Diary of a Rejected Married Woman
Diary of a Rejected Married Woman
by Diana Easter
Diary of a Rejected Married Woman
I
(Lights up on opening scene: Girl in front of
mirror in bathroom—she is gorgeous, perfect. She brushes her hair and applies
makeup. Offstage, a woman’s voice reads a note out loud while the written note
appears on screen, large. Viennese Waltz routine notes appear on screen next,
followed by Ron Montez Cha Cha choreography notes.)
WOMAN (Offstage): 4-8-15
When is enough enough?
What am I doing that is difficult to deal with?
Tidiness, activeness…sadness.
I am always sad.
Feeling alone, worthless, unneeded, unloved.
No respect.
Uneducated.
A mom, a nag, a babysitter, a maid, a receptionist, a
buffoon, pushover…
Nowhere to go.
A fool.
I
am also an optimist, free, loving, smart, funny, resourceful, caring, motherly,
and responsible.
Back to work.
II
(Girl in front of the
mirror moves to the edge of a massive staircase made of white wood—an enlarged
barn feel. She is looking out in the distance as lighting reveals a male figure
sitting on a couch with his back to her and the audience while watching a giant
TV screen with static. We cannot see what the male figure looks like. Girl on
stairs looks like she wants to talk to him, looking at him longingly. Male
figure does not move at all during the scene. Offstage, a woman’s voice reads a
poem.)
WOMAN (Offstage): 11-21-14.
Uneasy. He was quiet all weekend. Doesn’t say much. No conversation. I feel
like if I don’t do the talking, nothing is said. When I’m quiet, he thinks
something is wrong. I’m empty—run-out. If no one is conversing with me, there
is no conversation. Quiet during the game, dinner, drinks…dancing. Gets
self-conscious when I want him to fuck me more.
(light fading around girl
to only a soft light)
It’s not me. It’s not my fault.
It’s not my fault he is that way.
Alone…
(Lights out. Screen shows
“Both Reached for the Gun” choreography notes. Lights up to reveal another girl
on stairs. She is taking off her robe to reveal black fishnets and black
lingerie.)
GIRL (loud,
fierce): No
more eggshells. Be you! If he doesn’t handle it well, that is his problem. The
moon
is out. I am breathing, healthy, and strong. I am great! I love me! I love
puppies
and pie but not puppy pie! That’s just messed up.
(lights out with exit.)
III
(New set: Danika in robe
sitting on chair. Down light and side light.)
MAN (Offstage): Leave the shower on for me. Come
sit by me. Put your arms around me. Talk to me.
DANIKA: About
what?
MAN (Offstage): That’s me flirting. You look good
in that. Bring your fine self over next to me.
DANIKA (to audience):
I am eating soup during all of this.
(Danika exits)
(Screen lights up with next poem. It is
read out loud by a female voice offstage. The screen then shows love notes
followed by Rumba choreography notes.)
WOMAN (Offstage): 2-16-15. Smile.
The light is bright.
Shining bright.
Love to smile.
He
thinks a lot of things that are not true. Wants them to be justified. I smile.
He thinks I’m being a smartass. Break the cycle. Smile now. Smile always.
No more tears.
IV
(“Ballroom Blitz” by The
Sweet is played at start of scene. Danika is pacing across the blank stage back
and forth in dance practice attire, reciting the following poem out loud while
the accompanying written note appears quickly on screen, followed by a scene of
eight dancers rehearsing.)
DANIKA: I feel hurt.
Angry. Insulted. Disrespected. I want to cry. When I am choreographing off the
fly for the dance company, it is distracting to have someone cutting up and
goofing off.
It
is distracting because I wouldn’t do that. No one is like you. Don’t expect
people to be like you. You don’t like the routine. You are angry. It is my
feelings. Today, what he did affected me.
(Another beautiful woman
appears on opposite downstage. She is the offstage voice we have heard before.
She is looking at a dark male figure too hard to see upstage of her. Audience
cannot make out any features of the male figure. She recites the next poem out
loud as it is projected on the screen, slowly scrolling down.)
WOMAN: Asking contantly if
something is wrong. Tells me how self-conscious he is. Quiet. Uneasy looks.
Tells me negativity all day. I block it out all day. Went to bed smiling.
Stayed smiling all day. Listened to all his concerns, worries, and doubts all
day and night. Just listened. Did not let it affect me.
(Danika sits in front of a
bathroom mirror. She is a natural beauty. She looks at herself in the mirror as
another note is read offstage by a woman and is projected on screen, follwed by
Chicago notes.)
WOMAN
(Offstage): 11-30-14. Checking out a waitress—multiple times. Why does it
bug me? It’s my birthday dinner. Be interested in me on my dinner! Can’t I be
your interest?
I
have been very self-conscious these past two days…lonely…unadmired (what have I
done that’s admirable?)…Depressed.
It
was innocent—a smile, a body check, an interest, more than once. Once I pulled
back he went into attention overdrive. Wasn’t that way before. Was it guilt or
a reminder? Probably guilt…
“Is
this all in my head?” he asks. He always assumes it’s me, but it is not always
in my head. Why would I be jealous? I like other people too. It’s because he
gives me shit for the people I like. It isn’t fair. We have different tastes.
If I take him out, it’s all about him. If he takes me out, he lets me think
it’s about me, but it’s about him.
(Lights up to reveal a
large champagne glass filled with liquid. In the champage glass, a woman
wearing a nude/champagne leotard covered in rhinestones does a water dance to
“Nowadays” from Chicago. She is splashing water everywhere, spinning,
kicking her legs, kneeling, arms up and out, and so forth. It is a fun, sexy,
playful dance. A fountain from above pours water down on her as she continues
her showgirl dance. Side lights on both sides showcase her movements, and the
backdrop is a soft red and cream.)
