It's been several months since I updated this blog. My last blog entry was written after the attacks in Paris. I hit publish, but didn't post on social media that I had written anything. I wasn't sure then and I'm not sure now that what I wrote didn't trivialize something of tremendous pain to so many.
My life and my writing has been in transition for the last year.
Last summer I wrote 90 short plays in 90 days.
Before this I had been working on a play about my experiences as a foster parent. The play seemed artificial and forced. I wrote thirty pages that I didn't like.
During the 90 in 90, I found myself writing a large number of short plays about my experiences as a foster parent. When I returned to the play I was working on earlier, I realized that I had already written a play about fostering. I gathered the best of the 90 in 90 and compiled them along with a one-act I'd written two years ago for FronteraFest into the play I had dreamed of writing about foster parenting.
I was struggling. Trying, again, to force the words out. To make it be a play with "internal logic." A classical, traditional play with a beginning, a middle, and an end, in that order. A "well-made" play. A play with a coherent plot and character development presented in a normal chronological order.
Maybe that's just not me.
What I have is once again... not surreal. It's not a dream. Most of what is on the page is autobiographical... very autobiographical. But as you can imagine for a play made of 30 or 40 smaller pieces scrambled together... it's surreal... with touches of Brecht... just for fun.
I also wrote a high school play.
And then the desert. I have written nothing for four months. Some of it was life (household repairs, health, etc.) getting in the way. Some is just lack of... motivation... or rather focusing on a different area of my life. Focusing on the practical, the everyday. Things I often neglect.
I have dreamed of projects. I've made notes. I've done research...
...but I have not written more than a few words.
Nothing has inspired... yet.
But I can hear the Siren's call.
*The Monkees - "Ditty Diego - War Chant"
Showing posts with label Foster Care. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Foster Care. Show all posts
Monday, April 11, 2016
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
90 in 90 - What I Learned
I did it! 90 short plays (3+ pages each) in 90 days. I actually wrote 91. On one day, I didn't like what I wrote, so I wrote a second. Plus I began my first high school one act. Oh, yea, I also wrote two one minute plays for the 2nd Annual One-Minute Play Festival.
Why did I do this? I was stuck. In the spring, I began a full-length play about some of my experiences being a foster parent. but after about 30 pages, I got bogged down. I had an outline and character notes and lots of other notes, but I couldn't make any progress.
The experiences of foster parenting were still to fresh, raw. We had only just made a decision in January to take a break until June. We both thought that we might not continue, but we wanted to give ourselves some space to get some perspective. The final month of 2014 had been particularly hard on us as foster parents. We are both now in our 60's. We had been doing this for nearly 10 years. And the young teen aged women we took into our family had all suffered major (I cannot over-emphasis "major") trauma before they came to us.
My writing need some perspective.
The decision to do ScriptWorks 90 in 90 was actually rather spur of the moment. We rented a house in Port Aransas for a month. We worked and walked. And grieved. As the month neared it's conclusion, I decided I would do the 90 in 90. I had done a ScriptWorks 30 in 30 in 2013 and had gotten some useful material. I knew I was stuck. I needed to write, but what I wanted to write about was not available to me, emotionally.
The day we drove back from Port Aransas, I got my first prompt. I wrote a short piece thinking of one of my sisters. It made me happy.
Certainly, I had doubts about my ability to write everyday for 90 days. Stuff happens. And I decided that if stuff happened, it happened. I would be okay with that.
June 2nd, day 2. I found myself writing about an experience I had foster parenting.
Day after day, I found the prompts prompted a memory I had foster parenting.
I didn't plan to write about these things, but I needed to write about these things. I didn't respond to every prompt with a short play recalling some experience foster parenting, but many, many of them I did respond with a play about foster parenting.
There has been some healing. (Although, I am surprised at how emotional I feel just writing this.) Some of what I wrote will go back into my full-length play. Some will become 10-minute plays. I already have one of these from the summer's work.
And stuff happened, and I wrote anyway. Sometimes the stuff from the day before became the next day's play.
I think I wrote something over 300 pages. That's the equivalent of 3 full-length plays.
I am finishing my one-act, three pages a day. Then it's back to the full-length play. I think I can finish it now.
Probably more crying, but that's a good thing.
Why did I do this? I was stuck. In the spring, I began a full-length play about some of my experiences being a foster parent. but after about 30 pages, I got bogged down. I had an outline and character notes and lots of other notes, but I couldn't make any progress.
