7. The Long and Winding Road

The wild and windy night
That the rain washed away
Has left a pool of tears
Crying for the day
Why leave me standing here?
Let me know the way

Many times I've been alone
And many times I've cried
Anyway you'll never know
The many ways I've tried

And still they lead me back
To the long, winding road
You left me standing here
A long, long time ago
Don't leave me waiting here
Lead me to you door

The Beatles


Prologue/Scene 1 -- the road, early morning

Change of scenery.

We're not looking at the house this time. Instead, we appear to open on a road: an interstate freeway, to be exact. A backdrop indicates the rest of the traffic behind the stage. And there is a lot of traffic.

In the middle of the stage, we see a car -- or, rather, some chairs set up to look like the seats inside a car. Give it a steering wheel, and maybe some doors, but don't bother with the roof and everything. It just gets in the way.

Jason sits in the driver's seat. Michael sits beside him in the passenger seat, while Patrick rests in the backseat, acoustic guitar in hand. The rest of the back is filled with bags and boxes -- the one on top looks like a cat carrier. They all look very tired, very irritated. And very bored.

After we get a chance to take this in, our man Robert shuffles onstage. With one hand, he's pushing in one of those chalkboards on wheels -- you know, like this. Taped to the chalkboard: a large map of the state of Texas, with what appears to be a driving route highlighted in red. In his other hand, he's clutching a yardstick and a large piece of white posterboard. There's some writing on the posterboard, but he keeps the blank side facing us for the time being.

He stops when both he and the chalkboard are in front of the car. He places the yardstick and the posterboard on the floor and turns to the audience. He points to the board, and starts to explain, but...

ROBERT: ...I'll get to that in a second.

He reaches for his trademark crumpled piece of paper.

ROBERT: All right...last time, Jason did exactly what he said he was going to do: blurt out his feelings for Angela at the exact wrong moment. Imagine that. She reacted by saying, and I'm quoting here: "Well...shit." Also, Michael's sister, Cali, asked him to take care of both their brother Carter and her cat, Biggio: feed one, make the other be less annoying. Rebecca gave Patrick a contact for an important gig for his band, he continued to try to get her to play bass for him again, and she continued to refuse. They all have money in a pool on what happened to Jason's eye. And Angela's car broke down. Right. We're picking up here eleven days later -- a Tuesday, August 2.

He puts the paper in his pocket and picks up the yardstick.

ROBERT: All right, I'm sure you remember when Jason had to go to Florida to help his father clean up after Hurricane Christina. Well, not long afterwards, another hurricane -- named, uh, named...something, I don't remember. Doesn't matter. Anyway, this hurricane also ripped up the Gulf Coast, but this one headed for Texas, requiring an evacuation for the entire Houston and Galveston area -- including Bazemore.

He indicates the map with the stick.

ROBERT: Now. Originally, they all thought about leaving separately, with family or coworkers, since it would be hard for them to find a place to stay together. But then Rebecca's aunt...uh...yeah, can't remember her name either -- she offered them a place to stay: her house, in Dallas. All five of them were invited. Three of them -- Patrick, Rebecca, and Michael -- were in favor. Two of them -- you do the math -- were not. Eventually, the dissenters were convinced. They piled into two cars -- Jason's and Rebecca's.

He traces the route on the map with his stick.

ROBERT: This is the planned route: go up Interstate 45. That's it, really -- they downloaded directions online, but it's more or less a straight line.

He picks up his posterboard.

ROBERT: According to their printed directions from the internet, the drive from Bazemore to Dallas, under normal conditions, would take 4 hours, 23 minutes.

He flips the posterboard to reveal the writing on the other side: HOUR 5. 6 a.m.

He collects his stuff and pushes the chalkboard offstage.

Jason, Patrick and Michael sit in disgusted silence for a few moments.

PATRICK: I think you can pull up a little bit.

JASON: We're fine.

PATRICK: I'm saying, there's space there.

JASON: There's about three feet.

PATRICK: Yeah.

JASON: Moving one yard closer to Dallas really won't get us there faster. All it will do is give false hope to the people stuck behind us. Someone in another lane might even think we're actually moving, and they'll try to switch into this one. Which will only make the congestion worse.

PATRICK: Yeah, behind us.

JASON: I'm not moving.

MICHAEL: When was the last time we actually moved?

JASON: Don't know. An hour ago?

PATRICK: Something like that.

MICHAEL: God. This sucks.

JASON: Yeah. And it's really all my fault, I guess. I mean, you know how hard it is for me to admit when I'm wrong, Michael, but I have to fold on this one: you were right. We really should have left yesterday.

