Written by
Kate Grace
FADE IN:
INT. BURT’S LIVING ROOM – MORNING
A quiet, tidy room. Books lined up. Side by side armchairs. A small table in between. A mug.
On a peg rack by the door hang:
- A HAT
- A SCARF
- A PAIR OF GLOVES
BURT (late 60s), widowed, gentle, deeply tired in the eyes, stands at the kettle waiting for it to boil.
Pours water into mug, glances at the peg rack at the strange items recovered from his father’s old chest in the attic.
The hat trembles. He frowns.
BURT
We’re not doing this.
He takes a sip of tea.
Behind him, the scarf slips an inch to the left. He looks at the mug.
BURT
Right. That’s enough caffeine.
He stands, sets the mug in the sink, and moves toward the rack. He reaches for the gloves. They crawl up the wall just out of reach. Burt stops.
BURT
No.
He tries again. The gloves scoot higher, then drop back down… and put themselves neatly on the little shelf.
BURT
Absolutely not.
The hat tips very slightly, as if offended.
Burt backs away from all three pieces of outerwear as if they were wild animals.
INT. BURT’S HALLWAY – MOMENTS LATER
Burt sits on a small bench putting on his shoes. He keeps a wary eye on the peg rack. The hat HOPS off its peg and drops neatly onto his head. Burt jolts.
BURT
Okay, stop that.
He takes it off, sets it on the bench. It hops back up onto his head.
BURT
I get it, you’re very spirited today.
The hat tilts its brim toward the door.
The scarf slips down, taps his shoulder, then stretches toward the door too.
The gloves hop off the shelf and land in his lap, fingers opening and closing impatiently.
BURT
Oh, I see. You want to go outside.
The hat dips.
BURT
Well, I don’t.
He crosses his arms. The gloves slap his knees.
EXT. BURT’S FRONT PORCH – A LITTLE LATER
The door opens. Burt steps out, wearing the hat and scarf, the gloves in one hand. His expression says he lost an argument.
BURT
Just so we’re clear, this is not consent. This is coercion.
The hat tilts in smug approval. The scarf wraps once around his neck, snug and comforting. Burt closes the door, locks it, checks it twice, then once more.
BURT
Happy now?
EXT. SUBURBAN STREET – CONTINUOUS
Burt shuffles along the sidewalk, hat firmly in place, scarf fluttering a little in the breeze, gloves swinging at his sides.
He keeps his eyes down. The gloves suddenly point to the left.
Burt stops.
BURT
No. We’re not going that way.
The gloves insist, pointing again.
BURT
That’s the long way. The short way is straight. We always go straight.
The scarf tightens, almost too tight.
Burt sighs.
BURT
I don’t like this new democracy.
He reluctantly turns left.
EXT. SMALL NEIGHBORHOOD PARK – MOMENTS LATER
A couple benches, several trees, Quiet. A familiar place to Burt. He stands at the edge of the path. The hat tilts toward a particular bench. Burt resists.
BURT
No.
He stares at the empty bench. The gloves open, palm up at him, like a question. The scarf coils around him, insistent.
BURT
I am not ready for this.
He turns sharply away. The hat twists, turning his head back toward the bench. He yanks it off.
BURT
Enough.
He shoves the hat under his arm and walks away quickly.
EXT. LUCY’S HOUSE – A LITTLE LATER
Burt passes on his way home.
LUCY (early 60s), widowed, soft, friendly, is outside struggling with a bag of potting soil. She sees him.
LUCY
Morning, Burt!
Burt stops like a deer.
BURT
Oh. Hello, Lucy.
The scarf perks up, literally lifting.
The gloves raise his hand in a wave before he can stop them.
BURT
I did not authorize that.
Lucy smiles, amused.
LUCY
You headed somewhere?
BURT
Nowhere in particular. I was just… being dragged against my will by outerwear.
She laughs. Thinks he’s joking.
LUCY
Well, at least they got you out of the house. It’s a beautiful fall day.
The smile fades a little. She looks at him with quiet concern.
LUCY (CONT’D)
You’ve been… keeping to yourself.