V
(Danika sits in front of a
mirror. Candles are lit in three spots around her. One candle goes out. She
stares at it for a minute, then she relights the candle with a small smile.
These actions happen slowly throughout this scene. She is in deep thought as a
woman’s voice recites the next poem offstage. Tschaikowsky Kavierkonzert No 1
in B Minor, Op. 23 1 Satz plays softly in the background throughout the scene
as choreography notes scroll down screen.)
WOMAN (Offstage): 7-13-18
Constant Heartache.
I am ignored. He is passive, jealous, antisocial.
I’m
all over him, and he is repulsed every time I touch him. I wrap my arms around
him. Giggle sweet flirtations in his ear. You know that move where you talk to
someone and get so close you softly press your tits against them? Then laugh
and press harder? Like, oops, are those MY tits in a tight, white shirt pressing
against you? Clumsy me…Nothing. It didn’t work. I talk all night, but he
ignores me.
Constant
conversations met with constant silence. I got all dressed up: tight jeans,
hair curled, stiletto heels, makeup perfect—all to be ignored and untouched all
night. He says he wants weed. I find some. Smoke with my new friends. Now he
doesn’t want any. We are at Funkfest with live musicians and some incredibly
funky jams, and here he is. Falling asleep in a chair next to me. He is not
drunk. He is not high. I don’t understand.
I
wake him up and say I am ready to go now. He drives. I tell him what he is
doing is breaking my heart. He says I’m dramatic. Ignoring his actions. He
doesn’t know why his dates aren’t good enough. Why I take over. I did not take
over. He asked me to dinner. We did go for dinner. We ALWAYS go to dinner. I
was supposed to go with my friends to Funkfest that evening and they bailed, so
I invited him. I did not take over. It sounded fun. I love live music. I love
the horn sections in funk music. I invited him to enjoy something I enjoy and was
planning on going anyway. I asked many times if he really wanted to go, and he
said “Whatever you want.” I asked again because he said it passively. He
continued to say “Whatever you want.”
Games. Games are dumb.
Today
he brings me flowers at work. Says he is sorry and trying. I’m tired of getting
“I’m sorry” roses. Trying. He’s not trying to be this way. His trying is not
good enough. It leaves me in tears and emotional stress.
Breaks
my heart. No respect. No care. You know I’m upset, and you ask a question
that’s gonna put me in a vulnerable position. When I am vulnerable and upset,
that’s when he picks on me and fights me because I am weak in those moments
when I normally am not.
(Lights dim, then raise
again, revealing a woman who is kneeling all alone on the floor crying, wailing
with flashing, yellowish-orange lights. She is sobbing loudly, rocking back and
forth, arms switching from holding her body to covering her face. As her actions
and sobs intensify, now an alarm bell is sounding, coming in and out like a
state of emergency ring. The light shifts to a flashing red. The woman cries
harder and louder, but her cries are drowned out by the alarm. Suddenly, there
is silence. The red lights continue to flash, but there is no alarm. The woman mimes
a scream—no sound is heard—silence. Lights out.)
(Lights raise. A woman is
sitting in a chair reciting a monologue with a cup of coffee.)
WOMAN: 8-15-18
I don’t understand.
I
don’t understand this behavior. I get up at 5am because I cannot get
comfortable with my arm from the car wreck. It is bruised, sore, swollen,
wrapped in a splint, and sleeping is very difficult. He wakes up and asks why
I’m leaving the bed. Do I not want to be near him? I say no—not comfortable. I
can’t sleep. I’m going to try and sleep on the couch. He follows me into the
living room claiming that he needs his phone, and I said “That’s odd.” He then
gets into a huge argument with me at 5am about why I’m questioning him and why
I made that comment and why am I starting drama at 5am. I do not feel like I’m
starting drama. I was merely making a comment about my personal opinion, and I
do find something is off. There is nothing more to talk about, really. After
about ten minutes I go back to the bedroom and apologize for my comment and say
yet again that I meant nothing by it, and I just thought it was odd, and there
is nothing more, and I’m so sorry for any weirdness I caused. That was not my
intention. And I press his arm trying to make it better. I go take a shower and
move on with my day, and he gets up and immediately questions why I don’t go
after him sexually. I tell him that I feel the same way, and we both feel
lonely and ignored. I tell him that my wrist was hurting. I’m in pain all day,
and I just don’t feel very sexually active—it’s distracting. He goes to tell me
that there’s always something, and he’s right. There always is, it seems. I’m
not sure why, and I tell him I’m sorry. I hope maybe by going to some counseling
we can work it out so it won’t be awkward. I also tell him that maybe because
I’m a woman the emotional disconnection I feel and the hurt I get often has
something to do with it—I’m not sure. I’m not a doctor. He’s on my case yet
again. I’m going to go to dance practice. It’s weird. He is being so weird this
morning. I guess it’s stress. I don’t know, but I don’t know what to do.
VI
(At the top of the scene,
the screen shows pictures of showgirls in full headdresses getting ready,
laughing, putting on lipstick, and playing around. Lights go up to reveal three
girls sitting at a four-top table. Casey is on the left, Amanda is on the
right. Danika is across from Amanda. Casey is in a black, low-cut, long pant
romper jumpsuit, and the other two girls are casually sexy in jeans and loose
shirts. All three have heavy makeup with false lashes. Casey’s short blonde
hair is down, while Amanda and Danika have both sprayed their hair back into
tight buns. Soft music is playing in the background. Other tables around the
girls are only slightly filled. It is close to closing time at the restaurant bar.
