A Short Play

by Ben Macnair

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SETTING: A train platform early morning. Two benches sit parallel to the tracks. The sound of distant trains and occasional station announcements fills the air.

CHARACTERS:
BARRY – 55, wearing a slightly wrinkled business suit, briefcase at his feet
IRIS – 80, elegantly dressed in dated clothing, holding a small bouquet of flowers

[Lights up on IRIS, who sits alone on one of the benches. She adjusts her flowers with careful precision. BARRY enters, checking his watch repeatedly.]

BARRY: 

Come on, come on…

[He paces, then reluctantly sits on the same bench as IRIS, leaving appropriate space between them.]

IRIS: 

The 8:15 is always late on Tuesdays.

BARRY:

I’m sorry?

IRIS: 

The 8:15. It’s always late on Tuesdays. Something about track maintenance.

BARRY: 

How late?

IRIS: 

Oh, about seven minutes, usually. [Beat] I’ve been taking this train every Tuesday for twelve years. Some things you just come to know.

BARRY: 

Seven minutes. Perfect. Just perfect.

IRIS: 

Those seven minutes… they used to drive Harold crazy, too.

BARRY: 

Harold?

IRIS: 

My husband. [Touches the flowers] He’d stand right there where you were pacing, checking his watch just like you. “Time is money,” he’d say.

BARRY: 

Smart man.

IRIS: 

Oh, he thought so. Until one Tuesday, he just… sat down. Right here actually. Said, “Iris, maybe these seven minutes are a gift.”

BARRY: 

A gift?

IRIS: 

Mm-hmm. “Seven minutes to watch the sunrise,” he said. “Seven minutes to hold your hand.” [Pauses] Seven minutes to just… be.

[BARRY looks at his watch again, then slowly puts his hand down.]

BARRY: 

Is that where you’re headed? To see Harold?

IRIS: 

Every Tuesday. [Smiles] He always loved Tuesdays.

[Station announcement: “The 8:15 train is running approximately seven minutes late. We apologise for any inconvenience.”]

BARRY: 

[After a moment] You know… the sunrise is quite beautiful today.

IRIS: 

It always is, if you remember to look.

[They sit in comfortable silence as the light shifts, suggesting the rising sun. The sound of an approaching train grows louder.]

IRIS: 

Here we are. Right on schedule.

[They both stand. BARRY gestures for IRIS to go first.]

BARRY: 

After you… and thank you. For the seven minutes.

IRIS: 

[Touching his arm gently] Thank Harold. He’s the one who figured it out.

[The sound of the train grows louder. Lights fade.]

END

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© Ben Macnair

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Ben Macnair is an award winning poet and playwright from Staffordshire in the United Kingdom. Follow him on Twitter @ benmacnair.

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