by F. J. Hartland
Geronimo!
CHARACTERS
BUDDY, a boy of 9 (but played by an adult)
CAL, his older brother, 12 (but also played by an adult)
SETTING
Autumn. The roof of a two-story house.
AT RISE: BUDDY, a boy of 9 (but played by an adult) and his older brother CAL, 12, (also played by an adult) are on the roof of their two-story home. It is autumn. BUDDY is standing on the edge of the roof and is holding an open umbrella.
CAL
(Impatiently)
Go ahead and jump already!
(No response from BUDDY)
What’s wrong?
BUDDY
It’s so far down.
CAL
Only two stories. What? Maybe twenty feet?
(BUDDY starts to go but then hesitates)
BUDDY
Are you sure this is going to work, Cal?
CAL
Of course. The umbrella will repel the force of gravity, and you will float gently down to earth.
BUDDY
Like a parachute.
CAL
Exactly! Like when the astronauts splash down in the ocean?
BUDDY
I want to be an astronaut!
CAL
Buddy, if you don’t have the courage to jump off the roof, you’ll never be an astronaut.
BUDDY
Really?
CAL
I’m your older brother. Would I lie to you?
BUDDY
Yes.
CAL
Wasn’t I the one who told you how babies are made?
BUDDY
Yes. But I don’t believe you.
CAL
Why not?
BUDDY
Because it’s gross. Our parents would NEVER do that!
CAL
They must have done it.
BUDDY
Yuck!
CAL
At least twice.
BUDDY
How do you know that?
CAL
‘Cause there’s two of us, dummy!
BUDDY
Hey!
(A beat)
Cal, can I ask you a question?
CAL
That’s all you do.
BUDDY
Why do Mom and Dad fight so much?
CAL
Is it “so much”?
BUDDY
It’s every day.
CAL
I don’t even notice anymore. I tune them out.
BUDDY
Oh.
CAL
So jump already!
(BUDDY starts, then hesitates again)
BUDDY
I don’t know . . .
CAL
It will be like flying, Buddy.
BUDDY
Really?
CAL
Yes. Like that poem says. You will “slip the surly bonds of earth.”
BUDDY
What does that even mean?
CAL
You will escape gravity . . . and fly.
BUDDY
Wow!
CAL
That’s right. Wow!
(Determined BUDDY tries again to take the plunge but stops. A beat)
What now?
BUDDY
It’s just . . . that . . . well . . . I . . .
CAL
You’re scared!
BUDDY
Am not!
CAL
Chicken!
(CAL starts to cluck like a chicken)
BUDDY
Stop it, Cal! Stop it.
(CAL continues to cluck)
If you’re so brave, then why don’t you jump off the roof?
CAL
I have explained this to you. I am heavier than you. For the umbrella to work for me, our house would have to be four or five stories high.
BUDDY
(Remembering)
Oh, yeah.
CAL
I learned about it in science class. You know. Velocity. Acceleration. E=mc squared.
BUDDY
(Not a clue)
Right. In my science class we’re growing lima beans in paper cups.
CAL
I know. I went to fourth grade, remember? I’m surprised you’re still allowed to do that.
BUDDY
Why?
CAL
In my class some kid shoved one of the lima beans up his nose . . . and it grew into his brain!
BUDDY
Wow! That’s cool.
CAL
What’s cool about having a lima bean grow into your brain? Listen, Buddy. Never, ever shove anything up your nose, okay?
BUDDY
Okay.
CAL
Now jump!
BUDDY
You’re right. I’m scared.
CAL
You know what? If you do this, Buddy, you will be the envy of every kid in the fourth grade!
BUDDY
You think?
CAL
I know. A lot cooler than the kid with a lima bean plant in his brain anyway.
BUDDY
I want to, Cal, but . . .
CAL
Hey, you know what paratroopers say if they’re scared to jump out of an airplane?
BUDDY
What?
CAL
They say, “Geronimo!”
BUDDY
Geronimo? What does that mean?
CAL
Geronimo was a great leader of the Apache. Very brave.
BUDDY
So they say, “Geronimo”?
CAL
Yes. It gives them courage. And don’t forget what else the paratroopers do . . .
BUDDY
What’s that Cal?
CAL
When you hit the ground, tuck-and-roll.