Casey is drinking a draft beer. Amanda has a glass of red wine. Danika has a
bottle of beer.)
DANIKA: God, I feel like such an idiot.
CASEY: What an asshole.
AMANDA: You deserve better.
DANIKA: I tried so hard.
AMANDA: Of course you did.
CASEY: What a cunt.
DANIKA: I’m not out of shape. I’m not a
frumpy housewife. My ass has its own fan club.
AMANDA: Yeah!
CASEY:
I’m a member.
DANIKA: Marriage
counseling, talking, listening, flirting, watching what I say. I don’t know
what else I could have done.
AMANDA: It’s not your fault.
CASEY: What a cunt.
AMANDA: He can’t accept himself.
DANIKA: He blames me for everything. His
low self-esteem, lack of support…
CASEY: Yeah. It’s your
fault he didn’t have any friends, so he went on Tinder to make some.
AMANDA: The Craigslist ad was better.
CASEY: Yeah. I’m going
to hang out with my Craigslist friends, only I won’t tell you about them, and I
want to hang out with them at 1am and 5am.
(All laugh.)
AMANDA: I love hanging out with my
Craigslist friends.
DANIKA: You guys are my Craigslist
friends.
(All say “aww,” giggle,
then take a drink.)
DANIKA: Ugh. It’s so
ridiculous to say it out loud. How have I been so blind? It’s happened so many
times. It’s so hard to get the proof, and when you have it, he makes it seem
like you’re the one who is crazy. It’s all in your head…
CASEY: Gaslighting.
AMANDA: It’s what mansplainers do. They
blame you. It’s always your fault, never theirs.
DANIKA: FUCK!
(Danika drinks.)
(A very attractive, young
male waiter comes to the table. He is built, brunette, and has a smile that
could kill.)
WAITER: May I take your order?
AMANDA: You guys want the nachos? It’s
on me. I’m starving!
CASEY: Oh my, yes.
DANIKA: Fuck, yeah.
AMANDA: And a burger.
CASEY: Chicken almond salad.
DANIKA: Oh, I almost got that. Wings.
WAITER: Spicy?
DANIKA: Yes.
WAITER: Ranch or bleu cheese?
DANIKA: Ranch. Napkins, too, please! (to
friends) I’m messy. (laughs)
(Waiter walks offstage. They
all watch him leave.)
AMANDA: He is so gorgeous.
CASEY: Was anyone else looking at his
butt when he left?
AMANDA and DANIKA: Yes.
DANIKA:
He is such pretty scenery.
CASEY: What?
DANIKA: You
know. Something beautiful to be admired from far away.
AMANDA: I wonder how many women hit on him every day? (looks
around restaurant.)
DANIKA: Like looking out the window at a pretty bush or water
feature or something. Scenery. Not going to touch it, only admire it.
AMANDA: There
is so much smoke in here.
DANIKA: All these gamblers
be like chain-smoking (Makes quick back and forth smoking actions)
CASEY: (Sticks chest out) Alright, now to find
someone to buy my food.
(All laugh.)
DANIKA: You
do look hot in that.
AMANDA: I
know! I’m dressed ready for bed.
DANIKA: After killing my
feet last time, all night standing in those heels, I was like, hell no!
Sneakers tonight!
(All laugh. Lights down.)
(Lights come up to a
semi-crowded nightclub. A woman is seen, all in black with a cigarette in her
hand, a glass of red wine on a black stool next to her on a small stage. She
reads the next poem, slam-poetry style. Light bongo music is played throughout
the scene by a musician sitting next to her. Spotlight is on the woman, but it
is not harsh. An audience can be seen mingling at tables and listening. A light
haze of smoke lingers in the air.)
WOMAN: 3-30-18.
Every time.
Every
time we go out, you complain. Maybe it’s legit, maybe you should quit, cut the
shit, enjoy this bit in time. Walking away, pouting today, tomorrow, always.
All the insecurities disappointed, disabling, disgruntled. Bliss is all you
ever want, need, crave. Repeated, reset this eternal clock to wind down the
seconds, minutes, hours of constant reminders of the sorrow you have for me.
Questions, frustration, connotation, cursing, damnation of these false ideas
and drowning depressing thoughts you have of me. Calling my behavior out when
none is there. Even if I have my wits about, not gonna make a scene or be mean.
I’m polite, cordial, and smiling. Not sarcastic, really trying. Trying to see
past your pain, enjoying the now and looking forward to a better future and
time where you can let the past and present go and be in a positive state of
mind, just this time. That would be fine. The bliss I miss instead of this
would be fine, fine. The bliss I miss would be fine. This time. Next. The now
is for me. I’m free from my hurt past. The now and future is mine. I dread the
constant compares and complaints. Communication constraints unhinge my nerves,
but I try to stay calm. Sometimes you get your way, and I lose my cool and
explode. I really really try not to. You always think I’m out to get you. I’m
not. You ask so many questions, and I give so many answers. It’s exhausting. My
answers are what you know but want to hear aloud, so your set anger can be
justified. That’s sad. I only get angry with you when you are mean and selfish.
My feelings are real. My feelings are legitimate. I can feel any way I want. I
can interpret anything I want. It’s factual. Listen to yourself. Those are the
true feelings.
(Bongos stop suddenly.)
