Day 77: The Last Straw

This is a script from school that I wanted to share with you.  I had to write a movie adaption for a story we read in class.  I chose it on the short play Trifles that was written in the early 20th century.  Mrs. Wright killed her husband, but this fact is only apparent to a couple of wives who pay attention to "trifle" details, according to the men in charge of the investigation.  The argument and actual killing is never shown, so I decided to do that scene.  Don't worry, nothing gruesome.  I decided to make the setting during the 60's, where women were still somewhat subservient.  Her husband is trying to start a band, and Mrs. Wright is interested in dancing, like American Bandstand.

Mr. Wright walks in through front door wearing greasy work clothes.  Mrs. Wright is in the kitchen.

Mrs. Wright: Hi, dear! How did work on the car go?

Mr. Wright: Fine.  Is everything ready for the guys to come over, Barbara?  They’ll be here in an hour.

Mrs. Wright: Yes, John, I have the last batch of cookies in the oven, and the lemonade is already in the pitcher. (Gestures to large glass pitcher full of pink lemonade and glasses on tray.)

Mr. Wright: Make sure you watch the oven.  Last time the cookies were overdone.  I can’t have the band thinking I have a bad cook for a wife.  (Looks at watch.)  I’m going to get changed.

Mrs. Wright: (Looks inside oven at cookies, then turns the oven off and takes them out.  She checks the cookies she already has cooling and starts throwing some of them away.  The more she weeds through them, the angrier she gets, as the cookies start thumping harder into the garbage can).

Mr. Wright: (Voice heard louder from other room)  Barbara!!  I want to talk to you.

Mrs. Wright: (sighs and wipes her fingers off on her towel) Yes, dear?

Mr. Wright: (Stalks in room, furious, holding up one of Mrs. Wright’s dancing dresses) What is this?!

Mrs. Wright: It’s my dress.

Mr. Wright: Don’t play games with me, Barbara! This isn’t just any old dress.  Have you been out dancing again?!

Mrs. Wright: (back stiffens and her voice sounds more confident) What if I am?  You’re the not the only person in this house that is entitled to some fun.

Mr. Wright: (advances closer to her and waves dress in the air) I told you I wanted you to stay by the house! I can’t believe you’d disobey me like this!  Isn’t going out with your friends all the time enough?!

Mrs. Wright: (voice rising slightly) You let me go out with my friends once a week.  All we do is sit around and gossip.  I wouldn’t be missed.  Dancing is something I always loved to do.  (voice more tender) That’s how we met. (pause) I am going crazy hanging around this cramped house all week, cleaning and cooking.  When I dance, I feel alive.

Mr. Wright: (sarcastic) And how many men have you made feel alive in the process?!

Mrs. Wright: (hurt) John!  I would never do anything like that to hurt you.  I swear it’s all completely innocent.

Mr. Wright: (shakes dress in her face) You can’t tell me that this is innocent.  I know the way guys would look at you.  (flings dress across the room and grabs her wrists) You are going to stay home where I can keep an eye on you, even if I have to lock you up!

Mrs. Wright: (struggling) Ow!!  John, you’re hurting me!  Let go!

Mr. Wright: This is what you deserve.  (starts dragging her)

Mrs. Wright manages to pull one of her arms out from his grip and starts hitting him in the face. Mr. Wright smacks her in the face with the back of his hand, knocking her to the ground.  She puts her hand to her lip and notices the blood.

Mr. Wright: If you dare hit me like that again, I swear you’ll wish you were dead.

Mrs. Wright: I already do!

Mr. Wright yanks her to her feet by her wrists and raises an arm to strike her again.  Mrs. Wright looks around and picks up the pitcher of lemonade with her free arm and knocks him in the head with it.  Mr. Wright stumbles backwards and hits his head against a side table before falling to the ground.  Mrs. Wright drops the pitcher in the process.  Pink lemonade and glass shards are everywhere.  Mrs. Wright stands in shock for a minute.

Mrs. Wright: (small voice) John?

Mr. Wright:  (doesn’t move)

Mrs. Wright: (Steps around glass and kneels down next to her husband)  John? (She tries to shake him and move his head.  Voice is more frantic) Honey, speak to me!

Mrs. Wright feels his neck for a pulse and drops his head suddenly.  Horror is stricken across her face.  Then she lets out a cry. The grandfather chimes in the corner, and Mrs. Wright remembers they are expecting company.  She takes a few deep breaths then picks up the receiver.

Mrs. Wright: (voice collected) Hello, Nancy? This is Barbara.  Listen, John had something urgent come up, and he won’t be able to have the band over today.  Yeah, he is too.  Thank you.  I’ll see you later.  Bye.

She gets a bag and starts picking up the bigger pieces of glass.