Written by: Debbie Jones
Current Form: 40 page novella written for the screen
This is the story of a suburb that disappeared. It's the story of what happens when the will of a town goes up against its oldest resident - a reclusive female who lives in a fieldstone house at the base of the foothills. This is the story of the caretaker who saves his son and loses his life. This is a story about the earth that lived and breathed under the suburb and what came out of it when the suburb went too far.
Excerpt:
 |
||
|
...Joe Poole arrived at the ferry dock in Hoboken at the exact same
time the contractor's wife scratched at Judge Stone's window. It was
deserted. The dock itself had fallen to disrepair. Joe sat in his
pickup and wondered when the last ferry had run out of here. He could
almost see it running out into the fog; he could almost hear its
foghorn - not that he'd spent much time in Hoboken. He pulled down out
of the cab and smelled the salt air running up and down the Hudson. It
was good. Out on the dock 20 to 25 feet was a shed and over the shed
was a sign. It was lit up in yellow. Joe walked toward it with nothing
in mind. He had the idea he was watching himself walk along a dock in
the middle of the night in Hoboken. A seagull screeched down and flew
back out over the river. Joe looked up. The sign read TIRES -
then underneath in small black letters proprietor - Ben Quick.
Joe rapped on the door to the shed. There was no answer. Joe rapped
again. The window to the right of the door flapped up. "What." "Ben Quick?" "Yeah." "I'm Joe Poole." And Joe told his story. At first he tried to make out the eyes but the brim of Ben Quick's hat kept moving like he was looking out for something - that and his height versus Joe's - Ben Quick was short - real short. Joe was pretty sure he was standing on a crate to come up that high at the window. And he was colored or dark-skinned at any rate. When Joe got done telling Ben Quick what was going on in town, he offered the blue note. "Say it." Then when Joe hesitated, "Say the words," said Ben Quick. And Joe did: violet calls the terms of the agreement she has come There is a space in time for change open like a vacuum empty. It is unseen but there. It lies still in the planes and shafts of daylight, in the darker darks of night. It does not roam or climb or search. Like a dormant ballfield, it waits for human choice. |
|
|
||