MICHAEL: Man...

JASON: No, wait. You weren't the one who said we should've left yesterday. Who was that? Hmm, let me think.

MICHAEL: Not gonna let that go, are you?

JASON: Ah, yes, that's right, it was me, wasn't it? Yes, I remember. I wanted to leave yesterday, to beat the traffic. And you wanted to leave today, to not beat the traffic, I guess.

MICHAEL: Look, I thought everyone else was going to be leaving yesterday. To beat the traffic. So they'd be off the roads by now.

JASON: Yeah. I'm not sure if people were too smart for your plan, or too stupid.

MICHAEL: Hey, you agreed to it.

JASON: Yes, that's it. It's my fault for not realizing your plan was stupid in time to keep it from being implemented.

PATRICK: Guys, knock it off. I had to work, remember?

JASON: Which you only agreed to after Plan Michael had been decided upon. And you were let off almost immediately after showing up, we could have left six hours earlier.

MICHAEL: Which would have meant dick. The freeways were clogged long before that.

JASON: ...True.

PATRICK: I heard the longest traffic jam ever was in California. A hundred miles long or something.

JASON: This probably beats it.

MICHAEL: How far have we moved in the last hour?

JASON: Well, let's see. It's 6:09. I remember at around five, we were even with that mile marker. Which is still right there. So, maybe, twenty-five feet. Normally, in an hour on I-45, we'd make seventy, eighty miles. We haven't made a first down.

PATRICK: Well, if you moved up to fill in the space there... [off Jason's look] Kidding! I'm kidding, calm down.

MICHAEL: We'd get there faster walking.

JASON: Go right ahead.

Silence in the car.

Patrick starts picking a melody on his guitar.

PATRICK: When the day is long....and the night...the night is yours alone...

Michael spots something in one of the mirrors.

MICHAEL: Hey, Rebecca's coming.

PATRICK: She's walking?

MICHAEL: Yeah.

Sure enough, here she comes from behind the car. She stops by the front passenger window and leans in to talk.

REBECCA: So, yeah. I think I can see our house from here.

MICHAEL: Who's driving your car?

REBECCA: No one. But then we're not moving, so.

JASON: Have you been listening to the radio?

REBECCA: Off and on. Traffic's backed up for, like, counties.

JASON: Shit.

REBECCA: They're talking about opening the southbound lanes to go the other way, relieve some of the congestion.

MICHAEL: When?

REBECCA: Don't know. They were just talking about it.

MICHAEL: The state government?

REBECCA: No. The deejays, on the radio. Who knows about the government. How's the cat?

Patrick looks into the cat carrier.

PATRICK: It's fine. It's...alive. Sleeping.

REBECCA: You think it's going to be okay?

PATRICK: Uh, sure.

MICHAEL: It'll be fine.

REBECCA: ...You have no idea what you're talking about, do you?

PATRICK: Nope.

MICHAEL: No clue.

REBECCA: Nice.

MICHAEL: Hey, it's not my cat. And if Cali had wanted a competent person taking care of Biggio, she would have asked someone else.

JASON: So, again, if you fuck up, it's the other person's fault for not realizing you're a retard?

MICHAEL: Um, again, no.

REBECCA: I'm sure the cat will be fine. This traffic can't last much longer.

JASON: Riiiiight.

REBECCA: I just got off the phone with my aunt, she's expecting us in time for the Astros game -- she wants to show off her new TV.

MICHAEL: What time does it start?

REBECCA: One.

PATRICK: We'll probably still be in the car when it starts.

JASON: We'll probably still be in the car when it ends.

REBECCA: Oh, enough with you and your pessimism. It could be worse.

JASON: Which doesn't somehow magically make this good. But I'll grant your point.

REBECCA: Well, we could be in the hurricane. And think about it, traffic jam like this, it's a great story.

JASON: Oh, yeah, I can see it now, fifty years in the future, kids lining up. "Grandpa, Grandpa, tell us again about the time you were stuck in traffic."

REBECCA: You just don't know how to have fun. That's what this is.

MICHAEL: Well, you have to admit our options are limited.

REBECCA: They are not. Play a game. Listen to the radio. You could, I don't know, talk to each other. You are friends, aren't you? If we were at home right now, this is exactly what you'd be doing: sitting there, doing nothing, going nowhere, talking to each other. Why is this any different? Angela and I are doing just fine.

JASON [pessimism gone]: Is she doing okay?

All eyes turn to Jason in mild surprise. No one answers.

