Chekov Said

[MalReynolds]

“Chekov said, this is what he said, he said, ‘You introduce a gun in Act I, it had better go off in Act III.’ Or something. I might be paraphrasing. Chekov also said a lot of stuff on Start Trek, but the Chekov on Star Trek and the Chekov that loved talking about guns and Act I and Act III weren’t the same person. I know, I was disappointed too.

“So, you’ve got a gun in Act I. In Act III, it needs to go off. Maybe it can go off in Act II, I’m not too sure, Chekov didn’t really specify. He didn’t really say if you should be shooting something with the gun, either, just that it needed to go off, so I guess the rules on where the bullet goes is a little lax. It can go, I think, in the wall, or in a bookcase, or maybe there’s a rabbit or something that gets shot, or it can go in a person.

“I have a gun.

“Consider everything before this, ACT I.”

ACT II

He stands there, waving the gun around like a real lunatic, while Jeremy is tied to a small, wooden chair, hands bound behind him with a piece of whatchacallit, curtain string? The thing that uh, people use to close their blinds. Anyways, Jeremy is not a happy camper at the moment. This guy, and he’s a big guy, I’m just going to say that now, broke into his house. Jeremy thought, you know, “Robbery in progress!” and told the guy, “Take anything you want,” but the guy didn’t take anything. Just told Jeremy to pull out the chair that belonged to his daughter, the chair being tucked under a desk that his daughter used to sit at before she decided that she loved her mother more, and now Jeremy sat in the same chair his little girl used to sit in, wondering if leaving Erica had been a mistake.

It probably was. Jeremy isn’t a really handsome fellow, and his personality is kind of abrasive-but-not-really. Just the right combination of sarcasm and venom that would turn off just about anyone, despite the fact that he’s kidding.

Then again, at the moment, Jeremy doesn’t really think too much on any of that. He just misses his little Melissa, and thinks that Erica was really good for him, because face it, she was. Kept his clothes ironed, made sure at social functions that he wasn’t constantly taking his foot from his mouth, fixed him breakfast on days when he had to get up early.

Tied to the chair, he questioned just why he left.

The things you think about when a six foot tall bald guy in a trench-coat waving what looked to be a .45 around, but it’s tough to tell because he WON’T. STOP. MOVING, ranting on and on about this guy, Chekov and his rules.

Jeremy tries to speak, but his mouth is stuffed with a sock. His own sock. From his own foot. Now, he’s trying to pull his own foot from his own mouth. Maybe that’s what made him think about Erica.

But wait! The gun-man speaks.

“Act I, to me, introduces the characters. My name is Jeremy, and I have a gun. Your name is also Jeremy, and you do not. Act II puts motivation forward, before finally reaching a climax, correct?”

Chair-Jeremy, Chairemey, nods furiously, if only to agree with Gun-Jeremy, Geremy.

“And what about Act III? If the gun goes off in Act II,” Geremy’s finger is on the trigger, his thumb pulls the hammer back, “then Act III can be a funeral, can’t it? That’s some decent falling action. All the mourners pouring out in the pouring rain to pour their regards over the man who poured his blood out before dirt is poured on the coffin, before everyone purges their thoughts of the man and try to move on. It’s delicious.”

Chairemey is shaking his head, saying, “No! No!” but he has a sock in his mouth, so he’s really saying, “NGH! NGH!”

Geremy releases the hammer – gently – and removes his finger from the trigger box – gently – before sitting across from Chairemey, at the foot of his daughter’s bed. Geremy seems rather distressed and distracted, his eyes darting about the room like he’s trying to keep track of a very busy, but invisible mouse.

“So now here’s the real question, Jeremy. We’re cruising now, 35,000 feet above the Earth, but we’re approaching Dulles and pretty soon the plane is going to have to land. So I have to ask you this question. What kind of climax are we going to have? I’m going to pull the sock from your mouth, and I want you to just say the first thing that comes to your mind. It can be anything. And the end of our little play will be based on the words that come out of your mouth next.”

Geremy reaches over, and quickly pulls the sock from Chairemey’s mouth.

Without hesitation, Chairemey speaks.

“**** Chekov!”

ACT III

The crazed gunman stands, and exits, stage left.