Essays, Art and Plays by Dan

Characters:

• Harold – An elderly man in his late 70s, retired, living alone. He’s been through a lot in life, and his face is lined with stories. He uses a cane but still moves with a certain stubborn dignity.
• Clara – Harold’s late wife, seen only in flashback/vision sequences. She is warm, patient, and loving.

Setting: A modest, cluttered living room in Harold’s small apartment. There’s an old armchair that has clearly conformed to Harold’s shape over the years. A dusty picture of Clara sits on a small side table, along with Harold’s medication and a half-empty cup of coffee.

The lights come up slowly. Harold is sitting in his armchair, gazing at the photograph of Clara. He takes a deep breath and begins to speak aloud, as if to her.

Scene 1: Regret

(Harold leans forward, picking up the photograph and looking closely at it.)

Harold:
I should have taken you to that park more often. Remember? The one with the pond and the stupid swans that always hissed at us? I always found some excuse. Too cold. Too tired. Too… (pause) Busy, I’d say. Busy doing what? I wish I’d walked slower with you, listened more. But now it’s just me, and there’s nobody left to slow down for.

(He chuckles bitterly, then sets the photograph down. He sinks back into his chair, overwhelmed by the memories.)

Scene 2: Anger

(A few moments pass in silence. Suddenly, Harold slams his cane against the arm of the chair.)

Harold:
What good is regret now? It’s a damn waste, that’s what it is! Where did you go, Clara? Just up and left me here with all this… this loneliness. You took all the light and left me with shadows. I’m sick of it! (He rises, his body trembling with anger.) You were supposed to be here! We were supposed to grow old together, laugh at our own wrinkles, yell at the neighbors. Instead, you’re in the ground, and I’m left yelling at ghosts!

(He stands for a moment, breathing heavily, before collapsing back into his chair, exhausted.)

Scene 3: Sadness

(Harold’s anger fades, replaced by a heavy, lingering sadness.)

Harold:
I miss you, Clara. Every single day, I miss you. (His voice softens.) I even miss the way you’d nag me to fold the laundry properly. I tried to make that apple pie you loved last week. It… it wasn’t the same. Tasted like cardboard. I burnt it.

(He pauses, as if waiting for a response.)

Harold:
I don’t know how to do this without you.

(He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffing. The weight of his grief is palpable, filling the small room.)

Scene 4: Nostalgia

(Suddenly, Harold’s expression softens, as if remembering something sweet.)

Harold:
Do you remember the day we met? You were selling flowers at that little stand by the church. You handed me a daisy and called me “handsome,” just to make a sale. (He smiles warmly.) I bought a whole bunch, even though I was broke. You told me I was foolish, and I said I didn’t care.

(Harold closes his eyes, reliving the moment.)

Harold:
We danced in the kitchen that night. No music, just the sound of your laugh. You always did have a way of making everything brighter.

(He chuckles softly, a genuine joy in his voice.)

Scene 5: Hope

(Harold’s gaze shifts toward the window. He seems to see something outside that gives him pause.)

Harold:
The leaves are changing again. You always loved autumn, said it was proof that endings could be beautiful too.

(He sits up a bit straighter, a newfound energy in his movements.)

Harold:
Maybe… maybe you’re right, Clara. Maybe it’s not too late. (He takes a deep breath, finding strength in it.) I still have time, don’t I? Time to make peace with things, time to find new beginnings, however small.

(He stands, steadier now, and looks toward the photograph.)

Harold:
I think I’ll go to the park today. I’ll walk slow, watch the swans, maybe even talk to them. They’ll probably still hiss at me, but… that’s alright. I think I can handle it now.

(He smiles, a genuine, hopeful smile that brings warmth back to the room.)

The lights slowly dim as Harold takes a step toward the door, cane in hand, moving with purpose. The photograph of Clara catches the final ray of light before the stage goes dark.

Curtain.