J Aron Braide

DRAG QUEEN SEX WORKER SECRETIA RUNS INTO ERNIE, A STREET CORNER PROPHET, AND TRIES TO SCORE SOME LAST-MINUTE CHANGE BEFORE HEADING HOME. WHAT CAN AN END OF DAYS PREACHER AND SASSY SEX WORKER POSSIBLY WANT FROM EACH OTHER? IT MAY NOT BE SEX OR RELIGION, BUT IN THE WEE HOURS OF THE MORNING, A CHICAGO STREET CORNER BRINGS THESE TWO TOGETHER IN AN UNEXPECTED COLLISION OF HUMAN DESIRE.

ACTORS: 2 MALES: 1 preferably White (40s/50s) and 1 Black (20s/30s)

RUN TIME: Approx 13 minutes

PREVIOUS PRODUCTIONS

• January 22, 2011: Fertile Ground Festival of New Plays, Portland, OR
• February 22-28, 2015: Fantastic.Z Theatre Company’s New Play Festival, Seattle, WA
• June 5-21, 2015: The Artistic Home’s Cut to the Chase Festival, Chicago, IL

At rise: A Chicago street corner at 5:30 a.m. ERNIE stands facing the audience wearing a sandwich board over his shoulders. It says, “THE END IS NEAR.” The rest of the board is filled with Bible quotes. SECRETIA enters and stops when she sees ERNIE. At first she stands nonchalantly looking out, ignoring ERNIE. Then she gets bored and walks over to him, stands in front of him and reads loudly.

SECRETIA:  The end is near!

   (She walks around him, reads the sandwich board front and back in silence. He does his best to ignore her completely.)

SECRETIA (CONT'D):  The end is near. Mm mm mm mm mm mm. I think you might be onto something there. Some crazy shit going on the world, you know what I’m saying? Cray. Zee. Shit. Say, you got five dollars? I just got out of jail, see? and I could use me a bath, know what I’m saying?

    (She airs out her crotch. He ignores her.)

SECRETIA (CONT'D):  No? All right then. I just thought, you know, with the end near and all, you wouldn’t mind parting with a little. A little green, if you know what I mean.

    (Still no response.)

SECRETIA (CONT'D):  OK. Whatever.

    (Pause. She looks out.)

SECRETIA (CONT'D):  That’s all right. I was gonna help you out, too, you know. ‘Cause your sign, you know, it could use a good proofreader. ‘Cause, you know, you spelled Bible with two B’s.

    (Long pause. ERNIE can’t stand it any longer and he looks down at the sign, thinking she’s not looking. She catches him.)

SECRETIA (CONT'D):  Ah! Made you look! Shit, Charley, you gave me an awful fright, the way you was all zombiefied like that. All dead and shit, you know what I’m saying? Like the end done come and gone. That’s right. Like the End Train done departed hours ago and you was stuck on the platform too busy with your sign to notice, worrying about how you spelled Bible with two Bs when that’s the way it’s supposed to be spelled to begin with.

    (Beat)

Shit. Any loser knows how to spell Bible. And then someone comes along who don’t even know he spelled it right, know what I’m saying?

    (Beat)

You ain’t even a loser! 

    (Beat)

Poor Charley! You must be hot under that thing. Ain’t you hot? I know I’m getting hot from just looking at you. Here, let me help you off with that thing.

    (ERNIE suddenly jumps away from her as fast as he can loaded with a large sandwich board. SECRETIA is surprised, laughs.)

SECRETIA (CONT'D):  Shit, Charley! I ain’t never seen anyone move as fast as that before. And definitely not at 5:30 in the morning neither! That was impressive, know what I’m saying? All light on the feet like that. I bet you could be a ballet dancer. Or a cat. A jellicle, bellicle cat! 

    (She’s a cat from Cats.)

Or a faerie. Oh, no, not that kind! I mean like an actor who plays one in the movies, like Peter Pan or something. ‘Cause you’re not a fairy, are you, Charley. No, not the pure and chaste Charles of the two-Bs Bible!

    (Beat)

Say, you don’t happen to have five dollars, do you? ‘Cause I don’t think I can do anything without it, know what I’m saying? Can’t do anything, can’t go nowhere. Can’t even leave this corner...?

    (ERNIE reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and takes out a five. He puts it out for her to take. She walks over to take it.)

SECRETIA (CONT'D):  Thanks, Charley! You’re a righteous—

ERNIE:  Ernie. My name is Ernie.

SECRETIA:  All right. Ernie!

    (She puts out her hand for the money.)

SECRETIA: Now may I have the money. Pretty please!

   (She purses her lips as she says “pretty please.” ERNIE puts the bill out and snatches it back again.)

ERNIE:  Say, “I’m a sinner.”

SECRETIA:  You’re a sinner.

ERNIE:  No, say you’re a sinner.

SECRETIA:  You’re a sinner!

   (ERNIE puts the money away. Pause. SECRETIA acts as though she doesn’t care.)

SECRETIA (CONT'D):  This is bullshit, you know what I’m saying, Charley? ‘Cause, you know, I get paid a helluva lot more than five measly dollars to play that game. And you know I have. Lots of times. With all the pie-faced, pious-assed, fascist assholes in Chicago who think they better than me and prove the opposite just ‘cause they is with me. You know what I’m saying? So why don’t you just give me the five goddamn dollars so I can blow.

   (ERNIE is somewhat stunned.)

SECRETIA:  What are you looking at?

ERNIE:  I...I...just...can’t imagine...who would pay to be with you.

SECRETIA:  I just told you, didn’t I? You ain’t too bright, are you Charley? All kinds, you know? I mean, I worked through them all a long time ago. Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief— thief, that’s you Charley. You give them fear and they give you their souls, know what I’m saying?

ERNIE:  You don’t know anything about me.

SECRETIA:  Sad part is that you types lost your soul a long time ago and now you running around collecting, gathering up souls, hoarding them all under your sandwich boards like you was Mother Courage herself. But you just chicken shit, Charley, hiding your private parts under that armor like no one’s gonna guess they there!

   (She goes over to the sandwich board and knocks on it approximately where his crotch would be.)

SECRETIA:  Hello, little private parts! You in there?

   (ERNIE reaches for her head. She sees this and pulls away quickly.)

SECRETIA:  What you doing?

ERNIE:  You...

SECRETIA:  What? Speak up before I cut you.

ERNIE:  The leaf—a leaf. You have a leaf in your hair.

SECRETIA:  What?

ERNIE:  A leaf. There.

SECRETIA:  You shittin’ me, Charley? ‘Cause if you is, I’m gonna get you, you know that don’t you.

    (SECRETIA picks it out of her hair and looks at it.)

SECRETIA:  No kiddin’. (Long pause) Can’t even remember the last time I saw a tree, know what I’m saying?

ERNIE: I can’t believe...

SECRETIA:  ...you’d see a leaf?

ERNIE:  A wig. Up close like that.

SECRETIA:  Then it’s a red-letter day for the both of us, Charley. I got to see a leaf and you got to see a...well, you got a whole eyeful, didn’t ya Charley?

ERNIE:  I guess it was different than I thought it would be. No scalp.

SECRETIA:  Yeah. Nope. No scalp. That’s why they’s wigs, know what I’m saying? They kinda do that whole covering the head business.

ERNIE:  Like it were some kind of armor you were hiding behind.

SECRETIA:  Oh, you have to be kidding me, Charley.

    (Pause. SECRETIA whips off her wig defiantly.)

SECRETIA:  There you go, Charley. No armor. Now what you gonna do?

ERNIE: Nothing. But look at you. The vulnerable little boy you really are, who just needs a little comfort and understanding, from someone who has a son about your age and cares about him very much.

    (SECRETIA starts to cry.)

ERNIE:  There. There. Come to Ernie. Let me hold you, child.

    (SECRETIA goes to him and put her head on his shoulders and sobs.)

ERNIE:  Just a little boy. That’s all.  Just like the little leaf that’s fallen and is waiting for someone to pick it up.

    (Sobbing gets louder and louder until it turns into laughter.)

SECRETIA:  Damn, Charley. That wasn’t fair! How’s I supposed to keep that up when you throwing all that psychocrapology at me? I mean, do people really fall for that shit?

