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Cyrus S1C6: Down Memory Lane

CYRUS: What the hell did you do!?


(Cyrus whispers aggressively with an egregious tone as Young Curtis comes bouncing down the stairs barefoot wearing his Saturday morning pj's.)


YOUNG CURTIS: What!?


(Curtis whispers back at Cyrus in a defensive tone.)


CYRUS: What the fuck do you mean, "What!?"


YOUNG CURTIS: Hey! Watch your mouth! I'm just a kid, alright.


CYRUS: Don't you dare! And keep your tone down before he hears us!


(The voice from outside of the door starts to grow curious.)


THE VOICE: Hey, Curtis!? What's takin' so long!?


(Cyrus's gaze narrows heavier at Young Curtis standing midway down the stairwell holding on to the rail with his right hand. Curtis seems to be in a dilemma of some sort. Should he fire towards the front door with less regard to Cyrus that he'd already shown? Or should he continue to listen to the bickering of Cyrus.)


CYRUS: Don't you dare. Why would you invite him over!?


YOUNG CURTIS: I don't know. He's my friend?


(Cyrus performs a quick spin in frustration flipping and holding his head murmuring swear words to himself.)


CYRUS: Okay. I'm going to sneak out the back. Did you tell him I was here?


(Curtis finishes his jog down the stairwell with his chest facing the front door, and his head facing Cyrus in the hallway to the side of the stairway.)


YOUNG CURTIS: No.


CYRUS: Good. Keep it that way. Get rid of him.


YOUNG CURTIS: No.


CYRUS: What the fuck!!


YOUNG CURTIS: Language!


CYRUS: Shut -- shut the fuck up! Get the fuck out of here!


YOUNG CURTIS: I live here.


CYRUS: Your parents are gone, so I'm the adult here, so I'm in charge! Now... Now go back up stairs!


YOUNG CURTIS: No.


(Cyrus not exasperated, flops his arms at his sides.)


CYRUS: Why? Why would you tell him to come here?


YOUNG CURTIS: Because we already made plans to go to the mall today before you showed up.


THE VOICE: Hey! You gonna open the door any time soon!? My balls are starting to go cold out here!


(Cyrus runs over to Curtis and grabs hold of his shoulders with both hands forcing Young Curtis to focus on his eyes and his words.)


CYRUS: Alright. Here's the plan. Don't say a god damn word about me. You understand? Anything you say could possibly alter the entire existence of both our timelines. Got it?


YOUNG CURTIS: Alright, alright. Just go!


(Cyrus takes a look over at the front door, and then back to Curtis before affirmation.)


CYRUS: ... Alright. I trust you.


(Cyrus takes off as quickly possible out the back door though the kitchen down the hall. Curtis turns and finally opens the door. When he opened the door, there stood the spitting image of Cyrus. It was 'Young Cyrus'.)


YOUNG CYRUS: Damn it! What were you doing? Jerking off!?


YOUNG CURTIS: No. I was just... sleeping and didn't sleep with any clothes on.


YOUNG CYRUS: When did you start doing that? That's my thing.


YOUNG CURTIS: I'm gonna slip on some clothes, and then we can go.


YOUNG CYRUS: Well, alright, hurry the hell up! I've got girls to impress!





[At the mall...]


(Cyrus and Curtis are waiting in a very busy line at the food court. These lines aren't really lines, as teens are grouped around in their social circles chatting up a storm. Over grown hair on their heads, and acne infested. Adult Cyrus peers from behind a decorative plant across from the food court wearing a heavy set of shades. Trusting a teenager with the fate of his existence wasn't something he could leave unsupervised. Adult Cyrus also followed them into the shoe store, continuously walking past the front entrance. And into the urban clothing store for young adults where he pretended to shop for his "preteen child".)


CUSTOMER CLERK: Excuse me, sir, is there anything I can help you find today?


ADULT CYRUS: No, no. Just looking.


(The Customer Clerk was brunette wearing a maroon collar shirt with her hair tied back. She had the most beautiful smile. She was about Cyrus's age. So she was a bit confused as to how Cyrus somehow already had a teenage child he would be shopping urban wear for. She wore the expression vividly.)


CUSTOMER CLERK: Right. Well, Are you... --


CYRUS: God damn it! I said "I got it!"


CUSTOMER CLERK: ... Sor-ry?


(A few of the customers took notice to the outburst from Cyrus. Including Curtis who peered and noticed Adult Cyrus. Minutes later, Young Curtis and Young Cyrus head out of the department store. Curtis starts to pat around his clothing as though he'd forgotten something. He didn't forget anything.)


YOUNG CURTIS: Oh, damn it. I forgot my wallet on that seat. Be right back.


(Young Curtis jogs back into the department store, and waits for his friend to turn his attention elsewhere before running over to address Adult Cyrus.)


YOUNG CURTIS: What are you doing here!?


ADULT CYRUS: I'm... shopping?


YOUNG CURTIS: Cut the crap! You're spying on me!


ADULT CYRUS: ... Would you trust your existence in the hands of a teenager?


YOUNG CURTIS: Considering I'm a teenager... yeah.


ADULT CYRUS: You --


YOUNG CURTIS: I trust myself with my own life. So yes.


ADULT CYRUS: You just make sure you don't say anything.


YOUNG CURTIS: I won't! Geez, man. How many times do I have to say it?


ADULT CYRUS: Come on, it's not like I have much to be doing right now anyway.


YOUNG CURTIS: Just... go back home. I'll catch up with you when I get back.