JASON [it's back]: Oh, fuck you guys.

REBECCA: She's okay. She's really tired, but okay.

MICHAEL: Let her take a nap. It's not like we're getting there anytime soon.

REBECCA: That's what I told her. But she can't. She says she can't sleep in moving vehicles.

MICHAEL: And how does that matter now?

REBECCA: Also a point I made.

PATRICK: Hey, I think the cars ahead of us are moving.

MICHAEL: They are.

REBECCA: Ooh, gotta get back. See you guys.

She runs back to her car.

The guys wait for a few moments. Jason puts the car in drive.

Through their body language, we can see they start moving, then stop after only a few seconds. Jason puts the car in park again.

JASON: ...Yeah.

They're silent again for a few moments more.

MICHAEL: So, Jason.

JASON: Don't you fucking dare.

MICHAEL: What?

JASON: I will kill you.

MICHAEL: I don't know what you're talking about.

JASON: Consider yourself warned.

MICHAEL: Yeah.

JASON: Okay.

MICHAEL: So, you and Angela.

JASON: What did I just fucking say?

MICHAEL: That you would kill me.

JASON: And you went ahead anyway.

MICHAEL: All right, nevermind. I won't bring it up again.

JASON: Thank you.

MICHAEL: But what happened?

JASON: Goddamn...

MICHAEL: Seriously, man, it was almost two weeks ago, the two of you went into the damn backyard to have your little discussion, and when you got back you had both decided to try to pretend it never happened.

JASON: Which I was doing just fine with until you rudely chose to talk about it over my objections.

MICHAEL: You haven't said more than four words to her since.

JASON: That's not true.

MICHAEL: Is she avoiding you, or is it the other way around?

JASON: Fuck off, Michael.

MICHAEL: Hey, don't get mad at me. I tried to stop you, remember? Huh? Now you're going get mad at me because you're a retard? Ha!

JASON: I'm not mad at you because I'm -- because you're -- I'm not mad at you.

MICHAEL: Right.

JASON: I just don't want to talk about it, okay?

MICHAEL: Isn't that what got you into this mess to begin with?

PATRICK: Guys, seriously, stop it. It's bad enough being stuck in this traffic, but I'm not doing it listening to you two fight like this.

BOTH: He started it!

PATRICK: Hey! Children! Shut the fuck up! Both of you.

JASON: Or what, you'll pull this car over?

Patrick starts strumming a familiar pattern on his guitar.

MICHAEL: You wouldn't.

PATRICK: Skyrockets in flight...

JASON: Oh, no...

PATRICK: [whooshing noise] Afternoon delight!

JASON: All right, all right, all right. We'll stop. Shit.

PATRICK: Thank you. And if you start again, I've got "Margaritaville" here and know how to use it.

MICHAEL: Okay, Dad. Damn. Sorry.

PATRICK: All right. Now. We're going to stop fighting, and we're going to have a civilized conversation, like Rebecca suggested. Okay?

MICHAEL: Okay.

JASON: Okay.

PATRICK: Okay.

They're quiet for a few moments.

Robert enters and stands at the side of the stage. He holds up a posterboard sign that reads HOUR 8. 9 a.m.

The guys are still quiet.

JASON: What time did Rebecca say that game started?

PATRICK: One.

JASON: Right.

Quiet again.

Robert drops his sign to reveal another behind it: HOUR 9. 10 a.m.

Still no talking. Michael looks ready to fall asleep.

PATRICK: How are we on gas?

JASON: Half a tank.

PATRICK: Are we going to stop and get some?

JASON: Eventually. We're fine for now.

MICHAEL: Didn't the guy on the radio say gas stations were running out of gas?

JASON: Yeah.

MICHAEL: Maybe we should stop now.

JASON: Maybe.

MICHAEL: Hey, look over there.

He points. The other follow his gaze.

MICHAEL: See the girl in the blue car there?

JASON: Yeah.

MICHAEL: Doesn't she kinda look like Resse Witherspoon?

JASON: ...Um, no.

MICHAEL: I think she does.

PATRICK: Oh, yeah, definitely. If Reese gained fifty pounds.

JASON: And changed her hairstyle.

PATRICK: And color.

JASON: And got a new face.

MICHAEL: Okay, maybe I'm wrong.

JASON: Not really your fault. You've got a Resse Witherspoon fixation. No need to hide it. Everyone knows about it.

MICHAEL: Oh, no.

PATRICK: Eh, I don't see the big deal. Give me Nicole Kidman any day.