ERNIE:  You’re the devil.

SECRETIA:  Oh, yeah. That’s right. I must be the devil ‘cause I ain’t some big-ass sucker taken in by your End of Days bullshit!

ERNIE:  It’s not bullshit! (beat) God forgive me.

SECRETIA:  Wha’dyaknow. Charley here got hisself some pipes!

ERNIE:  You’re going to hell. I’m sorry. That’s just the way it is. When you live a life of excess.

SECRETIA:  Let me ask you something. Do you have five dollars?

ERNIE:  You know I do.

SECRETIA:  Then why don’t you just give it to me and I’ll be on my way. Down the garden path. ‘Cause, you know, with a whole five dollars, oooweee, I’d hardly have enough time to do all that excessive living before the day’s run out.

    (Again, ERNIE pulls out his wallet and the five dollar bill.)

ERNIE:  I want something in return.

SECRETIA:  Baby, I turn tricks. That’s my business. I ain’t got nothing else.

ERNIE:  That leaf.

SECRETIA:  You wanna give me five dollars for this leaf?

    (ERNIE nods.)

SECRETIA:  This leaf here?

    (ERNIE nods again. SECRETIA laughs.)

SECRETIA:  What’s the matter with you? You can’t go over there and get your own goddamn leaf?

ERNIE:  You said it’s been a long time since you—

SECRETIA:  I said I can’t remember the last time I saw a tree. Don’t mean I don’t know there’s trees everywhere. People live their lives, Charley, remembering things, all kinds of things. How much dough they have in the bank, how much they spent on their brand spanking new stainless steel kitchen, how many times they came to see Secretia here and she still didn’t give them no goddamn frequent flyer discount. They spend their time remembering Bible verses and how many souls they’ve saved that’ll all get ticked off on that great scorecard in the sky. And they spend their time remembering how their customers like it, and how much they can get from each one. What they forget, Charley, is the last time they saw a tree. See? There’s reasons why someone might not remember. 

ERNIE:  Do you want the five?

SECRETIA:  I knew you was a crazy, Charley, but don’t this beat all. No. No, I don’t think so.

ERNIE:  I need that leaf.

SECRETIA:  Why? ‘Cause then my soul will be all yours, is that it?

ERNIE:  That leaf...is unique.

    (SECRETIA laughs.)

SECRETIA:  Ain’t we all! Ain’t we all! Just a bunch of pathetic little snowflakes!

ERNIE:  I mean, there’s only one tree I know of in Chicago...

SECRETIA:  No shit.

ERNIE:  My son does grounds keeping work. There. Where the tree is.

SECRETIA:  Like I said: Secretia has worked through them all.

ERNIE:  But there are a few grounds keepers there.

SECRETIA:  What’re you gonna do, Charley? Take this leaf to each one of them and demand a confession? You gonna look for a guiltifying strand of my wig hair on him? Huh? You gonna torture each of them until they beg forgiveness? What? And you think Secretia’s gonna give you the weapon for a measly five dollars? I want 50—no, a hundred dollars for this leaf. Take it or leave it.

ERNIE:  I just want to know if it was him.

SECRETIA:  Then cough it up.

ERNIE:  If it’s him I’ll pay you.

SECRETIA:  All right. What’s he like?

ERNIE:  What?

SECRETIA:  What’s he look like?

ERNIE:  You first.

SECRETIA:  Is he tall?

   (ERNIE’s not falling for it.)

OK. He’s tall.

ERNIE:  What’s tall? Taller than you?

SECRETIA:  You mean, with heels on?

ERNIE:  Just tell me!

SECRETIA  (hesitates):   Yeah.

ERNIE  (noticeably upset):  Oh.

SECRETIA  (encouraged):  And...he’s...he’s white.

    (ERNIE eyes SECRETIA suspiciously. SECRETIA adds quickly...)

SECRETIA:  But not too white because he works outside, but still, he keeps himself covered so he don’t get the cancer or nothing.

ERNIE:  Go on.

SECRETIA:  And he’s got a real handsome smile, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that he can’t cover up, know what I’m saying?

ERNIE:  I’ve failed him and now he’s gone forever.

SECRETIA:  Yeah. Well. Can’t imagine Take Your Son To Work Day went over very well, now, did it?

ERNIE:  He hasn’t spoken to me in years. And now...now there’s no way to save him. Not really.

SECRETIA:  Look, Charley. I need to blow, get me a bath, know what I’m saying? So I’d like my money now.

ERNIE:  What for? You’ve done nothing! You’ve sent him to hell, that’s what you’ve done!

SECRETIA:  All right. If you say so.

    (SECRETIA starts to exit. She stops, turns around, and walks over to ERNIE.)

SECRETIA:  Here.

    (She hands him the leaf.)

There’s more where that come from. See, my roommate, Jasmine, she collects these all the time on her walks around the city. We got a leaf pile right in the middle of the goddamn room! Reminds her of home. Take it, Ernie.

    (He does. SECRETIA starts to exit again. ERNIE pulls all the cash out of his wallet and hands it to her.)

ERNIE:  Here. It’s not a hundred, but it should help.

    (SECRETIA hardly hesitates in taking it.)

ERNIE:  And...thanks.

SECRETIA:  Night’s almost over. My shift is up—a job well done if I do say so myself—and the sun’s getting ready to scatter the cockroaches. So I best get my ass outa here. Yessir! The end is near and Secretia’s got to get her some beauty sleep! Goodnight, Charley!

    (SECRETIA exits. ERNIE puts his wallet away, stares out. Lights fade to black.)

    END OF PLAY

Mary has made a stuffed shell dinner for her son, Joseph, but he doesn't get to have bread with it? FuhgeDDaboudit! 
Oozing with the passive aggressive, it may be one way to confront the issue of their son’s sexuality, but Catholic denial only makes a saucy dish much messier!

ACTORS: 1 Female: 40s/50s; 2 Male: 1 - 40s/50s, and 1 - 18

Past Productions: Fertile Ground Festival of New Plays, Portland Oregon, February 1&2, 2014.

At rise: LOU, MARY, and JOSEPH are sitting at the kitchen table eating stuffed shells. They are decidedly Italian-American and New York. JOSEPH, age 18 is LOU and MARY’s son. A long baguette is also on the table. During most of the dialogue, if LOU isn’t speaking, he’s eating bread with his pasta. He often speaks with his mouth full.

JOSEPH:   Boy, Mom, you sure outdid yourself. These stuffed shells are outstanding.

LOU:   Bread.

(MARY passes the bread to LOU. Then back to JOSEPH.)

MARY:   Have some more. Your father always likes the spaghetti, but I wanted to do something special, just for you.

(He puts another shell on his plate, but she grabs the dish and heaps more on his plate.)

JOSEPH:   Whoa! Basta already! There’s no way I’ll eat it all!

MARY:   You can’t get too much shell. They’re just the right shape.

JOSEPH:   Whatever you say, Ma. I’ll have some of that bread.

(MARY doesn’t move to get it.)

JOSEPH:   Please?

MARY:   You should hold off on the bread.

JOSEPH:   I gotta have more bread. You gave me more of the shell.

MARY:   It’s two starches.

JOSEPH:   What?

MARY:   It’s two starches. Italians don’t eat two starches at the same time.

JOSEPH:   Since when?

MARY:   Since always. It’s always been that way.

JOSEPH:   No one’s ever told me that.

MARY:   We have. You just don’t listen. Remember when we were at Mafalda and Nunzio’s place in Rome and you asked for bread with your pasta? It stopped the party cold and everyone looked at me like I’d raised you wrong it was so embarrassing.

JOSEPH:   Yeah, but then they let me have it anyway.

MARY:   You were just six years old. Everyone thought you were cute. But the look they gave me. It said, “This better be temporary. Or else.”

JOSEPH:   Or else what? What are we eating it for then?

MARY:   Don’t argue. Eat your shells.

(JOSEPH sulks. He eats, ruminates.)

JOSEPH:   We’ve had bread and pasta forever.

MARY:   And it was wrong.

(LOU takes another piece of bread.)

JOSEPH:   Dad’s eating it.

MARY:   Your father has experience. Eating two starches hasn’t messed up his life.

JOSEPH:   And mine’s messed up?

