Spanglish

Me dices

“You can’t be Latino. You’re black.”

Y también

“You speak Spanish like you’re Mexican but your hair is course like you’re African.”

Somehow you thought that was okay

And even though I know ignorance is an American luxury

your insults are perverting my history.

My complexion cannot dictate what my veins know as tradition.

 

I am Boleros, Rancheros, and reggae

From salsa and punta and rice and beans

Mothers dancing, always cooking, kitchen somehow always kept clean

yelling  confusion, wishing so hard

even our dreams leak out the words onto our pillows

Worlds apart from the cities we’ve seen

Still trying to speak the language, still trying to hold onto our heritage

Back to a place where magical realism is more than just a genre

Because magic is a part of our religion y en mi sangre

 

I am from fights off into the distant night

Breakdowns into the sharp sunrise over words like “beaner” and wetback”

Haunted delusions of dehydration and desperation

There’s gotta be something better than this,

There’s gotta be something better than this

Just struggling to stay alive, struggling to not die

In a desert where no one knows your name, absolutely no one cares

 

I am from loud music and bass in the streets

Just to chase away the ghostly memories of everything we sacrificed

everyone we lost

I come from hiding under the bed and running off into my mind

Just to escape the manic depressive seduction of the time

From soccer balls racing through rain drops

And completely bare feet

to the anthem on constant repeat: A lo hecho, pecho.

 

So yes, I am mixed but don’t think because you only see half of me

that that must be all of me

that my skin color and facial structure can hold within them our legacy

because the other half of me is all that I know

and precisely what I’m made of.

This is what I believe in

You asked me once if I believe in God and which one

And I sat for hours, my mind leaking over pages

until suddenly

the ink bled into the center:

 

I don’t believe in a God that’s just

Because my heart and my mind have grown up too much for that

I’ve seen the darkest corners of desires explode out

into an empty universe

only to splatter across the sky and paint the stars

Broken fragments of the way things once were

wandering around as I’m wondering had life been kinder

then perhaps I’d be wiser

 

But I do believe in a God that listens

that kneels down and breathes us in

and maybe perhaps can’t reach down and change us

but can at least reach down and lift us –

gently—

from underneath the shadows of our demons

that haunt us, that have stained us.

 

I don’t believe in a God that’s omnipotent

Because power can transform and corrupt even the heavens

blurring out into some amoral sense of protection, of liberty

of the vague of idea that keeping me ignorant will keep me safe

as if somehow education and reason are the poison

and ignorance is the cure

as if knowing that something exists only within my mind

is the same as not existing

 

But I do believe in a God that’s an infinite

that can span across the thousand little atoms within me

that can guide me

A God who’s not afraid to admit she can be wrong

that mistakes have been made and is ready to remedy it

ready to face it.

I believe in God that points but doesn’t push

that trusts but doesn’t force

that knows pain and all that lives within it

A God that doesn’t interfere but could paste together this jigsaw of me

until every tiny piece resonates in harmony.

 

This is what I believe in.

Superman

The love of my life has a Superman complex

Which, let’s face it, in the beginning is kinda sexy

And I was dying, literally dying, to be saved.

 

So he broke me in and house-trained me

Taught me how to be docile and static

Shook out the wild and the reckless.

Ironing out my bipolar with patience

Chasing away the manic,

Leaving just the shell.

 

And maybe that’s when we broke down

 

Because what happens when there’s nothing left to save?

Nothing left to chase and heal?

For once I’m breathing completely

But now he’s broken

And waiting

For the fall in the distance

For my skin to re-open

For someone to break

And that someone needs to be me.

 

We spend our nights just staring, waiting for some spark

No—not a spark—

For the chase

To kick-start us back to life

Because  while I’m deflating,

His heart’s slowly decaying.

 

The savior’s high electrified him

But the crash is killing him.

Gross

So, how much blood is too much blood?

Because when I got my period for the first time

I thought my insides had collapsed

That my heart had had enough and was taking me out with it.

 

And the first time I had sex, it was like my period

Times ten

Unable to fight it, unable to break off, to get out free

Still being whole and me

And even drop of blood that washed away with the sheets

Took tiny pieces of me with it

 

Which inevitably led to the first cut,

The first time I took my body back

The control of knowing everything that seeped out

Was truly and only because of me

Because I wanted this, I deserved this, I needed this

And not a goddamn thing was going to stop me.

 

Finally I felt alive as I dripped all over the kitchen floor

That sound, the pulse, the vivacity awakened in me

Was sexy. I was me. I was anything I wanted to be

Every drop electrocuted control into my veins, into my stream

Building up a wall of impenetrable confidence

Of security, of unstoppable arrogance

 

That same arrogance that crashed me into you.

 

And together we commanded the skies

Everything below and above it

Our yells would echo across the night sky

Flashing red as the earth shook

The thunder inside of our hearts bled into the rain

Passion storming out all over the ground and its circuits

Shooting that energy right back into us

Creating a cadence that drove us wild, drove us in and out of madness

 

Compulsions so strong inside of us that our only release

Was with force, abuse bouncing back and forth between us

It was the only way for you to sneak in, the only way for me to break down

Break from the control I had grown to love

Break from the safety of solitude behind my thousand feet wall

 

So I ask again

How much blood is too much?

 

Because as I walk into the next piece,

The next attempt of finding myself

Without losing, without falling, without leaking

 

As I leave behind you and all you were—

All that we were—

 

I search for this famed peace, this infamous serenity

That comes with knowing better, with walking on

With breathing without collapsing

Control without crimson edges and

Being without bleeding.

the sea

The Sea

I remember the sea

But I can’t remember much else.

 

I remember-

 

The rushing flow piercing my skin

As the vultures mark their newest prey

 

The quiet subtle passing breeze

Abandoning me for another tide, just another ride

 

The humble ticking destruction within the crash

Tucked neatly between the lines

 

The roaring, impulsive waves of my intuition

Begging for the abolition of my guilty conscience

 

The warm and bitter sand under my dementia

Hiding silently in the shadows of my delirium

 

The sweet, salty taste of the immersion

Only to resurface alone–suffocating

 

The steady drowning in the green acid

Believing I’d never breathe again

 

 

But, as I stand at the highest peak of forgiveness

Trembling under this new light

While the angels sing of my sudden salvation

I understand my sacrifice, your simple demise.

I understand my compromise.

 

So while I remember the sea

I refuse to remember much else.

self-defintion

Self-Definition

Sleep:

Struggling to breathe with closed eyes and loud silence.

 

Desperate:

Foolishly, selfishly waiting for the change a long time coming

 

Confusion:

Wanting to fly but recklessly cutting my wings

 

Delusion:

Believing love is not make believe

 

Pain:

Please. No. Not tonight.