JASON: She's good, too.

MICHAEL: Now, see, I don't get your Kidman thing. Is it the Australian accent?

PATRICK: I don't know.

JASON: It's the hair.

PATRICK: Huh?

JASON: Red hair. That's why.

PATRICK: No.

JASON: Kidman. Gillian Anderson. Julianne Moore. That waitress at Denny's you've been bothering. Red hair. You're a sucker for it.

PATRICK: ...I don't think that's true.

MICHAEL: Hey, didn't Rebecca have red hair for a while?

JASON: For a few months in high school, yeah. Not for very long.

MICHAEL: And isn't that when you started going out with her, Patrick?

PATRICK: ...I don't see how that's relevant.

MICHAEL: And you broke up with her shortly after she changed it, I think.

PATRICK: Well...I didn't break up with her, it was a...a mutual thing, really...so...

Michael laughs.

JASON: I don't know what you're laughing at, you're seeing Reese Witherspoon everywhere.

MICHAEL: She looked like her to me.

JASON: That woman looks more like William Shatner than Reese Witherspoon.

PATRICK: [happy to change the subject] Oh! Last night, they aired that one episode of DS9, with the tribbles.

JASON: Oh, I love that episode.

PATRICK: Forgot how much I liked that show.

JASON: Oh, it was great. Best of the--

MICHAEL: Stop right there.

JASON: Huh?

MICHAEL: You guys start talking about Star Trek, you won't stop for another ten hours. And I'll just be sitting here. I don't want to listen to Star Trek.

JASON: We will not talk about it for ten hours.

MICHAEL: No, you won't, I'm stopping you right here. C'mon, we'll listen to the radio or something.

He reaches over and turns on the radio. A newscaster starts giving a dire weather report, but the volume is fairly low.

PATRICK: Hey, what was the name of that guy, with the weird ears, who kept dying all the time?

JASON: Weyoun.

PATRICK: Yeah. He was a Vorta?

JASON: Yeah.

PATRICK: That's right.

MICHAEL: Man...

JASON: Hey, c'mon. We're bored. If we start getting too geeky for you, just say so.

MICHAEL: [sigh] Okay.

JASON: Anyway. Yeah, he was a Vorta. Leader of the Vorta, actually.

PATRICK: How many times did he die?

JASON: Well, on-screen....

Robert flips another sign: HOUR 11. Noon.

Michael is still awake, but looks like he's praying for death.

JASON: ...which is when the whole Dominion thing started.

PATRICK: Ah, I get it. Yeah, I missed that whole season.

JASON: I've got it on DVD if you want to see it.

PATRICK: And that's when the Cardassians turned evil?

JASON: Not yet. The Klngons became the bad guys in season four, which is why Worf came in, but the Cardassians...

Robert flips a sign: HOUR 13. 2 p.m. He exits.

JASON: ...which is why Voyager was so awful most of the time.

PATRICK: Wasn't as bad as Enterprise, though.

JASON: Well, no, but--

MICHAEL: Oh, please, stop.

JASON: What?

MICHAEL: You said if you got too geeky, I could stop you, and you've been babbling about Star Trek for, like, three days. The whole time we were stopped for gas, the whole time we were looking for food, even when Rebecca and Angela found us and hung out for awhile, you were talking about Star Trek. Stop.

PATRICK: We could talk about Firefly.

MICHAEL: No! Enough with the sci-fi TV shows.

JASON: Can we talk about the movies?

MICHAEL: No!

JASON: And what do you suggest we talk about, then? We have to talk about something.

MICHAEL: I don't know.

PATRICK: Why don't you get some sleep or something?

MICHAEL: Tried that. Didn't really work.

PATRICK: Maybe you should take the cat outside again. It's been a few hours.

MICHAEL: The cat is fine. ...Right?

PATRICK: [looks in carrier] Uh, sure. Looks okay. Looks like he holds both myself and my entire species in contempt. Like a cat.

MICHAEL: Good. Now. Let's talk about something.

JASON: Do you remember what were talking about before Star Trek?

MICHAEL: ...No.

JASON: That's because we weren't talking about anything. We were sitting in silence for, like, three days.

MICHAEL: What about that game of yours, the one you're writing?

JASON: What about it?

MICHAEL: Well, are you ever going to finish it?

JASON: Yeah. What?

MICHAEL: Why don't you work on that?

JASON: Well, A, I'm driving, and B, I don't want to drain my computer's battery.

MICHAEL: I don't think you're going to finish it. Ever. You always do that, start a project, talk about it nonstop, get irritated when people don't read it, then don't finish it.