MARY:   You’re young. We just want you to be happy.

JOSEPH:   I’m happy already! I’d be happier if I had a piece of bread. Shees!

(Pause. She begins to weep.)

MARY:   I made the shells special. For you.

LOU:   Your ma’s crying.

JOSEPH:   I didn’t do anyth—

LOU:   You made her cry! And she went through all that trouble to make you stuffed shells.

JOSEPH:   I’m sorry!

LOU:   Do you think she works that hard for me? Do you think she makes me the stuffed shells?

MARY:   I worked hard my whole life.

LOU:   You stayed at home.

MARY:   You raise a family of eight.

LOU:   I did! I went to work, didn’t I? Paid for everything, made sure everyone was clothed and fed, had a roof over your heads? Look. That’s not the point. The point is that your mother did all this work for you and you don’t give a good God damn.

MARY:   Please don’t say that.

LOU:   Huh?

MARY:   When you say— You’re taking the Lord’s name in vain when you say “good God D-A-M.”

LOU:   You see? You see how she keeps this family together?

MARY:   And I did make you stuffed shells.

LOU:   But only once, right? Just once. You made it for me once and I got better.

JOSEPH:   What are you talking—

MARY:   Your father’s just saying that if you do the right things, then you have nothing to worry about.

LOU:   I wasn’t always the best father or husband.

MARY:   Lou—

LOU:   It’s all right, Mary. Our son needs to know these things.

MARY:   No. He does not. He just needs to eat his shells.

(JOSEPH eyes his food with suspicion.)

JOSEPH:   What did you do with my shells.

MARY:   What do you mean what did I do? I baked ‘em.

JOSEPH:   I mean what did you put in ‘em?

MARY:   What I always put in them. Ricotta, mozza—

JOSEPH:   Drugs?

MARY:   What?

JOSEPH:   Did you drug me?

LOU:   What kind of a pervert are you, thinking your own mother would do such a thing?

(MARY starts to cry again.)

JOSEPH:   I’m really confused.

(MARY gets up and goes to her son and holds him.)

MARY:   You see? I knew it all along. I knew you were just confused, and you didn’t trust your mother. And all I was trying to do was get you to understand.

JOSEPH:   Understand what!

MARY:   That two starches don’t belong together.

(Pause. JOSEPH is getting impatient.)

JOSEPH:   OK, Ma, you gotta help me out here. So we’re sitting at the table and I ask for bread and you say no, it’s two starches. Right?

(MARY nods.)

JOSEPH (CONT’D):   And then you say eat your shells it’ll make you all better it made your father all better. Right?

(She nods again.)

JOSEPH (CONT’D):   But he’s still eating two starches.

MARY:   He—

MARY and JOSEPH:   has experience

JOSEPH:   I heard that. But— OK. We normally eat spaghetti, right? which is a starch. And we’ve had it with bread since forever, right? So what’s with the shells?

(MARY looks over at LOU who looks up at her, shrugs, and points as if to say, ‘Get on with it.’)

MARY:   All right. Put out your right hand.

(JOSEPH does so. MARY takes the baguette and plants it in his hand so that the uneaten end is pointing upward. JOSEPH gets excited.)

JOSEPH:   Now that’s all I want—

MARY:   Don’t move! Now put out your left hand.

(She takes the serving spoon and puts a single stuffed shell directly in JOSEPH’s hand.)

MARY:   Now look at the bread in your right hand.

JOSEPH:   I really want the bread, Ma.

(MARY grabs his head and turns it away from the bread.)

MARY:   All right. That’s enough of the staring.

LOU:   The bread.

MARY:   Could you hold on a minute?

JOSEPH:   Yeah, Dad. We’re using it.

LOU:   I’m out of bread.

JOSEPH:   Well, I haven’t had any yet!

LOU:   Hey hey hey! Don’t raise your voice at the table! Now pass the bread.

(MARY goes to tear off the uneaten end of the baguette, but JOSEPH protectively pulls it away and points the torn end at her.)

JOSEPH:   I wanted the end piece. I didn’t get to have any, you know.

(She tears off a piece and hands it to LOU. She turns back to JOSEPH who is still patiently holding the stuffed shell and baguette, but is clearly fixated on the baguette. He begins to bring the end of the baguette toward his mouth when MARY smacks the back of his head.)

MARY:   Don’t you dare! Not in this house you don’t.

(Pause.)

Joseph. Just do this one thing for me. All right?

(JOSEPH shrugs.)

JOSEPH:   So first I look at the bread, is that right?

MARY:   No! I mean, yes, but you did that already, so you don’t need to no more.

JOSEPH:   Until we’re done, right? So we can get on with the eating?

MARY:   That’s right. Now look down at the shell in your left hand. Allow yourself to gaze deeply into it where all the rich creamy filling has been stuffed and is bursting from within.

How does that make you feel?

JOSEPH:   I feel...feel all...

MARY:   Uh huh?

JOSEPH:   ...all warm and moist...

MARY:   Yes?

JOSEPH:   ...and shriveled from the sauce.

MARY:   But the slit! The slit! What about the slit!

LOU:   For Christ’s sakes, Mary. Have him lick it. Just like you did with me.

MARY:   I was getting there. These things take time. And don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.

(Pause.)

Do what your father says, Joseph. Lick it.

JOSEPH:   But—

MARY:   Do it!

(JOSEPH puts his tongue out tentatively.)

JOSEPH:   Can’t I just put some of this on the bread and eat it like that?

MARY:   No. It don’t work that way. Go on. Try again.

(JOSEPH does so and has better success at it this time, as he actually touches his tongue to the shell and moves it around a little, getting some of the sauce. There’s no enthusiasm to it but he continues doing it for the next few lines until MARY takes over to show him how it’s done.)

MARY:   There. Now isn’t that something? It’s really the only way to enjoy the shell, you’ll see. Warm, moist. So much better than the hard unyielding bread in your other hand. And if you work at it a little longer, you get to the surprise inside. No surprises in the spaghetti your father’s made us for the last eighteen years.

LOU:   What’s wrong with my spaghetti?

MARY:   Would you please not interrupt me. I’m talking here.

(Back to JOSEPH.)

Your father’s spaghetti’s all right. I’m just saying a thin noodle only goes so far.

LOU:   There’s nothing wrong with my noodle and you know it!

MARY:   Please, Lou.

(Back to JOSEPH.)

You’re doing just fine. Close your eyes and feel the sensations wash over you. Here. Let me show you.

(MARY pulls her chair closer to JOSEPH and puts a shell in her own hand.)

See, now. You want to start all gentle-like, working from the outside in. Breathe in the aroma, taste the earthiness— you know, the porcini, the prosciutto. Takes you back to the old country when you had to make everything in small dark places where the flavors ripen. Then you gradually bring your tongue in closer to the slit, taste the filling, still respectful and all gentle, like I told you. And then start to tease the treasure chest open so you can get deeper into the cave with all the goodies.

(MARY starts to get into what she’s doing and starts making yummy noises and ad-libbing how good it is. By the end of the play, she has her sauce-covered face mashed into the shell.)

JOSEPH:   That’s great, Ma. Can I have my bread now? Ma?

LOU:   She’s gone.

JOSEPH:   Huh?

LOU:   I saw it once before. When she made shells for me that one time. It’ll be a while before she comes up for air.

(Pause.)

Pass the bread for me, would you, Son?

JOSEPH:   Sure thing, Dad.

LOU:   Better yet. There’s another in the bread box. Grab it for us, would ya?

JOSEPH:   You got it!

(JOSEPH grabs a fresh baguette and hands it to LOU.)

LOU:   Thanks, Joseph. Your a good boy, you know that?

JOSEPH:   Here’s to two starches.

LOU:   To two starches!

(They “cheer” with their baguettes as if with wine glasses. Then taking them in both hands with sauce and pasta piled on top, they devour them passionately, making yummy noises. Lights fade to black.)

END OF PLAY

Alex enters a coffee shop expecting a no-nonsense no-foam sort of experience. And instead she is served by an Earth mother hell-bent on saving her and her other customers from an angst-ridden life.

ACTORS: This play can probably be done with actors of any gender expression. We did it with 2 males and 2 females. Age, not so important.

