Act I. Tick Tock

[SFX: The noise of New York City]

[Narrator] New York City in December. Manhattan. No snow yet, but the cold sits like it’s waiting for something.

A kid walks home from work. Twenty-four years old. Jacket zipped to the throat. Same route he always takes. Down from Midtown, cutting through the side streets. Too many tourists on the main streets.

He wants to move through the world without it touching him.

It’s 6:12 PM. The sun is already gone. The crosswalk timer across the street blinks 12, then 11, then 10. Tick. Tick.

Cars honk. Little beeps, long beeps, the ones that hold down the horn. Trash trucks. Ambulances with sirens blaring. Delivery drivers on bicycles. All stuck.

The kid walks by the way he walks by everything. Eyes forward. Keep moving.

Cops on almost every corner. Keeping the peace. On the buildings, American flags, lit from below, snapping in the wind that cuts between the towers. Red and white and blue against the black.

And the steam.

It comes up through the grates, the vents. Somewhere underneath. The water in the gutter catches it, and the whole street looks like it’s breathing. Like the city has lungs.

A waist-high stack painted orange and white hisses near the curb. Warm air in cold air.

He asked someone once. Why does it do that? Why is there always steam? Like the water is smoking.

The subway, they said. The pipes. The heat below. The cold above. The whole city is a machine, and the steam makes it run.

[Daniel] I love it. The city breathes. Exhales. Makes it feel alive. Like something’s happening under the surface, even when nothing’s happening at all.

I put my headphones on.

The noise is still there. I can see it. Mouths moving. Cabs lurching. Cops talking into their radios. But I can’t hear it. I’m inside my own head now.

The tourists look up. They stop in the middle of the sidewalk to take pictures. Big coats. Shopping bags. Walking three across, like the city belongs to them.

The New Yorkers move like water around rocks. They don’t stop. Just flow toward wherever they’re going.

I’m one of them now. Four years in. The headphones that say don’t talk to me, don’t see me, I’m not here.

[Narrator] The lights from a bodega spill onto the sidewalk. Red and gold. A pizza place on the corner, line out the door. A woman arguing into her phone in a language he doesn’t recognize.

He turns onto his block. Streetlights tinge yellow-orange. A guy smokes on his stoop, looking at nothing. Somewhere above, music loud enough that the bass comes through the walls.

Home.

He steps inside.

[Daniel] There he is. My little brother. Sitting on the couch. Looking at me like he’s got something to say.

[Narrator] Daniel stands in the doorway. Doesn’t move. His brother looks up. People call him “K.” Nineteen years old. Named after his great-grandfather. Same face Daniel’s known his whole life, but something’s different now. The way he sits. The way he holds himself. K speaks first.

[K] “I tried to call you. A few times.”

[Narrator] Daniel pulls off his jacket. Tosses it on the chair. He moves to the kitchen, opens the fridge.

[Daniel] He’s right. I never pick up.

“You hungry? I’ve got leftover Thai. The good place.” K says he’s not hungry.

[Narrator] Daniel grabs two beers. Pops the caps. Sets one on the coffee table in front of his brother and sits down across from him. K has been waiting for him to sit down.

[K] “I joined the Navy.”

[Narrator] Silence. Daniel’s beer stops halfway to his mouth.

[Daniel] “What?”

[K] “The Navy. I leave in two days.”

[Daniel] I don’t say anything. I’m trying to hear it again. Navy. Two days.

“When did you decide this?”

[K] “A while ago.”

[Daniel] “And you didn’t tell me?”

[Narrator] The brother looks at him. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t apologize.

[K] “I’m telling you now.”

[Daniel] “That’s a waste.”

[Narrator] It comes out before Daniel can stop it. K’s jaw tightens.

[Daniel] “You’re smart. You could do anything. You’re going to swab decks and take orders from guys who peaked in high school?”

[Narrator] K doesn’t look away. But something closes behind his eyes.

[K] “Great-Grandpa Kenneth was Navy.”

[Daniel] “That was different. That was a real war.”

[Narrator] The words hang there. K picks up his beer. Sets it back down.