(Audience softly snaps
fingers when poem is finished. Lights fade)
VII
(Screen lights up to show seven
people laughing and drinking martinis. An old man is laughing with sunglasses
on, smoking a cigar in a tuxedo. Everyone is dressed in formal wear. “Viva Las
Vegas” by Elvis Presley is playing. Bright lights are flashing. Three drunk
people are laughing and falling down. The game of roulette is spinning, and the
sounds of the spin and ball rolling can be heard clearly. Danika is petting a
white tiger with a jeweled collar. The Elvis song cuts off, as well as the show
on screen. The same seven people sit at a large table at a very crowded holiday
restaurant. Ensemble is dressed in fine Sunday brunch attire. There is a
four-piece jazz band playing music in the background of the restaurant. The
five people at the main table look casual, while Danika and Leondro are dressed
to the nines. Everyone has brunch and fancy drinks. A little girl is at the
table drawing a picture of her dad, Charles, taking a glance at him every now
and then. The seven are all laughing and having a good time small-talking with
one another.)
DANIKA: I
think Jesus was a magical hippie.
ADALISIA: What
do you mean?
DANIKA: Well, he was always
performing these miracles: water to wine, raising people from the dead, curing
disease, blindness…
CASEY: I met this crazy man at the park who told me I was
the antichrist.
LEONDRO: What?
CASEY: Yeah. He was
this bum. Walked up to my daughter and me and asked if we wanted a diet coke,
showing us the can. I said “no, thank you, we don’t drink soda.” He smiled and
showed me a card with a picture of a KKK guy in full cloak and hood playing a
game of chess with Jesus. He said “that’s you,” pointing to the KKK guy. I said
“no it’s not.” He said “yes it is.” He said that my daughter wasn’t but I was.
I said “no” and left.
DANIKA: What
made you think of that story when I was talking about Jesus?
CASEY: The
guy I was talking to before the bum was blind
(pause)
DANIKA: Anyway—Jesus was a
rabbi spreading the good word, not bathing, no possessions, making friends with
other hobos…
CHARLES: So
that makes him a hippie?
DANIKA: And the beard. But these miracles—maybe it was
science. Hear me out. In the old days, science was unexplainable.
CASEY: It’s
a witch!
DANIKA: So
ignorant individuals accused people of witchcraft—the unexplained.
LEONDRO (flirty):
I’m a witch.
DANIKA: These
miracles could have been science. Jesus could have been the next Copernicus,
Leonardo da Vinci…
LEONDRO: Cher?
DANIKA: Yes, Cher. He could have added some sort of scientific
concoction, like Everclear, to the water at the loaves and fishes event.
CASEY: I’ve
been to a party like that.
DANIKA: Exactly. Add a few
drops, and BAM! It’s a party! Let’s get fucked up! Little drugs can go a long
way.
ADALISIA: But
what about the visions?
DANIKA: What?
ADALISIA: What about his holy
visions? Like when he went to the desert and was tempted by the devil.
DANIKA: Peyote.
(Adalisia rolls her eyes.)
CASEY: Yeah. In my
humanities class, we read about how ancient cultures would go to this temple to
have “holy visions” where this gas passed through these vents in the architecture
causing hallucinations in self-appointed holy leaders.
DANIKA: Praise Jesus.
LEONDRO: We
should all go camping and do some peyote.
ADALISIA: Yes.
DANIKA:
I’m down.
CHARLES: Never
done it.
DANIKA: You
should with friends.
CASEY: I
thought I was a moose once.
DANIKA: Whatever.
Now I know you’ve never done it.
OLD MAN: Oh,
I’ve got some stories I could tell.
DANIKA: So, here’s my
thought on the healings: medicine. Same as rising from the dead. All these
people want him dead. They torture him, nail him to a cross to bleed him out
and die. You know the story of Romeo and Juliet? How Juliet drinks this potion
from a priest and fake dies for a couple of days? Her body was proclaimed dead.
Everyone thought she was dead. But no. So what if the person giving Jesus a
drink on the cross had that elixir? He “died,” was buried, and then his grave-robbing
friends rescue him the next day.
CASEY: Oh.
A conspiracy theory.
DANIKA: Magical Jesus (wiggles
fingers). He comes back to his friends telling them he has risen, showing
them his marks on his hands and proving it was him (shows hands like a magician
would: front, back, nothing up my sleeves) and bounces out of town before
the soldiers can kill him again.
ADALISIA: He
would have bled out.
DANIKA: Magical Jesus (wiggly
fingers). I see you drawing me over there (looks at the little girl at
the table who has been shy and quiet the whole time. A grin spreads across the
little girl’s face, and she continues to draw.) Shall I pose? (Does
three quick poses at the table and laughs.) We’ve got to get going to the
ballet. It starts in 20 minutes. I don’t want to be late.
LEONDRO: We made friends with
the ballet dancers a few weeks ago, and Danika got orchestra tickets from them!
DANIKA: They were so hot.
Ballet dancers. Mmm! And we are going to be so close we can see their muscle
definition.
ADALISIA: I
want to run home and grab my weed and change.
DANIKA: Girl,
we don’t have time! The show is in fifteen minutes! You look hot.
LEONDRO: I’ll
lend you my jacket with that outfit. It will look fierce.
ADALISIA: You
sure?
DANIKA: Yes!
He’s right. That jacket will make your outfit pop. But no weed.
(Old man pulls out a big-ass
joint and hands it across the table to Danika)
DANIKA: Oh
my gaw, that’s huge! (laughs) Do you have your card?
(Old man nods)
DANIKA: Are
you sure?
OLD MAN: It’s
nothing. Have a great time.
DANIKA: That is so sweet.
