RACHAEL CARNES 

Ray's Candy Store

CHARACTERS 

RAY, an Iranian American, in his eighties 

KELSEY, from Idaho, white, in her twenties 

SETTING 

Ra's Candy Store, 113 Avenue A, East Village, New York City 

 

TIME 

Evening, mid-winter 

 

Lights up on RAY, standing behind a store counter, surrounded by homemade signs that read "Fish & Chips with French Fries $9," "1/2 Dozen Beignets," "Fried Bananas $5," "Egg Cream," "Nacho Chili + Cheese," and "CASH ONLY." 

RAY, in a NY Yankees baseball cap and striped polo shirt, has his finger on a verse of ancient Persian poetry by Rumi that he's reading. 

KELSEY enters. 

RAY: "Lovers find secret places inside this violent world where they make transactions with beauty." 

KELSEY: Can I get an egg cream? 

(RAY looks up and smiles.) 

RAY: Hello! 

KELSEY: What flavors do you have? 

RAY: Egg cream flavor. 

KELSEY: I don't do— 

RAY: It’s just chocolate syrup, milk, club soda— 

KELSEY: All that sugar. I just read about this place in the guidebook and— 

RAY: I'll make you one. You just take a sip. 

(RAY pours two ounces of chocolate syrup in a cup.)

KELSEY: Do you mind if I take some pictures? 

RAY: We have a Facebook! 

KELSEY: Everyone said I should come here when I moved to New York. 

RAY: It's where I came. 

KELSEY: How much? 

RAY: Two dollars. 

KELSEY: Oh— 

RAY: Where did you come from? 

KELSEY: Out West. Idaho. 

RAY: Been here some time? 

KELSEY: A few months. I'm a singer. I act. 

RAY: "Let the beauty we love be what we do." 

KELSEY: I love singing and— 

RAY: That's the poet Rumi. Smart cookie. Now the milk. One ounce— 

KELSEY: I'm lacto-intolerant. 

RAY: This is an egg cream— 

KELSEY: It's harder here than I thought it would be. 

RAY: When I bought this place, everybody was buying and selling drugs, and everybody carried guns. 

KELSEY: At the Starbucks? 

RAY: 1974! It was a different world. 

KELSEY: I wasn't even born yet— 

RAY: I was selling comics, shoe polish, shoelaces, balloons, and hula hoops.

KELSEY: I used to be good at hula hooping. 

RAY: They still hula hoop where you're from? 

KELSEY: Not much else to do. But I did shows— 

RAY: Now the club soda. Three-quarter cup— 

KELSEY: I was in Pippin and My Fair Lady and— 

RAY (singing): "Icould have danced all night! I could have danced all night!" 

KELSEY: Where I'm from is on a lake, surrounded by mountains— 

RAY: But do they have egg creams? 

(RAY hands KELSEY her drink. She tries it.) 

KELSEY: That’s good! 

RAY: When you miss the trees, you can come here and visit me. 

KELSEY: I’m going home— 

RAY: That’s okay, too. 

KELSEY: As soon as I can. 

RAY: Your family— 

KELSEY: I try not to worry them. That's why the picture of this egg cream. Will you hold it? 

RAY: It's your egg cream— 

KELSEY: For my Instagra — 

RAY: For the Facebook. Okay! And I'll hold up these beignets. 

(RAY holds the items up for the camera.) 

KELSEY: Say cheese! 

RAY: Cheese! 

KELSEY: Thanks. 

(RAY sets the items on the counter in front of KELSEY.) 

RAY: I bet they're proud of you for trying. 

KELSEY: I came to New York to be an actor, but all I do is work catering jobs. 

RAY: It's a start. 

KELSEY: I bought head shots and I got an agent and— 

RAY: The poet says "sorrow prepares you for joy." 

KELSEY: I spend any extra cash on acting classes and— 

RAY: It sweeps everything out of your house— 

KELSEY: I'm late on the rent and— 

RAY: Sorrow "shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place." 

KELSEY: I'm not sad. I'm scared. 

RAY: But you wanted to come to the Big City. To follow
your— 

KELSEY: My dream. I know. It's dumb— 

RAY: You know what? You need French fries. 

KEELSEY: My directors back home said I had what it takes, but now I— 

RAY: Please don't cry. 

KELSEY: It's stupid. I'm stupid for thinking I had anything special. 

RAY: Sometimes you just have to swim. 

KELSEY: I'm trying to save enough to get back home— 

RAY: Home! 

KELSEY: Home is on a lake, underneath the mountains.

RAY: Home is the desert. And home is here. 

KELSEY: I try to send happy pictures to my mom and— 

RAY: I saw the riots, the murders— 

KELSEY: Murders? 

RAY: When I was a boy. 

KELSEY: Where? 

RAY: Iran. 

KELSEY: Where's that? 

RAY: You know, I used to sell 500 egg creams a day. Now it's more like twenty-five. 

KELSEY: My mom only let me come here because it's safe now. 