 

Alcohol:

Simple sedation of this mental intermission.

 

Cigarettes:

Crazed and hopeless addiction to flashing lights and crowded smoke

 

Paradox:

Lost in the darkness and trapped within the light

 

Broken:

Incomplete and scarred, searching for the heaven of which you speak

 

Lost:

Crawling, limping, climbing, running, wandering but not moving an inch

 

Help:

Screaming, yelling, dying, lying, trying, falling and not even making a sound

 

And with these words,

I define myself.

on happiness

Sorry for the long delay. We’re currently working on some issues with updating. From here on out, we will update with a new post once a week.

Here’s a one act with the theme of happiness.

 

The Actors 2m, 2f

There are four actors in the show: two female and two male. They should all be wearing the same thing and able to approach each of the monologues differently. Every monologue is the introduction of a new “character.” It up to the actors and/or director how the monologues are divided.

 

Actors should be able to dance or at the very least be capable of moving stylistically.

At least one of the actors should be able to play the cello and a separate actor for the violin.

 

 

The Setting

The play takes place on a street of any city. This moment happens right before sunrise.

 

 

The Play

This play does not tell one story. It tells many stories.

This play does not build to a dramatic climax. Every moment is the climax.

This play does not have a protagonist or antagonist. It simply has people.

This play does not try to change you. It simply tells the truth.

 

 

Note

All of the monologues in this play have come directly from interviews I have held. Although some parts may be shortened, this is what people said verbatim in stream of conscious. People say beautiful things when they let their hearts speak. Thank you so much to everyone who helped with the interview process.

 

Lights rise to show we are moments before sunrise. We

                        hear birds and other animals depending on the city

                        preparing for a new day. Four people wandering the

                        streets, perhaps coming from a bar, perhaps from a

                        rough night of work, perhaps just for a late night walk.

                        They may or may not interact with each other. One of

                        the actors steps forward.

 

1

Happiness is defined as a state of well-being and contentment. Joy. Felicity. Aptness.

 

Another actor steps forward.

 

2

I think it’s more complicated than that.

 

The two notice each other for a brief moment.  After a

                        few awkward beats, one of the actors shrugs and walks away

                        and continues wandering around the space. A new actor steps

                        forward.

 

3

I define happiness as the universe finally aligning with what I want.

 

The final actor steps forward. The other actors freeze

as son as this actor speaks.

 

4

I think happiness is hard to define simply. it’s just being able to know that you’re where you’re supposed to be in that moment.

 

Two of the actors begin to dance together. The

                        remaining actor stays frozen.

 

And knowing that you’re living the life you want to be living. If that makes sense. In order to determine that you’re happy I would say it’s something you know. You can’t help that bottle of happy energy from blowing up inside of you. It’s like this uncontrollable thing. It manifests itself.

 

At “manifest itself,” the fourth actor gets up and is

hit by uncontrollable ecstasy. This infects the other

 two dancing actors. The dance moves from ecstatic

 to hectic. And scary.

 

Um, I don’t really think, well I know I’m not happy. I feel like there’s too much up in the air in my life right now and I don’t have my feet on the ground and I don’t have anything to cling to. And that’s just far too stressful to even entertain the notion of being happy. I don’t consider that a bad thing because happiness…it’s special.

 

The other actors stop moving suddenly. One of the

 actors sits out. The other two embrace each other

and begin to dance as though they are in an old black

 and white movie dancing in the streets.

 

It doesn’t come around all the time.  Because then it’s just being. You wouldn’t be happy. You’d just be. I’m perfectly content living for those little moments of happiness intermixed with all the bullshit. I don’t think people who are depressed can’t be happy. I’ve had problems with depression growing up. To be able to define happiness in day to day life, it’s a lot harder. But there are still those moments that shine through the darkness.

 

The actor steps back and the other dancing actors,

stop. The actors move around the space except for

the actor who sat out the final moments of the last

monologue. That actor steps forward.

 

5

I am happy right now. But good and bad come in cycles. Happiness. Discontent. That’s the way of the world. You’re never supposed to be too far from either. I’m a little close to happy but it’s been a good week. Last week I was stressed.

 

Two of the actors upstage pantomime the following

                        fight described.

 

My roommates were upset with me. I was leaving the house a mess. My girl roommate she has a boyfriend now who she’s been having a lot of sex with so she needs to throw her problems on someone else. But when we talk we’re okay. It’s only recently that we’ve fallen out of being happy.

 

The fight ends and the actors return to wandering

                        the space. One of the actors wanders towards a violin.

                        Another towards a cello. The other wandering actor

                        dances to the music as the speaking actor talks rhythmically.

 

I have an optimistic outlook on life. I’m a big fan of fake it until you make it. If you smile, you can trick your body into being happy. Kind of like acting. If I say the right thing in the right phrase, then I’ll believe it.

 

Beat. The music stops. Everyone on stage considers this.

                        The actors shrug it off and continue.

 

In Spanish, the word for happy is contenta. Content. That’s beautiful isn’t it? You can be happy and you can still yearn. You can be happy where you are and still want things. I was depressed once where I was.

 

The music slows down.

 

Where I was, the people I was around, I felt like a dark hole in the ground. All black except for one spec of hope.

 

The actor speaking notices for the first time

                        the music has slowed down. (S)He turns to the

                        musicians and shakes her head. Without speaking

                        (s)he get them to speed the music back up to normal.

 

You can tell people you’re depressed but what are they going to do? You have to pull yourself out of it.

 

All of the actors except for one fall to the ground

                        and look up at the sky.

 

6

Happiness is a situational thing. This outside force. Like birthday cakes make me happy. There’s a big difference between joy and happiness. I think joy is something abiding and beyond circumstance. If you’re caught in a windstorm and you’re freezing to death, you may not be happy about it. But you’re still joyful. Joy is a much grander thing to strive for and to achieve. I don’t think we as people are designed or created to sustain happiness because we don’t have control over our situations. Things don’t last. A greater thing to strive for is joy. For joy, you have to rely on something constant or non-changing. Some people find it in beauty.

 

One of the actors lying down rises stylistically

                        and tries to pull down the stars. At first it’s beautiful

                        but slowly becomes heartbreaking as the task becomes

                        more impossible.

 

But even that’s fleeting. Something that’s like “even though it sucks, at least I’m…” For me, I’m a Christian so I trust in Jesus and Jesus is my constant. Am I happy now? Yeah. Things are going well. But also my joy reservoir is very deep. It’s kinda like joy is a deep well.

