Detached from a Dream
A short play by Pete Fulford
The following is a conversation with my dream of being an award-winning screenwriter (let’s call him Burt).
BURT: I can’t believe it. You left me out in the cold. I’ve been faithful to you for 20 years. What’s going on?
ME: Burt, I’m not sure what to say. I’m just not feeling the dream anymore.
BURT: (Throws a plate against the wall) After all I’ve done for you! Now all of a sudden you’re just done with me?
ME: I find it strange too. Usually I need consoling from you when I see the Oscar winner for best original screenplay.
BURT: Yeah. When that person walks up to the stage, that’s my cue. You feel all bad for yourself, saying things like, “Oh how I wish that were me up there…blah, blah.” I console you. Tell you how great you are. But not this year. You just watched it like anyone else. No emotion. Nothing. What gives?
ME: I don’t know. I could care less about winning that award now.
BURT: What? Wait a second. This is freakin’ ridiculous.
ME: I’m serious Burt. Maybe it’s because I’m married with two kids. Maybe I’m a bit disillusioned from the Hollywood stereotype. I certainly don’t want to be famous, well-respected and admired of course, but not famous.
BURT: Get over it dude. You’ve wanted this for half your life. You still want to write that screenplay that wins awards. You want those pats on the back. You want the parties and the women and the drugs and the fame. You want the huge house in Beverly Hills. You want to hit the ceiling then fall back down, ultimately ending up on VH1 Where are They Now or E’s True Hollywood Stories or if you’re lucky, Dancing with the Stars. That’s your dream man.
ME: That’s not my dream.
BURT: Yes it is. You’ve always wanted that.
ME: E’s True Hollywood Stories? Dancing with the Stars? Why would I dream about that?
BURT: Because that’s what makes it real man. You know it will happen like that.
ME: No, it won’t happen like that. That’s why the dream is over. Our visions are different. My goals are different. I’ve changed Burt. I’m on a new course.
BURT: I can change.
ME: I don’t know Burt.
BURT: Please. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll stay in the background. And whenever you need me, I’ll be there.
ME: I don’t need you Burt.
BURT: I know. But I can hang out just over here, somewhere in the back of the head. I can entertain myself.
ME: I don’t know Burt.
BURT: Oh please. What’s it gonna hurt keeping me around? It’s not like I’m that dream of playing jazz flute with The Roots. Like that’s ever gonna happen. At least I’m possible.
ME: I don’t know Burt.
BURT: (weeping) Oh please don’t dump me like this. I can’t comprehend what’s happening. What’s going on here? Is this real life? I don’t think I can handle this.
ME: Settle down Burt.
BURT: (slowly retreating to the back of the head where memories are stored) Well, if you don’t need me, I guess I’ll just go away, you know, become a distant memory. I can hang out with all the other passions and interests you let die – that mustache you gave up on, the ukelele you never play, the beanie baby collection…
ME: (Deep sigh) Ok, ok, if I do agree to keep you around…
BURT: (turns around quickly) Yeah?
ME: There’s no whispering in my ear.
BURT: You got it boss.
ME: No entering my dream world.
(Pause)
ME: Burt?
BURT: You really don’t want me to lead you through a dream of what’s possible?
(Crickets chirping)
ME: Ok, as long as it doesn’t involve me being washed up. And I want to be really, really wealthy.
BURT: Now you’re talking.
ME: Yeah.
BURT: YES!
ME: Alright.
BURT: WOOHOO!
ME: Ok.
BURT: Yeah!!!
ME: Ok, that’s enough.
BURT: Alright.
ME: So I guess I better get back to work.
BURT: So, what do you call this?
ME: What do you mean?
BURT: What’s this conversation? It’s not writing. It’s not a story. What is it?
ME: I call it, uh, goofing off.
BURT: Oh, I thought this was actual writing.
ME: No.
BURT: Well, then get back to work.
ME: Alright Burt.
BURT: That’s my boy.
