Not today

[Golden Gate bridge, early morning. Thick fog clings to the entire Bay Area. A woman dressed in skinny jeans, sneakers and a black hoodie stands on the bridge, facing the water. An oversized hood covers most of her face.]

[All writing in bold is a voiceover]

Ideas are everywhere. There are so many of them, hiding in plain sight. Some of them are easy, and some require additional processing. All I’ve been doing lately, is gathering ideas for my unfinished book. The only problem is, to be finished, this book also needs to be started.

[Focus changes into a full body image, Rachel starts sprinting along the highway on the Golden Gate bridge.

Focus on a skate park adjacent to the parking lot at the end of the bridge. Rachel crosses the parking lot and sits on the bench. It’s still early, so there are no other visitors.

Rachel pulls her backpack to her side, opens a bottle of water and makes a few big gulps. She catches her breath and laughs at how difficult it is to compose herself again.

She pulls her hood down, and an array of long bond hair frames her face. There’s perspiration on her forehead, and she wipes it off with her sleeve.]

All I needed today, was to clear my head. This moment is perfect. I love this calm morning with no distractions. Today, I might as well make some progress in writing.

[Takes her earphones out, folds them neatly and places into a side pocket of her backpack.

A lonely seagull lands on her bench, approximately 2 feet away.]

-    Hello to you too, - Rachel says, - extracting a laptop form her backpack.

[She opens her laptop, looks sideways. It’s still quiet and empty in the skate park. She reaches for her backpack and takes out a can of cold Starbucks macchiato as a morning coffee proxy.]

-    Cheers, - she says to a seagull, - and the seagull screeches.

[Focus on Rachel’s computer screen.]

-    Once upon a time….. - She types, then immediately erases. - This is ridiculous! “Once upon a time!” C’mon now, you can do better.

[Rachel stares at a blank page for a while. The seagull moves closer. Rachel addresses the bird as her only companion.]

- Ok, let us all acknowledge I am a lousy writer. But this? Has it really come to this? “Once upon a time!” This can’t be happening.

-    Screech! - the seagull agrees.

-    It’s one thing when a software developer writes, “Hello World!” in the beginning of a new program, but for a writer to say, “Once upon a time”? It’s not acceptable!

-    Screech! - the seagull confirms.

[Rachel stares at a blank screen, then takes a sip of her canned coffee.]

-    Now, we write, - she says.

[Rachel drinks some water and starts typing. We can’t see her screen, but hear her typing away, without erasing anything, for a few long seconds.

A car pulls into a lot. Even with all windows rolled up, she can hear loud, booming urban music. Rachel gives the driver a stare.

Driver opens his door, with music blaring, and goes to the other side of the car to help his friends to get out. The seagull takes off and flies away.]

-    Perfect. Even my writing buddy has left me. - Rachel laughs to herself.

[She turns back to her computer. Nothing happens. She pulls out her earphones again and puts them on. Goes through her playlist. Selects an album and hits, Play. Pulls on her hood. It’s not enough to cancel out the rapping blaring from the parking lot. Rachel turns around.]

-    I’m sorry, do you mind turning the volume down a bit? - She addresses the driver. They still haven’t left the parking lot, nor they closed their van doors.

-    What’s you problem, sister? - The driver resorts. - We don’t mind you sitting there.

[There are clouds of smoke rising from the van in all directions, and Rachel smells the musty-sweet marijuana; its scent thick to the point she can taste it.]

-    I’m trying to work, that’s all. - She responds, knowing this won't change anything. She closes her laptop, picks up her things, and gets up to leave. Somewhere in this park, there must be a place where she can’t be distracted.

-    Crazy bitch! - The crowd cheers, and Rachel is glad she left.

[She walks away from the skate park and finds a place with only one bench in sight. There are cigarette buds and a dirty syringe on the ground. The seagull (or, a seagull) is waiting nearby.]

-    Hello again, - Rachel says, - and unfolds a paper bag as her cushion, before she sits on the bench.

[She starts typing ferociously, occasionally laughing to herself. She’s not wearing her earphones anymore. Then, a swamp of seagulls appears from across the bay, screeching as they circle around where Rachel sits. Rachel stops typing, drinks some water, then continues.]

I always thought of writing as a necessity; escape from reality. To this day, writing is the only constant I have left. It lives in me, constantly trying to get out. There are voices of people I met, people I knew, whose stories need to be heard. I am their messenger. It is my mission to record each dialog, each conversation, and share with others.