JASON: ...You're going to keep me from talking about Star Trek by...picking another fight with me?

MICHAEL: Whatever it takes.

JASON: You are truly pathetic.

MICHAEL: Yeah, I know, but...please? Not Star Trek?

JASON: Well, give us a topic, then. Pull something out of a hat.

MICHAEL: A hat...Hmm. I've got an idea. You guys remember Whose Line Is It Anyway?

PATRICK: ...Yeah....


Scene 2 -- the road, later that afternoon

The guys have switched places: Michael's driving, Patrick's in the passenger seat, and Jason is sprawled out in the back.

Robert returns, again pushing his chalkboard/map and carrying a posterboard sign. A big X is drawn along the line indicating their route, about a third of the way to the destination.

ROBERT: Okay, so traffic was much worse than they thought it would be. And it didn't get any better after noon. It cleared up a little, but it mostly just more standstill. You can see here, they're now about a third of the way there. And Michael's plan to get the others to stop talking about Star Trek has been...a little too successful.

He shows his sign: HOUR 17. 4 p.m.

He then drags his stuff offstage.

We hear the voice of the newscaster again, this time anouncing that the Astros have just lost to the Reds, 7-2.

MICHAEL: Astros lost.

JASON: Cry, baby, cry.

MICHAEL: And we're still in the car, and the game's over. Which means Patrick owes Jason ten dollars.

PATRICK: ...When I get home?

JASON: You can't do that.

PATRICK: [handing it to him] I should have known better.

Jason takes the money. Everyone seems to wait for him to respond.

JASON: ...No reply.

MICHAEL: That's weak.

Jason shrugs.

JASON: I'm so tired.

MICHAEL: Right.

Patrick points to someone in front of the car.

PATRICK: Girl!

MICHAEL: You've used that one already.

PATRICK: ...She's a woman.

MICHAEL: Uh, sure.

JASON: Michelle?

PATRICK: Carol?

JASON: Dizzy Miss Lizzie?

PATRICK: Julia.

MICHAEL: That's probably it.

JASON: Lucy. In the sky. With diamonds.

MICHAEL: Or that.

PATRICK: Baby's in black.

MICHAEL: Yes, she is.

PATRICK: She loves you.

JASON: And I love her.

MICHAEL: Okay, really, maybe we should call this off. You're starting to creep me out.

PATRICK: ...That means a lot.

MICHAEL: Seriously.

Jason looks back behind them.

JASON: Another girl.

PATRICK: Dear Prudence?

MICHAEL: It's Rebecca.

PATRICK: Run for your life.

Rebecca enters from the back and walks up to the passenger window.

REBECCA: Hey guys.

MICHAEL: Hey.

REBECCA: How're you guys holding up?

PATRICK: I feel fine.

JASON: Getting better.

REBECCA: Guy on the radio said they're finally going to start the contra-flow traffic thing in an hour or so. But it'll take awhile for it to actually clear any of this out.

PATRICK: Don't bother me.

REBECCA: ...Okay.

JASON: I'll follow the sun.

PATRICK: With a little help from my friends.

REBECCA: Um, what the hell is going on?

MICHAEL: We've been passing the time by playing a few of those Whose Line Is It Anyway games. You remember the one where you're only allowed to speak in song titles?

REBECCA: Yeah.

MICHAEL: Well, they did that for a while, with the understanding that the winner would get something. I didn't specify.

JASON: Money. That's what I want.

MICHAEL: Anyway, they proved so bizarrely good at that that I narrowed the rules to allow them only Beatles songs. And they're still going.

REBECCA: For how long?

JASON: Long, long, long.

MICHAEL: A while.

REBECCA: Why the Beatles?

JASON and PATRICK: Because.

MICHAEL: See what I mean?

REBECCA: Well. I don't want to spoil the party, but your sister called Angela a while ago, trying to talk to you. Probably wants to know about her cat. Angela says you can use her phone to call her back.

Rebecca hands Michael the phone.

MICHAEL: [dialing] Check on the cat, please.

JASON: Leave my kitten alone.

MICHAEL: Jesus.

REBECCA: That's a Beatles song?

JASON: Yes, it is.

REBECCA: ...I guess that is, too?

JASON: Yes, it is.

MICHAEL: [to phone] Cali? Hey. You called? ...Yeah...Um, I don't know. Where are we?

PATRICK: The long and winding road.

REBECCA: Houston still.

MICHAEL: We're still in Houston. ...I have no idea. Rebecca, you don't have a guess as to when we might get there, do you?