Past Productions: Fertile Ground Festival of New Plays, Portland, OR, January 24, 2015.

At rise: A dark and cozy room with a simple sales counter. Two people, MALLORY and RENE, lounge on big floor pillows, half asleep or in a semi-conscious dream-like state. They each have a cup of coffee beside them on the floor. They are in Portland’s Fertile Grounds Cafe, which should resemble an opium den. ALEX walks in quickly and with purpose, then looks around as if she has suddenly entered through the wrong door and decides to leave. FABIAN enters from a back room to stand behind the counter. FABIAN speaks with a soothing voice.

FABIAN:   I may help you.

ALEX:   What? Oh, uh, I don’t think so.

FABIAN:   You have come for our coffee.

ALEX:   No, really. My mistake—

FABIAN:   This is the Fertile Grounds Cafe.

(Pause. ALEX considers whether she wants to stay, then decides to order. She goes to the counter, all business, and pulls out her wallet.)

ALEX:   16-ounce quad no-foam latte half non-fat—

FABIAN:   Coffee.

ALEX:   Espresso, yes—

FABIAN:   An infusion of the pure, single origin, hand picked, slow roasted, stone ground, soaked in spring water//

ALEX:   No, I’ll//

FABIAN:   And bathed in an immersion field of fetal light workers.

(Pause.)

ALEX:   Fetal.

FABIAN:   Light workers.

ALEX:   Bathed.

FABIAN:   Yes.

ALEX:   In…

ALEX and FABIAN:   an immersion field.

ALEX:   Gotta go.

FABIAN:   You need our coffee.

ALEX:   No. What I need is a 16-ounce quad no-foam half-non-fat latte//

FABIAN:   There is no need to raise your//

ALEX:   And instead, I have to skip the the drink altogether to go report a perverted baby slave-labor ring!

(MALLORY and RENE are awakened by ALEX’s heated words.)

RENE:   Fabian?

MALLORY:   What’s happening?

FABIAN:   It’s OK. Shhh.

RENE:   I feel like I’m rebirthing prematurely.

FABIAN:   Close your eyes and relax, and Mama will make it all better.

MALLORY:  (noticing ALEX, upset)   What’s that?

FABIAN:   Go toward the red room.

ALEX:   What are they on?

FABIAN:   They have had nothing but our coffee.

MALLORY:   It’s medicinal. Right? It’s medicinal?

RENE:   I can’t get back in. They’ve got me by the head with a suction.

MALLORY:   Don’t leave me!

ALEX:   Are you for real?

RENE:  (pointing to ALEX)  It’s her! She’s got me by the head!

(RENE grabs his head and starts to moan)

FABIAN:   You’re grabbing him by the head.

MALLORY:   Let go of his head!

RENE:   Ahhh!

ALEX:   I’m not touching your head!

(Pause. They all stop what they are doing. Then (MALLORY and RENE start crying.)

FABIAN:   I know you.

ALEX:   No, I’m sure we’ve never—

FABIAN:   I know who you are!

ALEX:   You do?

FABIAN:   (nodding, fearful)  You are the light bringer.

(MALLORY and RENE stop crying)

RENE and MALLORY:   What?/Huh?

ALEX:   I think you’re confusing me—

FABIAN:   You should leave. Now.

(ALEX takes this as a challenge, almost laughable. She has no idea what’s going on, but she holds her ground and stares FABIAN down.)

ALEX:   I think you need me.

FABIAN:   No. All you bring is pain and suffering. And these gentle souls just want peace!

ALEX:   There’s no such thing as peace.

RENE:   How about do-overs. I want to be reborn as—

FABIAN:   This isn’t reincarnation, Rene.

MALLORY:   Yeah. It’s rebirthing.

FABIAN:   That’s right, Mallory.

MALLORY:   And I want to be rebirthed as Michelle Obama.

ALEX:   That’s reincarnation.

FABIAN:   Do you mind? I can do this.  (to MALLORY)   That’s reincarnation, Mallory.

MALLORY:   Oh.

FABIAN:   And the first lady is alive. You can’t come back as someone who still has a soul.

MALLORY:   That sucks.

RENE:   Then what are we here for?

FABIAN:   Drink your coffee and you’ll see.

MALLORY:   But—

FABIAN:   Say good-bye to this…to her, and drink your coffee.

(MALLORY and RENE  pick up their cups of coffee and stare into them.)

RENE:   So black.

MALLORY:   And rich.

FABIAN:   Like the inside of Mama’s belly.

MALLORY:   Good-bye nice lady.

(MALLORY and RENE drink and begin to relax again, speaking in a sleepy manner. ALEX finds this humorous.)

ALEX:   Don’t tell me—

FABIAN:   Shhh.

(FABIAN pulls ALEX away from RENE and MALLORY.)

ALEX:  —you’re actually giving them coffee to fall asleep.

FABIAN:   They’re not falling asleep.

ALEX:   Caffeine is a stimulant.

FABIAN:   Coffee is— Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.

(Pause, as ALEX folds her arms waiting for FABIAN to explain.)

FABIAN:   They’re going deep.

ALEX:   Deep.

FABIAN:   (nodding)  Trying to find a safe space, like the womb.

ALEX:   With caffeine?

FABIAN:   Coffee isn’t just a molecule.

ALEX:  (more loudly)  It has caffeine.

(RENE puts the pillow over his head. MALLORY sits up.)

RENE:   The noise!

MALLORY:   Do something, Fabian.

FABIAN:   Hush now.

(FABIAN walks over the counter and pours a cup of coffee for ALEX.)

FABIAN (CONT’D):   Millions of mothers, all around the world. They drink of the same cup, the elixir that strengthens the heart and mind, that is black like the blood that does not see the light of day, yet warms and releases like a seized muscle in the sun.

(FABIAN walks over to ALEX and hands her the cup. ALEX does not take it. She actually backs away from it.)

FABIAN (CONT’D):   It’s just caffeine.

MALLORY:   Could you please just drink it?

FABIAN:   We are born in the warmth of darkness and must return to it.

ALEX:   Yeah, well, I don’t trust it, and I’m going to make sure everyone knows//

MALLORY:   I don’t think she’s good for me//

ALEX:   it’s drugged. It has drugs, doesn’t it?

(RENE has both pillows, one over each ear, and is writhing in agony.)

RENE:   Make her stop talking!

FABIAN:   Not unless joy is a drug.

ALEX:   Hah! I’m going to expose your operation and shut down—

(RENE stops his writhing, then horrified.)

RENE:   Ahhhhh! Wait. What did you say?

MALLORY:   I think she’s making me more whiny.

ALEX:   I said I’m going to shut this place—

                            MALLORY:                                              RENE:  

See? I’m whining. Fabian, make it stop—           Oh, no! It’s the jagged voice! Please not that!—

FABIAN:   Shut the fuck up!  (beat, to ALEX)  You’re to blame. What are you? An obstetrician, trying to cut us all out of the womb?

ALEX:   What? No!

MALLORY:   (more quietly, to himself)  I actually don’t like being whiny, you know.

FABIAN:   Then, what?

ALEX:   I’m…I’m the light bringer. Just like you thought!

RENE:   Alex Goodwin!

ALEX:   You know me?

RENE:   The voice of People’s Public Radio.

ALEX:   That’s right. I—

RENE:   The most annoying, grating voice on the air.

FABIAN:   Rene, the universe brought her to our doorstep—

RENE:   She put me here! Look at me! I’m a basket case, running from life, because I spent too much time listening to how horrid and hopeless the world is from screechy people like her!

ALEX:   I shed light on important issues.

RENE:   (imitating her)  I shed light on important issues— Gah! It drives me crazy!

ALEX:   It may not be fun but it’s a necessary—

RENE:   Evil! Well, even Lucifer was the bringer of light!

(Short pause.)

MALLORY:   You’re a downer.

RENE:   What? Mallory, you came with me, to escape people like her.

MALLORY:   I came because I needed coffee. And I wanted to do something quintessentially Portland.

ALEX:   I was in Cabo, living the life of a bored tourist, when my friend called asking if I would do some reporting for her, since it cost too much to fly someone down there. And I did, exposing a ring of thieves who were taking advantage of Mexican immigrants trying to get money to their families back home. And since then, my life—my sad, anxiety-ridden life—has been nothing but bringing those kinds of injustices to light.