[Two women with a stroller and another young child are approaching; there is an audible dialog.]

-    So, have you been pregnant before?

-    No, this is our first time! Oh no, look who just wet himself! We haven’t been feeling well lately, his teeth are starting to come out! Poor baby, come to mama - we will fix this!

[The women park their stroller right across from Rachel and collaborate on changing the baby’s diaper. Their voices are shriek, and they keep referring to themselves and their kids as one entity. Rachel shrugs, waiting for them to leave. Instead, they decide to pull out a blanket and sit on the damp sand. There are cigarette buds and pieces of broken glass everywhere.]

-    This is such a nice place for Jimmy to play! - One of the women says, as her child runs in circles with his shoes off. - Be careful baby, don’t step in doggie’s doodles! - She cries out, not seemingly worrying about glass and metal shards laying around.

[Rachel gets up and packs her things. Although day is still young, there are more people on the beach versus an hour ago. She walks along the shore, trying to spot a bench to sit on. There are none available, so she decides to sit on the sand, using her backpack as a cushion.

In line for coffee. At lunch. In traffic. This is where I don’t do it. The last cause, probably, is the only reasonable one, even when the traffic is slow. Otherwise, why? Why don’t I write?

So many questions, where, in reality, it’s all part of the same. Why_not_2.0, and so on, in geometric progression. Always preoccupied, tired, sick - there are just as many reasons as there are distractions.

[A group of people with their dogs appears in Rachel’s sight. Two of the dogs are big and seemingly reasonable, and the third one is a tiny, toy-looking creature, barking at every grain of sand on the beach. It runs up to the big dogs and barks at them, too. One of the bigger dogs’ owners makes a polite remark to a woman in a pink track suit, who watches over the tiny dog and calls it “Juicy”.

-    It’s fine. - The woman responds. - Let them bark. - She turns around, and, across her pants’ pink bottom, there is a big, bejeweled embroidery which also reads, “Juicy”.]

[Rachel gets up, yet again, to find a place for her to be alone; to write. She pulls out her earphones, brushes off sand from her jeans, and stretches her legs. The fog has lifted, and it’s become clear and suddenly hot.

She pulls out her phone to check for new messages. There are three, and one is from Rachel’s mom. “Call me”, it says. Rachel dials in, and, despite the time zone differences, her mom is still awake. [Rachel checks a world clock app on her phone.]

-    Mom, is everything okay?

-    Hi hon, of course. I was just thinking.

-    Yes?

-    Why don’t you come over for holidays?

There is a moment of silence. Going to Europe was not in Rachel’s plans for the year.

-    I will keep you posted? - She says instead.

-    Sure, that’s fine. I just want to make sure that you’re OK.

-    I am, mom. Just talking to the birds in the park, that’s it. - Rachel briefly tells her mom about her morning adventures.

-    Ok then, it was good talking to you! - He mom says and hangs up. Rachel smiles and puts her phone back in her pocket.

[She walks back towards the bridge. The skate park is now crowded. There are local teenagers, photographers, tourists, couples, all fighting for the best background view for their selfies and panoramas. One of the couples approaches Rachel and asks her to take a picture of them.]

-    Sure, - Rachel agrees, - and takes a few with their Nikon.

-    Can you also take a picture with my phone? - The girl asks.

-    Of course. - Rachel does, and is ready to walk away.

-    And on mine, too? - The guys yells, as if in doubt.

-    Ok. - Rachel takes a few more photos with his phone, wondering why can’t they share the pictures they already have. The guy’s cellphone screen is shattered and is held together by a scotch tape.

-    Thanks! - They sing in unison and kiss, happily. 

-    Welcome, Rachel responds, ready to finally be alone.

[She walks along the highway again, looking down at the muddy water. There is still turquoise in it, and yet the mud prevails due to all the smog and litter. Rachel looks up, evaluating all the new guardrails and fences the city government put up to prevent suicides. She traces her hand against the fence, seconds before running into a police officer.]

-    Do you have a problem, Miss? - He asks, taking off his sunglasses.

-    No, I’m just pondering.

-    Well, you know, it has never helped anyone. - He attempts to catch her hand into his -

-    Oh, I’m not trying to kill myself. I’m admiring the geometry of this particular fence pattern.

-    I see, - he blushes. - Well, have a good day, Miss.

[The officer walks away, and Rachel stays on the bridge, looking into the distance. The fog is now completely gone. She puts on her sunglasses, pulls out her phone and hits, Play.]