JASON: When I'm sixty-four.

REBECCA: Um, no. I don't.

MICHAEL: We have no idea. ...We're fine on gas. ...Yes. He's fine. We've made sure he has water and food. ...Yes. Okay. [holding the phone out to everyone] Cali says hi to everyone.

REBECCA: Hey, Cali.

JASON: Hey, Jude.

PATRICK: Good day, sunshine.

REBECCA: ...You guys are weird.

MICHAEL: Oddly enough, the point of this was to get them to stop talking like dorks. [to phone] ...Huh? Oh, don't ask. ...Did you need anything else? ...Um, just when I picked up the cat. Why? ...You're not serious. ...Are you sure? Jesus. [to everyone] Carter is still back in Bazemore.

REBECCA: I thought he was leaving with some friends of his.

MICHAEL: He was lying. He's still there. Cali just talked to him. He was probably drunk.

REBECCA: Great.

MICHAEL: [to phone]I don't know, Cali. I can call him, try to talk some sense into him.

JASON: That'll be the day.

REBECCA: That was Buddy Holly. [off Jason's look] I guess the Beatles recorded it, too?

Jason nods.

MICHAEL: At least let me give it a shot. ...Okay. I'll call you back.

He disconnects that call and starts dialing again.

MICHAEL: You think Angela would mind if I called my brother?

REBECCA: Not at all. I'm gonna go back. Catch you guys later.

PATRICK: Wait! [to the guys] I'll be back.

He gets out of the car. Michael starts talking on the phone, but we don't hear him.

Patrick walks to the back of the car with Rebecca.

PATRICK: So.

REBECCA: What?

PATRICK: Nothing, really. I just wanted an excuse to stop speaking in Beatle for a few minutes.

REBECCA: Ah.

PATRICK: So how're you guys?

REBECCA: We're fine. Angela drove for a little while, let me get some sleep.

PATRICK: She sleep any?

REBECCA: Nope. Something about her and cars.

PATRICK: That's too bad.

REBECCA: Yeah.

PATRICK: So, earlier, before we got stuck in this mess, I was writing something...

He fishes a piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to her.

PATRICK: It's not much, just a few rough verses and an idea for a chorus. I wrote the chords there over it.

REBECCA: Hmm. It's not bad. It needs work, but it's not finished, so.

PATRICK: Yeah. Problem is, I got kinda stuck. And I was wondering if you could...you know....

REBECCA: What?

PATRICK: Finish it.

REBECCA: You want to write another song with me?

PATRICK: Yeah. It worked well before.

REBECCA: Is this another sad attempt to convince me to join your band?

PATRICK: Not at all. I just thought it'd be fun.

REBECCA: Uh-huh.

PATRICK: Well, if you don't want to...

REBECCA: I'll see what I can do.

PATRICK: Thanks.

We see Michael end his call.

MICHAEL: Patrick!

Patrick leans in the window.

PATRICK: Rocky Raccoon?

MICHAEL: Give the phone back to Rebecca, please?

He does so.

REBECCA: Any luck?

MICHAEL: No. He's quite completely trashed.

REBECCA: Damn.

MICHAEL: Yeah.

Patrick and Rebecca again move away from the window.

PATRICK: That's a big shock.

REBECCA: It's not funny. He's in the path of hurricane.

PATRICK: Ten bucks says he makes it out just fine.

REBECCA: No bet.

PATRICK: Chicken.

REBECCA: I'm going back now. I'll...I'll think about your song.

PATRICK: Our song.

REBECCA: Right.

She starts to leave, but...

PATRICK: I like your hair.

REBECCA: What?

PATRICK: Your hair. The color. I like it. I mean, it was red before. A while ago, you had it red, and I liked that, but I like this, too. Your, you know, natural color, or whatever. It's good, too.

REBECCA: O...kaaaay...

PATRICK: I mean, I didn't just like you because you had red hair. Is what I'm saying.

She looks at him like he's grown another head.

REBECCA: We have got to get off this goddamn road.

She exits.

Patrick gets back in the car.

MICHAEL: You lose.

PATRICK: What?

JASON: Ha!

MICHAEL: Well, now you really lose. I can't believe you fell for that.

JASON: "What" is not a song by the Beatles. I win, I win, I win...

PATRICK: That's...that's not fair.

MICHAEL: Oh, that's not fair? You're gonna tell me you were talking to Rebecca out there in nothing but Beatles songs, too?

PATRICK: Well, I thought that--

MICHAEL: You thought wrong. But I was willing to let it go. Until "What," that is. Jason wins.

