INT. THERESA’S APARTMENT - MORNING

THERESA, a woman of 32, is curled up seated at an empty table, holding with both hands a cup of hot coffee. She is looking wistfully out the window, dejected and unsatisfied. It is gray, dreary, and raining.

Opposite her is the cooking stove where GEORGE, a man of 33, is busy making breakfast. Besides the sounds of sizzling oil, this morning in a brightly lit kitchen is silent. And boring.

Her brows furrowed with annoyance as she scans the broken scenery.

She lives in an endlessly tall apartment building; the ground cannot be seen. But it is slammed right next to the other buildings, each factory-printed to be the same. Color, size, and shape. Some are more worn than others, but all see their age. It is cramped.

Directly ahead are flashing red lights and various neon signals that fill the sky. The usual rumbling hovercrafts are stuck in traffic, mid-air. And the people, seen through their own apartment windows or in their cockpits, continue to go about their busy lives, always doing something, always heading somewhere, always with an agenda. Always impatient. Every sign is a loudspeaker, bright and obnoxious. Everyone seems to have something to do. But not her.

The sky itself is barely visible from all the congestion, the buildings, the advertisements—

But across the way, on a building that didn’t get enough funding to build as high, on the rooftop where a makeshift community garden was erected but not maintained, is a child of 6, RILEY, who is wearing oversized rain boots and stomping playfully through puddles with unabashed glee, amongst the chaos. Theresa barely caught sight of the child through the mess. And Theresa breaks into a smile.

THERESA

Oh, look! Riley’s out in her rain boots playing in their garden. That’s so adorable. Do we have one? In our building?

George, without turning around, gives a dull and rote acknowledgment.

GEORGE

Mhm.

THERESA

(excitedly) Really?

Turning around, Theresa finds him inattentive. Her excitement fades to a disapproving glare (at his back) and then returns her gaze out the window back to the child, playing. George continues cooking breakfast.

THERESA (CONT’D)

You ever wonder what it’s like back then? As a kid?

GEORGE

Weren’t we all a kid once? What kind of question is that?

THERESA

I mean, to just be at home and forget everything. Just play in the crappy rain in a crappy yard, and not worry about it all. Don’t have to worry about rent. Or going to work. Or dumb problems. And just have fun. You know? What happened to those days?

GEORGE

Do remember that commercial? What was it— “Jumping around like a kangaroo. (duh duh duh) Having fun so you just can’t lose! Moon shoes!”

THERESA

No, stop it.

GEORGE

You always wanted one as a kid, didn’t you? Cause I knew you would.

THERESA

Shut up. I can’t believe you bought me those. They’re so stupid.

GEORGE

Well, shame. I guess you grew up then. You just don’t know what fun is anymore.

A beat.

THERESA

Why don’t we do that anymore?

George doesn’t answer. Abruptly, he’s back to cooking. Theresa ponders for a moment, then gets up. She puts down her coffee and briskly with purpose walks out the front door, in her pajamas.

INT. STAIRWELL - DAY

With purpose, she heads to the elevator. And as she walks, she is remembering a conversation:

GEORGE (V.O.)

That reminds me, did you pick up the mail?

THERESA (V.O.)

(muffled) I just forgot them okay? That was just an example.

GEORGE (V.O.)

Oh really? Is that what you said Friday?

THERESA (V.O.)

Fuck off.

GEORGE (V.O.)

You fuck off. Why are you angry at me for?

THERESA (V.O.)

Stop getting on my case, that’s why.

GEORGE (V.O.)

Well, you SAID—

THERESA (V.O.)

I didn’t forget, okay? I’m going to pick them up today.

GEORGE (V.O.)

Oh, don’t do that. You said you’d pick them up yesterday.

THERESA (V.O.)

So what? I’m going to go get them later. Do you want an apology?

GEORGE (V.O.)

Busy with what? No, I don’t want an apology— and what do you mean so what? You SAID—

THERESA (V.O.)

What do you want from me? It’s just ONE more day.

GEORGE (V.O.)

I’m not doing this again.

THERESA (V.O.)

