Sunday, July 25, 2010

Opie, How Come Your Hair So Red? [Sunday at Floyd's]

[scene - Floyd's Barber Shop. Present are Andy, Barney, Goober, Howard.
The barber chair is empty. Seated along the wall, the men seem to be in a
somber, and troubled state. The checkerboard sits, a partially played
match, unattended. Someone eavesdrops from the adjacent store, where the
open vent allows at least some of the conversation to be heard easily.]

FLOYD: Well, Andy, you know, from the time you were a boy, I always knew
you to keep your temper. [pause] Yes, you have always kept your temper.
You have the whole town behind you.

BARNEY: Sure, thing, Anje. You know I'll back you up. You just say the
word, what you want me to do.

GOOBER: Andy. You know you can count on me, too. Anything. I could go out
there and take another look. You want me to do that? I could do that, yeah
sure, I could do that.

HOWARD: Now, fellas. Listen here. Andy's here for our support. He knows
you all are with him. Just give him a minute, okay? There is no reason,
boys, to fill up Andy's head with all these decisions. I think we need to
just wait until he has something to say.

[Andy has had his head down, looking at the floor, his fingers clasped
together. He takes in a deep breath. The normally calm sherriff of Mayberry
is unmistakably shaken. Looking up... ]

ANDY: Floyd? You still have any of those cigarettes we had on that fishing
trip last week?

FLOYD: Sure, Andy. Howard, would you get them? They're over there in that
drawer, 2nd from the bottom. There's a lighter in there, too. [Howard gets
to the drawer. Some unswept hair clippings shuffling along under his
orthopedic shoes.]

[Goober, acting on a quick idea, goes outside and brings in the standing
ashtray that always sits by the bench. He stops a moment. Opens the lid,
empties the butts and ashes into the trash can by the swinging screen door
of the shop. He rushes back in, as if it could be in another minute would be
too late. He stands the smoking tool near Andy's chair.]

GOOBER: Here you go, Andy. Maybe I'll have one with you. Would that be
alright? Would it?

[We hear the metallic click of the Zippo, as Goober opens and closes the
lighter. ... Andy looks up, appreciatively. He takes them from Goober,
pulls his own cigarette from the pack, and lights it, hands back to Goober.
He takes a deep, slow drag. He scans his friends of many years. He looks
toward the window toward the front of the shop. Pausing, as the smoke rises
up, as seen in Floyd's mirror.]

ANDY: Boys. I have another favor to ask. While I'm gone, I want you to
look over Aunt Bea. I may go and try again to find Opie. Howard, I will
give you a number, where you can leave a message.

[The men sit, expressionless, as they process what Andy said.]

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