JASON: I am the walrus.

PATRICK: No, I call shenanigans!

MICHAEL: Take it up with the Olympic committee. Game's over.

JASON: All right, what do I win?

MICHAEL: My congratulations.

When Jason has no reaction at all, Michael offers a congratulatory handshake. This also gets no response.

MICHAEL: Well, I offered.

JASON: You really do suck.

PATRICK: See?

MICHAEL: So, did you get Rebecca to cave and join your band?

PATRICK: That's not what that was about.

JASON: I saw you give her that song your were working on.

PATRICK: Yeah. I wanted her help finishing it. That's all.

MICHAEL: Right.

PATRICK: Honestly. She says she doesn't want to play again, that's that.

JASON: You find a replacement for Chad yet?

PATRICK: No. I think I'm going to stick with him for the time being.

JASON: Let me guess. You keep Chad. Then, just before your big concert for the Weavers' party, you and Chad have a disastrous falling out. Suddenly, you're left without a bass player. You're forced to ask Rebecca for just one favor...

MICHAEL: And we all know she doesn't want to, but she'd never just let you twist in the wind like that. So she agrees to help you, this one time....

JASON: But, of course, enjoys it so much, she decides to join your band full-time. And the choir sings.

PATRICK: ...That is ridiculous.

MICHAEL: Not at all. It's a perfect plan.

JASON: You should be proud. It's guaranteed to work.

PATRICK: I am not that devious, and I resent the implication that I am.

JASON: No one's implying anything.

MICHAEL: Maybe you can get her to change her hair back, too.

PATRICK: Okay, asshole. Hey, Jason? I can't seem to remember what happened in the last, oh, eight seasons of The X-Files. Can you fill me in?

JASON: Sure.

MICHAEL: No, no, no...

JASON: Congratulations to you, too, dick. So, the X-Files were closed, and Mulder and Scully were both forced to...

Michael bangs his head on the steering wheel in dispair.


Scene 3 -- the road, night

We're looking at a different car -- Rebecca's this time. But Rebecca isn't in it: Jason (who looks very tired, almost zombie-like) is driving, and Angela's in the passenger seat. Shock of shocks, she's managed to fall asleep.

Robert -- looking just as weary as Jason -- returns, again pushing that damn map and carrying a sign. The big X is now three-quarters of the way there.

He stops and addresses us with exhaustion.

ROBERT: Last one of these, I swear. [points to the map] Okay, so they're almost there now. The traffic finally started to clear up around midnight or so; it's pretty easy sailing from here out. So let's get to it.

He shows his sign: Hour 28. 3 a.m.

He pushes the chalkboard off the stage.

Jason drives silently, eyes fixed on the road, for a few moments.

Angela wakes up. She looks around, slightly confused.

ANGELA: Are we moving?

JASON: Yep. Have been for a while.

ANGELA: Huh. Where's Rebecca?

JASON: In my car. She wanted to work with Patrick on that song of his. And Mike needed to sleep. So I'm driving.

ANGELA: Oh. Hey, did I fall asleep?

JASON: For about five hours, yeah.

ANGELA: Wow. I can never sleep in cars.

JASON: I know.

ANGELA: Yeah. Must have just, you know, passed out. From exhaustion.

JASON: Must have.

ANGELA: Yeah.

A beat.

ANGELA: So, the cat's okay?

JASON: ...Yeah. Cat's fine.

ANGELA: I was worried about it.

JASON: He's just fine. Wants to get out of that carrier pretty bad, but he's doing all right.

ANGELA: Good, good.

Another awkward beat. Angela seems to be reaching for things to say.

ANGELA: Michael get Carter to leave town?

JASON: No. He stopped answering the phone.

ANGELA: Oh.

JASON: It's probably no big deal. On the radio, they're saying the hurricane is turning east. It might miss Bazemore completely.

ANGELA: ...You're kidding.

JASON: No.

ANGELA: You mean, we could have suffered through all of this for nothing?

JASON: Story of my life.

Awkward beat number three. Again, Angela looks like she's trying to come up with something to say, and Jason sees it.

JASON: You don't have to talk to me. If you don't want to.

ANGELA: What?

JASON: I don't mind. Don't force yourself. Go back to sleep.

ANGELA: Why would I not want to talk to you?

Jason glares back.

ANGELA: What, we can't have a conversation now?

JASON: I don't know. You're the one who's been avoiding me.

ANGELA: That's--

JASON: It is true, don't insult my intelligence.