Well, fuck off! I’m not doing this either.

EXT. ROOFTOP - AFTERNOON

Theresa opens the rooftop door and meets the rain. She smiles as she is getting drenched in her pajamas. And she is getting soaked, but she is enjoying it.

Her arms are spread out as she feels the rain on her face.

She then breaks into a run around the rooftop, jumping into puddles, and laughing. Playing. She picks up a fallen stick and dances. And laughs. She has fun.

And, as she does so, tears well up. Her joy is erupting out of her uncontrollably, and, out of breath, she lays down on the ground, staring up at the other towering buildings looming over her. At the pollution and the missing sky. At the distracting advertisements. She takes a moment to soak it in.

Then a blimp enters her view. On it, a news anchor reports a lawsuit against moon shoes, claiming charges of being unsafe and the millions of broken kid ankles due to gross negligence of design. She chuckles.

THERESA

Look! (I fucking knew it.) George! I was right!

But she looks around and realizes he isn’t there. And she catches herself, her euphoria fades and she becomes a little frightened, glancing around her. At what she is doing.

She looks back at the blimp.

GEORGE (V.O.)

We’re doing it again, aren’t we?

Theresa takes a breath. Slowly:

THERESA (V.O.)

We are.

GEORGE (V.O.)

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blame you.

THERESA (V.O.)

I really didn’t forget, but I just couldn’t do it.

GEORGE (V.O.)

Why not?

THERESA (V.O.)

I don’t know. I was tired. And I know I promised I’d do it— I’m sorry. I don’t know why I couldn’t just go… I just. I feel useless here.

GEORGE (V.O.)

What are you talking about? You put in so much of yourself in your work, your students love ya. I didn’t mean to say you don’t anything; I want to help—

THERESA (V.O.)

It’s not that. I just don’t know why anymore. You know? Like is tomorrow just going to be like this again? You make us breakfast, and I complain about how much some random kid enjoys her own life?

GEORGE (V.O.)

You didn’t like the omelet? Sorry—

George cracks a joking smile.

GEORGE (CONT’D)

—but like what? What do you mean?

THERESA (V.O.)

Arguing. You ignored me.

GEORGE (V.O.)

When did I do that?

THERESA (V.O.)

I was talking about Riley, and you didn’t say anything. All you could think about was why I didn’t get the mail.

GEORGE (V.O.)

No! That’s not true! I… I’m sorry. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention. I was making breakfast and— I don’t know. I was just already mad that you didn’t seem to care anymore. Like all we said yesterday didn’t mean anything to you. And you just blew it all off again.

THERESA (V.O.)

What are you talking about? Of course I care, George. I even set an alarm on my phone to go do it and I was going to go get it this morning, but you were making breakfast already. And I just— I don’t know. I didn’t want to disappoint you again.

A beat.

THERESA (CONT’D) And I’m mad that you keep nagging me about these things, but I’m also just mad at myself for not doing it— and what we talked about yesterday, I get it. But— I just don’t know what’s going on anymore… what are we even doing?

GEORGE (V.O.)

I don’t know. I think… I don’t think anyone knows what they’re doing. We are all just figuring it out as we go.

A beat.

GEORGE (CONT’D)

Do you still want me here?

CUT TO:

INT. THERESA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

She re-enters the apartment, soaking wet. The lights are off and the room is instead lit by a red hue from the traffic lights outside. She heads straight back into the kitchen. George is there cooking, his face covered in shadow.

THERESA

George! Come see your freaking moon shoes. I told ya— I…

Theresa stops mid-sentence and looks at the table. Two prepared breakfasts, one half-eaten where she was just sitting, and the other untouched.

She looks back at the stove. Piled-up pots and pans, unwashed. But George was not there.

She walks into the empty room, confused. And tears begin falling from her cheeks. And she cries. The grief she had been avoiding for so long, has come back.

She is still wet, but she sits down, looking out the window again. Watching the reflection, where she can see George still making breakfast, never turning around. She takes the moment to soak it in. And with a whisper:

THERESA

What are you making?

GEORGE

Wouldn’t you like to know?

THERESA

I would.