Sean J. White was awarded honorable mention in Drama in the 2020 Prison Writing Contest.
Every year, hundreds of imprisoned people from around the country submit poetry, fiction, nonfiction, and dramatic works to PEN America’s Prison Writing Contest, one of the few outlets of free expression for the country’s incarcerated population.
This piece is also featured in Breathe Into the Ground, the 2020 Prison Writing Awards Anthology.
THE LAW OF AVERAGES
INT. BEDROOM—DAY.
. . . A blind covers the window, though sunlight pokes in to the almost empty room through open corners. A couple plastic laundry baskets hold unfolded clothes, and several cardboard boxes, full of this and that, are arranged somewhat like furniture. An alarm clock sits atop a box next to IAN HERTZBERGER, who lies on the floor in a sleeping bag. The alarm blares as the number on the face changes to 11:00 a.m.. Ian swipes at it until he hits the snooze. He crawls out of his bag, wipes his face, and turns the alarm off. Ian is in his mid-twenties, and has a body that shows he has spent time in a gym. Scruffy facial hair covers his face, and he needs a hair cut. He looks vaguely like an actor playing an arrestee from an episode of Cops. A semi-frown of disappointment appears as his neutral face. Ian pulls the last cigarette from a pack and lights up. SNAP CUT.
EXT. SUBURBAN MIDWESTERN CONVENIENCE STORE—DAY.
Wearing an old tee shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers, Ian pumps gas. Some older high school girls on an off-campus lunch walk toward their car. Ian smiles at them leeringly as they pass, then enters the store. One of the girls, KAREN O’CONNOR, looks back once his back is turned. She is pretty in an archetypal high school/college girl sort of way, with obvious imperfections though relatively non-descript; average. Inside Ian grabs some sandwiches and a soda from the refrigerated section, and a bag of chips. He sets it on the checkout counter.
IAN
This, pump three, and. . . lemme get a pack of Newport One-hundreds.
CLERK
Can I see I.D.?
Ian produces his driver’s license. The clerk grabs the cigarettes, and rings it all up.
CLERK
Forty-five seventy-three.
IAN
Jesus Christ. I can’t believe what smokes go for now.
FADE TO BLACK.
INT. OFFICE BUILDING—LATE AFTERNOON.
. . . The place is nearly deserted. Ian pushes a janitorial cart with one hand and drags a vacuum with the other. He stops in one section of desks, begins to dust and dump garbage cans.
At one desk he takes some candy from a dish, then continues his work. At another desk he sees a novelty pen or some other knick-knack and shoves it in his pocket. FADE TO BLACK.
INT. CONVENIENCE STORE—NIGHT.
Karen clerks. The store is otherwise empty. Ian grabs some food—perhaps a can of soup and a box of soda crackers—and a six pack of beer. The girl looks at his selections, and then at him.
KAREN
Can I see some I.D.?
Ian looks at her, smiles, produces his driver’s license.
IAN
Yeah, sure.
Karen looks at a clock. It is nearly nine.
KAREN
‘Nother five minutes and I couldn’t sell it to ya.
She rings it up. Ian smiles wider.
IAN
Oh, yeah?
KAREN
That’ll be eight-seventeen.
Ian pays.
IAN
Didn’t I see you earlier today? Karen giggles nervously.
KAREN
Uh-huh.
Ian leans on the counter.
IAN
D’you got a name?
KAREN
Um—Karen. Karen with a K, ya know.
Ian smiles again.
IAN
Are you eighteen, Karen witha K?
KAREN
Um—no…
A pause.
KAREN
But it’s my birthday this weekend.
IAN
Get outta here! Ain’t it your lucky weekend.
A pause.
IAN
Maybe I should card you?
Karen giggles again.
IAN
(with a smile)
No, really, I’d like to see that it’s Karen with a K’s eighteenth birthday.
Karen hesitates for a moment, then fumbles with a purse under the counter and hands her driver’s license to Ian.
IAN
Well, I’ll be goddamned. Karen with a K turns eighteen on Friday.
He hands it back to her.
IAN (cont’d.)
D’you got any plans?
Karen hesitates. She looks around, seemingly hoping for some distraction. After a few moments of this, some sort of realization brightens her face.
KAREN
Um—me an’ some friends are gonna go to Dale’s for a bonfire.
IAN
That sounds fun.
A pause.
KAREN
Maybe you could come along, ya know?
IAN
Yeah, maybe, I suppose.
Karen smiles.
KAREN
Meet me here Saturday at eight, okay?
Ian gathers up his purchases.
IAN
See ya then…
SNAP CUT.
INT. PROBATION AND PAROLE MAIN OFFICE—DAY.
. . . Dinginess pervades. Dusty plastic chairs filled with men and a couple of women line two plus walls. Time has stripped the wax from the tile floor. A heavy door secures the parole officer sanctum preventing potential absconders. Ian sits in a chair with his arms crossed. ALAN SULLIVAN, a middle-aged civil servant, opens the door holding a clipboard and a specimen cup.