 

The actor reaching for the stars stops. The other actors

                        slowly get up and begin to search the stage. Each of them

                        find their own space and begin to dig.

 

Despite the weather and the situations, the deeper your well is the better chance you still have water. No matter how bad the drought is. Joy comes from suffering.

 

For actors digging, it gets harder and harder to

                        keep digging.

 

That you’re able to dig that well deep even though the process of digging is really painful. But when rain comes—

 

Beat. The actors stop digging and look up at the sky.

 

When rain comes, you’re more full. And when bad times come, you still have something to hold on to.

 

The sound of rain is heard as the actors shake off

                        that last story. They move through the space getting

                        more restless. Each of the actors end up on different

                        sides of the stage.

 

7

I’m happy off and on. If I had a checklist for my own happiness, it involves enjoying my current endeavors, having awesome friends, and having a good handle on my future. People who are depressed, simply put, are unhappy. That doesn’t mean they don’t have the tools to be happy. It’s just…a skewed perspective or something or maybe even just another person blocking them from their happiness.

 

The actors all move away from their corners one

                        at a time until they are center sitting in a circle

                        around the actor who speaks next.

 

8

(as though he or she is a camp counselor)

I think that happiness can be defined as being secure within yourself and your values. And content with holding onto those values. So many people I know are so hungry and so desperate for something.

 

The actors tumble away at “desperate” and move           

                        like restless sleepers, each one battling their own

                        unique nightmare.

 

They don’t really stick true to their values. They try to change who they are just to feel like they’ve achieved something. Happiness is being very present and owning whoever and whatever you stand for. I think that people who have been diagnosed with depression—it’s not that they don’t know how to be happy. It’s that they aren’t content quite yet. They feel like they are missing out on something or someone. A lot of people who are depressed feel emptiness because they have given up who they are.

 

At “who they are” the other actors wake up abruptly

                        and begin to shake off their nightmares, slowly rising.

 

If there is a checklist, my checklist is Have I given up anything of myself? Have I changed myself? Did I change for the good? Do I feel secure? I know what I want in life. And I know what I deserve.

 

The actors, now fully risen, yawn. They all step back

                        together in a line. One falls asleep on the other. They

                        are disturbed and wake up. After a beat or two, one of the

                        actors goes to get the violin. Another actor steps forward.

 

9

Happiness is knowing that there’s good stuff. And there’s bad stuff. Accepting that there’s bad stuff but holding out for the good stuff. Knowing that we may be at a bad point but we can get back to that good stuff. So, by that definition, I am pretty happy. I mean there’s a lot of bad stuff happening right now.

 

            The music speeds up and the other actors begin to dance.

 

But I know I can get back in a good place. Depression’s not as simple as getting happy. It’s kind of…I don’t know. Holding someone makes me happy.

 

The two dancers embrace.

 

But I don’t need that to be happy. Does that make sense?

 

The music stops. The speaking actor sits down and plays

                        with his or her phone. The two actors embracing hold it. The

                        actor who was playing the violin puts the violin away and

                        looks at the two actors embracing for a beat or two and then

                        steps forward. Once the actor steps forward, the two embracing

                        actors separate. One pulls out a book. The other a mirror.

 

10

Am I happy? God. I hope I am. I’m happy right now at least. I’m healthy, you know? And that’s exciting. I don’t exactly look the way I want to but I’m happy with what I’ve got. Who really cares anyways?

 

The actor with the mirror sets the mirror down and

                        looks at the speaking actor attentively.

 

I’m in love. So that’s nice, I guess. I’m not really the falling in love type. I used to read all those Russian love stories and I gotta say Anna Karenina has ruined me for life when it comes to how I feel about love.

 

The actor with the book literally throws the book

                        down and pulls out a piece of paper and pen.

 

So I’m not exactly getting my unrequited, undying, total insanity kind of love. Which ironically in the long run makes me happy. Most days I think yeah this is the person I can marry. Other days I plan out my escape. Drawing maps and looking up airline tickets. That’s love. Or at least for me. Sorry. I’m off topic. Am I happy? I think happy’s a state of being. It’s essentially who you are.  I don’t think I’m morbid. I’m technically bipolar. So I guess I’m more than happy. I’m manic.

 

The actor with the cell phone looks to see if it’s time

                        to go. It’s not. The actor returns to the cell phone.

 

I’ve spent so much of my time in and out of therapy. On this pill and then on that one. And I’m done with it. If I’m not cutting and I’m not thinking about cutting, then I’m happy.

 

                        The other actors pull out their cell phones. It

                        becomes clear they are waiting to be called on.

                        A voice over comes on and says “We’re ready for

                        you now.” The actors look up, put their cell phones away

                        and look up. They shake their heads.

 

11

(all of the actors in unison)

No. Not today.

 

The lights change to show the sun is starting to rise.

                        The actors move to separate sides of the stage moving.

                        One actor gets the violin and another actor gets the

                        cello. The two remaining actors dance. The actor playing

                        the violin steps forward. The actor playing the cello

                        continues to play. The other two actors stare into the

                        audience, focused and still. The only movement is watching

                        them breathe.

 

12

Am I happy? Yeah! I am very happy. I am doing what I want to be doing all day long and all night long. The minutes of my day are spent doing things wisely. And if I die tomorrow, today would have been a worthwhile day. Everyday. I am living life. What my life is right now, I don’t know how anything will ever compare. I feel so fulfilled. I think this may be the most fulfilled I have ever felt in my life.

 

The two actors who have been still begin to move around the

                        space dancing to the music. In the dance one of the actors should

                        try to slowly catch the other actor, who is running away, afraid.

 

In college, I was pretty miserable. I think it’s because I didn’t have my calling. I didn’t know who I was. I knew but I was afraid to do it. It was buried very deeply in me that I was an artist.

 

The actor finally catches the one running away. Together, they

                        stylistically and beautiful fall to the ground. They got into

                        a resting position in yoga. And then slowly go into downward

                        facing dog.

 

I also feel like I just really, really now believe in the power of positive thinking. And meditation. And manifesting what I want. And thoughts become things. And the only reason I believe in it is because it just keeps happening. If I concentrate on something long enough, I will get it. I know what I want and I can visualize it.

 

The moving actors transition into another yoga position.

                        The cello still plays.

 

Now that being said I don’t have everything I want and need but I feel like seventy five percent of my life is what I want and need. But I also had to work for it. There is happiness and satisfaction in I worked for this. I deserve this.

 

The actors doing yoga stop and move around the stage trying

                        to hide. At “justified” one of them dies. At “country” the other

                        one dies. At “tomorrow” the cello stops.