ANGELA: ...Okay. I've been avoiding you.

JASON: Thank you.

ANGELA: But...what did you want me to do? It was...awkward.

JASON: I know.

ANGELA: It was easier to just avoid you.

JASON: I'm sure it was.

ANGELA: You picked the absolute worst time to do your thing, you know.

JASON: Yes, I do. Believe me.

ANGELA: Why didn't you wait for a better moment? I mean...when I wasn't in such a fuck-the-world mood?

JASON: Wait? I'd been waiting. For months. It was then or never. Trust me.

ANGELA: Rebecca lied to me, you know.

JASON: She had to. She was my secret-keeper.

ANGELA: Everyone knew?

JASON: Yes. I mean, it's not like I sent out a memo or anything, they put the pieces together themselves. But yeah. Everyone knew.

ANGELA: Jesus. I bet they were laughing their asses off at me.

JASON: Well, if it makes you feel better, they were laughing at both of us. We were high entertainment. But I took most of the punishment.

A beat.

ANGELA: What are we going to do, Jason?

JASON: I'm going to finish driving, find a flat surface, and lay there and sleep for eight years.

ANGELA: I meant--

JASON: I know what you meant.

ANGELA: If we can't be in the same room together, how are we going to manage living together?

JASON: We can go back to the way things were.

ANGELA: The way they were?

JASON: Sure. I'm secretly in love with you, you ignore it, and everyone mocks us both behind our backs. Or, in my case, to my face. It worked before.

ANGELA: Come on...I'm serious.

JASON: So am I. I get burned by you, my step-brother punches my lights out, I've had it with revealing my true feelings for awhile. It'll be nice to suppress things again.

ANGELA: Wait...did you say your step-brother punched you? That was how you got your eye?

JASON: Yes. I hope you won.

ANGELA: Well, I -- wait, your step-brother? Since when do you have a step-brother?

JASON: Since my father remarried.

ANGELA: What? When?

JASON: Last month.

ANGELA: Oh. You never said anything.

JASON: I didn't know.

ANGELA: ...Oh.

JASON: My new step-mother has two sons. They're not twins, they're four years apart, but they look fucking identical. One of them -- I honestly don't which one it was -- took exception to something I said regarding the entire situation and clocked me. Hard. He was wearing a bunch of rings and stuff.

ANGELA: What did you say?

JASON: ...I don't remember.

ANGELA: Uh-huh.

JASON: So, I get that in Florida, then come home in something of a self-destructive mood. And I proceed to destroy myself.

ANGELA: ...Jesus. I'm sorry, if I had known, I would been...

JASON: Yes?

ANGELA: I don't know. Nicer.

JASON: Yeah.

ANGELA: I was kinda mean.

JASON: No. You were being honest.

ANGELA: Same thing.

JASON: Too true.

Someone behind them honks.

JASON: Oh, blow it out your ass, you gorram truck-driving mother...whatever.

ANGELA: What's his problem?

JASON: No idea.

She turns and looks behind them.

ANGELA: Guess you're not going fast enough.

JASON: I'm going as fast as I'm comfortable.

ANGELA: Want me to drive?

JASON: No, I'm good. Go back to sleep.

ANGELA: Not a chance.

JASON: Well, with that attitude...

ANGELA: Are we going to be able to work this out, Jason?

JASON: ...Sure.

ANGELA: Really? I don't want to lose you as a friend.

JASON: But you're not interested in having me as anything else.

ANGELA: Don't be angry at me.

JASON: I'm angry at myself, actually.

ANGELA: Jason.

JASON: Yes. We can work this out. I'm sure. We can be...friends.

He spits that last word out like it tasted bitter. Which it probably does.

ANGELA: Good.

She leans her head back and closes her eyes.

JASON: Thought you said you couldn't sleep.

ANGELA: Oh, I won't be able to. But I might as well try.

JASON: Yeah.

He checks behind them.

JASON: That guy's exiting now. No idea what his deal was.

ANGELA: Yeah.

She's rapidly falling asleep.

Jason turns on the radio. We hear the Beatles: "Let It Be." Jason turns it right back off.

A few moments of silence.

JASON: I'm sorry about this. The you and me.

ANGELA: [near sleep] It's okay. Can't help how you feel.

JASON: Yeah.

A beat.

From the depths of sleep:

ANGELA: Wish you would have said something sooner.

Jason drives for a beat.

Then...it seems to occur to him what she said.

JASON: What?

...but she's asleep.

Jason sighs and turns back to the road.

Nothing to do but drive.

Lights out.