Adam and Evil A Monologue By D. M. Larson

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Before performing this script, you must first request permission at freedrama@gmail.com

GABE

"So we finally get to meet face to face," Adam said rather ominously. Actually not, but later his words echoed faintly in my soul. His salesman charm hadn't done much to make me feel good about this deal. "I always come to the final signing." Adam's voice sounded helpful. My hand shook nearly unable to hold the pen. The contract lay before me. Eva crouched nearby filing her nails with an emery board. The words grew tinier and tinier. My eyes fought to focus. The heat baked me. The pencil slick in my sweaty fingers. "Sign here," Eva instructed with Adam grinning. But that's later. The deal. What was it again? All of it so much a blur, but it all started with driving.

Driving so far out into the desert, mirages danced on the horizon. The road wet from the illusion although the sun quickly dried up the mock water as I approached. Thirsty, I pulled into the only gas station I'd seen since leaving New Mexico. My wife's bladder screamed and the door was half open before the wheels hit the curb. "I'll be quick," she promised. She always was. If only I were as honorable and kept my word. The deal looming. Did she know? Adam wasn't about to tell her. "This is just between you and me," I threatened last time I saw him. The grin, the grin of the Adam, offered a reprieve from my worries. "This is my deal, Adam. Remember that."

The price on the gas pumps were double here telling me I could wait. A young man leaned on his turd colored bomber, his hand out. I ignored him, unable to share any green in the desert. My wife, as quick as promised, met me by the refrigerated case. I lingered with the door open, making my selection cautiously. The cool air caressed me. "I'm going to buy that kid some gas," she said nodding to the window. The kid's face melting in the hot sun making a seriously sad clown face. "I won't give him any money, just some gas."

Her kindness shamed me. But was her heart big enough for both of us? Mine was so far gone. The kid thanked us, invoking God, and drove off in his machine. My wife grew ashamed. "He didn't fill up. I hope he makes it. I should have insisted he fill it." Never enough. She can never give enough. And no one gave her anything. Until now. Now she would have something.

We'd lost the baby before it even knew us. It. Always it. Too soon to tell. The names were to be Nicolas or Emma. But before it was real, it was gone, never to return. She was left empty. Me, unable to refill her.

On the road again... I sang that song as a child, fascinated by it, never realizing it was a prophecy. I'd lived in many homes in my short life, dragging my wife through six in six years of marriage. I promised her this would be the last. Adam was certain of this.

I grew more certain as we saw a sign in the distance. A huge sign, perhaps the tallest in Southwest, towered above the roadside. The Shell station had invested in this monolith, but the wind and sand of the desert had worn away the S. I stared at the sign. No, not an illusion this time.

My wife giggled at a tourist trap strung out along the interstate. Someone had way too much time on his hands. Dinosaurs ruled this pit stop, but not the dinosaurs of the Jurassic period. Ones of the much later Cartoon period. All of them doing something silly. Manikins and womanikins stood dumbly before the monsters and were gobbled up lustily. Some car had been sat on by one. The excited mock tourists forever with their frozen faces of delight. We'd passed Tackyville shortly, but my wife still chuckled.

Near the Shell station, a more sophisticated dinosaur roamed. A newer tourist trap, called a museum, had invested in these mock dinos, which attempted to appear as real as possible. My favorite was the T-rex pinning a triceratops to the ground with its foot, ripping his side open. A nice family scene for the kids to enjoy. I half expected the sculpture to have a little ad for the restaurant. "Enjoy our bbq ribs at the museum café!"

My joke quickly faded in my brain as the image of Adam appeared... waiting. My palms slick on the wheel of the car. No amount of AC could cure me. A hill or two we'd be there. "Do we have time to stop at DQ?" my wife smiled cutely as we passed a billboard. She had to pee again. I just knew it. I nodded, anxious to get something cool in my hands, anxious to numb the burning.

"Adam can wait," she said happily, bathroom and ice cream, a double delight. She always got a simple vanilla cone, despite the mad concoctions they'd devised. As she visited the ladies, I stared at the white letters upon the red glowing reader. I settled on an iced coffee kind of thing. Coffee on a day like this? Like my nerves needed it.