 

And so when I think about depressed people…well there’s depression that’s justified. Like your family is in a war-torn country and they may all be dead tomorrow. And there’s the depression that’s defined by our contemporary society that is created out of images in the media.

 

The actor who was playing the cello slides down to the

                        floor in between the “dead” actors and rolls over to them

                        to wake them up. They don’t wake up but the actor keeps

                        trying.

 

And images and thoughts about what success means. And a particular American quality of not being present and reaching out for things that aren’t instead of just living your life.

 

The actor who was trying to wake up the other actors

                        gives up. (S)he stands up and stares into the audience

                        broken but, again, very still.

 

I don’t know. A lot of things started to change for me when I started doing yoga.

 

The actor begins to go in “Sun’s Salute” in yoga.

 

And meditate which is just being present. To me the solution is not Prozac but rather reflection, solitude, and self-care.

 

The other actor join the actor doing yoga. This goes on for

                        a beat or two. They finish and one actor steps forward. The

                        others play tag.

 

13

I heard it said once that happiness depends on where you happen to be and so it’s very fleeting in that it’s in the moment. Happiness…a lot of people seem to talk about “are you happy?” “Oh, I’m so happy.” It seems like a fluffy word. I don’t understand what brings it a lot of weight. I think other words help to better deepen it.

 

The actors stop playing tag and get lost.

 

Everybody takes the word happy and they take it all different directions. It’s sort of a happenstance thing. I consider myself…I have a cheerful disposition naturally. I think it’s a choice to be happy.

 

They became okay with being lost and decide to

                        just live in the moment.

 

Some people have an easier time with it. Whether or not they are going to cling to that joy. Day to day. Moment to moment. The way I am wired, it’s easier for me. But my brother for instance he’s much more prone towards negativity.

 

One of the actors moves away and become sad,

                        suddenly.

 

And this is the way my mom is wired too. My brother doesn’t take medication. He found other ways. I think that it’s…wow this is a big issue. I feel like if you’ve got your moral code in place and it’s something that you stick by and cling to and you know that you’re confident that you’re making good decisions, then that can help you cling to joyful thoughts. Because you can be confident while you’re doing it.

 

The other actors leave the stage except for the one

                        speaking and the one who separated himself/herself.

                        The “isolated” actor looks around and just decides to

                        be happy throughout the final moments of the monologue.

 

To answer the question, yes I am happy. But that’s a decision I have to make daily. I think the main thing that keeps me happy is knowing what is true and I know what is actually truly reality. If I cling to that, I know…ultimately there is nothing wrong. Just because I am on my own, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong. Because I can be strong by myself.

 

The speaking actor leaves the stage and the isolated

                        actor speaks.

 

14

I don’t think there is a constant state of happiness. I probably believe in virtue of being human that one is immediately destined for a sense of incompletion and yearning and loss. And almost by default one is not going to be happy. Having said that, I think there are momentary flashes of happiness.

 

The other actors come back on stage at “momentary.”

                        Although there is no music heard, they begin to dance

                        a spontaneous and constantly changing dance that

                        ranges from happy to sad to deranged to broken to

                        complete.

 

I think that where I am in my life is that there is a trap in setting externals to happiness. Anything external is pretty much guaranteed to keep one in a constant state of disconsolation. I feel pretty much that there is something to a Buddhist remove or a little bit of a withdrawal. Which in some ways is paradoxical in that you can’t allow determining factors. I believe that there is a place a person can go where there is an evenness regarding various things that happen out there which ironically can allow for a much fuller engagement with people and things. And eating and breathing in the world.

 

The actors stop moving and all except one sit down on stage.

                        They each take a deep breath and (except for that one actor)

                        collapse. The one standing actor steps forward.

15

I have been one of those people who is genetically inclined towards happiness. So much so that when my husband met me and heard things about me, he thought surely this could not be true, that I was literally as happy and as unfucked up as I seem.

 

The collapsed actors sit up.

 

Given that I’ve had this feeling all my life about happiness, I have also felt naturally the things that would make me happy and just went towards them. And that’s possibly my biggest talent in life.

 

Together the actors stand.

 

It includes close relationships and pets and friendship and really good coffee.

 

The other actors meet together.

 

And I have this huge community, which turns out to be called theatre, where I would have nothing but closeness. There is one thing that has happened in my life and that has come close to threatening my happiness. And it has been a really interesting struggle for me how to balance maintaining my happiness with feeling the way that I do about this issue.

 

One of the actors in the embrace starts to fall

                        but the other two catch him/her.

 

Which is I got sick four years ago. It was caught early and the best possible case. But then we learned it’s genetic.

 

The “falling” actor struggles to stand on his/her

                        own. There is a struggle while the others try to help.

 

And so there’s this threat hanging over my head. And it’s just…there’s a lot of likelihood that it could happen again. And for the first time in my life I could feel robbed of that happiness.

 

The actor, with help, can finally stand on his/her own.

 

But lately it’s all the same definitions are true for me but to live in the moment, truly in the moment, to be present with the person in front of me, that is happy. Being present and living for the moment, not because I am afraid I am going to die, but because worry rob you of that. Happy is like screw you worried. You have no part in my life.

 

All of the actors speak in unison to say

 

16

Screw you worried!

 

                        The lights change to show that it is getting closer

                        to sunrise. The actors all suddenly become aware of

                        the time and start to think about heading home. Instead

                        they decide to stay for a moment longer and dance as though

                        it’s the last dance before the club closes.

 

17

When I was younger, my mom said I was just naturally happy. That I never cried. And I was always dancing. And singing. And just being happy. But then one day, that just went away.

 

The other actors freeze.

 

She said she didn’t know what it was but something in me just snapped. Well, it’s because I was molested. A few times. And it just kept happening. When I got to high school, I thought it’d stop but it didn’t. I was raped in high school. And I just got so…depressed. Everything in the world just stopped.

 

As if discovering their bodies for the first time

                        the actors slowly start to move.

 

But one day I just…I just didn’t want to be so sad anymore. I wanted to just…forget. And then eventually I wanted to heal. And it took work. And I had to fight. Suicide was so, so tempting but I kept fighting and fighting and fighting. And eventually I started to fight to be happy.

 

The actors begin to hum in harmony. It could be

                        any song as long as it fits with the moment.

 

So am I happy? Hell yes I am. And I will fight until my heart gives out. Because at the end of every day, there’s a brand new one waiting. At the end of every awful night, almost suddenly it’s sunrise.

 

The lights change to show it is sunrise. The actors

                        all look up at it and take it in. One by one they go

                        to where they are supposed to go. One by one they

                        all exit.

 

                        End Play.