Thank you so much. (Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the little girl’s
picture that she had been drawing.) Ah, I see you can see the real me. No
fooling you. Smart girl! Don’t ever lose that. I’m going through some tough
times right now, and you can see that even with all my laughter, smiles, and
charisma (side smile). Smart cookie. Don’t ever lose that ability to
read people and see who they really are.
CHARLES: She
wants you to pose with the picture.
(Little girl tries to pass
the drawn picture to Danika)
DANIKA: Wait!
She has to sign her work first. It’s not your art until you sign it.
(Little girl smiles and
signs her picture, then hands it across the table to Danika. Danika makes the
same sad face as the picture, holding up the drawing as Charles takes a picture
with his phone. Danika hands the drawing back to the smiling little girl.)
DANIKA: Oh
no! I don’t have any matches. Does anyone have any matches? Or a lighter?
(They all shake their
heads)
DANIKA: Maybe
the bartender has matches. All fancy restaurants have matches.
(Danika goes to the
bartender and asks for matches. Leondro and Analisia get up and say their
goodbyes. Danika comes back)
DANIKA: What
kind of fancy restaurant doesn’t have matches?
(Old man hands Danika
matches from across the table)
WOMAN (Offstage): Of course he has matches.
(Danika smiles and puts
the joint and matches in a small clutch. Lights out. After a short pause,
splashing is heard in the darkness. Heavy, worried gasps follow. Low blue
lights light up the bottom of a round pool. A naked woman is in the water,
frantically searching the side of the pool. She is scared, frantic, awake. She
is not sure if she is dreaming or drowning. She finds a light, which lights up
more white light around the pool, then a door to the pool opens, and she gasps,
hanging out the side, breathing in
relief. Lights out.)
VIII
(Lights up to two
attractive girls hanging out on a balcony. Both are casual, wearing no makeup. They
are natural beauties in short, flowy tops and sunglasses, looking good without
trying.)
DANIKA: What’s
your opinion on old men? Have you dated an older guy?
ADALISIA: Charles
is old.
DANIKA: No,
he’s not. He’s late thirties or forties. And he’s a charmer. Very good-looking.
ADALISIA: Yeah, he is.
(They both laugh.)
DANIKA: I mean someone
sixty or older. I have this guy in his sixties, maybe late sixties. He’s a cool
guy, but he asked to be my sponsor. Help me out. He wants a girlfriend, someone
to travel with and have fun. He’s a cool guy, but it is way too soon for me.
And he’s old! I’m not attracted to him. He is nice…but old! I keep picturing
old balls. I’ve heard they hang down. And it’s frightening! Eugh…old men. With
their big, pregnant bellies in small speedos and their old balls.
ADALISIA:
(Small laugh) Then don’t fuck him.
DANIKA: I won’t! (hits a joint) But I think if I agree
to this arrangement, he’ll want to fuck. He hits on me all the time.
ADALISIA: Then fuck him.
DANIKA:
Old balls!
ADALISIA: (Laughs)
Then don’t!
DANIKA: (Passes joint)
Maybe I should dangle the carrots? Make myself unavailable just for now while I
think things through.
ADALISIA: Yeah.
Good idea.
(On the screen, a phallic carrot
is projected, pointing downward and dangling while the actors on stage make
downcast faces of disgust.)
ADALISIA: I have this guy (takes a drag off the joint).
He helps me out. How do you think I’m going to New York next week?
DANIKA: Is
he old?
ADALISIA: Yeah.
DANIKA: Older
than Charles?
ADALISIA: Yeah.
DANIKA: Do
you fuck him?
ADALISIA: No.
DANIKA: Play
with his dick in any shape or form?
ADALISIA: No.
DANIKA: Oh.
ADALISIA: Yeah. He gives me
money and takes me shopping all the time. That dress I wore last week?
DANIKA: Oh
my gaw, I loved it.
ADALISIA: He
bought me that. Yeah, he loves to take me shopping.
DANIKA: And
you don’t have to fuck him?
ADALISIA: No.
But I do do things for him.
DANIKA: Like
what?
ADALISIA: Wear
sexy outfits.
DANIKA: Does
he get naked? (disgusted look)
ADALISIA: No.
DANIKA: Oh,
thank god. Old balls. Eww.
ADALISIA:
It’s me and a few girls, and we just hang out, dance, and pose.
DANIKA: And
he doesn’t drop his pants?
ADALISIA: No.
DANIKA:
Old balls. Yuck.
ADALISIA: I’ve
never seen his balls. He keeps them hidden.
DANIKA: So
you’ve seen his dick?
ADALISIA: Yes.
DANIKA: Eww!
I knew it!
(They both laugh.)
DANIKA: That’s
so gross! I like young, fit guys like ballet dancers and bassists.
ADALISIA: Yeah, but he likes
that. He wants me to tell him how gross he is. And his dick. I make fun of it
all the time.
DANIKA: Oh,
you’re a dominatrix.
ADALISIA: To him, I guess. It’s
all different circtumstances. (Pause) He is always looking for more
girls. He says if I bring a friend, he’ll pay more, if you are interested.
We’re friends, though. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. It’s
just being in your underwear.
DANIKA: Yeah, I’ll think
about that. (Makes a face and shakes head) I do need the extra cash, but
my self esteem is so low. I can’t help being awkward around attractive men, let
alone old men. I’m not in the right state of mind for that.
ADALISIA: Totally
get it. (Takes a final hit out of a pincher. Lights out.)
IX
(Back at the nightclub, spotlight
shines on a large, black piano with the sexy waiter from before as a pianist and
female performer. The woman is in a long evening gown, looking as though she
was from the 1930’s—a classic beauty. She is in front of a microphone. There is
a small audience with candles on the tables and wine.)