BUDDY
Tuck-and-roll.
CAL
And, listen. If anybody asks, Buddy, this is all your idea, okay?
BUDDY
But it’s your idea.
CAL
I know, but you’re the one brave enough to do it, so you deserve all the credit.
BUDDY
Thanks, Cal.
CAL
You bet! Now . . . fly!
(BUDDY turns to face the edge of the roof. He pauses. Then—)
BUDDY
Geronimo!
(On a side of the house unseen by the audience, BUDDY jumps off the roof. CAL dashes across the roof and looks over that edge)
CAL
Tuck-and-roll, Buddy! Tuck-and-roll!
(To the audience)
I can’t believe he did it!
(A thud. A beat. CAL looks over the edge of the roof)
Are you okay?
(Nothing)
Buddy?
(Nothing)
Say something?
(Silence)
Buddy?
(BUDDY re-appears from around the house. He is now an adult and is wearing a necktie and/or sports coat. He is also carrying the open umbrella as if it is raining. CAL remains sitting on the roof. He, too, is also an adult now)
BUDDY
I am not okay. The umbrella doesn’t slow me down at all. I do NOT “slip the surly bonds of earth.” Instead, that non-elusive force of gravity causes me to plummet to earth so fast that I don’t have time to tuck-and-roll. I hit the ground so hard, it breaks both my legs.
CAL
I told you to tuck and roll.
BUDDY
I recover, but it takes months. On the bright side, I miss most of fourth grade. On the down side, I still can’t do fractions.
Also on the down side, the pain in my knees always tells me when rain is coming.
(BUDDY holds out his hand from under the umbrella)
Like today.
Whenever I complain about the pain, Cal says to me . . .
CAL
Now you have a great story to tell at my funeral.
BUDDY
And I do. So I just did.
Over the years, it turns out Cal is right about so many things. Like not shoving anything up my nose. Or like how babies are made. Which—if you really think about it—is really gross.
Don’t get me wrong. Cal and I do not always get along. I mean, he does talk me into jumping off the roof of a two-story house.
CAL
Allegedly.
BUDDY
You know you did.
CAL
See if that story stands up in court.
BUDDY
Why are you always busting my chops?
CAL
Because that’s what big brothers do.
BUDDY
It’s like that old quote about brothers:
CAL
“Not always eye-to-eye . . .
BUDDY
. . . but always heart-to-heart.”
CAL
Always!
BUDDY
After Dad leaves, Cal steps up and becomes a surrogate father to me. Anytime in life I face a challenge and am afraid, Cal takes me by the shoulders and says . . .
CAL
When you were nine, you had the courage to jump off the roof with nothing but an umbrella. Take the leap now.
BUDDY
And I do leap. Into college. Into marriage. Into starting my own business. Into so many things I thought I could not do. Into living the rest of my life without him.
But my brother knows better. He says I can.
When Cal is diagnosed with late stage IgA Nephropathy, a terrible kidney disease, the prognosis is . . . well . . . grim, to say the least.
CAL
Buddy, now I’m the one who’s scared.
BUDDY
I do for him, what he had done for me all my life.
I take him by the shoulders and say, “If I had the courage at nine to jump off the roof with nothing but an umbrella, you have the courage now to fight this.”
And he does fight. Good God, how he fights. Every day. Like a champion. Right up until his final breath on this earth. In fact, the last word Cal says is . . .
CAL
Geronimo!
(CAL exits or the lights fade on him.)
BUDDY
After this committal service, I ask you all to join me at his favorite place, Rocky’s Tavern to raise a glass to Cal, the best big brother a guy could have, and wish him a safe landing on the other side.
Remember to tuck-and-roll, Cal. Tuck-and-roll.
BLACKOUT.
F. J. Hartland started writing plays when Santa Claus brought him a typewriter for Christmas when he was 13. Since then F. J. has earned an MFA in Playwriting, won the Samuel French OOB Short Play Festival twice and made a record-setting eighteen appearances in the Pittsburgh New Works Festival, winning Best Play four times. He has been published by Concord Publishing, United Stages, Original Works Next Stage Press and The Louisville Review. In 2008, he was the recipient of a Playwriting Fellowship from the Pittsburgh Council on the Arts. Also, F. J. has been a member of Actors Equity Association since 1991. Thanks, Santa!