Epilogue Pt. II [AT RISE:]

What happened on Friday, October 28th, 2011? If I didn’t wake up does that mean I’m dead? Or am I still sleeping? Is this a nightmare? Nooooo. It couldn’t be. Why? Because this doesn’t feel scary. It’s no where near horrifying. In fact it feels…
                                          Good?
                                                     






           

AT RISE:
Friday, October 28th, 2011.
Approximately 11:00 A.M., inside of a busy-as-fuck coffee shop located in a downtown metropolis. Warm sunlight fills up the shop.  A man in his early 40’s, DOUGLAS, orders a latte then exchanges small talk with the OLDER WOMAN in the shop. The BARISTA behind the bar finishes the OLDER WOMAN’s drink and starts on DOUGLAS’ order.

DOUGLAS: (To the older woman)..it’s for my big speech I’m delivering this afternoon.

BARISTA: (To the older woman) I’ve got your grande hot tea, ma’am.

OLDER WOMAN: (To DOUGLAS) Well, I hope it all goes well for you today. You’re prepared so you’ll do great.

DOUGLAS: Thank you.

OLDER WOMAN: (To DOUGLAS) You’re very welcome. (To BARISTA) Thank you!

BARISTA:  You’re welcome! Have a nice day ma’am! Or weekend, I mean. Have a nice weekend!

OLDER WOMAN: That’s right! It’s Friday, T.G.I.F! (She exits the coffee shop.)

BARISTA: (To DOUGLAS) So, what is your speech about?

DOUGLAS: Teddy Roosevelt, environmentalism, wildlife refuge conservations--

BARISTA: Very cool! I know the one of the first areas he conserved, or I guess, saved would be the better word to--

DOUGLAS: Is that so?

BARISTA: Yep! The Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge near Lawton, Oklahoma.

DOUGLAS: That’s right! How did you know--

BARISTA: I’m Comanche!

DOUGLAS: Really? I’ve done quite a bit of research about the Comanche people.

BARISTA: I also used to live in Oklahoma, near the Wichita Mountains. My mom’s front yard has an amazing panoramic view of Mt. Scott. That was kind of the selling point on the house, for my mom. She says the Wichita mountains are important to our people.

DOUGLAS: So I don’t get to tell you all about Quanah Parker?

BARISTA: Quanah is my fourth generation grandfather. Me; My family; Well my maternal side anyway, we’re direct descendents of Quanah Parker and Esa Rosa-Whitewolf.

DOUGLAS: That’s really amazing! Quanah was a childhood hero of mine.

BARISTA: Get out of here…

DOUGLAS: Yes! I’m a historian for CBS and I also teach history.

BARISTA: Where do you teach at?

DOUGLAS: Rice University. (He extends his arm across the bar.) My name is Douglas.

BARISTA: It’s nice to meet you, sir!  My name is… (Points at her name tag)

DOUGLAS: Liz!

BARISTA: Correcto! So, what brings you to Fort Worth, Mr. Douglas?

DOUGLAS: My speech--

BARISTA: Duh! Of course, I don’t know why I--

DOUGLAS: How much do you know about your grandfather?

BARISTA: Well, let’s see….See that historical marker over there, across the street?

DOUGLAS: (Turns around to look and nods his head in agreement.)

BARISTA: Quanah and his family spent a lot of time here in Fort Worth, all over Texas, really. That is, until the Texas Rangers came along. It’s always perplexed me, the United States government creating an entire department of law enforcement for the sole purpose of patrolling Comanche people. Of course the BIA is the same concept… But yes, that marker across the street was made to honor Cynthia Ann Parker, Quanah’s mother.

DOUGLAS: Yes! She was a white--

BARISTA: A white captive? Yep! Which made Quanah, half-white. I got a lot of shit for that growing up. Mainly from my dad’s side of the family. You know, it’s kind of ironic I ended up here. I had no idea there was a historical marker across the street, let alone a historical marker to honor a member of my family. I didn’t even know about it until about a year ago. I came to work early on a Saturday morning so I could explore downtown. I hadn’t been in Fort Worth that long. Since it was a Saturday morning there weren’t a lot of cars parked on the street. I noticed the marker, standing alone and I don’t know, it’s placement seemed, out of place, to me, if that makes sense.  When I read the plaque I couldn’t believe it. Of course I called my mom to tell her. She thinks it was fate that brought me here, to this specific spot, like it was my destiny. (Laughs)

DOUGLAS: Do you know about Quanah’s role in the Native American church?

