The Trial of Trayvon Martin by Gary Earl Ross

This Play is the copyright of the Author and must NOT be Performed without the Author's PRIOR consent

The play requires a simple multiple set with movable benches or chairs and other incidental props—potted plants and the like—shifted as needed for scenes

CHARACTERS

TRAYVON MARTIN, 17, African American, tall and slender

GEORGE ZIMMERMAN, 29, Neighborhood Watch captain, white, shorter and
heavier

IMANI FAIRCHILD, middle-aged, African American, Trayvon’s lawyer

ANITA CORDAY, middle-aged, white, prosecuting attorney

BILLY HOOKS, middle-aged or older, white, seasoned homicide detective

TRACY, middle-aged, Trayvon’s father, African American

MICHELLE (MICKEY), late 20s, George’s wife, white

RACHEL, 18, Trayvon’s school friend, African American

OFFICER MATHER/BAILIFF, gender neutral, OFFICER doubles as BAILIFF

JUDGE NORA WESTLAKE, white, age neutral

ASSORTED VOICES for voiceovers in or between scenes can be
prerecorded

TIME and PLACE: February through December, 2012, Sanford, Florida

ACT ONE

Scene 1

(Lights rise downstage to half to suggest night. There is the sound of
light rain falling. In a burnt orange jacket, GEORGE enters upstage,
moves through the darkened court room past the bar and sits in a chair
midstage right. He looks about, as if watching for something. In a
gray hoodie, TRAYVON enters upstage and heads down past the bar to
midstage right. He has a bag of Skittles and a can of AriZona
watermelon drink in a black plastic bag. He puts the bag into the
pocket of his hoodie and takes out a cell phone attached to an
earphone. He paces about slowly. GEORGE watches with keen interest.)

TRAYVON
Yeah, I left 7-Eleven. Uh huh. I told you, ten days. No big deal.
It’s all bullshit.
(Pause.)
Hate that fuckin’ school!

(Continuing to talk in pantomime, TRAYVON moves about center stage,
smiling, gesturing, and laughing. Meanwhile, GEORGE takes out a cell
phone and makes a call.)

GEORGE
Hey, we’ve had some break-ins in my neighborhood, and there’s a
real suspicious guy . . . uh . . . Retreat View Circle. Um, the best
address I can give you is 111 Retreat View Circle. This guy looks like
he’s up to no good, or he’s on drugs or something. It’s raining
and he’s just walking around, looking about.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Okay, and this guy is he white, black, or Hispanic?

GEORGE
He looks black.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Did you see what he was wearing?

GEORGE
Yeah. A dark hoodie, like a gray hoodie, and either jeans or
sweatpants and white tennis shoes. He’s . . . he was just staring .

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Okay, he’s just walking around the area . . .

GEORGE
Looking at all the houses.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Okay . . .

(TRAYVON has stopped pacing and is now looking across the stage at
GEORGE.)

GEORGE
Now he’s just staring at me.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Okay. You said it’s 1111 Retreat View? Or 111?

GEORGE
That’s the clubhouse.

TRAYVON
The call dropped.

RACHEL (v.o.)
I know. Why I call you back.

TRAYVON
There’s this guy looking at me.

RACHEL (v.o.)
What guy?

TRAYVON
Guy in his truck.

RACHEL (v.o.)
In his truck? What he look like?

TRAYVON
Creepy-ass cracker.
(Begins to move toward GEORGE.)

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
That’s the clubhouse. Do you know what the – he’s near the
clubhouse right now?

GEORGE
Yeah . . . Now he’s coming toward me.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Okay.

GEORGE
He’s got his hand in his waistband. And he’s a black male.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
How old would you say he looks?

GEORGE
He’s got a button on his shirt. Late teens.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Late teens. Okay.

GEORGE
Something’s wrong with him. Yup, he’s coming to check me out.
He’s got something in his hands. I don’t know what his deal is.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Just let me know if he does anything, okay?

GEORGE
How long until you get an officer over here?

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Yeah, we’ve got someone on the way. Just let me know if this guy
does anything else.