 

 

 

 

Happy Pills

CHARACTERS, 3f

 

CELESTE, 25, writer

PSYCHIATRIST, 38

HELENE, 28, painter

 

 

 

 

SETTING

Seatle, Washington. Present Day.

 

Scene one takes place in a closet.

Scene two takes place in CELESTE and HELENE’s kitchen.

 

 

Scene One. Lights rise on psychiatrist who sits in the

                        closet taking notes. After a beat, CELESTE enters.

                        There should be clothes everywhere and anything else

                        you might find in a closet.  

 

CELESTE

Before you even ask, I took my happy pills today.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

I was going to ask how you were feeling.

 

CELESTE

I’m not supposed to be feeling anything. Isn’t that the point?

 

CELESTE sits down in the chair and takes out a

                        package of gummy bears.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

They say smokers need to do something with their hands.

 

CELESTE

Ex-smokers.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

What did you do today?

 

CELESTE

The usual. Sat on my balcony. Dreaded coming here. Then got in the car anyways.

 

Beat.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Do I smell alcohol?

 

CELESTE

Ten points for Hufflepuff.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Harry Potter’s not real.

 

CELESTE

Yes. I know that.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Are you sure?

 

 

CELESTE

I’m not schizophrenic.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

How’s the medication treating you?

 

CELESTE

The way it’s supposed to.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Do you need a higher dosage?

 

CELESTE

No.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Do you want a lower one?

 

CELESTE

I want to feel something. Anything. I want to want something again.

 

Beat.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

We’ve known each other a long time.

 

CELESTE

Ten years.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Do you remember why?

 

CELESTE

My mother thought I was trying to kill myself.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Celeste.

 

CELESTE

I don’t want to talk about it.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

We have to.

 

CELESTE

I had cut myself. A lot.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Because?

 

CELESTE

Don’t.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Because you thought you Hogwarts letter had come and you couldn’t find it.

 

CELESTE

I saw that owl.

 

PSYCHIATRIST starts scribbling some things down.

                       

 

PSYCHIATRIST

And lately, have you seen any owls?

 

CELESTE

No. I obviously haven’t.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Obviously? Why obviously?

 

CELESTE

I saw a little boy almost get hit by a car. The car slammed on its breaks and then swerved into a light pole. I stayed and called the police but—

 

PYCHIATRIST

That didn’t happen, Celeste.

 

CELESTE

Yes it did!

 

PSYCHIATRIST

When you called the police, there was no boy. No car. Just you. Crying on the sidewalk.

 

CELESTE

That’s not true.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Celeste. You’re stronger than this. You have to—you say you want to feel something.

 

CELESTE

I do. And with these pills, I just feel—

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Celeste. I know you stopped taking your pills months ago.

 

CELESTE

That’s not true.

 

PYCHIATRIST

Celeste. I know you.

 

CELESTE

No one knows me.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Get back on your pills, Celeste.

 

Beat.

 

CELESTE

No.

 

PSYCHIATRIST

Celeste.

 

CELESTE

(yelling)

I’m fine!

 

 

Blackout.

 

 

                        scene ii. HELENE is sitting at the kitchen, table,

                        crying. CELESTE enters and pours herself a cup of

                        coffee. Seeing CELESTE, HELENE wipes her tears

                        and gets up to start making breakfast.

 

HELENE

How was your morning?

 

CELESTE

Fine.

 

HELENE

Good.

 

CELESTE

What are you making?

 

HELENE

Pancakes.

 

CELESTE

Wheat, right?

 

HELENE

Yes dear.

 

Beat.

 

CELESTE

Are you going into the studio today?

 

HELENE

No.

 

CELESTE

Oh. But there are bags by the door.

 

HELENE

I know.

 

CELESTE

Are you going to visit your mother?

 

 

 

HELENE

No.

 

CELESTE

Are you making blueberry wheat pancakes? Like you did yesterday?

 

HELENE

We’re out of blueberries.

 

CELESTE

Oh.

 

Beat. HELENE has to fight back more tears.

 

HELENE

I have to tell you something.

 

CELESTE

Can we just pretend like you already did?

 

HELENE

No.

 

CELESTE

What painting are you working on?

 

HELENE

Celeste. Please don’t.

 

CELESTE

Don’t what?

 

HELENE

I’m leaving.

 

Beat.

 

CELESTE

Do you have to?

 

HELENE

Yes. I have to.

 

CELESTE

But I love you.

 

HELENE

I know. I love you too.

 

HELENE stops cooking and wipes away her tears.

 

HELENE (cont)

You were in the closet. Again. This morning.

 

CELESTE

No. I went to the psychiatrist’s office this morning. Like you asked me to.

 

HELENE

No. Honey, you just went in the closet. You didn’t even—

 

HELENE turns back to the stove. She is trying to gather

                        herself.

 

HELENE (cont)

You didn’t even change out of your pajamas. Don’t you think it’s weird that you went to see a psychiatrist in your pjs?

 

CELESTE

No. We’re close.

 

HELENE

I can’t do this anymore, Celeste. I—just can’t. I don’t know why you stopped or what made you want—I’m leaving. And I called your mother. She should be here soon.

 

CELESTE

Why did you call her?

 

HELENE

What else was I supposed to do?

 

Beat.

 

CELESTE

You don’t know what it’s like for me.

 

HELENE

I was just about to say the same thing.

 

CELESTE

The world I live…the things I get to see. The things I get to be a part of. Why do you want to take that from me?

 

HELENE

Because it’s not real.

 

CELESTE

And why do you get to define what’s real and what isn’t?

 

HELENE

Real. As in it happened. The things you’ve supposedly seen have not happened.

 

CELESTE

That doesn’t make them not real.

 

Beat.

 

HELENE

You need to go back on your medication.

 

CELESTE

I can’t.

 

HELENE

Then I can’t stay.

 

CELESTE

I forget how to breathe on those things.

 

HELENE

Then maybe we could try a different kind.

 

CELESTE

No. I can’t go back to that world.

 

HELENE

What? The real one?

 

CELESTE

My world’s just as real as yours.

 

Beat.

 

HELENE

Please. We could find a therapist in town. Maybe someone with natural remedies so you don’t have to go back to the happy pills. We could—

 

CELESTE

Do you know why I used to call them happy pills?

 

HELENE

I—I thought it was because they made you happy.

 

CELESTE

No. They made everyone else happy. They made me feel—scattered. Like someone was trying to rearrange all these little broken pieces that used to be me. But that person wasn’t putting them back in the right place. So instead of healing and being happy, I was just a bunch of shards that don’t fit together.

 

HELENE

You should write that down.

 

CELESTE

Where? In my crazy journal?

 

Beat.