The experiences of foster parenting were still to fresh, raw. We had only just made a decision in January to take a break until June. We both thought that we might not continue, but we wanted to give ourselves some space to get some perspective. The final month of 2014 had been particularly hard on us as foster parents. We are both now in our 60's. We had been doing this for nearly 10 years. And the young teen aged women we took into our family had all suffered major (I cannot over-emphasis "major") trauma before they came to us.
My writing need some perspective.
The decision to do ScriptWorks 90 in 90 was actually rather spur of the moment. We rented a house in Port Aransas for a month. We worked and walked. And grieved. As the month neared it's conclusion, I decided I would do the 90 in 90. I had done a ScriptWorks 30 in 30 in 2013 and had gotten some useful material. I knew I was stuck. I needed to write, but what I wanted to write about was not available to me, emotionally.
The day we drove back from Port Aransas, I got my first prompt. I wrote a short piece thinking of one of my sisters. It made me happy.
Certainly, I had doubts about my ability to write everyday for 90 days. Stuff happens. And I decided that if stuff happened, it happened. I would be okay with that.
June 2nd, day 2. I found myself writing about an experience I had foster parenting.
Day after day, I found the prompts prompted a memory I had foster parenting.
I didn't plan to write about these things, but I needed to write about these things. I didn't respond to every prompt with a short play recalling some experience foster parenting, but many, many of them I did respond with a play about foster parenting.
There has been some healing. (Although, I am surprised at how emotional I feel just writing this.) Some of what I wrote will go back into my full-length play. Some will become 10-minute plays. I already have one of these from the summer's work.
And stuff happened, and I wrote anyway. Sometimes the stuff from the day before became the next day's play.
I think I wrote something over 300 pages. That's the equivalent of 3 full-length plays.
I am finishing my one-act, three pages a day. Then it's back to the full-length play. I think I can finish it now.
Probably more crying, but that's a good thing.
Saturday, August 29, 2015
29 Aug 2015
PROMPT: Ask a partner or a friend to hide special pennies throughout your life, in the fridge, the pockets of your clothes, your car. Mark them all with an X with a sharpie. When you find one, write whatever you are thinking for five minutes.
Kirk Lynn, playwright/educator
Karen, 50, sits on the sofa. Her husband, Harold, 51, sits next to her.
KAREN
I know we’ve talked about it, but...
HAROLD
You complain about being bored...
KAREN
This will certainly relieve the boredom.
HAROLD
And then some.
Silence.
KAREN
What... what age...?
HAROLD
I don’t know, Karen. Grade school?
KAREN
There’s training, right?
HAROLD
A lot of training. We don’t have to make a final decision right now. We’ve got months of training before we they’ll lets us take anybody.
Silence.
KAREN
I don’t know. It’s a big change.
HAROLD
Yup.
Silence.
KAREN
Harold, why do you want to do this?
HAROLD
After Andrew died...
KAREN
That was more than twenty-five years ago.
HAROLD
After Andrew died, I felt that somehow, God didn’t trust me with... children.
KAREN
That’s ridiculous!
HAROLD
I know, but we’re not talking about what I was thinking. We’re talking about what I was feeling.
Karen slides over to Harold and hugs him.
KAREN
I’m so sorry you felt that way.
Silence.
HAROLD
When I was in college, I took a semester off and helped my mother at a Headstart program. While I was doing that I realized where I thought the center of the universe was. Children are the center of the universe.
KAREN
That was part of the reason I married you.
HAROLD
After Andrew died, I felt lost. You helped. You got me started teaching pre-school. Then I started working with teenagers for the city. I loved those kids. If working for the city hadn’t been such a pain in the ass, I’d probably still be doing that.
KAREN
I know.
HAROLD
And I wanted to write, but I need more and you say your bored...
KAREN
But foster parenting? That sounds really hard.
HAROLD
Probably will be. Taking kids at any age who’s parents don’t want them...
Silence.
KAREN
I’m willing to start the training. I don’t know whether this is something I can do, but I’m willing to... try.
Silence.
HAROLD
Sweet dreams and flying machines...
End of play.
Kirk Lynn, playwright/educator
Karen, 50, sits on the sofa. Her husband, Harold, 51, sits next to her.
KAREN
I know we’ve talked about it, but...
HAROLD
You complain about being bored...
KAREN
This will certainly relieve the boredom.
HAROLD
And then some.
Silence.
KAREN
What... what age...?
HAROLD
I don’t know, Karen. Grade school?
KAREN
There’s training, right?
HAROLD
A lot of training. We don’t have to make a final decision right now. We’ve got months of training before we they’ll lets us take anybody.
Silence.
KAREN
I don’t know. It’s a big change.
HAROLD
Yup.
Silence.
