TWO THOUSAND TWO
BLACK SCREEN
Title Card: “2002”
VIN SCULLEY (V.O., radio) And it’s a deep fly to left field...Homerun! The Giants win, Dodgers --
MAN’S VOICE (V.O.) -- Motherfuck.
Click. Radio off.
KITCHEN
ZEKE, age 12, pulls some cold cuts from the fridge; roast beef, turkey, and salami.
He rolls up the colds cuts into a neat little wrap and takes a big bite.
He pauses -- seemingly struck by a profound wonder at the spiraling layers of deli meat in his hand.
Or he’s just bored as fuck.
RING.
LIVING ROOM
WEBSTER, age 16, sits behind a now ancient PC working on some kind of genius-level 3D modeling project.
RING.
Webster holds up a middle finger for Zeke to see.
RING.
MAN’S VOICE (O.S., booming) Get the fucking phone!
KITCHEN
Zeke reaches for an early 2000’s cordless and holds it to his ear.
ZEKE Hello?
PRISON / KITCHEN
RICK, mid-50’s, cropped grey hair, inmate clothes, presses a payphone handset hard against his ear.
OPERATOR (V.O., filtered) Will you accept the charges from --
RICK (intense) -- RICK... SlOAN.
OPERATOR (V.O., filtered) -- Inmate 774-C-8250 of the Omaha Correctional Facility?
Zeke casually chews his food.
Rick, growing impatient, strains his face.
RICK Accept the fucking charges!
OPERATOR (V.O., filtered) Will you accept the charges?
Zeke glances around, as if there was someone to stop him.
ZEKE Yes.
Click. The operator disconnects.
Zeke swallows his cold cuts.
RICK Which one are you?
ZEKE Zeke.
RICK The younger one?
ZEKE Yeah.
RICK That’s good. It’s a good sign that I reached you.
Zeke waits for Rick to continue.
RICK Do you know who I am?
ZEKE Kinda.
RICK What do you know?
ZEKE My dad says you threw your life up your nose.
RICK (fascinated) Really? And what do you think that means?
ZEKE I don’t know. I just picture you like, taking the world and -- throwing it up your nostrils. All the edges of broken glass and rocks and people... you throw it up your nose and then there’s nothing in front of you because it’s all in your head.
Rick is stunned. He blinks, and then lets out a huge cackling laugh.
RICK God I needed that. And it’s a fantastic visual concept -- if you could pull it off.
Zeke isn’t sure how to respond.
RICK I mean, the easiest thing would be to superimpose these far-out ideas over the original negatives, right?
ZEKE Uh huh.
RICK But you’d first have to establish that there’s something slightly off with these people, with this world we’re in.
Beat, while Zeke tries to comprehend this.
RICK God, I don’t know...
Rick checks his surroundings -- brick and steel, convicts milling about. He cackles helplessly.
RICK ...maybe it doesn’t even matter any more.
A door slams, followed by a few muddled shouts.
ZEKE You want me to get my dad?
RICK No. I’m good now, but tell your dad I called. OK, young blood?
ZEKE OK.
Click. The line goes dead just before LEONARD storms into the kitchen. He’s a bigger guy, late 50’s, imposing. He was the man’s voice in the background.
LEONARD (intense) Why is the fucking refrigerator open!
Leonard’s intensity doesn’t seem to faze Zeke at all.
ZEKE I don’t know.
Zeke ambles over to the refrigerator door and swings it closed.
Leonard mellows, like his anger never happened.
LEONARD Dodgers blew it... again.
ZEKE Oh.
The Dodgers are not on Zeke’s radar.
Leonard reopens the refrigerator.
LEONARD Who was on the phone?
ZEKE Uncle Rick.
LEONARD (surprised) You talked to Uncle Rick?
Zeke nods.
Leonard grabs the cold cuts and rolls them up, just like Zeke did.
LEONARD What did you guys talk about?
Leonard takes a big bite and eyeballs Zeke.
Zeke just shrugs and looks away.
Leonard’s face softens. He reaches out a giant hand and gently pats Zeke’s head.
LEONARD That’s a good boy.