One Lucky Scar

1: One. 

2: One what. 

1: That can’t be. I can’t count well, but I know how to count when there is more than one. 

2: One what?

1: Who the hell is Misty Marshall? 

2: Should I know? 

1: What kind of a name is Misty Marshall? Surely a fake! 

2: Either explain yourself or end your story here. 

1: One star. Misty Marshall gave my play one damn lonely star. 

2: Oh, come on. Who cares about one review! 

1: Well, the one star cares all the other four stars fucked away without her. 

2: Are stars feminine? 

1: Are you listening to me? 

2: I was deciphering, then I started listening and now I’m comforting. 

1: I don’t need comforting. I need a grave for my one-star play. 

2: You need perspective. 

1: How? One star doesn’t give you perspective. You need at least two to have perspective. Perspective is generated by a multitude. One is not a multitude. One is a tangent towards nullity. Do you know what’s nullity number? 

2: Zero? 

1: That’s right. Even zero has more letters than one. I would have preferred zero stars to that sulky silly sore one. 

2: You’re overreacting. 

1: My reaction is inversely proportional to Misty Marshall’s lack of esteem for my play. 

2: I’m not following anymore. 

1: You liked my play. How many stars would you give it? 

2: Stop, please. 

1: How many stars? 

2: More than one. 

1: Care to venture a decision? How many?

2: I don’t know!

1: I see. More than one but less than two.

2: Listen—

1: The play I wrote is barely worth one star and surely not more than two. Fantastic!

2: Two gives you perspective. 

1: I didn’t get two. 

2: What about the others? 

1: What about them? 

2: Is Misty Marshall the only review you had?

1: It’s the only one I care for. 

2: Why? 

1: Because it’s the only one that matters don’t you see! 

2: Clearly, I don’t. 

1: A one-star review is like a lone wolf. An odd-shaped round potato in a basket! A big shiny molecule! A striped blue sweater on the all-white section! It’s unique, it’s real! It doesn’t have competition. It rises on its own. It shines in the night sky of its lack of leadership.

2: So, you’re happy about the review? Is that what you’re saying?

1: My first play. 

2: It is your first. You can cut yourself some slack—

1: One is not enough. I need to write more plays. 

2: You’re losing your audience. 

1: One is what I deserve for thinking I could get more. 

2: Don’t Misty Marshall yourself.

1: I wouldn’t dare. Misty Marshall gave me that star. It’s mine. 

2: Did you plan on selling it?

1: How much can it be worth to someone else? It’s mine! It’s my scar. 

2: Your star, your scar. I like it!

1: I should wear it proudly. 

2: No need to sew it on your clothes. 

1: I should call Misty Marshall. 

Silence.

2: Why? 

1: To thank her. 

2: Why? 

1: Why do you ask twice? 

2: I think you should leave Misty Marshall alone.

1: She needs to know. 

2: No she doesn’t! Know what? 

1: That she saved my writing career.

2: Did she? 

1: I thought you were following. 

2: I was following, and now I’m jumping ahead. Don’t call Misty Marshall. 

1: What worse could she do to me? 

2: What would you even say to her? 

1: I don’t know. I like improv. 

2: Improv is gawky. 

1: That’s what Misty Marshall said about my play! 

Silence. 

1: Gawky. That’s an unusual way of saying clumsy.

2: Not so unusual. 

1: What’s wrong with you? 

2: Nothing. 

1: You’re relentlessly tapping your fingers on that table.

2: It’s a tic. 

1: You don’t have tics. 

2: You don’t know everything. 

1: I know you don’t have tics. 

2: You think you know I don’t have tics. 

1: You’re being ridiculous. 

2: You’re one to talk. 

1: I do not see any reasons why I should NOT call Misty Marshall the same way I don’t see any reasons why you should have developed secret tics you so proudly defend!

2: Fine. Call her. 

1: Maybe I will. 

2: Not my problem. 

1: You made it a problem. 

2: I surely did not. I advised you not to do something that will hurt you more than you already are. 

1: How can you be so sure calling Misty Marshall is going to make me feel bad? 

2: Because I know. 

1: I have known you more eloquent. 

2: My eloquence seems not to be welcomed lately.

1: Why are you talking about? 

Silence. 

2: You want to call Misty Marshall? 

1: I think I made it clear, yes. 

2: You want to call her and rant about your one-star review. 

1: Rant is a bad word. I shall…vociferate about her raspy review, yes.

2: You will call her, rant about your star and unjustly accuse her of your failures! That’s what you do! You criticize, you blame, you dodge the bullet that bears your name. 

1: This conversation is a painful digression from my initial sorrow and I will sit here and allow you to condemn me for transparency! 

2: Transparency? The words coming out of your mouth are as opaque as a brick wall! So if you want to call Misty Marshall and rant and accuse, at least have the decency to admit the truth. 

1: There’s never only one truth. 

2: Yet there’s only one star. 

1: You’re being cruel. 

2: Admit the truth. 

1: I cannot seem to see it. Perhaps my brick wall is short tightening me. 

2: You think you are so skilled. And brilliant. You think it all belongs to you.

1: I think less than what you have me thinking. 

Silence. 

2: I am Misty Marshall. 

Silence. 

2: I am Misty Marshall. Didn’t you hear me? 

1: I did. 

2: I didn’t want you to find out. 

1: Doesn’t make it less true. 

2: But it did.

Silence. 

2: Do you hate me?

Silence.

2: Please, answer me. 

Silence.

2: I didn’t want to hurt you. I wanted to be truthful. I wanted my opinion to shine, untamed, untainted by—

1: Me.

2: Yes.

Silence. 

2: Will you forgive me? 

Silence.

1: Will you promise me something?

2: Anything appropriate.

1: Will you never hide your opinion again behind a terrible name and a single star? 

2: I promise. 

1: Then it’s settled. 

2: You’re not mad anymore? 

1: How can I be?

2: I gave you a one-star review. 

1: My lucky star.