KAREN
Harold, why do you want to do this?
HAROLD
After Andrew died...
KAREN
That was more than twenty-five years ago.
HAROLD
After Andrew died, I felt that somehow, God didn’t trust me with... children.
KAREN
That’s ridiculous!
HAROLD
I know, but we’re not talking about what I was thinking. We’re talking about what I was feeling.
Karen slides over to Harold and hugs him.
KAREN
I’m so sorry you felt that way.
Silence.
HAROLD
When I was in college, I took a semester off and helped my mother at a Headstart program. While I was doing that I realized where I thought the center of the universe was. Children are the center of the universe.
KAREN
That was part of the reason I married you.
HAROLD
After Andrew died, I felt lost. You helped. You got me started teaching pre-school. Then I started working with teenagers for the city. I loved those kids. If working for the city hadn’t been such a pain in the ass, I’d probably still be doing that.
KAREN
I know.
HAROLD
And I wanted to write, but I need more and you say your bored...
KAREN
But foster parenting? That sounds really hard.
HAROLD
Probably will be. Taking kids at any age who’s parents don’t want them...
Silence.
KAREN
I’m willing to start the training. I don’t know whether this is something I can do, but I’m willing to... try.
Silence.
HAROLD
Sweet dreams and flying machines...
End of play.
Friday, August 28, 2015
28 Aug 2015
PROMPT: I didn't realize how strong I was ...
Lynne Kaufman, playwright
Lynne Kaufman, playwright
Brittany, 20, sits on the edge of her bed, crying. Kurt, 59, stands in the doorway of Brittany’s room.
BRITTANY
I’m disappointed in myself and I’m angry with myself.
KURT
Why is that, young lady?
BRITTANY
I’m... I’m not acting like an adult.
KURT
You’re twenty years old. It’s not time for you to be an adult yet.
BRITTANY
I have a daughter!
KURT
I know you do, and I know you love your daughter very much.
BRITTANY
She should be with me!
KURT
I agree. How are you going to make that happen?
BRITTANY
I don’t know! There are so many things I should be doing!
Silence.
KURT
Being an adult is hard, Brittany.
BRITTANY
(quiet)
I know.
KURT
I’m fifty-nine years old and I struggle everyday to be an adult and I my parents loved me and cared about me.
BRITTANY
My mother loves me!
KURT
What have I always told you about love?
BRITTANY
(angry)
I don’t know!
KURT
Love is an action verb.
Silence.
KURT
I don’t want to fight with you about your mother. She’s not the issue here.
Silence.
BRITTANY
I need to act like an adult.
KURT
You’ve got a million things you need to do.
BRITTANY
I do. It’s a huge list.
KURT
And how many of ‘em can you do right now?
BRITTANY
All of ‘em!
KURT
(slowly)
How many of them can you do right now?
BRITTANY
I can do one of them right now.
KURT
That’s the adult answer. You can do one of them right now and when that one’s done, then you can do another one.
BRITTANY
I don’t know where to start!
Silence.
KURT
Start by taking a deep breath.
Kurt takes a deep breath and looks at Brittany. Brittany takes a swallow breath.
KURT
Deep breath... and let it out slow.
Kurt takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. Brittany takes a deep breath and lets it out slow.
BRITTANY
(still impatient)
Now what?
KURT
I want to remind you of some things.
BRITTANY
What?!
KURT
Do you remember what it was like when you first came to live with us?
BRITTANY
I had just gotten out of a Residential Treatment Facility.
KURT
They had you drugged to the gills.
BRITTANY
I don’t hardly remember those first couple of months.
KURT
You were a zombie. You were so drugged that you didn’t wake up in the middle of the night when you had to pee. You were twelve years old and you wet the bed every night.
BRITTANY
You don’t have to remind me!
KURT
You just wanted to go home to your mommy.
BRITTANY
But my mommy didn’t want me.
KURT
I know.
(silence)
But we wanted you.
Silence.
BRITTANY
I know.
KURT
Your daddy was in prison. Your mother had dropped you off at a kiddie mental institution and wouldn’t pick you up. You were doped up and...
(smiling)
... slight overweight.
BRITTANY
I was fat!
(smiling)
You’ve still got that picture of me in front of the Christmas Tree, don’t you?
KURT
It’s on my screensaver.
BRITTANY
I hate that picture.
KURT
I think it’s an important picture.
BRITTANY
Why?!
KURT
It’s a reminder of where you were. It’s a reminder of how much you’ve come through. It’s a reminder of how strong you are.
Silence.