GEORGE
Okay. These assholes, they always get away . . .

TRAYVON
Look like he talking on the phone.

GEORGE
When you come to the clubhouse, you come straight in and make a left.

RACHEL (v.o.)
Walk away, Tray. He might be a rapist.

GEORGE
Actually, you would go past the clubhouse.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
So it’s on the left hand side from the clubhouse?

GEORGE
No, you go in straight through the entrance and then you make a
left...uh, you go straight in, don’t turn, and make a left. Shit,
he’s running!

(GEORGE stands as if about to follow as TRAYVON moves downstage
left.)

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
He’s running? Which way is he running?

GEORGE
Down towards the other entrance to the neighborhood.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Which entrance is that that he’s heading towards?

GEORGE
(Moving down as TRAYVON moves upstage and off.)
The back entrance . . . fucking punks.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Are you following him?

GEORGE
Yeah.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Okay. We don’t need you to do that.

GEORGE
Okay.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
All right, sir. What is your name?

GEORGE
George . . . He ran.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
All right, George. What’s your last name?

GEORGE
Zimmerman.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
And, George, what’s the number you’re calling from?

GEORGE
321-555-3425.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
All right, George, we do have them on the way. Do you want to meet
with the officer when they get out there?

GEORGE
Yeah.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
All right. Where you going to meet them at?

GEORGE
If they come in through the gate, tell them to go straight past the
clubhouse, and uh, straight past the clubhouse and make a left, and
then they go past the mailboxes, that’s my truck.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
What address are you parked in front of?

GEORGE
I don’t know. It’s a cut through so I don’t know the address.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Okay. Do you live in the area?

GEORGE
Yeah . . . I . . .

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
What’s your apartment number?

GEORGE
It’s a home. It’s 1950 . . .
(Looking about.)
Oh, crap! I don’t want to give it all out. I don’t know where this kid is.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Okay. Do you want to just meet with them right near the mailboxes then?

GEORGE
Yeah, that’s fine.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
All right, George. I’ll let them know to meet you around there okay?

GEORGE
Actually, could you have them call me and I’ll tell them where I’m at?

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Okay, yeah. That’s no problem.

GEORGE
Should I give you my number or you got it?

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Yeah, I got it. 555-3425.

GEORGE
Yeah, you got it.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
Okay. No problem. I’ll let them know to call you when they’re in the area.

GEORGE
Thanks.

DISPATCHER (v.o.)
You’re welcome.

(Pocketing his phone, GEORGE moves off in the direction TRAYVON has
gone. After a moment, TRAYVON enters upstage from the opposite side
and looks over his shoulder.)

TRAYVON
Nigger still following me. Gotta try to lose him.

(Looks one way, then the other as GEORGE appears behind him.)
Nigger still behind me.

RACHEL (v.o.)
Run to your daddy’s place.

TRAYVON
(Turning to face GEORGE.)
What you following me for?

GEORGE
(An edge to his voice as he grips TRAYVON’s arm.)
What are you doing around here?

TRAYVON
(Wrenching free.)
Get off! Get off me, you creepy motherfucker!

RACHEL (v.o.)
Trayvon! Trayvon!

(His grasp broken, GEORGE opens his jacket to show the gun in his
belt. TRAYVON swings and connects with GEORGE, who goes down on his
back. Skittles, AriZona can, and cell phone hitting the ground,
TRAYVON jumps on GEORGE and begins to fight for his life. As they
grapple, they roll back and forth, both screaming for help as GEORGE
fumbles for his gun and TRAYVON tries to stop him. Lights drop to
half, then a quarter. They are close when we hear the shot and see a
flash of red light. For a moment neither moves. Then TRAYVON slides
off and gets to his feet, breathing hard. GEORGE is gasping for
breath, looking wide-eyed and stunned. TRAYVON grabs the cell phone
and replaces his earpiece. Momentarily he looks about as if for the
drink and Skittles, then just takes off.)

(BLACKOUT.)

RACHEL (v.o.)
Tray!

TRAYVON
(Breathless, fighting tears.)
I’ll call you back!

[End of Extract]