SOUND/LIGHT. A prison meeting room. El Paso, Texas. 2019. Two doors. A large mirrored observation window. A water cooler with paper cups. Two people stand facing one another, a heavy metal table between them. GLORIA is an African-American woman in her 40s. Intelligent. Warm. Modestly dressed. Her bag full of research materials sits on the table. RICK is a white man in his 40s. He wears an orange prison jumpsuit and absently rubs his wrists. GLORIA holds a small digital tape recorder in her hand.
GLORIA: You mind, you mind if I record? I’ll also take notes but this allows me to be accurate.
RICK: I imagine we’re both being recorded right now.
GLORIA: Really?
RICK glances at observation window.
RICK: And watched.
GLORIA: I think that’s supposed to be for my safety.
RICK: Or mine.
GLORIA: You think I’m a threat?
RICK: Are you? (Beat.) Kinda weird, when you think about it. They don’t want me to kill myself so they can kill me.
SOUNDS of prison buzzer and cell doors closing. GLORIA glances nervously towards the door.
RICK: You worried about your safety?
SHE studies him a moment.
GLORIA: No.
RICK: But you’re nervous?
GLORIA: Sure.
RICK nods approvingly. As he gets a drink of water from the cooler –
RICK: I like that. That you’re honest. That stood out in your letters. It’s why I picked you.
GLORIA: I think if we’re not honest, what’s the point?
RICK: (Nodding.) I haven’t met a lot of college professors before. Lawyers, yeah. Shrinks. But – you don’t look like what I thought.
GLORIA: How is that? You mean Black.
RICK: I’m not allowed computer access so I couldn’t look you up. I don’t know what they think I’m going to do with a computer, you know, reach out to my huge fan base and incite a –
GLORIA: Is my race a problem for you?
RICK: I never know what word to use. Black. African-American.
GLORIA: I like Black. Is it a problem, Rick?
RICK: I was just surprised. It doesn’t matter to me; I’m not racist. I’ve lived and worked with all kinds of people.
GLORIA: Hispanic?
RICK: In Texas, are you kidding? You could throw a rock in any direction and you’d hit one. (Beat.) Unfortunate expression there.
GLORIA: Muslim?
RICK: Sure.
GLORIA: You have Muslim friends?
RICK: I knew some but those people, they kinda stick together, you know.
GLORIA: But you had no personal animus against Muslims and Hispanics.
RICK: Personal what?
GLORIA: “Animus.” Hostility?
RICK: I’m just messin’ with you, professor. For a country boy, my vocabulary is less limited than you might think.
GLORIA: Uh-huh. And the answer to my question, do you have any prejudice towards Muslims and or Hispanics?
RICK: No ma’am.
GLORIA: And yet here you are.
RICK: Look, I’m not crazy; it was the situation. There was enormous pressure from the Brass and stuff just –
GLORIA: Rick, if you insist on repeating the same bullshit your lawyer gave the court then I am going to walk out of here and never come back. On the other hand, if you want to talk to me, one person to another, really talk to me about what happened and why, maybe help us all understand so that nobody else finds themselves in your situation, then we can do that. But you have to be honest with me. Can you do that? Can you just be honest?
A moment. GLORIA shrugs and starts to pack her things.
RICK: Hold on.
GLORIA: I’m not here to play.
RICK: I don’t want to mess this up, alright, but there’s – there’s a lot ridin’ on this thing.
GLORIA stops and consider him.
GLORIA: I agree. That’s why I’m here, because I want to hear your side, Rick, in your own words.
RICK: Yeah?
GLORIA: If you’re honest with me, I’ll see that what you say is printed just like you say it. No filter. No editing. Your words.
Loud prison SOUNDS.
GLORIA: They haven’t given us a lot of time, Rick. And I don’t honestly know if they’ll let me come back after today.
RICK: I don’t, I don’t have anybody to talk to in here. My lawyer, but that’s not really, you know….
GLORIA: Family?
A moment. RICK shrugs.
GLORIA: Why are you in solitary?
RICK: “For my own protection.”
GLORIA: You sound skeptical.
RICK: My experience has been in certain situations people tend to act in their own interests.
GLORIA: There’s value in your death?
RICK: The government certainly seems to think so.
GLORIA: There’s been no decision yet regarding your sentence.
RICK: If you believe that, you’re not nearly as smart as you think you are. (Quietly.)
I saw things. I know stuff that would make a lot of people look bad. We all know how this plays out. And there’s not gonna be any last minute Sheriff Arpaio pardon here.
GLORIA moves to the table and begins pulling out her research materials.
GLORIA: That’s why it’s important we talk now. That the true story gets told now before people out there change it into something else. Distort it. Revise it.
RICK: And why are you here, professor? Out of your Ivory Tower. You’re what, performing a social service? No thought for yourself?
GLORIA: Well, to be completely honest, on the nine hour drive down here today in my antique Fairlane which should have had a complete engine rebuild a year ago, I did allow myself a tiny fantasy about that big ass book advance. But that’s not what motivates me. Obviously, there’s interest in you, in your story. I think it’s very important. Maybe I write a book like we talked about. Or maybe at the end of the day I just go home and burn my notes.
RICK: In that case, what’s the point in me talking to you? Why are you here?
A moment.
GLORIA: The first time I understood race in this country I was at a Fourth of July parade with my folks. My mom had put red, white, and blue ribbons in my hair and I was very proud of them. I was standing there on the corner, holding her hand, my daddy had gone to get me a snow cone, and this white policeman who was providing security looked over at me and smiled. I knew he was going to say something nice because that’s what grown-ups did. And he leaned over and said to me very quietly, “Hello, little nigger, how are you doing today?” I was six. (Beat.) I think it’s fair to say that most Black people don’t spend a lot of time trying to understand racism so much as survive it. We’re looking for the work-around, not the explanation. I’m a little bit different, maybe. I’ve thought a lot about that police officer over the years and the ways he changed me. Was he just a, a “man of his time;” like the nose on his face, his racism so much a part of him that he wasn’t even aware of it any more? Or did he know exactly what he was doing and there was a special thril...