(ALEX takes the coffee from FABIAN)

ALEX (CONT’D)   I didn’t always have this voice, you know.

(ALEX drinks the coffee. The others look on.)

FABIAN:   Well?

(ALEX reaches out to FABIAN for support.)

ALEX:   That’s…quite…something. And I…feel…

MALLORY:   Like Michelle Obama?

ALEX:   For the first time in a long time, I feel…joy.

RENE:   Really? Then why is your voice is still grating on me.

ALEX:   And now I can leave you to continue my work of bringing truth to the wretched.

FABIAN:   It’s the truth that’s making them wretched!

ALEX:   No! It’s the promise of rebirthing them into a better place. And I’m going to expose you with ecstatic joy! Good-bye, friends.

(ALEX goes to RENE and MALLORY, hands them their coffee and settles them into their pillows. They relax.)

ALEX (CONT’D)   Drink yourself into oblivion. Dream of lolcats and cuddly polar bears.

RENE:   Cuddly…

ALEX:   Enjoy the darkness…

MALLORY:   Darkness.

ALEX:   That place of blissful ignorance.

RENE:   Blissful.

MALLORY:   I’m afraid of the dark.

ALEX:   Shhh. When you’re ready to come out of your safe space, you give Mother a call. K?

(ALEX exits. Lights to BLACK.)

END OF PLAY

Speedy has hired John for the evening, but John first drags Speedy to the art gallery of an artist John has been with many times before. In the course of trying to decipher one of the artist’s works, John discovers how special the artist really is. And Speedy, despite his crass quest for dick, is the person to show him.

ACTORS: 2 Males any race/ethnicity, 20s and 20s/30s.

SETTING: A Manhattan art gallery.

At rise: Two men enter an art gallery. JOHN is handsome, dressed casually to the nines, and composed. SPEEDY is dressed expensively, well groomed, and perpetually business-like. Somewhat loud. He walks quickly from painting to painting. JOHN appears at first to be looking for something or someone, then meanders, uninterested in the exhibit. SPEEDY compulsively text messages and checks his mobile throughout the play.

SPEEDY:   (pointing around gallery)  I want that one, that one, and that one. I just told him, what’s-his-name.

JOHN:   Devin Macleod, and that’s him, standing right there.

SPEEDY:   (waving his mobile)  Yeah, this was easier.

JOHN:   Really? ‘Cause everyone can hear you.

SPEEDY:   So, what?

JOHN:   So, it’s gauche.

(JOHN notices a painting hanging on the “fourth wall” and breaks away from SPEEDY.)

SPEEDY:   Well, this is no goddamn Met, that’s for sure.

JOHN:   Did you see this one?

SPEEDY:   Didn’t want it.

JOHN:   (Completely taken by the work.)  This is...

SPEEDY:   Yeah don’t care. Not putting boobs on my wall.

JOHN:   No doubt.

SPEEDY:   Don’t get all high and mighty with me. You’re the one who dragged me here.

(Beat. JOHN is distracted and doesn’t respond.)  I happen to like those because they got dick in them. And so does he.

JOHN:   Who?

SPEEDY:   The artist, what’s-his-name.

JOHN:   Dev.

SPEEDY:        (Somewhat put off.)  Yeah. Look, I’m ready to go.

JOHN:   We just got here.

SPEEDY:   This is my nickel. You can see Dev some other night.

JOHN:   I’m not looking at him, I’m looking at this. It’s good. Really, really good.

(SPEEDY goes up to the painting, not to look at it, but the price tag.)

SPEEDY:   What’s NFS?

JOHN:   Money is fast.

SPEEDY:   If you say so.

JOHN:   Look at it. At her. Still bathed in the afterglow. They’re barely finished and he’s already reaching for his wallet.

SPEEDY:   MIF.

JOHN:   What.

SPEEDY:   Money is fast. That’s MIF, not NFS.

(SPEEDY sends another text.)

JOHN:   He would have paid her already.

SPEEDY:   He’s ordering out?

JOHN:   See, there. On her nightstand. The wad of bills. He’s already paid.

SPEEDY:   So what? He’s done. He’s grabbing his things to go.

JOHN:   Could be.

SPEEDY:   And so are we. Meeting up with Billy and James for a drink first.

JOHN:   May be he’s giving her a tip...or...guilt money.

SPEEDY:   Guilt money.

JOHN:   For leaving so soon.

SPEEDY:   Then she’s getting off easy. Hey! Pretty funny, huh?

JOHN:   Brilliant.

SPEEDY:   We’re going. Now.

JOHN:   Or maybe he doesn’t love her, and that’s why he’s giving her more.

SPEEDY:   If you think for one minute that I’m going to give you—

JOHN:   Don’t be a boor.

SPEEDY:   I own you! At least for another...  (checks mobile)

JOHN:   You know, we’re done here.

(JOHN gets up to leave.)

SPEEDY:   That’s what it means! What the—

JOHN:   I’ll make sure you get a full refund.

SPEEDY:   NFS. He just told me. What’s the point of being here if I can’t—

JOHN:   Not everything is for sale. Not everything has a price.

SPEEDY:   Oh, yeah? (text messages)  Let’s see if he wants to turn down an offer like that.

JOHN:   Wait. Don’t!

(As JOHN says this line, SPEEDY completes his text, and shows it with a final closing of the cell phone or some other motion.)

SPEEDY:   Whu’s the matter?

JOHN:   (quietly, trying to maintain calm, and looking off-stage to where Devin is.)   You don’t want this one. It’s got boobs.

SPEEDY:   It’s got you. Mooning over it. Paying more attention to a wall hanging than to me.

JOHN:   All right. You’re right. I’m sorry.   (pause)   They’re going to bring...dates, too?

SPEEDY:   Who?

JOHN:   What’s-their-names.

SPEEDY:   Billy and James. Could be.

JOHN:   And are they keeping their evening as short as ours?

SPEEDY:   Not a word to them about you.

JOHN:   They’ll know.

SPEEDY:   I mean it.

JOHN:   It’s my job.

SPEEDY:   What’s the big deal, anyway?

JOHN:   That’s what I was thinking.

SPEEDY:   Exactly.

JOHN:   You’re all doing the same thing.

SPEEDY:   I mean we’re all guys.

JOHN:   The quick and easy.

SPEEDY:   Simple.

JOHN:   And imaginative.

SPEEDY:   Ha! Funny. It’s not like I fuck a guy’s brain.

JOHN:   No kidding.

SPEEDY:   That’s why I called.

JOHN:   Right.

SPEEDY:   So I wouldn’t have to.

JOHN:   Except that you’re all pretending to have boyfriends.

SPEEDY:   What’s your point?

JOHN:   (referring to the couple in the painting).   Because they’re like us, right? Only not.

SPEEDY:   Yeah. She’s got boobs.  (Beat.)  Sorry. Sorry. You know, I only agreed to come here first ‘cause you said there’d be dick.

JOHN:   There is, everywhere. This is different. Worth paying attention to.

SPEEDY:   I’ll give you a minute.

JOHN:   Ooh a whole minute.

SPEEDY:    (checks his mobile)   Nice. Nice guy, this Dev. He says: Not for sale to you. To me he says that.

JOHN:   He’s just sore.

SPEEDY:   So it is you.

JOHN:   It’s nobody. NFS means nobody gets it.

(SPEEDY finally sits next to JOHN, but has to get up again to walk around while he really looks the painting over.)

SPEEDY:   This guy’s really not half bad.

JOHN:   I told you.

SPEEDY:   Except for the boob thing. Not putting me in the mood, you know?

JOHN:   Does one need to be in the mood for a quickie?

SPEEDY:   One does. She does anyway. It’s her job.

JOHN:   What?

SPEEDY:   I said it’s her job.

JOHN:   No, it’s not. It’s her job to act like she’s in the mood.

SPEEDY:   But she is. In the mood.

JOHN:   (a revelation)  She’s not pretending.   (suddenly anxious.)   Kiss me.

SPEEDY:   What?

JOHN:   Put me in the mood.

SPEEDY:   Oh, no. I don’t do that.

JOHN:   What?

