the back of the store, looking around as the pharmacist nods in Cormack's direction.
'Yes Sir, you were looking for me?'
'John Macmillan?'
'Yes, that's me. Who did you say you were again?'
Cormack MacNeill, Lucy MacNeill's son.'
'Oh, right! You used to live down the street. How is your mother?'
'She passed on nearly 5 years ago now. cancer.'
John's face saddened and filled with compassion.
'My condolences Cormack, she was a lovely woman.'
'The medicine that you used to give her kept her going longer than anyone thought she could last.
'I'm glad. No one should have to make a choice between their health and their rent.'
Cormack pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket, and handed it to Macmillan.
'This should cover all the medicine you gave her, plus the medicine you used to let me "steal". Why you never called the cops on me, I'll never know.
John smiled, and took the envelope. He handed it to the pharmacist, who was watching the scene with rapt attention.
'You didn't have to do that. Taking care of our neighbours is something we all should do.'
She promised that we would square up with you someday, and I'm just making sure her debts are paid. Our debts.
John shook his head sadly.
'If only there were more folks like you around here. The neighbourhood has gone to hell. I do what I can, but it's only so much.'
'Well, take what's owed out of that envelope, and use the rest to carry on what you've been doing in the neighbourhood.'
'I will, thanks Cormack.'
MacNeill rose, and moved to the front of the store.
'No John, thank you.'
Fade to Black
Scene opens on a cold, snow-covered street. The wind blows through the branches of a leafless tree bring a chill to the air that's palpable. A low brown tenement sits to the left, squatting against the winter's bite with frosted impunity. Stray dogs wander up and down the road, seeking food and warmth. A solitary boy trudges up the street, his boots crunching on the crisp snow. His patched jacket and threadbare pants mark him as kin to the stray dogs, another lost soul in need of food and warmth.
He moves toward the door to the squatting building and the stray dogs follow cautiously, their keen canine senses alert for the curses and kicks that always result from human interaction. The child opens the door, letting out a rush of warm air and the smell of someone frying onions and cabbage. He heads for the stairway, moving slowly in the warmth of the entrance way. The stairway, like the rest of the building, is worn, battered, seen better days. The whole building product of a post-war building boom, and like so many other on the street uncared for since. He stops upon the first step, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a brown paper package. With an eye on the dogs, who have now crowded around the front door to take in as much heat as they can, he tosses the package to the doorway. As he ascends the stairs two at a time, the dogs inch closer, sniffing the package before one cautiously paws it.
A long hallway stretches out in front of the boy, filled with the sounds and smells of dinner and family gatherings. He walks slowly, gathering in all those sounds and smells and a brief smile crosses his face. He continues on to the end of the hallway, still smiling, and as his hand closes on the doorknob he pauses. The sounds of barking and chewing come from the front entrance way as the dogs unwrap and discover the ground beef given.
Putting on a forced smile, he opens the door and steps into the apartment with a sigh. The small but well kept unit is spotless in spite of the look of the threadbare couch and chair, and the old radio sitting on a side table, all which have seen newer days.
'Mack, is that you?'
'Yes mom, it's me. Be right there.'
He strips off his coat and sweater, the latter clearly handmade, and drapes them on the back of the couch. He rummages around in the pockets of the coat, finding a small bag, and turns toward the voice. Moving slowly to the back of the apartment, he enters a bedroom. A woman lies in bed, covered up to her neck by a quilt, also clearly handmade, and she puts on a smile when he steps into the room. He places the bag on the battered nightstand and gives her a smile.
'I brought you some medicine. Let me get a glass of water so you can take it.'
'Mack, where did you get this? You didn't steal from John's again did you?'
Ignoring the question, he drew a glass of water from the kitchen tap and returned to her with it.
'Mack, answer me! Did you steal this?'
'You needed it. John wouldn't give me any more. I did what I had to, what we had to.'
He took a pill container out of the bag, and shook two pills out of the bottle.
'Here, take these. You'll feel better soon.'
She smiled wanly, and took the offered pills, grimacing as she swallowed them with water.
'Thank you. When I get better, we'll square everything away with John.'
'Sure we will Mom. Sure we will.'
scene fades out
Halifax, 2013
scene fades in
A cold northwestern wind blows across the barren street, swirling snow and the remnants of leaves through the air. A solitary figure trudges through the snow, his jacket and kilt worn but well-maintained. A black toque sits snugly on his head, and his hands thrust deeply into the leather jacket, seeking warmth and a respite from the bitter wind.
A brown tenement building squats on the corner, stiffly resisting the wind and the passage of time. On the air he can smell the ghosts of frying onions and cabbage. He trudges past, onto the next block and the large grey building that stands therein. The sign on the storefront exclaims 'Pharmasave Saves You Money' but to him, it's still old John's drug store.
He pulls back the door, fighting the wind and the coldness seeping into his hands. Stepping into the store, he sighs a sigh of relief from the frosty air. Walking to the back of the store, he nods politely to those he sees. All eyes are on the bearded man as he moves slowly to the pharmacy counter, hands still stiffly in his pockets.
'Yes Sir, what can we help you with today?'
'I'd like to see the owner please lassie.'
'And who may I say is here?'
'Tell them Lucy MacNeill's boy is here to see him.'
With a odd look, the pharmacist nods and picks up the phone. She speaks for a moment or two, and then hangs up again.
'He will be right out to see you Sir. Please have a seat.'
Cormack sits at one of the waiting chairs, ones normally reserved for consultation, and waits patiently. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the pharmacist glancing over. She seems more concerned about the hands still stiffly in his pockets than with any sort of appreciation for his rugged good looks or devastatingly fashionable wardrobe. He slowly pulls his hands out of hs pockets and rubs them together.
'Relax lassie, just cold. No need to call the Mounties on me,' says MacNeill with a smile.
She smiles back, and returns to her work. But the glances keep coming. Maybe she does have an appreciation for the finer things in life, he thinks. Too bad she's qualified for seniors discounts.
At that moment, an elderly gentleman walks out from the back of the store, looking around as the pharmacist nods in Cormack's direction.
'Yes Sir, you were looking for me?'
'John Macmillan?'
'Yes, that's me. Who did you say you were again?'
Cormack MacNeill, Lucy MacNeill's son.'
'Oh, right! You used to live down the street. How is your mother?'
'She passed on nearly 5 years ago now. cancer.'
John's face saddened and filled with compassion.
'My condolences Cormack, she was a lovely woman.'
'The medicine that you used to give her kept her going longer than anyone thought she could last.
'I'm glad. No one should have to make a choice between their health and their rent.'
Cormack pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket, and handed it to Macmillan.
'This should cover all the medicine you gave her, plus the medicine you used to let me "steal". Why you never called the cops on me, I'll never know.
John smiled, and took the envelope. He handed it to the pharmacist, who was watching the scene with rapt attention.
'You didn't have to do that. Taking care of our neighbours is something we all should do.'
She promised that we would square up with you someday, and I'm just making sure her debts are paid. Our debts.
John shook his head sadly.
'If only there were more folks like you around here. The neighbourhood has gone to hell. I do what I can, but it's only so much.'
'Well, take what's owed out of that envelope, and use the rest to carry on what you've been doing in the neighbourhood.'
'I will, thanks Cormack.'
MacNeill rose, and moved to the front of the store.
'No John, thank you.'
Fade to Black
