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## Connection

|| Script format through a canon scene.

EXT. JOHN’S PORCH - SUNSET

LARRY TRIES TO MAINTAIN HIS COMPOSURE as he sits next to his old lover, JOHN BOWERS’ presence like a miracle -- a gift given to him wrapped in electric light and smooth certainty, his life illuminating like his chest illuminating like everything that has ever been pure or considered untainted, whole. Without disease.

Larry is beginning to believe that he is not diseased. This could prove to be very dangerous. He knows that it is dangerous to be optimistic, but the calming gold spots of sunstorm peering through the background trees is growing serenity from seeds in his mind. The seed, of course, is the Spirit’s intention, planted and now harvested, oh. Oh, the Spirit has gifted him this.

He is also beginning to look at the Spirit in a different light. It is light. It is, inherently, light. Physically, but the metaphor extends outwards, bursting out of him and onto the porch, into this world, this freshly safe world.

JOHN

Tell me all about you.

This is almost comical to everyone involved. Us. Larry. There is no aspect of Larry that is worth discussion, not here. Larry has been two beings living one-dimensional for far too long; it is time to reconcile.

LARRY

There’s nothing to tell.

JOHN

There must be something. You have the strength of a twenty year old. What do you do to stay like that? Please don’t tell me yoga.

Larry laughs. He will always laugh, because John will always be beautiful, and perfect, and deserving.

JOHN

All that laughing under that gauze. Fucking yoga, I knew it.

LARRY

More like R.H.I.P.

JOHN

Haven’t heard that since the service. Uh, rank his its privileges...?

LARRY

Ah, ‘radiation has its perks.’

John looks away. Remembers the FLAMES, briefly, remembers finding out about Larry’s condition. A true condition, unlike the perceived. Larry remembers along with him. He will be this way forever, untouched. He wants, more than anything tangible in any life, to hold John’s hands bare. To let go. To exhale freely.

JOHN

Well, I’ll be damned.

(pause)

I guess there’s always a silver lining, Lar.

‘LAR’. A nickname he has not heard in decades. It rings CALMING now. It shouldn’t. This should be heartbreaking, should feel like the suffering of an animal that has just realized it is about to die, to fall victim to prey. It should burn. Again. Should twist him on the inside, should turn him to shattered, shining rubies. Instead, it feels like the break of a new cycle, the beginning of something Greater than Life, higher than comprehension.

JOHN

So. There’s been no one special in your life for sixty years? Come on! What about your wife, Sheryl?

LARRY

She died of cancer in ‘89.

JOHN

Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.

LARRY

We weren’t close, but, ah, thank you.

JOHN

And... the boys?

TIME STOPS as we watch Larry begin to suffocate. He suffocates underneath the crushing weight of his own guilt, his own fear growing teeth and eating him up. Even underneath bandages, his regret IS STILL VISIBLE.

LARRY

Why put this on them? What good would it do?

The statement is simple. It tells us all that we need to know. Larry is tired of running, but will always be his own burden.

LARRY

The truth is... I haven’t really lived much since the accident. You were my last real thing, and I still feel bad about sending you away.

John’s face RADIATES a pain that he had previously buried.

JOHN

Wasn’t easy, but... I got over you. Eventually. And I moved on.

He reaches over to TAKE LARRY’S HANDS into his own, and Larry GIVES IN. They hold hands. John emphasizes his next statement. These words are important. These words like remains.

JOHN

You should too.

LARRY

You know... when I told you I loved you at the motel, I meant it. I wanted you to know that in case I don’t get another chance to tell you.

John BLINKS. He processes Larry’s words. They represent sixty years of desire in both of them, sixty years of wishing - yearning - for these words, a culmination. Larry knows the effect of his words, takes in the concept as John tries to force tears away. He knows John so well, even after all this time.

JOHN

I’m not dead yet, for Christ’s sake.

(beat)

You really haven’t fucked anyone since J.F.K? My God, Larry.

Larry lets the laughter envelop him again. A caress. But.

Something inside of him stirs. It almost feels like the Spirit. Something about this makes him think of the Negative Spirit.

Special.

The Spirit exhumes special, embodies it while lacking true form. The Spirit prioritizes Larry and Larry’s healing process, has only ever wanted him to embrace healing and stability. To embrace, at least, something, which he is doing in this moment, obeying. The Spirit - cares for him.

The Negative Spirit is the closest person to Larry in this surviving world. They have to be so close, bleeding into one another, to live. The Spirit is good. The Spirit is the purity that Larry once lacked.

He’s moved on.

LARRY

Now that I think of it... there is a relationship I want to tell you about.

JOHN

Go on, go on.

LARRY

It’s not a traditional relationship, per se, but... there’s something inside me. I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but there’s definitely a connection there. And for years I didn’t know what it was, or what it wanted, but now I think I might.

Larry had been too engrossed in this new, hopeful emotion to realize that JOHN HAS FALLEN ASLEEP, perhaps into the illuminating light, perhaps taken. They have both moved on. They have both found closure.

He covers John with his blanket. Presses their foreheads together.

LARRY

Sleep well, my friend.