Back in the car, I watched my wife's lips as they loved the chilled creamy vanilla. So much to live for. So much to love. Lately, everything seemed so good. Why don't people realize that sooner? Why doesn't anyone tell us? Would we believe them if they did?

Suddenly we were there. The little title company before us, tucked away on a side street marked no outlet. The last remnants of cone gone, I kissed her. My cool java, her vanilla. Adam was at the door. "Eva has the papers ready." He led us to a room. The heat stifling. Made my head swim.

We took a couple of seats across from Adam. The guy had hardly broken a sweat. My pits soaked in seconds. Adam smiled. My wife smiled back. Please, God, no small talk. I hate small talk. Grant me this one small favor. Eva sauntered in with a folder thick with papers. She slid into a seat next to Adam, across from us. Two against two. The odds even.

Taking the papers from her, Adam spread them out before us. "I highly recommend reading it. People should always know what they're getting into." If only my wife knew... Adam handed us two copies. My copy first. My copy lay before me. My sweaty hand touched the first page shakily, expecting to be bitten. My wife on page two. I'd barely seen the first word. I knew what it said. I knew it so well. Adam had explained it all in detail.

My wife, ever cautious, began asking questions. The numbers pulverized under her gaze. Adam patiently explained. Patient. Patient from the start. Like a cat waiting, almost at rest, then whammo! Good-bye Squeaky. Adam slid a couple pens to us, but my wife wasn't satisfied. "This doesn't look right," she tapped her fingers on the page before her.

Adam flashed me a look. That look. I shrugged, "Looks fine to me, dear." What else could I say? Adam wanted me to do more. "I'm going to sign. Looks good." "No," she lay her hand on mine. Her hands so cool, calming. I let it lay there awhile, wishing it could stay for an eternity. Eternity. I'd have that now. I'd have it if I signed. No more moving. No more anywhere, any time, any place.

"I need some time to look this over," she said firmly, then gave Adam a look, a look that said don't mess with me. "We have a legal right to do that." Surprisingly, Adam smiled, "Of course. Take all the time you need." I handed him my copy of the contract, "We only need one copy." Adam, still pleasant, "Yes, I'll keep your copy." My copy. I wish I could rip up my copy and never see Adam again. But I had to. Somehow, I had to. For my wife, for a child... Time was fleeting, fluttering, flitting away. A butterfly nearly assaulted me outside the title company.

I stood a moment by the Highway 191 sign. The sign so new, recently hung. "Didn't they just change the number recently?" "No one gets their kicks on Route 666," my wife joked. Her jokes getting as bad as my own. It's like the River Styx on Route Triple 6. That would have been a good motto. Back home they'd kept the triple 6 name. Here they were afraid of something.

My wife said the sweetest words just then as we headed down 191, "Maybe we should find another mortgage company." Those words I wanted to hear. But what of the future? What could I offer her? She pointed to the numbers, "this costs too much." Yes, the cost was high. But was it too high? Adam offered us something no one else could.

"Do you believe in luck?" I asked her. "I met you, didn't I?" she leaned her head toward me as she drove, an invitation to stroke her hair. I did so, always wanting to touch her. Her hair slightly red in the sun. My temptress. She tempted me always, every moment. I'd give anything...

"What if you could be lucky all the time? You buy a lottery ticket... boom, you win. You drop a quarter into a slot machine... ka-ching, you're a winner." My wife shrugged, "That's be nice, but could you pay the price?" She knew... I stammered, "The... price?"

"The price of winning. No one ever gets off so lucky. You may not pay for it today, but you'll pay for it later." "You're right." I rolled down the window and snatched the contract off the dashboard. The wind caught it and ripped it from my hand. "Ooops," I said rather unconvincingly. I watched in the side mirror as the bundle exploded into a miniature snowstorm. Objects may be closer than they appear said the mirror. It was closer than she realized. Laughing, annoyed, giddy, she gasped, "What did you do that for?" I shrugged and kissed her. The gearshift poked me in the ribs, but I kissed her. "I love you, Angela." She giggled a little, giving me a sideways glance, like I told a funny joke, "I love you, too."

To Shell with Adam... and evil too.