KURT
It’s hard being an adult. You don’t always get to have all the fun you think you ought to have, but what you get in place of fun, and as you know, that fun ain’t all that fun...
BRITTANY
(sigh)
I know...
KURT
You know what you get in place of fun? Something far more valuable.
BRITTANY
What?
KURT
Self-respect.
Silence.
KURT
I love you, Brittany.
BRITTANY
I love you guys.
End of play.
Thursday, August 27, 2015
27 Aug 2015
PROMPT: What would it take to forgive someone, if meant you had to give up something you believe?
Zeb L. West, writer/performer
Judy stands in front of Terrance glaring.
JUDY
How can you say you forgive him?! I will never forgive him! There’s nothing he can do to get me to forgive him!
TERRANCE
What do you want me to say?
JUDY
I want to you to say that what he did was unforgivable!
TERRANCE
What he did is unforgivable.
JUDY
But you still forgive him, don’t you?!
TERRANCE
I...
JUDY
(turning her back on Terrance)
Don’t even talk to me!
TERRANCE
(putting his hands on Judy’s shoulders)
Judy...
Judy shrugs off his hands and takes a step away.
TERRANCE
Forgiveness is the wrong word.
JUDY
(turning around and glaring)
Well, genius, what’s the right word then?!
TERRANCE
He’s broken, Judy.
JUDY
Broken!
TERRANCE
Broken. I don’t know how or why...
JUDY
Broken?!
Silence.
JUDY
It’s all well and good to say someone is broken, but that doesn’t relieve an adult of responsibility.
TERRANCE
No, of course not. He is completely responsible, but I don’t have to be angry. I don’t have to hate him.
JUDY
He raped a little girl... his own daughter. I can’t think of anything worse a human can do unless he raped her and then murdered her and even that might be kinder. At least she wouldn’t have to live with the... facts.
TERRANCE
I know. I know. I hate what he did...
JUDY
Then why don’t you hate him?!
TERRANCE
I don’t think he woke up one morning and decided it would be a good idea for him to rape his daughter. I don’t believe that... I can’t believe that.
JUDY
(snide)
Then what do you believe?!
TERRANCE
I think there is something wrong in his brain.
JUDY
Of course, there’s something wrong in his brain, Terrance!
TERRANCE
Judy, I have to believe that his brain is wired wrong. I don’t know if something happened to him when he was a boy or maybe it’s just a genetic defect or... or... I don’t know, but if a man can get up one day and just decide it’s a good idea to rape his daughter, then... then...
JUDY
(with compassion)
Then... what?
Judy strokes his face.
TERRANCE
Then, there’s no hope. We should drink wine, and burn coal, and shoot each other and every animal on the planet ‘til it all burns up. ‘Til we’re gone and the mother can rest.
JUDY
The mother?
TERRANCE
Mother earth.
Silence.
End of play.
Zeb L. West, writer/performer
Judy stands in front of Terrance glaring.
JUDY
How can you say you forgive him?! I will never forgive him! There’s nothing he can do to get me to forgive him!
TERRANCE
What do you want me to say?
JUDY
I want to you to say that what he did was unforgivable!
TERRANCE
What he did is unforgivable.
JUDY
But you still forgive him, don’t you?!
TERRANCE
I...
JUDY
(turning her back on Terrance)
Don’t even talk to me!
TERRANCE
(putting his hands on Judy’s shoulders)
Judy...
Judy shrugs off his hands and takes a step away.
TERRANCE
Forgiveness is the wrong word.
JUDY
(turning around and glaring)
Well, genius, what’s the right word then?!
TERRANCE
He’s broken, Judy.
JUDY
Broken!
TERRANCE
Broken. I don’t know how or why...
JUDY
Broken?!
Silence.
JUDY
It’s all well and good to say someone is broken, but that doesn’t relieve an adult of responsibility.
TERRANCE
No, of course not. He is completely responsible, but I don’t have to be angry. I don’t have to hate him.
JUDY
He raped a little girl... his own daughter. I can’t think of anything worse a human can do unless he raped her and then murdered her and even that might be kinder. At least she wouldn’t have to live with the... facts.
TERRANCE
I know. I know. I hate what he did...
JUDY
Then why don’t you hate him?!
TERRANCE
I don’t think he woke up one morning and decided it would be a good idea for him to rape his daughter. I don’t believe that... I can’t believe that.
JUDY
(snide)
Then what do you believe?!
TERRANCE
I think there is something wrong in his brain.
JUDY
Of course, there’s something wrong in his brain, Terrance!