WOMAN: Hello. This song is
dedicated to all those sad songs out there. They sure are depressing, but boy
do they get you through some tough times. Nothing helps me through a tough time
like singing a sad song. And damn, am I going through a tough time right now.
(Woman sings “Cry Me a
River.” At the end, the audience whoops and hollers, applauds, throws roses,
then lights out. After a short pause, the noise of glass shattering can be
heard. Lights up. Set is a bathroom, with notes everywhere. Candles are snuffed
out. Danika is dead, face down, on the floor. Woman stands over her in
bewilderment and saddness. She is holding a note and staring at Danika’s body.
Lights out.)
X
DANIKA: My love for you is
the abundant twinkling light of the sun spanning across the waters—each light
beam in competition with the other, glittering as the gentle waves move, the
sun shining rays to the west as it crosses the east. A static standstill of
this moment is time captured and admired by the ducks and butterflies whisping
by in the sky. A weary soul could get lost in the waters of your eyes—the
twinkling beauty of light glistening on the top of deep, dark waters. Your
inner light shines through, touching my heart, my inner-most being, with your
warmth.
When I find you…
(Lights out.)
CURTAIN
Less Than Eternity
Less Than Eternity
by Ellen Mcfall
Less Than Eternity
A Play in One Act
Characters:
Skyler: Thirtysomething, an
independent woman who is prone to rapid mood changes.
Dakota: Thirtysomething, a social
worker who has been in the field too long.
Sandra: Teen, sweet and kind.
Lana: Teen, smart and intuitive.
Chandra: Twentysomething, set adrift
in a world she doesn’t understand.
Setting:
An oasis in the desert, with a small lake surrounded by palm
trees and four small cabins. A wooden bridge swings across the water. More
surreal than realistic.
Time:
Indeterminate. The oasis exists in its own reality.
Dakota, Sandra, Lana
and Chandra wander about the oasis in confusion, looking at everything for
clues as to why they are there and what they should be doing. Skyler enters.
Skyler:
I’ll be damned. An oasis in the middle of the desert. Talk
about creative license!
Dakota (Coming up to Skyler):
Skyler. I should have known you’d be involved in this
somehow.
Skyler:
Only to the extent that you are, my dear Dakota. (Walks around, pointing out features.)
Well, well, look at this –water flows in the desert. Our Creator never lets
accuracy get in Her way, does She?
Sandra (Approaching politely with the others in tow):
Hello. I’m Sandra. This is Lana, and I guess you know Dakota.
Skyler:
I’m Skyler. And I’m the leader of this motley little group.
Dakota:
Like hell you are! Who died and made you boss?
Skyler:
That’s not a terribly original line, Dakota, but actually no
one died. Someone retired and made me boss.
Dakota:
Retired? I knew She was thinking about it, but She always
says She’s going to retire. I never really believed…
Lana:
She retired? Where does that leave us?
Skyler:
Here, I presume. Look, there’s nothing to worry about. She’s
given up writing, but She wants us to live happily ever after.
Sandra:
So, She sent us to the desert to die? What’d we ever do to
Her?
Skyler:
There’s nothing to be afraid of. She sent us to the desert to
live, not to die. Look around you: there’s plenty of water. And those buildings
are filled with the only things Her characters have ever needed –junk food and
TV. And thanks to creative license and suspension of reality, our food will
never run out and our MTV will never be fuzzy. What more do you kids want out
of life?
Sandra:
But we tried the doors to the cabins, and they’re locked.
Lana:
Skyler has the keys, don’t you?
Skyler:
I do, but how’d you know that?
Lana:
I just knew.
Skyler:
Okay, first things first. Dakota and I know who you kids are,
but I suspect you don’t know much about us. Chandra, you’re her oldest
character, though I know you’ve been in limbo for a while. Do you understand
what’s going on here?
Chandra:
I don’t know why I’m here. I’m so confused. I don’t think I
belong on this planet…
Skyler:
No, you’re from another time and place, though the details
were always pretty vague.
Chandra:
But I have a mission. I must fight injustice. I’m not with
the lunatic fringe, but I become entangled with politics because of my mission…
Skyler:
Yes. Unfortunately, your mission was never defined very well.
But you don’t have to worry now. You can just enjoy yourself.
Chandra nods absently.
Skyler:
Chandra, I evolved from you. I’m the cynic that you would
have become at the end of your mission. I owe my very existence to you, so
anything you need, just ask. Anything. (Turns to others.) Lana, I know
you have a gift for understanding people and seeing into the future. I hope
you’ll help me out. I do well seeing what happened in the past.
Lana:
I’ll be glad to, but my gift comes and goes. It’s more of a
curse, really. Still, I’ll do what I can. I can’t help noticing, though, that
we’re not going to be starting a new Eden here. Unless we’re expecting someone
else to arrive.
Skyler:
Yes, well, you know how much trouble She had writing sex
scenes. She sent the men to their own place.
Sandra:
Hawaii, probably.
Skyler:
More likely Antarctica. If it means anything, She loves the
desert. This was meant to be an honor.
Anyway, we can finally test the theory that women can’t work
and play well together. Which leads me to Dakota.
Dakota:
I can work just fine with you or anyone else, Skyler. But
since I’m the one with the psychology degree, I think I would be the logical
choice for leader.
Skyler:
You’re a burned-out therapist, Dakota. You can’t help Sandra,
much less anyone else. No reflection on you, Sandra. I’ve seen the outline for
your future. You turn out great, despite getting screwed up by the social
service system.