[K] “I needed to do something.”

[Daniel] “You were doing something. You had a job.”

[K] “I was delivering packages.”

[Narrator] K stops. Looks down at his hands. Then back up.

[K] “I wanted to matter.”

[Daniel] He says it like it’s simple. Like that explains everything.

And I just told him it was a waste. Told him his war wouldn’t be real enough.

[Narrator] K stands up.

[K] “I should go. Early flight.”

[Daniel] “K—”

[K] “It’s fine.”

[Narrator] It’s not fine. Daniel can hear it. But K is already at the door.

[Daniel] “Be safe. Okay?”

[Narrator] K nods once. Doesn’t look back.

[Daniel] The door closes. I sit there with two full bottles and the thing I said still in the room.

He wanted to matter. So he signed a contract. Raised his right hand. And now he belongs to something I don’t understand.

Act II. Duration

[SFX: Train wheels on tracks, rhythmic, then slowing. Station announcement muffled.]

[Narrator] The train pulls into the station. New Jersey suburbs. Christmas Eve.

Daniel is on the platform. Cold air. Gray sky. Not cold enough to bite. Just there.

He didn’t want to come. His mother called three times. The third time, she didn’t ask. She just said what time dinner was. So. Here he is. The house is twenty minutes from the station. His father picks him up. They don’t talk much. The radio fills the space. Sports. Weather. Traffic.

[Daniel] Dad asks how my place is. He asks if work is good. We talk about sports. That’s the whole ride.

[Narrator] The house is already full when they arrive. Cars in the driveway. Lights on in every window. A wreath on the door. Same wreath since Daniel was a kid.

Inside, the house is warm. The smell of food. Voices overlap. Christmas music competing with a movie playing in the other room.

His grandmother finds him first. “There he is. Look at you. So skinny. Are you eating?”

[Daniel] “I’m eating.”

[Narrator] She doesn’t believe him. She never believes him. She tells him she made a brisket and pulls him toward the kitchen.

His mother finds him before he gets there. Hugs him like she’s checking if he’s real.

[Daniel] She says I look tired. She asks about work. She asks if I’m seeing anyone.

And there it is. I say no.

She tells me about a girl. Rachel’s daughter. In law school. Very pretty. She could introduce us.

“Mom.”

She’s just saying.

I need air. Quiet. To be anywhere but in the middle of this.

[Narrator] He escapes. The back room. Used to be his grandfather’s study. Now it’s just a room with old books and a chair nobody sits in.

Except tonight.

Kenneth is there. In his late nineties. A circle of cousins around him, laughing at something he just said. He’s holding a glass of wine like a prop. He won’t drink it. Just likes having something in his hand.

[Daniel] Great-Grandpa Kenneth. Everyone’s favorite person. Always has been.

He’s the one who remembered every birthday. Sent five dollars in a card until I was ten, then switched to twenties because, in his words, “inflation is a thief and you deserve to keep up.”

He’s sharper than anyone expects. Mixes up some names. Thinks my cousin Mike is still in college, even though Mike is thirty-two and sells insurance. But he knows what year it is. Knows who’s President. Has opinions about both.

[Narrator] The cousins drift away when someone announces food. Kenneth stays in his chair. Daniel sits down across from him.

[Daniel] “Do you think the Jets will make the playoffs next year?”

[Narrator] Kenneth laughs. A real laugh. Starts in his chest.

[Kenneth] “I’ve been waiting on the Jets since nineteen-seventy. I thought we were going to repeat.”

[Narrator] He looks out the window. His fingers tap the arm of the chair. Something shifts behind his eyes.

[Kenneth] “You know what waiting really is? I learned it in the Pacific.”

[Narrator] Daniel didn’t expect this. But you don’t interrupt Kenneth.

[Kenneth] “Picket duty. Small ship. Radar watch. You sit out there and wait. Okinawa, 1945. We were the first thing the kamikazes would see. That was the job. Spot them. Report them. Hope they didn’t get through.”

“We were at sea when Roosevelt died. April. Someone came through the ship saying the President was dead.”

[Daniel] “What did you think?”</