SPEEDY:   I spend 60 hours a week dealing with assholes and emergencies all more urgent than the rest. And all I wanted was an easy evening. Predictable. It’s what I paid for!

JOHN:   It’s her job to put him in the mood.

(SPEEDY nods.)

JOHN (CONT’D)

So she’s getting the better end of the deal.

SPEEDY:   Bingo.  (checks his mobile)   Hey! Wha’dya know? I got that one there. “Dick Number One.” Musta bid the highest.

JOHN:   Good for you.

SPEEDY:   (text messages)   Smart man. Knows a dick connoisseur when he sees one.

JOHN:   (looking off-stage to where Devin is)   If you say so. Look. We can go see your friends now.

SPEEDY:   (referring to the painting)    What about them?

JOHN:   No, it’s OK. It’s getting stuffy in here.

SPEEDY:   C’mon. I told you I’d help out.

(They stare at the painting a while longer.)

SPEEDY:   So. What did you do?

JOHN:   What.

SPEEDY:   To make him sore at you.

JOHN:   Nothing.

SPEEDY:   You musta done something. You don’t exactly endear yourself, you know.

JOHN:   I said I’d give your money back.

SPEEDY:   OK. Just asking. You know, you’re the one should keep his voice down.

JOHN:   Yeah. Sorry.

SPEEDY:   That’s all right. I don’t mind it. You’re kinda sexier this way.

JOHN:   We should go. We’re running out of time.

SPEEDY:   Don’t worry about it.

JOHN:   But you said—

SPEEDY:   Just ‘cause I’m quick doesn’t mean I like to be rushed.

JOHN:   All right.

SPEEDY:   You don’t have an egg timer, do ya?

JOHN:   An egg timer? What for?

SPEEDY:   Like her. I don’t want no timer clicking down the minutes.

JOHN:   Huh.

SPEEDY:   Yeah, well. He’s reaching for the wallet, but she’s the one got her rocks off. Or...you know...whatever...she gets...off. He’s paying for her afterglow!   (checks his mobile.)   Hey! I got “Dick Number Two!” Half off!

JOHN:  (uncomfortable)   Can we go have this conversation in private?

SPEEDY:   The painting’s here.

JOHN:   You’ve figured it out. They’re out of time.

SPEEDY:   He’s buying more.

JOHN:   She doesn’t need it.

SPEEDY:   If you say so. Either way, the egg timer went ‘ding!’

JOHN:   Stupid.

SPEEDY:   Time is money.

JOHN:   Right.

SPEEDY:   And money is fast.

JOHN:   But an egg timer?

SPEEDY:   Where’s your clock?

JOHN:   What?

SPEEDY:   C’mon c’mon. My life is time and money. How do you keep track of time?

JOHN:   I have small clocks tastefully placed around the room. Not too noticeable.

SPEEDY:   But you’re aware of them.

JOHN:   I guess.

SPEEDY:   She doesn’t have that. She has the egg timer.

JOHN:   No one would do that.

SPEEDY:   Unless they’re blind or something.

JOHN:   Or something.

SPEEDY:   And she’s got the cane.

JOHN:   You’re joking.

SPEEDY:   There. Next to her things.

JOHN:   But that— that’s cliché. What? She can’t see his love, so he paints her as blind?

SPEEDY:   You know, she don’t look so much like she hates being with him either.

JOHN:   He would never do that.

SPEEDY:   Subtle don’t work for some people.

JOHN:   Well some people aren’t obvious enough.

SPEEDY:   Or gauche?

JOHN:   C’mon. Billy and James are waiting.

(SPEEDY leads the way, checking his mobile. JOHN follows but turns back and looks off stage where Dev would be. SPEEDY stops.)

SPEEDY:   Look at that! He’s giving me “Dick Number Three.” Free! Wha’dya think of that!

(SPEEDY looks back at JOHN. Lights fade to black.)

(END OF PLAY)

Copernica is a shooting star who has burned herself out on Hope’s wishes, and Ras wishes all the wishes would just go away. So when Copernica decides to rocket herself away from the world, Ras and Hope need to find where The miracle of them lies.

ACTORS: 2 Female (1 - any age, the other 20s), and 1 Male (20s).

Past Productions: Staged Reading, Mile Post 5, Portland, OR, September 25, 2012. Actors were Gary Corbin, Kate Belden, and Kristin Olson-Huddle.

At rise: COPERNICA  stands center stage, holding a crash helmet.)

COPERNICA:   Prologue.

(COPERNICA sits down center at a table and puts the crash helmet on her head. RAS and HOPE enter and stand upstage left and right facing out. HOPE carries a bag or purse of some kind.)

COPERNICA:   You call,

HOPE:   O, Star. O, Promise Keeper.

COPERNICA:                                    and I come flying to your side

HOPE:   O, Child of the Perseids.

RAS:   Oh, God.

COPERNICA:   My wings afire,

RAS:   Here we go.

COPERNICA:                             my nose filled with the soot

                          of yearning

HOPE:   I have wished upon thee.

RAS:   I’m right here.

COPERNICA:   The char of my feathers trailing behind

I enter your atmosphere

RAS:   Here in the flesh. Christ.

COPERNICA:   My thoughts of you

Pulled forward into the wake

Drafting effortlessly behind your need.

HOPE:   Hear your supplicant.

COPERNICA:   I hear.

HOPE:   And shower me with abundance,

COPERNICA:   I give

HOPE:   love,

RAS:   I got paid today.

COPERNICA:             anything for you I give

I give until I am weightless

RAS:   It’s not much,

HOPE:   perfection,

RAS:   but I worked hard for it.

HOPE:   and unbearable joy!

COPERNICA:   I give under the weight of you

RAS:   So we could have stuff,

HOPE:   I praise,

RAS:   and keep going.

COPERNICA:   I give in

HOPE:   and you grant

RAS:   We need paper towels.

HOPE:   bounty.

RAS:   Bounty.

HOPE:   Bounty!

COPERNICA:                   and I give out

And by the Graces it feels good.

RAS:   Bounty paper towels.

(HOPE and RAS enter COPERNICA’s area where she sits. HOPE glares at COPERNICA, takes a rock out of her bag and puts it deliberately in front of COPERNICA in an accusatory manner. She then turns to RAS.)

HOPE:   You willed me to the window?

(RAS just stands there.)

You stood outside my window and willed me to you.

            (RAS shrugs.)

With your—what was it?—Rasputin-like magnetism? Calling out to me in irresistible waves of passion—

(RAS smiles.)

HOPE:   —Tcht! Do not smile about this!

(RAS stops smiling. COPERNICA looks up at HOPE)

HOPE:   What are you looking at?

RAS:   Leave her out of this.

HOPE:   She…failed me. Us!

(Over the next four lines, COPERNICA brings her fingers to her ears to plug them and then begins making a sort of blasting off sound followed by a sustained rocket sound that gets progressively louder.)

RAS:   It was a party for Chrissake.

HOPE:   Well you don’t have to believe.

RAS:   Good, because I don't./

HOPE:   But I do and I wish you would trust me./

RAS:   Trust you with what when I don't believe?/

HOPE:   Trust me when I tell you that something extraordinary happened that night!

(HOPE yanks COPERNICA's hands away from her ears as punctuation to the end of her line. COPERNICA stops the sound. Pause.)

RAS:   Fine. Believe in a stupid rock.

HOPE:   It came from the sky…?

RAS:   Whatever. It’s still a rock.

COPERNICA:   I’m going away.

RAS:   Finally.

COPERNICA:   To make my life bigger.

HOPE:  (Glares at RAS, then to COPERNICA.)   You’re not going anywhere.

COPERNICA:   Much, much bigger. I’ve decided.

HOPE:   (Back to RAS)   Copernica brought us together.

RAS:   It flew through the window.

COPERNICA:   I’ve gotten so small.

HOPE:   I wished upon it.

RAS:   The world doesn’t work that way. Fine. Look, have it your way. But I don’t want to be around every time you decide to pull it out and play Show and Tell.

HOPE:   Everyone else enjoys it.

RAS:   It’s embarrassing.

COPERNICA:   It wasn’t always like that.

RAS:   Let’s just drop it, OK? You have your story, I have mine.

(Pause)

HOPE:   So you stood outside and willed me to come to my window.