Dakota:
It’s not necessary to talk to her like that –she’s had a
rough time as a foster kid.
Skyler:
I have nothing but respect for Sandra, Dakota. It’s you and
your leadership abilities that I question.
Dakota:
Frankly, Skyler, I’d rather have a burned-out therapist in
charge than a manic-depressive.
Skyler:
Look, Dakota, I can do more on my manic days than you can do
in a month.
Dakota:
No doubt. But seeing that you were an hour late today, I
suspect that you’re fighting to come out of a depression. How long do you think
you can carry off this act?
Skyler:
This is pointless. Let’s see what’s in the cabins. (Skyler distributes keys.) Sandra and
Lana, you girls can share a cabin. That way, you can giggle all night and no
one will kill you. Chandra, you can choose whichever cabin you like.
Sandra:
If it’s okay with you,
Chandra, I’d like to share your cabin. I won’t get in your way.
Lana:
I’ll scope out the area. Make sure we don’t have any
surprises in store.
Skyler:
Thanks. (Others go to
explore cabins.) That just leaves us.
Dakota:
Don’t tell me we’re roommates. I’d rather be staked out in a
scorpion’s nest.
Skyler:
They don’t make nests.
Dakota:
You know damn well what I mean.
Skyler:
Yes, I do, and you don’t have to worry. We have our own
cabins. She knew we’d kill each other if She put us together. We’re opposite
sides of the same coin, you know.
Dakota:
I beg your pardon?
Skyler:
The cynic and the idealist. We both destroy ourselves by
thinking too much. You think you’re going to change the world, and I know I’m
not going to. But at least you and I think. We’re not like the sheep who go
through their boring little lives taking orders.
Dakota:
I suppose you have a point in an odd, conceited sort of way.
Skyler:
You’re going to become like me, you know. A cynic, I mean. (Pause.) You’re not denying it? Then you
must have started down that path already. I’m sorry.
Dakota:
A certain amount of cynicism is necessary to do social work.
By the way, do you even have a profession?
Skyler:
I’m a charming ne’er-do-well. Alright, I’m a moody
ne’er-do-well. Sue me.
Dakota:
Great. I get to spend the rest of eternity with a cynical,
manic-depressive ne’er-do-well. Charming.
Skyler:
It won’t be eternity, exactly. A great deal less than that,
really. I didn’t see any reason to tell the kids.
Dakota:
What do you mean? We’re characters. If we die, She can bring
us back to life.
Skyler:
If She chooses to.
Dakota:
Then …. She really has retired.
Skyler:
Yes, and She sent us here to live happily until She forgets
about us.
Dakota:
And what happens when She forgets us?
Skyler:
Then we dissolve and become one with the Universe. Look at
Chandra ---it’s already starting. She never had much of a character to begin
with, and she’s becoming less defined with every passing day. Someday –poof
–she’ll be gone.
Dakota:
And the rest of us….
Skyler:
Sandra is just a teenage fantasy; Lana is a stereotypical
gimmick. They’ll go next. In the end, it’ll just be you and me. We’ve always
been her best female characters. Considering how boring She thought females
were to write about, that’s probably not much of a compliment. Still, we’ll
have a little longer than the kids, I think.
Dakota:
I wish my friends were here. No offense, but --
Skyler:
I’d rather be with my
friends too. They understand me, don’t expect anything from me. But She didn’t
save any supporting characters.
Dakota:
What about Sandra?
Skyler:
She’s a supporting character in your storyline, but after she
leaves you, she becomes one of the main characters in a book with so many
subplots you’d go crazy reading it. It was meant to tell the meaning of life,
but it was finally shelved.
Dakota:
Just like us. Well, I guess that’s why you were put in
charge, Skyler. You’re a cynic. You can deal with nothingness and….
death…easier than I can.
Skyler:
True, but I have no intention of fading away. She made one
mistake when She sent me here.
Dakota:
What?
Skyler:
She forgot She made me an existentialist. Dakota, consider Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Dakota:
You’ve lost me.
Skyler:
Obscure reference. Never mind. The question is, do you have
to die just because someone writes you out of the script? Rosencrantz and Guildenstern couldn’t rewrite the script, but I
intend to survive. I may be Her character, but I’m not Her pawn. I can create
my own reality, weave the tapestry of my own life. I’m no one’s plaything. When
She forgets about me, I will continue. But I need your help.
Dakota:
Mine? What can I do? I’m not even sure I know what you’re
talking about.
Skyler:
You’re an idealist, Dakota. You have the drive to go on even
when it makes no sense to keep trying. You know damn well that I’ll lose my determination
one day and consider oblivion a welcome change. I need you to keep the world
turning.
Dakota (Considering):
Alright. I’ll help you create a new reality, but for everyone
–not just you and me.
Skyler:
The others aren’t very well defined. We’d have to practically
start from scratch.
Dakota:
Then we’ll start from scratch. I’ve never been an elitist,
and I don’t intend to start now. Besides, it’d be awful boring around here with
just the two of us. And potentially dangerous.
Skyler:
Alright. We all create our own paths, and then we follow
them right out of here. And someday we’ll forget about Her and see if She can
survive without us.
Dakota (Nods, holds up an invisible glass.)
To eternity.
Skyler (Toasting with invisible glass.)
And beyond.
End.
Painter
Painter
by Katie Kunkel
Dripping hues of
emeralds and Cerulean,
Clear water made muddy with a dip of the
brush.
Chalky, powdered
bone, white and milky,
A swipe away from a ruddy, bloody blush.
Harsher bristles
create grassy foothills,
Cotton makes for fluffy skies.