TERRANCE
Judy, I have to believe that his brain is wired wrong. I don’t know if something happened to him when he was a boy or maybe it’s just a genetic defect or... or... I don’t know, but if a man can get up one day and just decide it’s a good idea to rape his daughter, then... then...
JUDY
(with compassion)
Then... what?
Judy strokes his face.
TERRANCE
Then, there’s no hope. We should drink wine, and burn coal, and shoot each other and every animal on the planet ‘til it all burns up. ‘Til we’re gone and the mother can rest.
JUDY
The mother?
TERRANCE
Mother earth.
Silence.
End of play.
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
26 Aug 2015
PROMPT: Three characters wake up side-by-side on a raft. Two of them are in a relationship; they have never met the third person. They don’t know how they got there— or where they’re headed.
Allison Gregory, playwright
Britany, 17, upset, can’t sit still at the table in the restaurant. Terri, 57, her foster mother is agitated as well. Clarence, her foster father enters and sits down with a sigh and a thud. Everyone is silent for a moment.
CLARENCE
That was... weird.
TERRI
The judge... the judge must have heard...
CLARENCE
She had to have heard...
TERRI
Even if she didn’t, the court clerk was standing right there. And the cop...
Silence.
TERRI
Was that as... crazy as I think it was?
CLARENCE
Yup.
Silence. Clarence looks at Britany.
CLARENCE
Are you okay?
BRITANY
No, I’m not okay!
TERRI
Your mother’s lawyer called you a... a...
BRITANY
A bitch.
Silence.
BRITANY
And my mother just stood there nodding! She agreed with her!
Silence.
CLARENCE
I was proud of you. You kept your cool. You didn’t go back after her.
BRITANY
I wanted to!
CLARENCE
I know you did.
TERRI
(half smile)
I saw the cop standing guard get all tense when your mother’s lawyer said that. He thought you might go off... You were amazing.
BRITANY
(calming slightly)
Thanks.
CLARENCE
You stood up for yourself, but you kept your cool.
Silence.
BRITANY
Thanks, you guys. I appreciate the way you stood up for me. I know I haven’t always been the easiest...
CLARENCE
That’s what family’s do. They hang together.
Silence.
BRITANY
Do you think my mother put her up to that?
TERRI
I can’t believe that.
BRITANY
My mom seemed pretty mad.
CLARENCE
I’m sure this is... frustrating and... embarrassing for her. She has to stand up in court every three months and tell the judge she... she...
Silence.
BRITANY
She doesn’t want me back.
Silence.
TERRI
We want you.
BRITANY
(crying)
I know.
CLARENCE
We love you.
BRITANY
I know.
CLARENCE
Remember what we’ve always told you Britany, there are two kinds of family. The one you’re born into, and the one you choose when you’re an adult.
TERRI
We choose you.
BRITANY
And I choose you guys.
Terri stand up and holds out her arms.
TERRI
Group hug!
Clarence goes to Terri and puts one arm around her and holds out his other to Britany. Britany grins, a little embarrassed, but joins the hug. Big hug, then everyone sits down.
CLARENCE
Now, what should we have for lunch?
TERRI
A victory celebration!
End of play.
Allison Gregory, playwright
Britany, 17, upset, can’t sit still at the table in the restaurant. Terri, 57, her foster mother is agitated as well. Clarence, her foster father enters and sits down with a sigh and a thud. Everyone is silent for a moment.
CLARENCE
That was... weird.
TERRI
The judge... the judge must have heard...
CLARENCE
She had to have heard...
TERRI
Even if she didn’t, the court clerk was standing right there. And the cop...
Silence.
TERRI
Was that as... crazy as I think it was?
CLARENCE
Yup.
Silence. Clarence looks at Britany.
CLARENCE
Are you okay?
BRITANY
No, I’m not okay!
TERRI
Your mother’s lawyer called you a... a...
BRITANY
A bitch.
Silence.
BRITANY
And my mother just stood there nodding! She agreed with her!
Silence.
CLARENCE
I was proud of you. You kept your cool. You didn’t go back after her.
BRITANY
I wanted to!
CLARENCE
I know you did.
TERRI
(half smile)
I saw the cop standing guard get all tense when your mother’s lawyer said that. He thought you might go off... You were amazing.
BRITANY
(calming slightly)
Thanks.
CLARENCE
You stood up for yourself, but you kept your cool.
Silence.
BRITANY
Thanks, you guys. I appreciate the way you stood up for me. I know I haven’t always been the easiest...
CLARENCE
That’s what family’s do. They hang together.
Silence.
BRITANY
Do you think my mother put her up to that?
TERRI
I can’t believe that.
BRITANY
My mom seemed pretty mad.