RAS:   Of course not.

HOPE:   That I took one look at you and had no other choice but to invite you up.

RAS:   I was making a point.

            (Beat)

I wanted you so bad. And this rock has nothing to do with it.

HOPE:   (picks up the rock)   It doesn’t look like much, does it?

RAS:   No.

COPERNICA:   I don’t feel like much.

HOPE:   This could be anything. Any rock in the whole friggin universe, and it came through my window just as you walked up to my house.

RAS:   Quite the coincidence.

HOPE:   But it wasn’t. I keep telling you, I wished for it—

RAS:   Wishes are ridiculous, Hope! You think there aren’t a billion people wishing for potable water? Or love? Or happiness? Life’s never that easy, so what makes your wishes so goddamned special?

(Pause. HOPE backs up, stunned, then turns on COPERNICA.)

HOPE:   What’s the matter with you? Do something! I didn’t wish for this!

(COPERNICA gets up and faces RAS and HOPE.)

COPERNICA:   I have just enough fire in this smoldering belly of mine—

HOPE:   Yes?

COPERNICA:   —to leave, to rocket myself beyond the mesosphere, where once I lost myself to brilliance and the attentions of a thousand thousand stargazers. And there, there I will be full and light.

HOPE:   You…you can’t go anywhere. You’re mine. I summoned you here.

COPERNICA:   How dare you! The conceit of you, directing the heavens! You take and take, and by the Graces, you have become ponderous and dull!

RAS:   Hey, hey! She believed in you.

COPERNICA:   And you! You, who want everything and never allow yourself to believe any of it can be so! You are the most pitiful!

RAS:   Oh, yeah? Well, you didn’t come from the sky. What do you think of that?

HOPE:   Oh, would you just let me have something!

RAS:   No! Obviously I can’t. Because everyone here is all about how magical life is. Well, it isn’t. And that rock came from my own goddamned back yard and flew through your window because I threw it! Now, can we please just have our lives back?

(Pause.)

COPERNICA:   Well. I’m bored. How about you? I’ll be going now.

(COPERNICA picks up the rock.)

HOPE:   No! Please!

RAS:   Didn’t you hear me? You’re just an ordinary rock.

HOPE:   Ras, would you just shut the fuck up.

RAS:   But rocks don’t…go anywhere.

(COPERNICA hands RAS the rock.)

COPERNICA:   No. This ordinary rock is still yours.  Now what will you have to say about it?

(COPERNICA exits to far upstage center and looks forward upon RAS and HOPE who come together under the evening stars.)

COPERNICA:   Epilogue.

HOPE:   (Holding the rock.)  This could be anything.

RAS:   But it isn’t. It might look like any ol’ rock, but this rock has history. And if you were smart you might just listen to what I have to say.

HOPE AND COPERNICA:   Then say it.

RAS:   OK. This rock was once big. I mean really big. And it fell through the atmosphere and burned up and became this brilliant streak of white light in the evening sky. Then it landed in your back yard, and by the time it did it was only this big.

HOPE:   That’s really something.

RAS:   Mhm. And your dad, he had a thing against rocks.

HOPE:   He did not.

RAS:   He did. You just don’t remember. He paid me 50 cents so that he could sit his lazy ass on the riding mower while I walked ahead of him picking up rocks so they didn’t get caught up in the blades.

HOPE:   Those rocks could have hurt someone if they shot out.

RAS:   I guess. And then he had me pile up all the rocks between your yard and mine.

HOPE:   They had to go somewhere.

RAS:   It was such a mess, piled up that way. It could have been a beautiful wall.

HOPE:   That’s a weird thing to think.

RAS:   He didn’t see the beauty in rocks.

HOPE:   Nasty blade-mangling rocks.

RAS:   Anyway, years later, when I realized how much I was in love with you. I climbed over the wall late at night, and grabbed this rock here so I could throw it through your win—

HOPE:   Wait. This one. Here.

RAS:   This one.

HOPE:   The one that fell from the sky.

RAS:   Yeah. I just said so.

HOPE:   And how do you know it came from the sky? Or that it’s even the same one—

RAS AND COPERNICA:   Shhh.

RAS:   I’m telling this story.

END OF PLAY

How Many Tokers Does It Take to Change a World?

(A dorm room. A bed with rumpled sheets and stacks of books dogeared and highlighted. The books are by Noam Chomsky, Walter Lippman, Howard Zinn, etc. BETTY, an early 20s White female, lies on the bed with the books, smoking a joint, staring up at the ceiling. She has dark circles under her eyes and looks a bit haggard. Her roommate, IMANI, an early 20s African-American female, is sitting with her laptop surfing the web. If minimal set and props are required, they can both be hanging out on the floor. IMANI laughs a little and stops. Then she laughs more. BETTY looks over showing a little irritation and then goes back to her ruminating. Then IMANI starts to guffaw and can’t stop laughing. BETTY is really annoyed at this point.)

BETTY

Gods, what is it that’s so funny?

IMANI

Oh, lady, you need to see this. Look.

(IMANI turns her laptop to show BETTY. BETTY watches, never cracking a smile. She goes back to her joint.)

IMANI (CONT’D)

What? Tell me that wasn’t funny.

BETTY

It wasn’t funny.

IMANI

OK.

(IMANI goes back to surfing the web. She laughs out loud again. BETTY looks over at her annoyed. IMANI stops laughing.)

BETTY

They’re cats.

IMANI

No way. Is that what they are?

BETTY

Stupid cats with stupid people.

IMANI

That spliff ain’t helping.

BETTY

What?

IMANI

Just saying.

BETTY

Don’t judge.

IMANI

Then lay it on me.

BETTY

What?

IMANI

Get it out.

BETTY

You’re not doing anything wrong.

IMANI

I’m not?

BETTY

No!

IMANI

Good.

(Short pause.)

BETTY

But, you know, that site gets all their material for free—did you know that?—and then makes bank on everyone’s addiction to cute. And all those people, jonesing for their half-second of fame, send in their cutesy pics and vids, hoping one of ‘em gets posted.

IMANI

No shit.

(BETTY nods.)

IMANI (CONT’D)

That’s heavy.

BETTY

Yeah.

IMANI

Wish I had thought of it.

BETTY

What?

IMANI

I wish I had thought of it.

BETTY

No, you don’t.

IMANI

Excuse me?

BETTY

You’d be selling your soul.

IMANI

Now who’s judging?

BETTY

I’m not judg—

IMANI

Yes, you are. You think because you read all those books, you’re the sole arbiter of right and wrong—

BETTY

No, I—

IMANI

—and why everyone is oppressed, and now you’re going to fix it all by smoking pot from the comfort of your college dorm room and yelling at me for caving in to The Man.

(Pause.)

BETTY

I didn’t yell.

IMANI

Whatever.

BETTY

The root cause of violence is economic.

IMANI

You know, I’m done talking—

BETTY

And that shooting yesterday is no different—

IMANI

I said I’m done.

(Pause.)

BETTY

I was just trying to provide perspective.

IMANI

About cats.

BETTY

Fine. Laugh at your stupid cats.

IMANI

I would, except someone I know is a buzzkill.

BETTY

    (a realization)

You’re getting high.

IMANI

High? 

BETTY

Buzzed. High. Whatever. You’re addicted.

IMANI

Are you serious?

BETTY

You’re on there, like, three times a day.

IMANI

Wow. I eat three times a day, too.

BETTY

Always laughing at that shit.

IMANI

I’m, like, totes addicted to food!

BETTY

You should be a lawyer.

IMANI

What would I do without you/

BETTY

Stop, OK?/

IMANI

/showing me the errors of my ways—

BETTY

/Just stop! OK?

(Pause.)

IMANI

You used to be more fun.

BETTY

Wow, thanks.

IMANI

Yeah, well, we used to laugh together.

BETTY

People need to be understood, Imani.

IMANI

News flash. I’m a person.

BETTY

I know that. But really, you should read these.

IMANI

Why? So I can be angry all the time like you?

BETTY

Someone got shot. Right here on this campus. And I am not angry all the time.

IMANI

If you say so.

BETTY

I say so. You know, you might try understanding people. Why they do things. These books are about you, you know.

IMANI

About me, huh?

BETTY

Not you you.