Place a house, or
tree, or person
Or with a blot, plot their demise.
Over forests,
rivers, towns, and cities
Midnight’s harsh
black lines draw borders.
Everything in its
proper place,
For tainted water to bleed over.
Young Love
Young Love
by Alexis Shironaka
The asphalt was darker than usual.
It made a rhythmic pop to the beat of the radio.
The sun spotlighted our little part of the world, turning the raindrops on the trees into diamonds.
His crooked smile resembled the J overturned on the tilted gold square that swooshed by unseen.
Lingering storm clouds stole our spotlight, leaving us in shadows.
His lips settled into something like the dry, flat fields of Kansas.
His eyes screamed silently, realizing what was just ahead of us.
The music faded behind the cries of the tires, desperately trying to keep hold of the road.
The yellow lines blurred.
Outside, out of focus, spun around us.
The forest floor finally laid its fist to rest,
Leaving us alive but
With stains on our skin as reminders to always read the signs.
Compared to a Castilleja
Compared to a Castilleja
by Adriene Rake
The paint brushes grow.
She thinks red is best this way,
delicate like her,
unaware but beautiful,
as dark clouds move in the sky.
Jerry and Jeff Don't Believe In
Jerry and Jeff Don't Believe In
by Kenneth Pobo
Jerry and Jeff don't believe in
an afterlife even though it cries
in a playpen near the broom closet.
They don’t hear it—
or see the playpen. Neighbors
hear the crying. They knock and say,
“Stop that baby from crying!”
What crying? A week ago
the afterlife broke out
and crawled into bed with them.
Jeff growled, “Mitsy, you bad cat!”
Jerry turned over--another bad dream.
In the morning they banged
into the playpen, not even an ouch
for a stubbed toe, turned on
another game show
where people who will soon be dead
win wonderful prizes.
Eating Oysters for the First Time at Greencastle
'
Eating Oysters for the First Time at Greencastle
After Seamus Heaney
viciously shucked
with expert ease
the oyster reveals
plump plasma
a snottery act
slurped back
divulging pure verb
a salty privilege
front teeth scrape
lustrous enamel
shaving a pearly mantle
prehistoric protection
forced onto its back
smothered with exotic lemon
le petit batôn rouge
spice that stains the calcium coat
a battered grey
sea divot shell
exposed
on an icy bed
Emmett Till
Emmett Till
by Killian Hanesworth
Dear Emmett Till,
I’m sorry for the way they treated you
Didn’t give your life a chance as if they never needed you
Took someone's word as law with no value for your life.
They beat the breath out of your body and they didn’t think twice.
And your mother.
Your poor mother had to bury her young son
And live on for many moons as the sadness blocked the sun.
People marched to fight back, knowing the battle they had lost
As the girl naked with shame covered herself at any cost.
She waited till you were gone to admit that she had lied
But her tears were no match for the tears your momma cried
And for the pain you must have felt as they ignored your honest truth,
A boy soon to be a man yet they still chopped down your youth.
The only hope is the chance that we’ll see justice for you, kid,
And we believed you the whole time, Emmett, I promise you we did.
And even justice ain’t enough because it can’t bring you back,
But maybe it can shed some light on why our faith in justice lacks
So Emmett Till, sweet young king, surely we’ll back the correct horse
And we’ll fight with no holds bar until your justice is dispersed
And we’ll pray for your soul that it may finally rest in peace
And for the ones long gone who took your life their souls may never sleep
And that the system will improve because we should be trusted too
And our words hold the same value as the ones who put us through.
We can never go back and free the kids they took away,
But we’ll speak up and we’ll remember as we pray for brighter days.
We won’t give up or give in, even in weakness we’ll be strong,
Especially for our little black boys who did nothing wrong
The Village Omelet
The Village Omelet
(for the egg dosa grandma, Machilipatnam)
by Dr. Sreekanth Kopuri
eggs again, to that shack, the
grandmother, the fold I long
to home, a holiday flavour, the
taste of this earth’s white smile,
breaks for me, empties its self
into a womb-like fresh earthen
bowl, salts, then spices with
onion and green chili chops,
mixes with a artless smile till
it’s soft and pure with the silent
flamboyant language spreads,
sizzling and bubbling with the
joy I need for the day, on time -
burnt pan, the dung-cakes burn,
smoking it, till its hard brown
face smiles warm with an added
flavour of the coriander leaves
and ground red chili chutney.
Convalescence on Returning to Cape Cod
Convalescence on Returning to Cape Cod
by Dana Sonnenschein
For L.M.J.
Every spring something makes you
lower your head to keep walking at all—
torn ligaments, sciatica, arthritis, grief—
but I still want to go to the beach.
The sun’s so bright everything shimmers.
In the marsh, egrets burn white,
their breeding plumes flickering in the wind
as they hunch and stretch, fishing.
An osprey searches for a current of air,
leans in, scans shallows and depths.
Cormorants labor to keep solid bones aloft
and dry their wings before diving again.
There a least tern plummets into a splash
only to circle back where silversides run.
Turnstones poke at the tideline, flipping rocks
and half-shells, working their way down-shore.
Persistence. What I’ve always admired in the world,
I see in you, trudging ahead through sand
despite today’s cough and fever aura,
the foot that drags when you’re tired.
The scent of magenta roses drifts over the dunes.
Past your shoulder, the ospreys nest.
Sit with me. If we talk quietly, if we’re here
long enough, the birds will come to us.
Even the pale piping plover, one or two
where once there were thousands.
Coming back every year. Birds the color of sand
and so light they don’t leave a track.