CLARENCE
I’m sure this is... frustrating and... embarrassing for her. She has to stand up in court every three months and tell the judge she... she...
Silence.
BRITANY
She doesn’t want me back.
Silence.
TERRI
We want you.
BRITANY
(crying)
I know.
CLARENCE
We love you.
BRITANY
I know.
CLARENCE
Remember what we’ve always told you Britany, there are two kinds of family. The one you’re born into, and the one you choose when you’re an adult.
TERRI
We choose you.
BRITANY
And I choose you guys.
Terri stand up and holds out her arms.
TERRI
Group hug!
Clarence goes to Terri and puts one arm around her and holds out his other to Britany. Britany grins, a little embarrassed, but joins the hug. Big hug, then everyone sits down.
CLARENCE
Now, what should we have for lunch?
TERRI
A victory celebration!
End of play.
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
25 Aug 2015
PROMPT: When they moved in next door, my father had a lot to say but nothing I dared repeat to anyone.
Kristen Gandrow, writer/dramaturg/arts administrator/teacher
Ron, middle-aged, stands at the window peaking out between the curtains. Margie, his wife, enters.
RON
Did you see what’s moved in next door, Margie?
MARGIE
They are not a what, they are a who. The Henderson’s.
RON
I count three teenage girls! One black and two brown, but the parents look white.
MARGIE
They are white. They’re foster parents. The girls aren’t really theirs. They belong to the state. They moved because their old house didn’t have enough room.
RON
What do you mean foster parents? They treat those kids like they’re their own. Hugging them and talking to them and smiling and laughing with them.
MARGIE
I think they think of them as their own children.
RON
And the girls! They seem happy!
MARGIE
Their children, Ron. Sometimes they are happy despite their problems.
RON
Those girls are going to be out in the backyard smoking marijuana. There’s going to be young men... thugs... going in and out of the house...
MARGIE
It’s a little scary, but they seem like nice people...
RON
And they have a dog...
MARGIE
Barkie.
RON
What?!
MARGIE
Barkie the dog. That’s the dog’s name. They said if she was ever making noise...
RON
I’ll get out my gun.
MARGIE
You will not get out your gun! Jeez, you sound like an old coot.
RON
I am an old coot!
MARGIE
You’re not an old coot. You’re just scared.
RON
I don’t like strangers.
MARGIE
I know. So why don’t you go next door and meet them.
RON
What will they think?
MARGIE
You keep peaking out the window instead of introducing yourself, and they’ll think your some kinda pervert.
RON
(hesitant)
What will I say?
MARGIE
How about “Hi, welcome to the neighborhood?”
RON
I can’t say that!
MARGIE
Then how ‘bout “Hi, I’m the creepy old man that will be peaking through the curtains at you for the next thirty years.”
Silence.
RON
That’s not funny.
MARGIE
No, it’s sad.
RON
You know teenagers scare me.
MARGIE
Not just teenagers.
Silence.
MARGIE
Suck it up, old man. Time to act like an adult. Teenagers are going to be living next door to us for a long time. Going in and out. Dressing weird, getting tattoos, smoking and drinking who knows what, sneaking out late at night. The police will probably show up more than once and at all hours of the day or night.
RON
(muttering)
Shit.
MARGIE
We’re the village. We have to help those people. Who knows what kind of hell those children have been through and we have to help, and not pull the covers up over our heads and hide. I know you believe that.
RON
I... I do.
MARGIE
Then march out that door, put a smile on your puss, and say...
(waving)
“Howdy.” Or are you the idiot in this village?
RON
(grumpy)
I didn’t ask for this responsibility.
MARGIE
You didn’t ask to be born rich, white, male, and American either, but you won the lottery. Time to give something back... to our neighbors!
Silence.
RON
(ashamed)
I’m lucky I married you.
MARGIE
Damn right!
Ron give Margie and hug and a kiss on the cheek and exits.
End of play.
Kristen Gandrow, writer/dramaturg/arts administrator/teacher
Ron, middle-aged, stands at the window peaking out between the curtains. Margie, his wife, enters.
RON
Did you see what’s moved in next door, Margie?
MARGIE
They are not a what, they are a who. The Henderson’s.
RON
I count three teenage girls! One black and two brown, but the parents look white.
MARGIE
They are white. They’re foster parents. The girls aren’t really theirs. They belong to the state. They moved because their old house didn’t have enough room.
RON
What do you mean foster parents? They treat those kids like they’re their own. Hugging them and talking to them and smiling and laughing with them.
MARGIE
I think they think of them as their own children.
RON
And the girls! They seem happy!