 

HELENE

What if we could find pills that made you happy?

 

CELESTE

Helene, some people are just meant to stay broken. I am meant to stay broken. I’m happier this way. I’m a writer. Hand me those pills and all of my emotions, all of my everything just goes—

 

HELENE

Do not give me that artistic crap. I’m an artist just like you. And I don’t need to see people who aren’t there to create a beautiful painting.

 

CELESTE

Well I’m happy sanity works so well for you.

 

HELENE

It works so well for everyone! One of these days, you’re going to walk into a fucking busy street thinking it’s the ocean and you know what’s going to happen. A very real, very fast car is going to hit you. And kill you. And then what? What will I have then?

 

CELESTE

Well apparently, you’ll have everything. You’re leaving.

 

HELENE

I don’t want to go.

 

CELESTE

Then don’t go.

 

HELENE

I can’t live this way.

 

CELESTE

I won’t beg you to stay.

 

The pancakes are finished. HELENE puts two in front

                        of CELESTE and takes two for herself.

 

HELENE

There’s help out there.

 

CELESTE

I told you. I’m already talking to a psychiatrist and I like the one I have.

 

HELENE

The one you have isn’t real.

 

CELESTE

I don’t care.

 

Silence as they eat their pancakes. After a beat or           

                        two, HELENE sets down her fork.

 

HELENE

When I met you, you were—brilliant. One of the best writers I had ever—met. And you were stunning. And quick on your feet. And everything I thought I wanted to be. But what is the point of being that person only one fourth of the time?

 

CELESTE

I know my demons. I know them by name. . I’m me all the time. It’s just that the version of me that you fell in love with is only around one fourth of the time.

 

Beat. HELENE kisses CELESTE on the forehead.

 

HELENE

Goodbye, Celeste.

 

HELENE leaves. END OF PLAY.

 

Mad Girl Underground

Here’s the one-act Mad Girl Underground by Rachel Washington

 

CHARACTERS 3f, 1m

 

IZZY (short for Isabel), 21, Black

 

BURKE (real name is Arlene Burke), 22, IZZY’s roommate, half Mexican, half White

 

IAN, 21, IZZY’s “friend”, White

 

GIRL, 20, White

 

 

 

 

SETTING

Time is present day. The play takes place in IZZY’s apartment.

 

 

NOTE

All of the characters are college students. They attend University of California at Santa Barbara.

 

 

scene i. BURKE is reading the school newspaper, while IZZY sets

                        out her pills. She takes Aderol, Prozac, a daily multivitamin,

                        a diet pill, iron pills, and a Calcium Pill. As IZZY separates her

                        pills out and places them on a napkin, she sings “Hit Me With

                        Your Best Shot.” She’s not a great singer. IZZY has a black eye

                        and walks with a slight limp.

 

BURKE

(still reading)

Huh.

 

IZZY keeps singing. She takes her pills and hums as

                        she drinks water to help the pills go down.

 

BURKE (cont)

Apparently there was this major guy on campus.

 

IZZY

O-kay.

 

BURKE

He was just walking around. Some guy spotted him and asked him for an impromptu interview.

 

IZZY

Well good for that guy.

 

BURKE

His name was…Aaron Kirk. Fortune 500. Self-made man. Billionaire now.

 

IZZY

Weird.

 

BURKE

Apparently there’s this big benefit dinner somewhere in town he’s going to.

 

IZZY

Again…o-kay.

 

Beat.

 

BURKE

Can you not be home next week Thursday?

 

 

 

IZZY

Sure. You have a shipment coming in?

 

BURKE

(playfully)

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

 

IZZY

Right. Look, I’m going to go for a run pretty soon. You need me to grab anything?

 

BURKE

I don’t think so.

 

IZZY

Okay cool.

 

Beat.

 

BURKE

Wanna tell me how you got that black eye?

 

IZZY

I ran into the door.

 

BURKE

And the limp?

 

IZZY

It was a big door.

 

BURKE

Right. Did you run into this door while on business or did it just run into you?

 

IZZY

Business.

 

BURKE

Okay.

 

There’s a knock on the door. IZZY and BURKE exchange

                        a quick glance. IZZY gives the Okay with her eyes. BURKE

                        goes to get the door. While she’s gone, IZZY takes a look at

                        her leg. She pulls up her pants to reveal a big scar that’s still

                        fresh. She limps towards the table and sits down.

 

 

BURKE

(to IZZY)

La conozco?

 

IZZY

Yeah. (to GIRL) Hey. What’s up?

 

GIRL

Someone told me that I could—I really need—um—shit. I’ve never done this before. I’m a friend of Maggie’s.

 

BURKE

Which Maggie?

 

GIRL

Oh sorry. Margery Hunt.

 

IZZY

(to BURKE)

Ya te lo dije. She’s cool. How many do you need?

 

GIRL

Four.

 

IZZY

They’re twenty each.

 

GIRL

Oh—okay.

 

IZZY

Xanax right?

 

GIRL

Oh! No. Aderol.

 

BURKE

We’re out.

 

IZZY

We have Ritalin though. That okay?

 

GIRL

Yeah. That’s perfect.

 

 

BURKE

Fifteen each.

 

GIRL hands the money to BURKE. IZZY gets up to get

                        the pills.

 

GIRL

Um, don’t you guys also have—um—other stuff?

 

BURKE

Like what?

 

GIRL

I—it’s um—

 

BURKE

If you can’t say it, you won’t get it.

 

GIRL

(almost a whisper)

Weed.

 

IZZY comes back.

 

IZZY

(to BURKE)

Don’t be a dick.

 

                        IZZY hands the pills to GIRL. BURKE leaves the room.

 

GIRL

My boyfriend used to do this for me.

 

IZZY

How cute.

 

GIRL

Yeah.

 

They are in silence until BURKE comes back.

                        She drops a bag of weed on the table.

 

BURKE

That’s fifty dollars worth. Do you want more or less?

 

 

GIRL

That’s good. Thanks.

 

IZZY takes the money from GIRL. GIRL gathers her

                        stuff and leaves.

 

BURKE

Maggie’s going to get us thrown in jail.

 

IZZY

Maggie’s going to make us millionaires.

 

BURKE

Still going for that run?

 

IZZY

I guess so. Hey. Do you want pizza tonight?

 

BURKE

No. I’m going vegan for a while.

 

IZZY

Gross.

 

BURKE

Go run.

 

IZZY limps out of the room.

 

                        scene ii. BURKE is cleaning up the apartment

                        in the living room. There is another knock on the door.

                        She looks under the couch and pulls out a .45 and hides

                        it in the cloth she was using to clean the house. She opens

                        the door. IAN steps forward, barely visible to the audience.

