“Nixon! Hurry up and get out here!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Johnny—Johnny? Where are you? Dad’s heading out now.”
In the whirl of voices stands Nixon (Yoo Jeong-seok), father of Jonathan “Johnny” (Han Siwoo) in the play RUN.
A child who’d arrived like an accident when Nixon was far too young has always been nothing but baggage to him.
Naturally upbeat, Nixon never outright mistreats the boy, but that’s as far as it goes.
Friendly as a buddy when they meet, he has zero sense of responsibility; tonight, too, he’s dreaming of rock-star glory.
It’s late afternoon and he’s dashing around, packing his guitar for yet another call from his buddies.
“Where’re you off to now?”
The set is a cozy, cluttered little house.
Tiny Jonathan—Johnny—sticks his head out of the small bedroom.
No grin on his face; his voice sulky.
This dad of his, who seems less grown-up than his seven-year-old son, might not be back tomorrow—or the next day.
“Oh—Johnny! Glad I saw your face before I go. You’ll keep an eye on the place, right?”
Stuffing gear into his gig bag, Nixon greets his son brightly. He’d only staggered home this morning.
Jonathan had hoped maybe Dad would stay longer this time… But that guitar bag on Nixon’s back makes his shoulders slump.
“When will you be home?”
“Soon as I catch a break! Or—if the break’s big, maybe later. All the big studios are in L.A., you know. Our band’s heading there.”
“…And you can really get there?” Jonathan’s voice trembles.
He feels Dad could just vanish one day, leaving the boy waiting forever.
“Sure thing, Johnny. You’ve gotta believe it’ll happen—that’s how you live.”
“If you go to L.A., do I have to move too?”
“Hmm. We’ll talk about that later. I’ve gotta run.”
Nixon dodges the question and stands up.
“Hey! Nixon!”
Friends shout from offstage.
Seeing Dad sling the guitar, Johnny grabs him in a panic.
“If you don’t come back tonight, there’s no bread for breakfast, so—”
“Ask Mrs. Matilda next-door. Gotta go!”
“But Mrs. Matilda left on vacation yesterday… He’s gone.”
Nixon flashes a carefree smile and disappears.
Left alone, Johnny swallows his tears and curls up on the little sofa, just big enough for father and son.
Then things blow up.
Nixon really does take off with his buddies.
A scrap of guilt makes him find someone to look after Johnny before he goes.
So, overnight, Johnny is dumped at the house of the grandmother he never knew existed—
Bella (No Yeong-hui).
Bella, widowed, lives in a gloomy house and rarely steps outside. She was a cranky old woman, nothing of Nixon’s sunny nature about her.
Johnny decides on the greatest project of his life: Don’t get thrown away.
He transforms himself into the bubbliest kid in the world and stays glued to Grandma.
“It’sbeen a week already since I came here. Today I’ve gotta win a sliver of Grandma’s heart.”
In a corner of the stage Johnny reviews last night’s plan. He clears his throat and peeks at Grandma who absorbed in knitting by a single candle.
The place has the same floorplan as Nixon’s place, but the set’s furniture and wallpaper have a vintage, handmade charm—yet the room lies in shadow because Bella never allows the blackout curtains open.
“A-hem, Grandma?”
“…”
“Grandma!”
“…”
He sneaks closer; she gives no reply, just keeps knitting— floral skirt, hand-knit sweater, tiny spectacles on the tip of her nose, mouth set like stone.
Johnny edges onto the armchair opposite.
“Grandma.”
“…”
“Grandma?”
“…”
“Grand-maaa! Grandma, Grandma, Grandma! Can’t you hear—Grandma!”
“Good heavens!”
Bella drops her yarn in shock and glares.
Johnny sticks out his tongue with an impish grin. What a pure angel.
“Jonathan, what kind of nuisance is this? Do you enjoy tormenting an old woman?”
“That’s not it, Grandma, I just—”
“‘Just’? Speak up.”
“I want pizza.”
Right on cue, Johnny’s stomach growls. Bella’s shoulders sag.
“What sin did I commit in a past life to deserve this…? We don’t have pizza here.”
“Aw, Grandma, come on. You can smell it, right? There’s a pizza truck out front!”
He starts for the window. Bella bolts upright.
“No! Don’t touch the curtains!”
“But you’ve gotta see—it’s right outside.”
“I’m not going.”
“Grandma…”
Those shiny, tear-rimmed eyes—Bella waves him off.
“Stop calling me.”
“I really want pizza.”
“Are you going to say that all day?”
Johnny beams and nods. Bella massages her temple; Johnny presses in, earnest.
“I want to eat pizza with you, Grandma—nobody else.”
“Jonathan, you—”
In the week he’s been here, he never once insisted on anything. Facing those determined eyes, Bella feels as if she’s staring into a mirror—emotions she’d buried since raising young Nixon rise up.
She sighs.
“You promise you’ll be back quick?”
“Absolutely! Need your hat?”
“Where’d you find that?”
“It was hanging in the room next to mine. It’s yours, right?”
It’s the straw hat she wore on walks with her late husband. Bella’s stern mouth softens for the first time.
Johnny, oblivious, scurries for his shoes and pulls at her arm.
“Hurry, Grandma, c’mon!”
“The pizza truck won’t vanish that fast. Stop rushing.”
“How’d you know? You never leave those curtains!”
“…Jonathan, open the door, please.”
Bright spotlight floods them as the door swings wide. They take one step toward the audience, soaking in the light.
“Feels strange to step past the flower bed… It’s been a while.”
“Not a bad feeling, huh, Grandma?”
“Hmph. The living-room sofa’s nicer, if you ask me.”
Bella had stayed inside since her husband died—partly because of fear and partly because of aching joints she wouldn’t admit.
“Easy, Johnny—hold my arm.”
“What’s wrong, Grandma?”
“When you’re old, knees creak, back aches. You peanut-size thing don’t know yet.”
“What peanut’s this big?”
They shuffle slowly to match Grandma’s pace, toward the red pizza truck.
Bella chats nonstop with sentences longer than three words for first time in ages. Johnny just nodding solemnly at her side.
Blackout. Act I ends.
At the Directors’ desk, between first and second balconies: Joy-soo with arms folded, exhales through his headset. Beside him, Jessica watches the dark stage, amused.
“Feeling more relaxed now?” she asks.
“More or less,” he answers, rolling his stiff neck.
With the radio fixed on his belt, Joy-soo monitors every cue; the vantage point lets him track lights in real time. Jessica, on the other hand, seems incapable of tension.
“Enjoy it,” she says. “Our actors are having a blast up there.”
Would she be this carefree if she were the assistant? …Probably, Joy-soo thinks.
“You’re right. Siwoo looks like a kid at a playground—zero nerves.”
“Because for him, it is a playground.”
She beams at the stage. Even in rehearsal, that tiny frame had owned the space.
“Looks like we’re in good shape.”
Joy-soo glances sideways—the grin, the anticipation: classic Jessica.
Same as ever, he muses. No one loves theatre more than she does.
Beep-beep!
Car horns blare; lights snap up for Act II.
Center stage again: Han Siwoo and No Yeong-hui.
Siwoo flits across the set, light as a breeze, smile utterly genuine.
Joy-soo finds himself smiling too.
Maybe Siwoo and Jessica click so well because, deep down, they’re the same kind of person.
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