ADULT CYRUS: Ahh, I think I'm going to patrol the city a little more. I kind of miss the year 2008.


YOUNG CURTIS: Okay, you do that.


(Young Curtis runs back out of the department store to catch up with Young Cyrus. Leaving Adult Cyrus stuck in wonder of the boyish energy he once had which acted as a Pied Piper for trailing thoughts he'd been having since being back in the year 2008.)



(Cyrus goes for a drive. He stops the car 10 blocks West of the mall outside of a Junior High/Senior High School. There was a long high fence protecting the outside from the football field. Cyrus sat upright and still. Daydreaming about days as a teenager. The mistakes he made lay heavy on his mind. Those grounds outside of the school made him feel as though he would now be reliving those moments. He could feel them. This was where he attended school. Junior and Senior High School. It was cloudy above now as Cyrus sat for 15 - 20 minutes before he drove off and visited a small Ethiopian restaurant being run out of a home. The house had a small porch with one step to the left of the front door which was bright orange wood. Chipped and aged. It was protected by a screen door that could have used a good cleaning. Cyrus still wearing shades to protect his identity, he knocks on the door and waits. This is when Cyrus notices the drizzling the skies gave way to.)


HOME OWNER: Hello? How can I help you?


(A woman with a heavy accent yells from behind the door before opening. The creaking crevice at the corner's of the door folded and unveiled a familiar face. )


CYRUS: Hi how are ya'? Can I have a plate of Collard Greens and extra plantains, please?


(The woman looks on from behind the screen with her neck straight, and face forward. She had twists in her hair. Some were light brown, and the others black. She had wide brown eyes, and wore an apron with a generic holiday turkey decor centered in the middle below her waist.)


THE WOMAN: You want African food?


CYRUS: Yes, ma'am. That's what I'm here for.


THE WOMAN: ... What a white man like you doin' over here getting African food?


CYRUS: I just came from the city. I heard you have some of the best food around is all.


THE WOMAN: Hm. Alright. You know it's spicy, right?


CYRUS: Yes, ma'am. I use to --... Yes ma'am.


THE WOMAN: Alright. It'll be about 20 - 30 minutes. $10, please.


(Cyrus takes the money from his inner coat pocket, and the woman reaches from behind the screen door. Which also creaked. She goes back in backwards letting the screen door bungee itself closed door behind her. Cyrus jogs back to sit in the car in the driveway. He starting thinking back again...)





YOUNG CYRUS: Dad? Where are we?


CYRUS'S FATHER: I heard there was a good restaurant here.


YOUNG CYRUS: But this is a house! I don't see a restaurant.


CYRUS'S FATHER: The house is the restaurant, son. Come on, let's check it out.


(Young Cyrus and his father go up to the door and order.)


CYRUS'S FATHER: Hi! Can I have your collard greens, please. With extra plantains.


THE WOMAN: You know it's spicy, right?


CYRUS'S FATHER: Yes I'm aware. And a small plate for my son here too.


THE WOMAN: We only have one size.


CYRUS'S FATHER: Well I think we'll share then.


(The Woman took a good look at Young Cyrus. Surveying the persona of a young white male.)


THE WOMAN: Okay. 30 minutes, please.


CYRUS'S FATHER: Thank you.








[17 minutes later...]


THE WOMAN: SIR!


(The woman was waving at Cyrus from the porch with a plastic bag with a to-go plate on the inside. Cyrus notices her abruptly and hops out of the car and skips through the rain that had now really picked up its intensity in 17 minutes time. He approaches the woman as his suede like coffee bean shoes slapped the cracked concrete.)


CYRUS: Thank you so much!


THE WOMAN: Looking like it's startin' to rain, ain't it?


CYRUS: Yes, it does. Thank you.


(Cyrus turns to start back his way to the car.)


THE WOMAN: You know you the only white man to come over here, right?


(Cyrus turns back slowly.)


CYRUS: Really?


THE WOMAN: Yeah, some man and his son come by for the same plate. You look just like that boy.


CYRUS: Really? Wow, what a coincidence, haha.


THE WOMAN: I don't believe in coincidence.


(The woman's face has gone serious. As the silence now faults below the slow drizzling ran drops that fall sparingly.)


THE WOMAN: You better get going before the ran mess up that pretty hair of yours.


(Cyrus turns to walk away slowly. Then stops. He turns back around to her. She folds her arms and shakes here head left to right.)


THE WOMAN: I won't say nothin'. I just hope it ain't black magic you messin' with. You might want to do somethin' with that mole. It gave you away.


CYRUS: Right. No... Black magic. Enjoy the rest of your day.


(Cyrus hops back in the car. Driving in silence. He has another thought of the past...)








THE WOMAN: You are my only white customer, you know that!?


CYRUS'S FATHER: Why am I not surprised, haha.


THE WOMAN: AHAHAHAHAHA! My name is "Nadi".


CYRUS'S FATHER: I'm Alex. This is Cyrus.


NADI: Well thank you for coming! Come back, please!


ALEX O'BRIAN: Oh we'll be back as usual, ahaha. Thanks, "Na-dee". Did I say that, right? Sorry if I butchered that, ahaha. We'll see ya'.


NADI: No you're close. It's "Nadi". Thanks for coming! Alright, I'll see y'all later!







(Tears slowly stream down Cyrus's face under his dark shades he still wore as he bounced down the cracked road causing his body to bounce left and right at slow steady rhythms. He reaches into his left coat pocket and takes out a capsule of painkillers. He twists it open, pops two, and continues the ride.)

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