The gloves motion like, “Say something.”
BURT
I… like to stay…contained.
The hat (still under his arm) pushes against his ribs as if trying to jump.
LUCY
If you ever… want company. Or need anything? You know where I am.
He nods, too fast.
BURT
Yes. Yes, well. Thank you. I’m very… well-contained.
The gloves slap lightly against his legs in exasperation.
LUCY
You sure you’re okay?
Something almost surfaces. The scarf loosens, as if making space for words. He swallows. Then retreats.
BURT
Just fine.
The scarf tightens again, disappointed. Lucy nods slowly.
LUCY
Alright. Take care, Burt. I’ll keep you in prayer.
She heads back inside. Burt stands there, hat still under his arm, scarf coiled, gloves hanging. He exhales shakily.
BURT
Happy? We socialized. She probably thinks I am an old baffoon.
INT. BURT’S LIVING ROOM – AFTERNOON
Burt is back inside. Afternoon’s long shadows fill the room.
The hat sits on the coffee table. The scarf on the back of a chair. The gloves folded on the armrest. All three face him.
BURT
You dragged me to the park. You dragged me to see Lucy. Now what? Group therapy?
The gloves open and close. The scarf slides off the chair and onto his shoulders. The hat hops gently onto his head.
BURT
I have my tea, my books, my routine. It’s fine.
The gloves gesture at the empty other chair in the room.
Then at him. Empty chair. Him. Empty chair. Him.
He looks away.
BURT
Stop it.
The hat tilts forward over his eyes, forcing him to see the room differently. He pushes it back.
BURT
It’s too late to fix anything.
Silence. The scarf slides down his arms like it’s letting go.
The gloves land in his lap. The hat rests, brim low.
BURT
I had my chance. It was wonderful. And it ended.
And I couldn’t… I couldn’t do anything about it. It’s best to keep safe. Can’t lose what you don’t let in.
He stares at the floor.
The gloves gently close over his hands. The scarf curls like a hug, the hat stays steady on his head.
BURT
I miss my family. But how do I begin again?
EXT. BURT’S HOUSE – NEXT MORNING
Soft light. The front door opens.
Burt steps out in the hat, scarf, and gloves. He looks transformed. He stands there a moment, just feeling the air.
The gloves flex his fingers open. He looks down at them and huffs a tiny laugh.
BURT
Alright. Let’s see what the day has in it. First things first.
He walks down the steps.
EXT. STREET / LUCY’S DRIVEWAY – CONTINUOUS
Lucy is outside again, checking her mailbox. She sees him. Smiles.
LUCY
Morning, Burt.
He stops in front of her. Scared, but he doesn’t retreat. The scarf lifts a little, like it’s holding its breath too.
BURT
Lucy, I, uh…
The hat tilts, urging him on. The gloves nudge each other lightly: go on. He exhales.
BURT (CONT’D)
I’ve been alone a long time. Longer than I should have been.
Lucy’s face softens. She doesn’t fill the silence. She lets him talk.
BURT (CONT’D)
I thought if I kept hidden, nothing else could hurt. But I guess I just stopped living instead.
He forces himself to meet her eyes.
BURT (CONT’D)
Would you, maybe, like to get coffee with me sometime?
He looks like a man prepared for a gentle no.
Lucy smiles.
LUCY
Yeah. I would like that. Tomorrow around ten?
He nods with a beaming smile.
BURT
Tomorrow. Ten.
They share a long tender glance. She heads back toward her door.
LUCY
Don’t let your hat bully you too much.
Burt touches the brim, laughs.
BURT
I will try. He is stubborn.
EXT. STREET – MOMENTS LATER
Burt walks away from Lucy’s house, standing taller.
The scarf moves with the breeze, the gloves swing at his sides.
The hat stays steady on his head. He walks. Not being dragged, not trying to hide. But at peace in every stitch of his outerwear.
BURT
Life can bring pain, but it must go on to find joy. God uses even the ordinary things to His glory. Alright, you three. Where to?
FADE OUT.
Leave a Reply