Thomas

We are gathered to honor the life of alvin kelby. He was my best friend.
(he finds a pen and makes a correction.)

My good friend.
My oldest friend.
My insert-adjective-later friend.
(he tears the page from the book and tries again.)

Hello. My name is thomas weaver.
I'm a multi-award-winning, best-selling author and i have absolutely no idea what to write.

Write what you know, tom.

Write what you know.
(thomas writes.)

We met in first grade.
We were friends for years.
Good friends.
Inseparable.
(he stops writing.)

That much i know.
That much i know.

Write what you know, tom.
Write what you know.
(he resumes writing.)

He was a smart kid.
He was sort of odd.
No. Interesting.
No. Odd.

He worked in his father?s bookstore.
His father got sick.
(he stops.)

That much i know.
That much i know.

But that's not the story.
This is just fact.
What was the crisis that went undetected?
When was the instant it splintered and cracked?
What was the moment?
I missed it somehow
And if i could narrow it down to a moment,
What good is knowing that now?
What was my responsibility?
What did i owe?
Am i to blame
For all of the details i?ll never know?
But how could i know?
Write what you know, tom.
(he makes another attempt to write.)

I went to college
Alvin stayed behind.
His father passed away.
I left him here alone.
(he stops.)

That much i know.
That much i know.
Some lives hurtle forward
And some never budge
And sometimes a life takes a different direction
With an innocuous innocent nudge.
Did i do the nudging
When his life careened?
Now how do i bounce through a lifetime
To pinpoint when i should have intervened?
Where is that story?
What should i say?
I've gotta do this right, alvin.
I've gotta find the piece of the puzzle
That brought me here today.
(as thomas violently tears the page from his notebook,
The funeral chapel fades and thomas finds himself deep inside
His own mind surrounded by endless shelves cluttered
With papers and books - a lifetime's accumulation of memories and stories.
Seated among them is alvin kelby.)

What is the moment?
What is the story?
Use your own words tom.
Write what you know.

Alvin
There's gotta be thousands of stories in this head of yours, tom.
Thomas
Don't bother me, alvin. I'm writing.
(alvin looks at thomas?s empty notebook.)
Alvin
No you're not. There's nothing there.
Thomas
Writing's a process. Words are just the final step. Now be quiet. I can do this on my own.
Alvin
Really? And when was the last time you actually wrote something, tom?
(this touches a nerve. Alvin starts to collect up loose pages.)
So, here's what we're going to do. We're going to pick a story and you're going to write it down.
Then we'll pick another... And another... And another. You get the idea?
That's all a eulogy is, tom. You tell a bunch of stories, save the tear-jerker for the end and...
(alvin places a large stack of pages in front of thomas.)
... There you have it. My eulogy. The story of my life.
Written by best-selling author thomas weaver.
Thomas
You make it sound so easy.
Alvin
Isn't it? Here's a thought. Why don't you begin with this one?