MARGIE
Their children, Ron. Sometimes they are happy despite their problems.
RON
Those girls are going to be out in the backyard smoking marijuana. There’s going to be young men... thugs... going in and out of the house...
MARGIE
It’s a little scary, but they seem like nice people...
RON
And they have a dog...
MARGIE
Barkie.
RON
What?!
MARGIE
Barkie the dog. That’s the dog’s name. They said if she was ever making noise...
RON
I’ll get out my gun.
MARGIE
You will not get out your gun! Jeez, you sound like an old coot.
RON
I am an old coot!
MARGIE
You’re not an old coot. You’re just scared.
RON
I don’t like strangers.
MARGIE
I know. So why don’t you go next door and meet them.
RON
What will they think?
MARGIE
You keep peaking out the window instead of introducing yourself, and they’ll think your some kinda pervert.
RON
(hesitant)
What will I say?
MARGIE
How about “Hi, welcome to the neighborhood?”
RON
I can’t say that!
MARGIE
Then how ‘bout “Hi, I’m the creepy old man that will be peaking through the curtains at you for the next thirty years.”
Silence.
RON
That’s not funny.
MARGIE
No, it’s sad.
RON
You know teenagers scare me.
MARGIE
Not just teenagers.
Silence.
MARGIE
Suck it up, old man. Time to act like an adult. Teenagers are going to be living next door to us for a long time. Going in and out. Dressing weird, getting tattoos, smoking and drinking who knows what, sneaking out late at night. The police will probably show up more than once and at all hours of the day or night.
RON
(muttering)
Shit.
MARGIE
We’re the village. We have to help those people. Who knows what kind of hell those children have been through and we have to help, and not pull the covers up over our heads and hide. I know you believe that.
RON
I... I do.
MARGIE
Then march out that door, put a smile on your puss, and say...
(waving)
“Howdy.” Or are you the idiot in this village?
RON
(grumpy)
I didn’t ask for this responsibility.
MARGIE
You didn’t ask to be born rich, white, male, and American either, but you won the lottery. Time to give something back... to our neighbors!
Silence.
RON
(ashamed)
I’m lucky I married you.
MARGIE
Damn right!
Ron give Margie and hug and a kiss on the cheek and exits.
End of play.
Friday, August 21, 2015
21 Aug 2015
PROMPT: It’s all I have in me today...
Leticia Rodriguez, artist/musician/dancer
Chuck, late middle aged, holds the phone up to his ear.
CHUCK
As soon as I hang up with you...
(listens)
Yes, ma’am.
(listens)
Thank you. Good night.
Debbie comes in just as Chuck is finishing the conversation.
DEBBIE
Are you still up?
CHUCK
Britany is not in her room.
DEBBIE
What?! Where is she?!
CHUCK
She snuck out.
DEBBIE
How did she get around the alarm?!
CHUCK
I don’t know. I got up to pee and decided to do a bed check. Her room was empty. Window open. Screen off.
DEBBIE
Did you... call the police?
CHUCK
I didn’t want to. I called the agency emergency number. They said I had to call the police and the hotline.
DEBBIE
What is she thinking?
CHUCK
Thinking? She’s all anger and fear and hormones!
Silence.
DEBBIE
What are we supposed to do now?
CHUCK
I’m going to turn on the TV, sit on the sofa, and wait. You should try to go back to bed if you can.
DEBBIE
I don’t know...
A loud knock on the door. Debbie jumps.
DEBBIE
Shit!
Chuck exits and comes back a moment later with a young woman, Darlene, in a police uniform.
DARLENE
Evening folks. Do you know why I’m here?
DEBBIE
Our daughter snuck out.
DARLENE
I have her in the back of the squad car.
CHUCK
Thank god!
DEBBIE
She’s alright?
DARLENE
She’s fine. Drunk, but fine.
CHUCK
Drunk?!
DARLENE
Just a little tipsy. We picked her up over on Burnet Road along with her little girlfriend, Sydney.
CHUCK
Those two idiots...
DARLENE
Can’t argue with you there, sir. They were just walking along the sidewalk. Some... weirdo was following them.
DEBBIE
They’re alright? I mean, other than being drunk.
DARLENE
They’re both fine.
CHUCK
Did you talk to them?
DARLENE
We had a long discussion and before I bring Britany in, I’m going to have another little chat with them.
CHUCK
Are they... in trouble?
DARLENE
With the law? No, sir. Not this time. I am going to issue a curfew warning to both of them, but they won’t have to go to court.
DEBBIE
Thank you.
DARLENE
Britany is your foster daughter?