BARISTA: Oh yeah. My grandpa, my dad’s dad, well, step-dad actually, was super involved with the Native American church. During the fall and winter time my grandparents hosted peyote meetings every other weekend it seemed. Peyote meetings are like church, except they start on Saturday night. Of course don’t say that to your standard American Christian. They’ll choke on their communion wafers or cut up white bread and Welch’s grape juice. Depends on the region. How do you know so much about peyote?

DOUGLAS: My good friend Hunter Thompson. He was a writer.

BARISTA: You mean Hunter S. Thompson?

DOUGLAS: Yes.

BARISTA: Shut up. How did you--

DOUGLAS: I edited some of his work. After he passed, I became the executor for his literary estate.

BARISTA: This is wild! I can’t believe-- I mean.

DOUGLAS: You’re telling me! I can’t believe I met you, Liz! One of Quanah Parker’s grand daughters!

BARISTA: No! I can’t believe I met you, Mr. Douglas! You edited for Hunter Thompson, a writer I’ve admired since I was like, seventeen! And you’re a professional editor! I’m a writer-- Aspiring writer, and I’m finally at the tail end of finishing my first book. It’s a novella--

DOUGLAS: That’s fantastic! I’m working on a book right now too. My book is about Woody Guthrie. Do you know who Woody Guthrie--

BARISTA: Of course! He’s an huge icon in dustbowl and Oklahoma history.

DOUGLAS: Yes, you know! So tell me Liz, what is your book about?

BARISTA: A lot. (Laughs) Death, Life, Starting over.. It’s kind of a fictional memoir.

DOUGLAS: Sounds interesting! I’ll be spending quite a bit of time going back and forth between my home in Austin and in Oklahoma while I finish my book. I’d love to take a look at your manuscript when you get it finished. Here…(He reaches into his blazer, searching for something to write with.) Let me give you my cell number.

BARISTA: (Quickly swipes a black Sharpie marker from BARISTA 2 and hands it to DOUGLAS.)

DOUGLAS: (Removes the cardboard sleeve from his beverage and writes down his name and number and hands it to BARISTA.) That’s my personal cell phone. I can always be reached at that number. I also text.

BARISTA: Oh man, I’m a texting champ.

DOUGLAS: Is that so?

BARISTA: You have no idea. (She laughs and takes the information and Sharpie marker from DOUGLAS, then she grabs another cardboard sleeve from the bar and jots down her information. She hands it to DOUGLAS.) That’s my cell phone and email too.

DOUGLAS: It was really great meeting you today and talking with you, Liz.

BARISTA: You too Mr. Douglas. Seriously, you made my day, my week-- My year.

DOUGLAS: Don’t hesitate to call if you’re down in the Austin area, too!

BARISTA: Will do! And give me a call if you’re in Fort Worth or Oklahoma, I’ll be at one or the other I’m sure.

DOUGLAS: Okay! Have a great day, Liz.

BARISTA: You too Mr. Douglas! Have a super awesome day! Hope the speech goes well!

DOUGLAS: (Exiting the coffee shop) Thanks!

BARISTA 2: What was that all about?

BARISTA: The man? He’s a writer and editor, a professional writer and editor. He gave me his cell number and if I understood him right… He wants to be friends and he wants to read my manuscript.

BARISTA 2: That’s awesome! Yay for you!

BARISTA: Thanks. WOW-- Just wow. (She pulls out her iPhone from her back pocket.) It's time.

The BARISTA takes off her apron and exits from behind the bar.
BARISTA 2 waves goodbye, then seamlessly switches attention to steaming milk. As the BARISTA exits the coffee shop the steaming sound grows louder and the sunlight shines brighter, until nothing in the scene can be seen or heard clearly. 

            [END SCENE]

 Q. If it’s not a nightmare…?   

    Honest-to-goodness
    Though unreal it seemed
    I never knew I had a place
    Somewhere
    I was meant to be.   

    All the people, places, and things
    each miracle and disaster that occurred
    man-made or naturally…
    .               
    All of that is hiSTORY.

    It's not a nightmare
    It’s the true story of       
                       
  A. Dream.