ALAN
Ian Hertzberger?
Ian stands, walks to the doorway.
ALAN
Hi, Ian, I’m Alan Sullivan, and I’m gonna be your P.O. for the day, okay?
IAN
Sure, okay.
ALAN
Come this way, and we’ll—hopefully—get you on your way in a few minutes.
Ian follows Alan. The doors slams shut behind them. A lock clicks.
ALAN
Okay, we’ll answer a few questions, get a sample, and as long as you’re clean, that’s that
Alan hands Ian the sample cup.
ALAN (cont’d)
Here.
Ian turns it over in his hand.
ALAN
First, any police contact?
IAN
No.
Alan checks a box on a paper on the clipboard.
ALAN
Any alcohol or drug use?
IAN
No.
Alan makes another mark.
ALAN
Still working?
IAN
Yeah.
Alan notes the answer. They arrive at a bathroom. Alan knocks, waits a moment, then opens the door. Mirrors surround the toilet.
ALAN
Go ‘head.
Ian fills the cup, screws on the lid, hands it to Alan, then washes his hands. Alan waits a few moments, pulls a strip on the label, and studies it. There is a pregnant pause.
ALAN
Okay, everything looks good. We’ll call when we want to see you again. Right this way.
Alan escorts Ian back to the waiting room. FADE TO BLACK.
EXT. CONVENIENCE STORE—EVENING.
. . . A constant drizzle soaks everything. Headlights and street lights dot the overcast evening. Passing tires spray rain with long-winded shh’s. Sitting in his car, Ian puffs on a cigarette. After a time, dressed in tee shirts and blue jeans, Karen and another girl, DEEDEE JOHANSEN, jump out of another car. Ian taps the horn, and the girls run to his vehicle. He opens the passenger side door. Deedee climbs in the back seat while Karen rides shotgun.
KAREN
(breathless)
Hi.
A pause. Karen thumbs towards Deedee.
KAREN
This is Deedee. Deedee, this is…
She looks at Ian.
KAREN (cont’d)
What’s your name again? I’m sorry, I forgot.
IAN
Ian.
KAREN
Deedee, this is Ian.
DEEDEE
Hi.
KAREN
Can you get us outta here?
Ian starts the car.
IAN
Where to?
KAREN
Um. . .
A pause.
KAREN (cont’d)
Do you think you could do us a huge favor, Ian?
IAN
What is it?
KAREN
Maybe you could buy a birthday present for me?
Ian laughs. Karen reaches into a pocket.
KAREN
Jeez, that’s not what I meant. I was gonna see if you could buy me something at the liquor store.
IAN
Oh. Sorry. That I can do.
Karen hands him two twenties. Ian drives to the liquor store in a nearby strip mall.
IAN
What do you want me to get?
KAREN
Malibu.
DEEDEE
Schnapps.
KAREN AND DEEDEE
Beer!
The girls laugh. Ian parks, goes into the liquor store. SNAP CUT. Ian walks out of the liquor store with two cases of really cheap beer (barely encased by corrugated cardboard with a one inch lip) and a paper bag. He sets it all in the back seat.
IAN
The six pack is mine, the rest is yours, okay?
Deedee picks up one of the cans.
DEEDEE
This is beer? Yuck.
Ian laughs.
IAN
You won’t notice the taste by the third one, and, besides, if you look in the bag you’ll find your own anyways.
Deedee rummages through the bag, then squeals as she pulls out a bottle of schnapps.
IAN
Where to now? I’m betting the bonfire’s out.
KAREN
(ruefully) Yeah, that sucks. . . but I’ve got a friend whose parents aren’t around. Plus, it’s sorta outta town, ya know, so no cops’ll break it up.
IAN
Lead the way.
SHOT of Ian’s car pulling away. OUT OF FOCUS FADE.
EXT. OLD FARM—NIGHT.
Rain continues to fall. The farm has fallen mostly into non-operational disrepair—few fences stand, and the lengths that do enclose nothing. Most of the out-buildings—painted red and white once, but faded and flaking now—begin their untended entropic fate, rotting and collapsing. The barn shows some signs of use, though likely for storage. Several small renovations to the house appear in process. Numerous cars are parked in the gravel driveway next to the house. Ian pulls in and parks. The three get out of the car. Ian carries the six pack, Karen holds the Malibu in one hand and the schnapps by the other, and Deedee carries the cheap beer. Loud music, barely audible, echoes from the house. Someone opens the door for them.
INT. OLD FARM HOUSE—NIGHT.