 

IAN

Hi. I’m looking for Isabel Johnson.

 

BURKE
(not letting him in)

Why?

 

IAN

I saw her this morning in the emergency room and thought I’d check in on her.

 

BURKE

You don’t look like a doctor. Or a med student.

 

IAN

Oh. Yeah. I’m majoring in Journalism and Poli-Sci. What about you?

 

BURKE

What?

 

IAN

You got to UCSB too right?

 

BURKE

Yes.

 

IAN

What are you majoring in?

 

BURKE moves away from the door and carefully

                        pushes the gun and the cleaning cloth under the couch.

                        IAN follows her in.

 

BURKE

Lit and Business.

 

IAN

Cool. And Isabel is majoring in Socio—

 

BURKE

Izzy.

 

IAN

What?

 

BURKE

She goes by Izzy.

 

IAN

Oh. Izzy. Why Izzy?

 

BURKE shrugs.

 

IAN (cont)

Well anyways. She’s Sociology and Dance right?

 

BURKE leaves the room. IAN sits uncomfortably on

                        the couch. He takes out a piece of paper and pen.

                        IZZY returns as BURKE walks back in the living

                        room with a beer. The next lines IZZY and BURKE

                        say at the same time.

 

 

        IZZY                                                                                 BURKE

This fucking guy.                                                                       (to IAN)

Do you want a beer?

 

IAN

I don’t drink. Thanks. Hi Izzy.

 

IZZY

Hi Ian.

 

BURKE

I’m going to the balcony. Can you deal with this?

 

IZZY

Yeah. Thanks.

 

BURKE leaves.

 

IAN

Did you just come back from running or something? Shouldn’t you stay off your leg?

 

IZZY

What the fuck do you want?

 

IAN

I’m honestly kind of surprised your roommate let me in. She doesn’t seem very…friendly.

 

IZZY

I’m not asking you twice.

 

IAN

Right. I wanted to check on you.

 

IZZY

Check on me?

 

IAN

Yeah. You were bruised pretty badly.

 

IZZY

I’m fine.

 

IAN

It’s funny. Because when I left the emergency room, I ran into Aaron Kirk.

 

IZZY

Oh wonderful.

 

IAN

He even gave me an interview right there on the spot.

 

IZZY

Listen kid. We’ve got at least three different guns in this house. And Burke out there is El Águila’s daughter. So I could pretty much make sure no one found you. Ever.

 

IAN

El Águila? The drug lord?

 

IZZY says nothing but simply watches IAN intensely.

 

IAN (cont)

Right. Look. I am not afraid of you. Especially not now.

 

IZZY

Really?

 

Beat.

 

 

IAN

I know Aaron Kirk raped you. I’m just—why did you deny a rape-kit?

 

IZZY

Go away.

 

IAN

I’m here to help.

 

IZZY

Sure. And then what? It’ll be in the papers a week from now? No thanks.

 

IAN

Well not the school paper.

 

IZZY

Get out.

 

IAN

Just hear me out. I’m trying to break into the—the school paper is shit and you know it. But I think the LA Times would love an article like this.

 

IZZY

Get out.

 

IAN

And…think of all the women you would be saving. I mean, how many other women do you think he’s raped? You don’t have to be afraid. This could—this could change the world.

 

IZZY

For fuck’s sake. So your big idea is to make an exposé on Aaron Kirk? Is that it?

 

IAN

On big business and abuse. And how once wealthy men think they can have literally anything.

 

IZZY

That’s because they can.

 

IAN

You don’t have to think that way. You’re the victim here. You should stand up to him. And anyone else who might’ve—

 

IZZY

What makes you so sure I was raped?

 

IAN

I wrote an article on rape victims last year. And I took a Women’s Studies class. I know the signs.

 

IZZY

How the hell did you find out where I lived?

 

IAN

I looked you up in the school directory.

 

IZZY

Oh. That’s not creepy at all.

 

Beat.

 

IAN

Your name would be totally anonymous.

 

IZZY

Uh huh.

 

IZZY gets up and walks into the kitchen. She grabs the school

                        paper and then scans the article as she walks into the living room.

 

IZZY (cont)

(reading the paper)

A Modest Self-Made Man.

 

IAN

Not my best title.

 

IZZY

This article is practically glorifying Kirk. Why demonize him?

 

IAN

I didn’t have sufficient proof. Plus I wanted him to trust me.

 

IZZY

How noble of you.

 

IAN

Thank you.

 

Beat. IZZY throws the paper down.

 

IZZY

I wasn’t raped, you idiot. And even if I was, why do you think it was Aaron Kirk?

 

IAN

He asked me about you.

 

IZZY

He what?

 

IAN

He was freaked out. And he asked me if I saw you in there.

 

IZZY

That’s impossible.

 

IAN

He said your name was Kat. Which it’s not and initially made it super hard to find you. But when he described this Kat person, I realized he was describing you.

 

IZZY

And you found my real name how?

 

IAN

I’m a journalist.

 

IZZY

Right.

 

IAN

If he didn’t rape you, what happened to you? And why did he feel responsible?

 

IZZY

Because he’s an idiot. Sure you don’t want a beer?

 

IAN

No.

 

Beat.

 

IZZY

You really wanted your story didn’t you?

 

IAN says nothing. It’s obvious he did.

 

IZZY (cont)

It’ll be anonymous right?

 

IAN

It would’ve been.

 

IZZY

Right. I wasn’t raped. I’m a prostitute.

 

IAN, in shock, takes a minute to process this. IZZY

                        watches entertained.

 

IAN

I—what?

 

IZZY

Aaron Kirk is one of my clients. Now. Before I say anything else, you realize that if my name or anyone else’s comes up in your little article to the LA Times, I will have you killed. And no one will ever know you were gone. So do not fuck with me.

 

IAN

I—okay.

 

IZZY

Good. I’m a prostitue. One of the things that I offer is the rape fantasy. It’s $2500 straight up and then $1500 after.

 

IAN

Rape fantasy?

 

IZZY

It’s exactly what it sounds like.

 

IAN needs another beat to process this.

 

IZZY (cont)

You might want to take notes. I am thorough. I give them five days with explicit details of where I’ll be at all times. They can get me whenever they want in those five days. And I’ll fight as though I’m actually trying to fight them off. And then—it happens.

 

IAN

I—I think I’m going to be sick.

 

IZZY

Don’t throw up in here. Burke will kill you.

 

IAN

Why? I just—why are you a—that?

 

IZZY

I needed the money. I sell pills too. But that’s really nothing compared to—well, being a whore.

 

IAN

I—what did you need the money for?