IMANI

Then who, White-Betty-who-needs-me-to-read-a-book-to-know-what-it’s-like-to-be-Black?

BETTY

Everyone apparently except sarcastic Black women who are so smart they can tell you all about the sand their head is buried in and I can’t help that I’m White!

IMANI

Yeah, well I can’t help that I like cats!

(Pause. They stare each other down, then begin laughing.)

BETTY

You win. Cat-loving bitches are definitely underrepresented in these books.

IMANI

They did a study, you know. Found that it’s an orientation, not a lifestyle.

BETTY

My dad had cats.

IMANI

Yeah?

BETTY

    (nods ‘yes’)

Like a million of them. After mom died. I swear, every time I woke up, there was another one.

IMANI

Your dad was a cat lady?

BETTY

I know, right? Can’t even look at them any more without thinking about him, in this dark house, getting stoned with a bunch of cats pissing everywhere.

IMANI

Wait, he got stoned with a bunch of cats?

BETTY

Hello? Sharing?

IMANI

I think this website could have saved him from becoming a crazy cat lady.

BETTY

He saw the website, Imani. That’s what finished him off.

IMANI

    (disbelieving, laughing)

What?

BETTY

Shot himself.

IMANI

You serious?

(BETTY nods. IMANI goes to hug BETTY.)

IMANI (CONT’D)

Oh, baby, I’m—

BETTY

No. Don’t. I don’t deserve— I don’t want any sympathy, OK?

IMANI

Yeah. OK. Can I show you something?

(BETTY nods, cautiously. IMANI turns her laptop to show BETTY.)

BETTY

No, Imani. I said I don’t—

IMANI

Wait a sec, OK? This is important.

(IMANI clicks through the website.)

IMANI (CONT’D)

This cat here with the clown nose and the big clown feet? I saw this the day I watched my brother, Adrian, get shot. July 15th, 2012. I had a pink lemonade in my hand. And this one, putting the bonnet on its own head. I was looking at this when my dad called to tell me that my mom was in the hospital with liver failure. She loved her some Captain Morgan’s. And then there’s this one with its tail…I think you get the idea.

BETTY

Yeah. They cheered you up.

IMANI

Ha. No way. Not at the time. OK, well, maybe. A little. It was more like how you realize that everything else goes on around you, even when you’re in the middle of it, you know? Plants grow, the rains come, cats do stupid things, blah blah blah...

(BETTY takes IMANI’s laptop and clicks through the same website. She turns the laptop so IMANI can see it. IMANI laughs.)

IMANI

He’s got a cat on his head!

BETTY

That’s my dad.

IMANI

It’s still funny.

BETTY

I took this and posted it. 

IMANI

Oh, no. You didn’t.

BETTY

Then I showed it to him. 

IMANI

Shit.

BETTY

I was hoping he would wake up.

IMANI

Cats suck.

END OF PLAY

Lanaya, a quirky and sweet young woman, shows off the scar on her tongue, but that’s not what’s taken her voice away.

ACTOR: Female, late teens, early twenties. In college.

Note: This is a monologue that occurs during a rape. Sexual assault continues to go unreported, especially among college-age females. To make matters worse, those in administrations fail to acknowledge assault and take action against the perpetrators. When performing this play, it may be helpful to bring this to light, as a pamphlet or post-performance discussion.

Past productions: Fertile Ground, Portland, OR, 2015, starring Jayne Ruppert; NoMore Fest (Crooked Heart Theatre), Los Angeles, CA, 2015

(LANAYA, late teens, steps out on stage. She is sweet and quirky.)

LANAYA

I have a scar on my tongue. And it’s not from a piercing either. See? 

(She sticks her tongue out.)

Pretty cool, huh? I always win the I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours contest. Gall bladder surgery? Meh. Appendix scars? Seen ‘em. One time Jordan Powani showed me the scar from when he fell off his bike. Twenty-eight stitches to his head, which was pretty cool, because it created this funky part in his hair when it healed. But he was a dorkburger for riding without his helmet and now he’s not quite right in the head. So I win, again!

Well, sort of. I don’t have the greatest relationship with knives, you know? My mom even says I get quiet around them. It’s true. Like, have you ever had something pokey pointing right at your head? Like when you’re talking to someone and there’s the tip of a branch handing down, kind of aimed right between the eyes, and the more you try to ignore it, the more it bores into you? I’ve always hated that, ever since…well, forever. As long as I can remember. It kind of gives me a headache and then I just…stop paying attention, like the world just…goes away.

(She laughs.)

Woooo! Sounds crazy, right? My dad says I talk too much which is why the knife got my tongue.

When I first showed Sofia, she imagined I was an audience volunteer at a knife-throwing exhibition. That I stood there bravely with a cherry hanging out on the end of my tongue when the knife flew by, grazing my tongue as it pierced the cherry. She’s imaginative.

Kadin says I must have been eating an apple with a knife, the way people slice it and bring the the knife up to the mouth with it. ‘Cause that’s what he does. Kadin’s not so imaginative. And he’s a bit of a narcissist. 

So…let’s say you’re a surgeon, and you were out late the night before, had a bit too much—You can already see where this going, right? Yeah, but wait. It gets better. Because you’re not just any surgeon. You’re a friggin’ obstetrician and you’re called in to perform a Cesarean on a mother. And whoops!, you accidentally cut too deep. And the baby who hasn’t even been born yet, who hasn’t had her first fight, who’s never been to battle or had enough Hot Pockets to even cause her to need her gall bladder out, has already been scarred for life! Talk about wicked intense, am I right? I mean birth is painful enough on its own, right? Like who wants to be born, anyway, when she’s got her own warm, cozy get-down lounge and not a care in the world, getting fed without even needing to open her mouth.

Except it was. Open. My mouth, that is. Bummer for me. Dad says I’ve been a loud mouth since before I was born and always will be. But that’s not true. 

Like right now, I’m not saying a word. Kadin—the guy with the knife and the apple, he’s got the room across the hall?—he’s doing all the talking. Between the slicing and the eating, it’s all him. Blah blah blah.

I just wish he’d put the knife away. He knows what they do to me. But he says I could use a little desensitization therapy. So he’s talking about…something…who knows?, he’s a bit of a flirt and every other word out of his apple-filled mouth is about what chicks want. And he’s eating and gesturing with the knife. And every time he gestures, the tip points at some place on my body, like my belly, or my heart, or my throat. Or it feels like it’s hovering in front of my face or my forehead. And without it even touching me, the energy starts boring into me. And that’s when I get the headache.

You know, it’s not my fault. Just recently I was visiting my parents and I came across the insurance bill from my C-section and that loser of a surgeon got an extra 5 Gs for stitching my tongue back up. But I was the inconvenience because he didn’t get to go home right away and sleep off his bender. And Dad was all, “Mistakes happen,” and he was looking right at me, like I was the one who made the mistake.

But Kadin’s all right. He’s just goofy, sort of, ‘cause he’s feeding me pieces of apple to make my headache go away. Except he cuts the piece off and the knife’s still in his hand when it brings the apple to my mouth. The apple is bitter. It tastes bitter. What kind of apple is bitter?

I wish I could be more like Sofia. She’s strong, you know? And she doesn’t shut up when guys talk at her. Yeah, no. Guys don’t mess with her.

But the headache is gone—That’s good, right?—and so is the rest of the world. Gone, that is. The lights go out. I have a vague sense of pressure, a loud beating in my head. I can’t move or speak. This must be what it’s like inside the womb. That’s it. I’m back in the womb and the last thing I want is to leave. You know? The out there should stay that way.

But then there’s the force, the push, the pounding, the pain. Over and over again, it just doesn’t stop. I guess no one can stay in the womb forever. Oh, I’m not complaining. I’m not really the loud-mouth my father says I am. And there’s already one scar there, so why risk another? You know? Like, why would I open my mouth again? Why get caught speaking of just deserts, like before, like Dad says I did? All those unreasonable wishes I ever had are…somewhere, but they’re not on these lips.

And now the life cuts through to me. The light is a glaring fluorescent. And my lips are shut.

(As LANAYA finishes her speech, she closes her eyes and is bathed in a blinding, stark white light from over head.)

(Quick to BLACK.)

(End of Play).