Screenplay Ana-Christina Verch ’22

Maya

In the Upper East side of New York City, rain falls softly on the roof of a concert hall. It presses against the sunlight windows, aching to push its way in. The room is dark, lit only by the clouded sunlight looming over the city. A grand Steinway piano lies in the middle of an empty stage, a single window resting directly above it.

The faint music of “Fantaisie Impromptu” by Chopin echoes around the vast room; its ethereal tones bouncing off the acoustic panels lined against the walls. The seats located below the stage are deserted, not a single person in the audience. A woman can be seen playing the Steinway on the stage.

This is MAYA LAYNE. A pianist. Her refined features and flawless skin galvanize those around her. A pair of intelligent eyes breathe in observation and exhale understanding.

In the middle of the piece, a door at the top right of the hall opens abruptly, causing Maya to slip, making a mistake.

Maya’s eyes look up from the notes frighteningly, immediately relaxing when she notices the JANITOR walk in, dragging a mop bucket behind him.

JANITOR Miss Layne?

Maya takes her hands off the piano. She begins to hurriedly remove the notes from the stand and packs them away in a BROWN MESSENGER BAG.

MAYA (hastily) Right, I’ll get this packed up. Is it really 1:00 already?

JANITOR Yes ma’am. No need to rush, the concert isn’t until 7.

The Janitor drags the mop bucket towards the middle of the hall. He takes a wet cloth and wipes the arms rests of the audience seats.

JANITOR (CONT’D) It sounds really beautiful, Miss Layne.

Maya stands up, rising slowly, and grabs her messenger bag, slinging it over her shoulder and clutching it firmly.

MAYA (nervous laughter) Haha… thank you. It’s nowhere near perfect, though. I still have much more work to do.

Maya steps off the stage. She makes her way to the door where the Janitor first entered. She opens it and exits the hall, the door softly closing behind her.

Maya exits the main entrance. She opens her umbrella, the rain still softly pouring overhead. She walks briskly down a crowded sidewalk, her wet footprints fading away as she makes her way to the entrance of a METRO STATION.

Maya stands well behind the yellow barrier, conscious of a HOMELESS MAN to her left, sitting with his back against the wall.

A train comes into view and speeds down the tunnel, slowing down as it reaches the station. As its doors slide open, clusters of people rush out of the train, infected with the need to rush to one place or another.

Maya walks into the train, noting the dozens of strangers around her, and wraps her hand around a stanchion.

Maya’s body shakes as the train sprints across uneven tracks. Her tense brown eyes make contact with other passengers, pondering what their lives are like beyond this grimy subway train.

Maya walks towards the elevator door, her feet tired from standing on the train. She presses the white button, hears a small CLICK, and wipes her hand against her black pants.

After a few seconds, the elevator doors open and Maya walks inside, pushing the 7th floor button; she hears another CLICK. The elevator doors close.

Maya stands up straight, looks at her watch, and waits patiently for the silver doors to open up to her apartment hallway. The elevator doors slide open. A woman is waiting by the side. She walks hurriedly inside the elevator, brushing against Maya.

This is CAMILA. Alluring and mysterious, she captivates all those she meets. Her dark brown hair sits neatly atop her shoulders.

MAYA (looking at Camila) Excuse me, sorry.

CAMILA (looking at Maya) Don’t worry about it.

The elevator doors close. Maya thinks to herself for a few seconds and proceeds to APARTMENT 8B. Her attention is pulled downwards as she notices the pile of mail stacked on her doormat. She reaches for the mail and picks it up, clutching it between her arm and side as she searches for her keys.

Opening the door, Maya walks inside, turns on the light, and drops the stack of mail on a small console table that is seemingly free of any sort of dust.

Ana-Christina Verch ’22