Hauling Cargo Across the State Line

Characters (in order of appearance):
ANDY FENWAY
THE VOICE ON THE RADIO
THE CORPSE (ROBERT JONES)


SETTING: An old airplane, low-flying above an unspecified state. Built in the 1940's, it's a few decades old now, and everything is peeling off. There's not much space in the plane, just a cockpit with two seats. The seats are worn out fake leather, and the dashboard is dusty. The PILOT sits in one seat; to his right, there is something in the passenger seat roughly the size of a man. It is covered with white plastic.

(The pilot, ANDY, is flying the plane with one hand balancing on the wheel. He looks slightly to the left, out the window, and then glances over at passenger seat)

ANDY: Sorry kid, I don't start stories well. Conversations neither, always been a simple guy.

(The shape doesn't reply. He fixes his eyes back on the sky)

ANDY: Fuck, it's not like there's anyone to talk to out here though.
       
        (laughs)

              Well, I guess you. You got your cold dead ears just listening to me talk, can't do shit about it. Look at me, talking to a raggedy old corpse. The job's got me goin' crazy, that's what they say at home, Molly always saying how lonely she'd be up in the air all the time. But that woman, she's lonely at home with two kids, so I can't really relate either way. Got my little girl asking what a dead body looks like, asked me one day just as happy as can be, and— well, I slapped her upside the head, you better believe it. 5 years old, wants to know what a body is, hell... the job ain't got me goin' crazy, it's got them goin' crazy. Whenever I take off, they're wavin' and cryin' like someone's died or something. Ain't no one dying here.

(He slaps his knee with his free hand, and chuckles)

ANDY: Yup, no one dead up here but you, I guess, and it's not like anyone important knows you anyways. Lucky bastard.

(the RADIO clicks on)

RADIO: (muffled and static-filled) Andy, how're you moving along? Dark getting to you yet?

ANDY: (pressing the button on the dashboard and speaking to the RADIO) I'm about halfway now, I'll be touchin' down in a few hours.

RADIO: Good. And you know the rule, keep that body buckled in. Can't have someone opening Daddy's casket to have his arm come off.

ANDY: Will do.

(He turns off the radio, unbuckles himself, and leans over towards the figure draped in plastic. He reaches over THE CORPSE and fastens the seat belt.)

ANDY: (to THE CORPSE) You know the funny thing, every time I leave, Molly tells me she'd be so lonely. Thing is I'm never lonely. I just think and think and nothin' ever comes up to show me anything or try to get something from me. That's the best part of the job. Aw, and people think, they think it's so terrible.
                  FLYING DEAD BODIES,
they tell me.
                  WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO DO THAT? 
Like I'm in some goddamn horror movie, I'm just hauling cargo. You, like I said, are just some lucky bastard. Everything's so quiet for you. Fuck, you died in Florida, 3000 miles away from any livin' family you had, and it was the quietest thing I could ever imagine. Everything would've been peaceful too, but there's that funeral and plot waitin' for you back home, so someone has to take you back. And we sure as hell ain't drivin' that far.

(ANDY begins to cough, and puts a hand up to cover his mouth)

ANDY: 'Scuse me, always been a smoker, my whole life. Guess my goddamn lungs are finally givin' out. But I'll tell you a secret. Back home, they told me I got somethin' in my brain, some disease, starts with an s... Schizo, that's it. That's what they call me. Tell me I see things and hear things that ain't real. But I'm tellin' you, everything I see is real!

      (begins to speak louder)

                But either way, ain't a lot of demand for me working anywhere normal as long as I got that diagnosis from the D-O-C-ter. But there's not a lot of demand for a job like mine neither. So here I am. Oh, and trust me, kid, you ain't the grossest body I've driven. Sure, you got in a car crash—

(He leans over and pulls off the plastic sheeting to reveal the man's face. It's swollen and blue around the eyes, while the nose has obviously been broken. There are obvious attempts by the mortician to hide the bruising, but it hasn't completely been hidden.)

ANDY: Oh, and your face is a little messed up. Guess that's gonna be a closed casket funeral. But I'll tell you, I've flown with toddlers who drowned themselves, 60 pound rag-doll cancer patients who finally kicked it, addicts and pregnant corpses. Dead babies still inside their dead mother. Beat that.

(Andy is beginning to get more agitated. He is speaking louder and looking intensely at THE CORPSE. There's a strange gleam in his eyes; it is clear that something is terribly wrong. He looks directly at the body and stops concentrating on the sky)

ANDY: Hell, who am I kidding. I go home to my wife and think about flying corpses. Moving bodies, dead babies, all day, all night. Find you guys more interesting than my own kids. How fucked up is that? Been talkin' to dead bodies for years now, and they've been talkin' back.

(THE CORPSE begins to move, and opens his eyes to train them on Andy's face. The audience is not sure whether this is real, or a psychotic break. THE CORPSE pulls one arm out of the wrapping)

CORPSE: Talking back is my specialty. Drove my mother crazy as a kid. But it did me well as a salesman, I made a lot of money convincing people to buy things they didn't really need. And then at the peak of that? Bam. Died in a crash.

ANDY: It's just like my diagnosis. Terrible timing.

CORPSE: Exactly. I have to say though, the quiet does me good. No one tells me to raise my sales or if I'm doing well, I just am. Actually, I haven't talked to anyone since that mortician finished up on me, few days ago. What's your name, mister?

ANDY: Andy.

(The lights flick off for a split second, and when they come back on, the audience can see Andy staring at an inanimate CORPSE. Its eyes are closed, but his hand has rattled loose of the plastic from the plane shaking. The plane is starting to angle downwards and the sky has disappeared, givivng the audience a view of green and trees through the cockpit glass. Andy hasn't noticed, he is too engrossed in THE CORPSE. The lights flick off and on again, and THE CORPSE's eyes are open and moving again)

CORPSE: Andy. Well, I'm Robert. I sell cars. Or well I used to. Wonder what happened to that old lady in the crash with me. I was just about to make that deal, damn good one too.

ANDY: Answer me a question, kid. What're you gonna do after they bury your ass?

CORPSE: I think I'm gonna have to sleep. For a long time, until I fall apart. Just ask my family to make it comfortable for me, ok? No wooden shit. I want the real deal, satin and everything.

ANDY: I always wanted to sleep for a long time. Kids are always running someplace, Molly's always sayin' something, I can never get a moments rest. Can't sleep on the plane, gotta fly you somewhere. Gotta keep goin' all the time, and ain't nothing to make it worthwhile neither.

(There is a strange whistling sound coming from the outside of the plane. It's faint enough for ANDY to ignore)

ANDY: Nothing worthwhile, I tell you. Sometimes, a man just needs his sleep. Sometimes, a man just needs to be one thing, and one thing only—

(Suddenly, the plan hits the trees. There is a horrible screeching noise as the plane is torn and mangled. After thirty seconds, the plane comes to a halt, and you can see ANDY and THE CORPSE. THE CORPSE's eyes are closed again, and the plastic wrap has been thrown back over his arm. ANDY's eyes are closed too, and his chest rises and falls. He breathes out with liquid in his lungs)

ANDY: —dust.

(Andy's chest falls, and he is still)