15 Minutes, 9/7

(a man in his mid-thirties enters a living room where a teen in watching t.v.)

Did you find a date yet?

What? What do you mean?

Eve told me. Did you find someone to go with yet?

What exactly did Aunt Eve tell you?

She told me about the prom. You really ought to go. It might seem silly now, but as the years wear on these things get more important. You think about them, you know?

No. Why would she tell you?

Look, it’s fine. Don’t worry about Eve. Get a date.

Damn it, Uncle Tarver. This always happens. Let me just do this my way.

First off, watch your mouth. Second, no.

No what?

I don’t like your way. Your way’s no fun. Go find a date and go to your senior prom.

Please, could just leave me alone. Just this once. I don’t want to go to prom. Really. It’s stupid. I don’t like the music, I don’t like to dance, I don’t really like the people I go to school with so I really just don’t want to go.

You just can’t find a date, can you?

Tarver, please!

What? I was ugly AND unpopular in high school. I still managed to snag a date to both junior and senior prom though. I even got laid.

Should I clap? What do you want from me? This isn’t a big deal. Just stay out.

Look, you can’t fool me. If you were that pissed you would have ran off to your room by now. You’re still here pretended to be angry at me, though, so it’s obvious you want my advice with the ladies. That’s fine. Your Aunt Eve is a beautiful lady that I happened to trick into loving me. I have the secrets, big guy.

(the teen turns off the t.v. and fully addresses the man.)

Would you like me to leave? Would that send the right message? I could go slam my door and yell or something, but I thought I would try to present myself as calm and serious, but that doesn’t work with you. I’m not going to prom, okay? That’s that.

That’s that. Okay.

(the teen turns the t.v back on. The man waits a moment before continuing.)

Hey, whose that cute girl with the short hair your bring over here? Ask her.

Elizabeth? She’s my friend, like one of my best. I’m not going to ask her to go to a stupid dance that she probably thinks the same about as I do.

Fine. Yeah, you’re probably right. What do I know? You know…yeah. Proms are sort of silly. You just dress up to dance and have a good time. I mean, nobody likes looking good and creating memories. And who would even want to go to a stupid after-party, because who honestly stays at the dance the whole time? And really, who wouldn’t want to be let off the hook from their curfew for a night because of a special occasion that a certain uncle finds vital to a young person’s life. I mean, really? YOU. ARE. STUPID.

Damn it, Uncle Tarver.

(the teen storms to his feet and out of the room)

Where are you taking that sailor’s mouth to?

(leaving, the teen answers.)

I’m getting the phone.

(the man answers to himself, smiling.)

God damn right you are.