Dialogue V Description

Here you can post your conversation scenes to contrast the techniques of dialogue and description.

The moment you meet the 'nasty; character from you childhood… twenty years later!


He: Hi!
You: Huh?
He: Hey, I’m (So-and-so) … errm, don’t you remember?
You: … eh?
He: We went to primary school together! We were living in the same street, remember?
You: Oh yeah, … of course … well, what do you say, eh? … well, well, well …
He: Yeah, man, what a coincidence! Well, how is it going? Are you actually living in Berlin? I’m only here on a company trip, you know, with (This-and-that company), ah you know … the typical thing: you go somewhere together to improve bonding among staff … the same old thing, you know, but … at least you see something, eh?
You: Uhu, yeah … I guess so, eh?
He: Hey, but say, what are you up to these days? What do you do for a living?
You: Hey, listen, … I’m terribly sorry, you know, I would love to stay and chat and have a coffee and blather on and everything, but, you know, I really-really have to go now, you see, I’m so sorry, but … what can you do … eh? Sorry! Gotta dash …
He: Oh, hey, wait a sec …
You: [off]

Another minor incident: Two faces in the crowd bump into each other.
Or rather: the one bumps into the other.
The one is as keen as a cucumber on elaborating the extraordinary coincidence of meeting someone from a long-long time ago; is as keen as mustard, in fact, on something unexpected to tell folks back home. (Spare a thought should they really care!)
The other – dropping out of the clouds of his daydreaming string of social unconsciousness, padded in which he moves through a city he predominantly loves for its identity dissolving anonymity – finds himself thrown back to a past that was neither exceptional then, nor is fondly remembered by him now.
And that’s how it goes.
Hopped up the one.
Down beat the other.

(post scriptum)
Oh, but the thought … spare me!



LJUBA: Nina? Are you Nina?
NINA: Yes. Who… Sorry, do I know you?
LJUBA: I think we went to school together. De Tweede Dalton? My name is Ljuba.
NINA: ….
LJUBA: Are you alright?
NINA: Yes, I’m just a bit… eh, I don’t feel too well.
LJUBA (overly nice and charming): Oh, do you want an apple? That always helps me when I feel a bit faint (gives the apple).
NINA: Thanks. So…ehm… What brings you here?
LJUBA: Well, I saw the advertisement for your play, and I recognised your name, so I thought: I’d come along and say hi to and old school friend. (Nina coughs, bits of apple fly around.) Always nice to catch up, eh?
NINA: Yeah. Ehm… Well, yeah. But… We didn’t really know each other too well, if I remember correctly.
LJUBA: Yeah, but that was just because I had to leave school early. Because of all this shit happening with Joyce, you know.
NINA (vague): Yeah… You did throw me into a wall once. (laughs nervously)
LJUBA: Ha! Ha! You were always so full of humour.
NINA: So, what are you up to nowadays?
LJUBA: Just bits and bobs, you know how it works. You know I’m with Johnny now, right?
NINA: Which Johnny?
LJUBA: Johnny de Mol?
NINA: Johnny de Mol, as in, the famous actor?
NINA: Excuse me. I just see someone…. that I need to… greet.
(Exits, clumsily walking into a waiter, who as a consequence drops a plate of drinks.)


The opening of my newest play. I’m waiting in the cafe, afterwards, and am greeted by some friends. Suddenly, someone taps me on the back. Someone unexpected. I recognize her instantly. I turn back into that boyish, insecure girl with the ridiculous braces. Although a lot has changed, I feel my heart throbbing in my throat. My sweaty hands holding my drink. She is still the same, still looks the same, still smels the same for all I know.At least she doesn’t look like she’s about to push me into a wall, like the last time she did when our eyes met.
She actually seems quite nice now, which is deeply disturbing to me. She gives me an apple. Aware of the irony of this gesture -sinces surely, she’s the Eve out of the two of us, she’s the evil sinner so in touch with everything rebellious, not me- I bite into the apple. I think of Snow White and the witch. I almost choke when she casually refers to me as an old school friend. I try to make a witty remark about the wall, but the sarcasm either escapes her or she decides not to listen. My second near-death-experience appears in the form of her remarking that Johnny de Mol is her long term boyfriend. The prospect of asking him to appear in my next theatre project slowly fades away with the image of having to deal with Ljuba picking him up from rehearsals. Before the horror image has properly taken shape in my head, I literally run away from the awkward scene, having to push my way through an annoying waiter. I have to stay away from this woman, or I will be 11 years old for the rest of my life.

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