. . . Some of the walls have been stripped to the studs, others remain original (and unadorned) with water spots and other stains, and some have been completely replaced with new plaster sheets. old bed sheets cover much of the furniture. An entertainment center in the living room blares music. TEENAGERS watch a soundless porno, passing a joint around. In the kitchen, other teenagers play a drinking game. Some of them stop whatever they’re doing, and give Karen a hug and wish her a happy birthday. Deedee unceremoniously plops the beer on the first available surface, and fetches the schnapps from Karen. Ian, following Karen, looks around. His glances express a feeling of not belonging. At the end of her rounds, he pulls her aside.
IAN
Karen, I—uh—I don’t think this is for me.
She takes a slug of the Malibu from the bottle.
KAREN
What do you mean? Things are just warmin’ up.
She touches his arm and pecks his cheek. Ian sighs.
IAN
All right. I’ll stay for now.
He kisses her on the lips, and she accedes, and it becomes a passionate kiss. Karen is smiling when they break.
KAREN
Wow. Best birthday ever.
Ian smirks.
IAN
You go have a good time, and we’ll catch up later. I’m gonna go find a quiet spot to enjoy my beer.
They split. Ian passes Deedee arguing with a big teenager, RONNIE THURSTEN. Ronnie looks like he could play varsity football/basketball/baseball with a chance to receive a college scholarship in one of those sports, yet exudes an ugliness, both in physical appearance and attitude.
DEEDEE
And what the fuck did you bring?
Ronnie breaks from the argument when he sees Ian’s beer.
RONNIE (to Ian)
Say, dude, why don’t you let me get one a them?
IAN
No. These are mine.
RONNIE
What the fuck you mean?
He picks up a can of the cheap beer.
RONNIE (cont’d)
You expect me to drink this shit?
Ian shrugs his shoulders.
IAN
It’s better than nothing.
DEEDEE
That’s what I said.
Ronnie gives Deedee a dirty look.
RONNIE
Shut up, Die-ann.
Deedee blushes.
DEEDEE
YOU shut the fuck up, dick!
Ronnie laughs, returns his focus to Ian.
RONNIE
Just lemme get a beer, dude.
IAN
I said no.
Ronnie’s face contorts in anger.
RONNIE
Who the fuck are you?
Ian sets the beer down, points a finger at Ronnie.
IAN
Watch your motha’ fuckin’ tone.
RONNIE
Or what?
Ian charges Ronnie, and drops a nasty combination. Ronnie staggers but stays on his feet. Ian slides back, hands up prepared for a counterattack. Teenagers start to file in to watch the action.
RANDOM TEENAGER
Hey, there’s a fight in here!
Ronnie glares at random teenager, then takes a run at Ian, trying to tackle him. Ian sidesteps the lunge, and hits Ronnie square in the kidney. A wet spot appears in the front of Ronnie’s pants.
ANOTHER RANDOM TEENAGER (laughing)
Dude made Ronnie piss his pants.
DEEDEE
That’s what you get, motherfucker.
Ronnie looks at the wet spot.
RONNIE
This ain’t over.
He storms out. Silence fills the house (other than the music from the living room). Everyone stares at Ian. Outside a car/ truck engine revs up, and the vehicle spins out in the driveway throwing gravel at other cars, and dopplers away. Ian looks at everyone looking at him. Karen is in the crowd.
IAN
I should—uh—probably take off.
He looks to Karen. Something like disappointment covers her face.
IAN (to Karen)
Enjoy the rest of your birthday party. Sorry I ruined it.
Ian leaves the house, heading for his car. The rain continues. At his car, Karen steps just out of the house.
KAREN
IAN!
He turns.
KAREN
You know where I work. I’ll see you later, okay?
She waves, Ian waves back, then gets in his car. Karen goes back in the house. He drives away. The rain picks up. FADE TO BLACK.
INT. OFFICE BUILDING—NIGHT.
Ian winds up the cord on the vacuum. ENTER JIM ANDERSON, a middle-aged man dressed in an old tee shirt and blue jeans, though with a managerial air.
JIM
Hey, Ian. Can I—uh—speak with you for a minute?
IAN
Sure, Jim. Just a sec.
Ian finishes with the vacuum, and puts it in a closet.
JIM
Well, Ian, I wanna open by letting you know that I think you’re a great worker, but. . .
Ian’s shoulders sag, and he rolls his head in an exasperated manner.
IAN
Ah, fuck.
JIM
Well, unfortunately, you’re right to swear like that… Um—so, I’ve gotten a number of complaints about theft—
IAN
But I’m not—
Jim puts a hand up.
JIM
Look, I believe you, but unfortunately, well, I’m gonna have to let you go for now. I’d put you in a different position, but I don’t have anything right now. But I’ve got your number, and—uh—I’ll—uh—give you a call when something comes up. For now. . .
Jim pulls an envelope from his back pocket and hands it to Ian. Ian takes it, and, holding it in both hands, stares at it.
JIM (cont’d)
I paid you out for the remainder of this pay period, and gave you an extra couple hundred, If you need a reference…
SNAP CUT.
Further Reading
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