 

IZZY

College. My dad’s a janitor and my mom’s a secretary. Not enough money to go to a good school and not be in debt when I get out.

 

IAN

So you are literally doing it to pay for school. I always thought people—strippers—lied about that.

 

IZZY

I’m not a stripper. I’m a whore.

 

IAN

How are you so…nonchalant about it?

 

IZZY

Because I’m making 100,000 a year. I will walk out of college with no debt. At all. And look around. You think the average college student would be able to afford this? To live like this?

 

IAN

But you’re smart. Smart people aren’t—holy shit.

 

IZZY

Don’t throw up, Ian.

 

IAN swallows his throw-up.

 

IAN

Okay. So…Aaron Kirk mentioned that you’d be going out with him to that event dinner and he just wanted to make sure you were okay. So…is he paying you for that too?

 

IZZY

Yes.

 

IAN

Why? I mean, he’s Aaron Kirk! No offense but he could have—anyone. Why pay someone?

 

IZZY

I’m fluent in Spanish, Italian, and Chinese. I am proficient in Sign Language and Arabic. I know more about the political atmosphere than pretty much anyone else in this state. And I’m pretty.

 

IAN

How much are you charging him?

 

IZZY

Two hundred an hour.

 

IAN

You’re not that pretty.

 

IZZY

Maybe not to you.

 

IAN

Nobody’s that pretty. (beat) How’d you learn all those languages?

 

IZZY

I taught myself.

 

IAN

Oh. Okay.

 

IZZY goes into the kitchen to get water for IAN and

                         a beer for herself. While she’s gone, IAN starts writing

                        frantically. IZZY comes back.

 

IZZY

Here.

 

IAN

(taking the water)

Thank you. So…you’re…what are your grades like?

 

IZZY

Pretty fucking fantastic.

 

IAN

How do you have time for—how fantastic?

 

IZZY

I’m graduating summa cum laude.

 

IAN

You’re—seriously?

 

IZZY

Dude. I got into Yale and I chose to come here instead. Yes. Seriously.

 

IAN

Why didn’t you go to Yale?

 

IZZY

(pointing to her window)

Do you see that view? That’s not at Yale.

 

IAN

Where are you from?

 

IZZY

The Bay.

 

IAN

Were you a—prostitute there too?

 

IZZY

In Oakland? Are you kidding? No. I started my second semester of my first year.

 

IAN

But what about—don’t you care that—you’re young and loans aren’t that bad. And now you’re ruined. I mean, that’s a lot of sex with guys you don’t know.

 

IZZY

I was already having a lot of sex with guys I don’t know. And I was doing it for free. Which is stupid.

 

IAN

Right. I just—

 

IAN vomits.

 

IZZY

Burke is going to kill you.

 

LIGHTS fade. THE END. 

 

 

Refuge

Recently, Rachel Washington had the wonderful opportunity to have a staged reading at TheatreSquared through the University Theatre’s New Work Festival. The turn out and experience was fantastic.

A quick synopsis of Refuge: In order to save her broken relationship with FTM transgender Derek, Julia attempts to try a polyamorous relationship, brining a young artist, Summer, into their relationship. Inevitably things get complicated by Noah, Julia’s brother, who develops feelings for Summer, and later by Julia who begins to fear Summer and Derek may be more compatible than she planned.

 

Here’s a sneak preview of the script:

Act II scene iii

scene iii.                       

 A week later. DEREK and JULIA are sitting in the

 living room reading. DEREK is reading the newspaper.

 JULIA is reading a women’s magazine.

 

JULIA

There’s this article in here about polygamy.

 

DEREK

Huh.

 

JULIA

The woman, who used to be in a polygamous relationship, decided to escape. And break free.

 

DEREK

Are you hinting at something, Julia?

 

JULIA

I bet she didn’t get to fuck the other wives. Maybe then she’d have stayed.

 

DEREK can’t help but laugh.

 

JULIA (cont)

Derek, I—

 

 

JULIA is interrupted by SUMMER’s entrance.

SUMMER walks in with an unmarked box.

 

DEREK

What’s that?

 

SUMMER

A box of fun.

 

JULIA

Is there alcohol in it?

 

SUMMER

No. We’re not drinking tonight. Actually—

 

SUMMER leaves the room. JULIA and DEREK look

                        at the box.

 

 

JULIA

Well, the only fun thing left that I can think of is drugs.

 

DEREK

The box is not full of drugs, Julia.

 

SUMMER brings three juice boxes and gives on to JULIA

                        and one to DEREK.

 

JULIA

This doesn’t look fun.

 

DEREK

I haven’t had one of these since like third grade.

 

SUMMER

It’s the theme of the evening.

 

JULIA

Third grade?

 

SUMMER

No. Innocence.

 

SUMMER opens the box. It’s a puzzle.

 

JULIA

I hate puzzles.

 

SUMMER

Oh. They’re super fun. And we can take our time. It’s technically a jigsaw so…

 

DEREK

Yeah…why…

 

SUMMER

I don’t know. Because puzzles work the mind for the lawyer in the group but it’s also pretty for the artists.

 

JULIA

And for the dancer?

 

SUMMER

Dancing’s an art. You were included in the artists category.

 

 

JULIA

Uh huh.

 

SUMMER

(to DEREK)

Come on. I know you like puzzles.

 

JULIA

But I don’t.

 

SUMMER

(to DEREK; ignoring JULIA)

Please.

 

He goes on the floor beside and starts looking at the

                        pieces.

 

DEREK

It’s been a really long time since I’ve had to do this.

 

SUMMER

Whatever. You’ll probably have it done in like three minutes.

 

DEREK

How many pieces is it?

 

SUMMER

A thousand.

 

JULIA

That’s a lot of pieces.

 

DEREK

We’ll figure it out.

 

DEREK and SUMMER start to do the puzzle.

                        JULIA watches them.

 

JULIA

We could play Twister.

 

DEREK

(to SUMMER)

You are terrible at this.

 

 

SUMMER

Shut up. I have a process. You’re ruining it.

 

DEREK

Does your process include sucking?

 

SUMMER

It’s not a race.

 

Beat. JULIA starts to drink her juice box. Not nearly

                        as satisfying as wine.

 

                       

DEREK

Come on Julia. Join us.

 

JULIA

I don’t like puzzles.

 

DEREK

Join us anyway. This is what you wanted, remember?

 

JULIA watches him for a moment and then sets down

                        her juice box and leaves the room.

 

SUMMER

Oh. Is she okay?

 

DEREK

She’s fine.

 

SUMMER

Should you go—

 

DEREK

Hey. Look. I have a whole corner done. Catch up Summer.