RAY: This is New York City! It didn't used to be all frozen yogurt and Citibanks. 

KELSEY: I walked by a man today…who had just jumped out of his window. 

RAY: I see. 

KELSEY: We were on the sidewalk in the dark. It's cold. We're all trying not to look at him, but he's in the middle of the street. The cops are there, but it's just two beat cops, and they can't do anything. They don't even have a blanket to cover him up. The're just standing there, trying to— 

RAY: What street? 

KELSEY: 14th street. Rush hour. Traffic's going around. Cabs and trucks, Uber drivers, all slowing, maneuvering, honking at each other, people heading to the bridges and the tunnels. The man just lying there. His body's broken, at wrong angles, his arm's bent, his leg's where it shouldn't be. And we're all walking by. Moms pushing double strollers and ladies with their shopping bags and guys with briefcases and a kid on a skateboard and a bike messenger balancing by the man, he's balancing, up on his pedals, like he's waiting for the road to clear so he can ride and he's trying not to look at the body but he doesn't want to run him over and the guy selling roasted nuts and hot dogs is watching and the people in his line are watching and...and no one wants to see him…and all I can think is how much I want to smell the fir trees, what I wouldn't give to hug my dog back home and smell the clean air.

RAY: So you came here. 

KELSEY: I've been trying to do all the things in New York that don't cost money. 

RAY: First egg cream is on the house— 

KELSEY: I walked the Highline. I spent a whole day going back and forth on the Staten Island ferry. And I went to the Museum of Modern Art. It's free on Fridays. 

RAY: Starry Night. 

KELSEY: Excuse me? 

RAY: Vincent Van Gogh. Starry Night. 

KELSEY: He's the one who cut off his ear? 

RAY: He wrote to his brother: "This morning I saw the countryside from my window a long time before sunrise, with nothing but the morning star, which looked very big."

KELSEY: I don't remember that painting. 

RAY: If you saw it, you’d remember. 

KELSEY: I walked around the museum, and I tried to like it, but I felt out of place there. 

RAY: Van Gogh painted Starry Night in an asylum. 

KELSEY: I don't know much about art. 

RAY: People assume all I know is egg creams. You can read, you can learn— 

KELSEY: When I saw the man lying there tonight, I
thought— 

RAY: On his good days, Vincent painted in the institution's walled garden— 

KELSEY: When I saw the man lying there, I thought, I've changed inside. You know? 

RAY: Vincent was later allowed to work outside the hospital too. 

KELSEY: I don't see what that has to do with— 

RAY: He was given an extra room inside the clinic to use as a studio. He ate the paints once— 

KELSEY: There are days here that are just so hard. 

RAY: I'm in the Iranian navy. I'm twenty-one years old, and I see it. I see America! We're half-mile offshore from a place they call Florida. So, I look left, I look right, I take off my shoes, my coat. And I jump. Right into the Atlantic Ocean! I swim. Half-mile to shore. End up on the beach, with nothing. I become Puerto Rican! Tostones, arroz con gandules, alcapurrias, empanadas. 

KELSEY: Stop! I'm hungry— 

RAY: I wash dishes. I move to New York. I wash more dishes! 

KELSEY: Do you think the man who jumped has a family? 

RAY: Mofongo, rellenos de papa, pasteles. I save money, and I buy this place. 

KELSEY: Vincent Van Gogh had a brother, right? 

RAY: They call them drug pushers, homeless, squatters, punks. 

KELSEY: Who? 

RAY: They're my most loyal customers. 

KELSEY: Why do you think the man picked today? Did he know what he'd do to the people below? 

RAY: The poet says that "wanting to know reasons" is like "knocking on a door. It opens." And then you realize you've "been knocking from the inside." 

KELSEY: I read in my guidebook that you can stargaze on the highline. It's on Tuesdays— 

RAY: Stargazing! That's funny! I know the constellation called Avenue A! 

(KELSEY pulls her guidebook from her bag, reads.) 

KELSEY: My book says, "Every Tuesday starting at dusk, the Amateur Astronomers Association sets up telescopes on the section between West 15th and West 16th Streets." 

RAY: That's too far for me— 

KELSEY: My book says, "It's the perfect time to visit the park, as evenings tend to be less crowded than during the day." If I stay in New York, maybe we can— 

RAY: I'm here. In this shop. This is home. In the summer, I sell ice cream. In the winter, fried treats— 

KELSEY: And egg creams. 

RAY: And egg creams. They've tried to get me to sell, but—

KELSEY: Does he have mail sitting on his table or food in his fridge? Does he have pets to feed or a wife or children? Does he have a job? Will they miss him tomorrow? How will the police tell his family? How will they, what's the word? Notify. Notify his next of kin. And how will they say it? I suppose they're trained, and they probably have to do that all the time, but no one should end up like that. No one should be that alone. 

RAY: Now you have this place. Now you have me. 

KELSEY: Where I'm from, the night sky is so beautiful— 

RAY: "The universe and the light of the stars come through" this candy store. 

Lights fade. End of play.

 

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