Nuuuuuuuuu…

(We still see BILL, standing in the rain, completely flabbergasted. The screen fades to black and we hear a voice out of the darkness, a voice we haven’t heard before.)

VOICE: You’re filing for divorce, then?

(The scene lights back up to see BILL, filmed from above, sitting on a psychiatrists’ couch. He looks troubled, to say the least.)

BILL: She is. (he sighs)

VOICE: And did she ask you to come and see me?

BILL: (shaking his head) No. That was my own decision. Something’s gone wrong, lately… it’s like my brain’s running away with itself… I want to learn how to fight it, or stop it, or something.

VOICE: And you’ve made very good progress.

(the camera swings out to see the DOCTOR sitting at his desk, fingers steepled, very scholarly. He’s well dressed in shirt, tie, and vest, although he looks almost too young to be a full-fledged shrink. If possible, this would be a wonderful cameo for the artist behind this music. The scene switches back and forth between medium shots of the DOC at the desk and BILL on the couch, but not back to the original overhead shot…yet)

DR: It’s only been a short while, but you’ve gotten quite calm. You seem to be doing a little better at work, and you tell me you’re sleeping better. I’m very proud of you.

BILL: (a little sheepish) Thank you.

DR: Now, tell me how you feel about the upcoming divorce.

(a beat. The camera goes back to over BILL’s face. He takes a deep breath.)

BILL: I…I just don’t know what happened. I mean, I’m married, two kids in college, wife, dog, suburban home… everything I could want!

(he pauses. What is this, a commercial?)

DR: Go on…

BILL: This sounds so stupid, but… it all happened so fast. It really did. One day, I go into work, and all I can see are these little brats with their self-important sneers and their backtalk… it’s just not what I remembered when I started teaching, and before I know it… I just don’t feel like I’m doing anything anymore. No one listens, no one cares…what am I doing? I go home, and I feel like crap, and I don’t want to bug April about it, but still, it eats at me… I guess more than I thought.

DR: So you started retreating. You felt like no one was listening, like things didn’t mean anything…so you created a world where things were big and loud, where someone listened… where everything ties up nice with a song?

BILL: I guess so… God, it feels so lame!

DR: It happens, it happens, Bill. Don’t be worried. Keep talking.

BILL: I don’t want to. I feel like a friggen TV drama. I feel like a loser.

DR: Bill, you’ve got to tell me more so we can help this. Lots of people have these same problems, you’re not alone.

BILL: But I should be able to fix this on my own. I just… I’ve just got to stop thinking so much.

DR: There’s nothing wrong with thinking, Bill. We’ve just got to change what you think about. Tell me what you think about.

(an uncomfortable silence follows.)

DR: Bill…just close your eyes… and tell me what you think about…

(BILL shuts his eyes angrily, screwing them up tight. The camera zooms in on his eyes and we hear him sing a few bars a capella.)

BILL: I look for joy in a strange place…

(His eyes are jolted open by the DOCTOR interrupting him)

DR: Bill, we talked about this…you’ve got to stop retreating like that, it won’t-

BILL: (cutting him off) If you want me to tell you, then listen!

(there’s a another frustrated silence. Finally, the DOCTOR leans back in his chairs and steeples his fingers again.)

DR: Very well. Proceed.

(the camera goes back to the extreme closeup on his eyes. He closes them and we are transformed to an overexposed version of the DOCTOR’S office. He begins to sing in another fantasy sequence, from the couch.)

BILL:
I look for joy in a strange place
From the back of the bar
From afar
I see the look on my mama’s face
When her son’s in the
corner, undone

(he sits up, clutching a pillow, and the camera follows, cutting to the foot of the couch.)

She says that my life is over
"Boy, you don’t know
what you got till
it’s gone"

(he mimes the following on the pillow he holds)

"Come put your head
upon my shoulder"
She gave me her hand,
but I ignored her

(he leaps out of the chair and begins to dance around the office. Surprisingly, the busts on the DOCTOR’s desk begin to sing backup: Freud, and the Phrenology head, in perfect harmony, all while lights dazzle in the office window.)

Oh, Dr. John
What am I doing
What am I doing I wrong?
Cuz I keep on trying
Something ain’t going
Something ain’t going on
Oh, Dr. John

(he turns to the DOCTOR, addressing him)

I look for joy in a strange place
From the back of a bar
From afar
I see the look on my daddy’s face
When his son’s
falling over, undone

(he turns away, walking to the far corner of the office, tears brimming in his eyes)

Father my life is over
Well I didn’t know what I
had now it’s gone
Can I lay my head upon
your shoulder?

(he produces a gun from apparently nowhere and holds it to his temple, appealing to the heavens)

If I fall asleep,
will it be over?

(the gun dissolves into fingers to his head, he acts surprised for a split second before appealing to the heavens again. The busts hop off the desk and over to his feet on the floor, once again harmonizing on the chorus)

Oh, Dr. John
What am I doing
What am I doing I wrong?
Cuz I keep on trying
Something ain’t going
Something ain’t going on

(he picks up the busts and they begin to prance about the office, singing to the DOCTOR)

Oh, Dr. John
What am I doing
What am I doing I wrong?
Cuz I keep on trying
Something ain’t going
Something ain’t going on

(He puts the busts back on the desk, and seems to relax a bit, turning his face from a mask of worry into a little more begrudging happiness, enjoying the show. He gets closer and closer to the young, handsome DOCTOR… a little too close. He’s in the DOCTOR’s lap, twiddling fingers in his face.)

They say I’m a big heartbreaker
But Doctor, I’d never hurt ya
It isn’t that obvious?

(With a little kick, he hops off the DOCTOR’s lap and heads back around the office, singing to the bookshelves and whatnot. We see the busts joining in again in the background. Background vocals are in brackets, and flower petals begin to rain down and swirl around the office. Very sassy.)

Oh, Dr. John
What am I doing
What am I doing I wrong?

Cuz I keep on trying
Something ain’t going
Something ain’t going on

[Another day, another break up]
Oh, Dr. John
[Hold on, and on,
Hold on, and on]

(more dancing. Sadly, I’m not a choreographer. You know the type: hand to the window thoughtfully, pulling at hair, to his knees, and so on.)

I keep on trying
[Another day, another wake up]

We hold on, and on
We hold on, and on

Oh, Dr. John
[Another day, another wake up]

We hold on, and on
We hold on, and on
[Another day, another wake up]

[I keep on trying]
We hold on, and on
We hold on, and on

Oh, Dr. John
What am I doing
What am I doing wrong?
Cuz I keep on trying
Something ain’t going
Something ain’t going on

(he seems to be walking a thin and dangerous line between laughing maniacally and cracking up completely into tears.)

Dr. John

Ooh, ooh, ooh

(he gently lays back down on the couch, back into the pose he was in when the song started. he almost whispers these last words.)

Dr. John.

(suddenly, another closeup on the eyes, and were back in the normal, boring office. BILL has been laying there the whole time, apparently singing to the DOCTOR. He blinks rapidly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.)

BILL: Sorry, Doctor. Was it…weird?

DR: I don’t know, Bill…was it weird for you?

BILL: (shellshocked) Oh yeah.

DR: …Was my Freud bust singing again?

(an uncomfortable silence. BILL lets out a long breath, sadly admitting it)

BILL: Yes.