CHUCK
Yes ma’am.
DARLENE
You’ve got your hands full.
CHUCK
Yes, ma’am.
DARLENE
She getting some counseling?
DEBBIE
She goes once a week.
CHUCK
And we had an alarm installed...
DEBBIE
This isn’t her first time.
CHUCK
No, ma’am. This isn’t her first time.
DARLENE
Alright. Sounds like you folks are doing everything you can.
CHUCK
We love her but...
DARLENE
I know. I’m going to go have a word with the young ladies, and then I will bring Britany in.
DEBBIE
Thank you. We’ll talk to her.
DARLENE
In the morning. Put her in bed and go to bed yourselves.
DEBBIE
Thank you, officer.
Darlene nods and exits.
DEBBIE
I don’t know if I can do this.
CHUCK
It’s been a long day. We’re not going to make any decision tonight.
DEBBIE
Okay... I love her.
CHUCK
Me, too.
They hug.
End of play.
Leticia Rodriguez, artist/musician/dancer
Chuck, late middle aged, holds the phone up to his ear.
CHUCK
As soon as I hang up with you...
(listens)
Yes, ma’am.
(listens)
Thank you. Good night.
Debbie comes in just as Chuck is finishing the conversation.
DEBBIE
Are you still up?
CHUCK
Britany is not in her room.
DEBBIE
What?! Where is she?!
CHUCK
She snuck out.
DEBBIE
How did she get around the alarm?!
CHUCK
I don’t know. I got up to pee and decided to do a bed check. Her room was empty. Window open. Screen off.
DEBBIE
Did you... call the police?
CHUCK
I didn’t want to. I called the agency emergency number. They said I had to call the police and the hotline.
DEBBIE
What is she thinking?
CHUCK
Thinking? She’s all anger and fear and hormones!
Silence.
DEBBIE
What are we supposed to do now?
CHUCK
I’m going to turn on the TV, sit on the sofa, and wait. You should try to go back to bed if you can.
DEBBIE
I don’t know...
A loud knock on the door. Debbie jumps.
DEBBIE
Shit!
Chuck exits and comes back a moment later with a young woman, Darlene, in a police uniform.
DARLENE
Evening folks. Do you know why I’m here?
DEBBIE
Our daughter snuck out.
DARLENE
I have her in the back of the squad car.
CHUCK
Thank god!
DEBBIE
She’s alright?
DARLENE
She’s fine. Drunk, but fine.
CHUCK
Drunk?!
DARLENE
Just a little tipsy. We picked her up over on Burnet Road along with her little girlfriend, Sydney.
CHUCK
Those two idiots...
DARLENE
Can’t argue with you there, sir. They were just walking along the sidewalk. Some... weirdo was following them.
DEBBIE
They’re alright? I mean, other than being drunk.
DARLENE
They’re both fine.
CHUCK
Did you talk to them?
DARLENE
We had a long discussion and before I bring Britany in, I’m going to have another little chat with them.
CHUCK
Are they... in trouble?
DARLENE
With the law? No, sir. Not this time. I am going to issue a curfew warning to both of them, but they won’t have to go to court.
DEBBIE
Thank you.
DARLENE
Britany is your foster daughter?
CHUCK
Yes ma’am.
DARLENE
You’ve got your hands full.
CHUCK
Yes, ma’am.
DARLENE
She getting some counseling?
DEBBIE
She goes once a week.
CHUCK
And we had an alarm installed...
DEBBIE
This isn’t her first time.
CHUCK
No, ma’am. This isn’t her first time.
DARLENE
Alright. Sounds like you folks are doing everything you can.
CHUCK
We love her but...
DARLENE
I know. I’m going to go have a word with the young ladies, and then I will bring Britany in.
DEBBIE
Thank you. We’ll talk to her.
DARLENE
In the morning. Put her in bed and go to bed yourselves.
DEBBIE
Thank you, officer.
Darlene nods and exits.
DEBBIE
I don’t know if I can do this.
CHUCK
It’s been a long day. We’re not going to make any decision tonight.
DEBBIE
Okay... I love her.
CHUCK
Me, too.
They hug.
End of play.
Thursday, August 20, 2015
20 Aug 2015
PROMPT: Three or more circumstances occur at once creating a perfect storm of some kind.
Alison Frost, director/educator
Robert stands at the open front door looking out. Macy wanders in.
MACY
You can close the door. They’re not coming back.
ROBERT
I was looking to see if Santa was on his way.
MACY
‘Bout as likely as a white Christmas.
Silence.
ROBERT
Two in two weeks.
MACY
I don’t what to do with myself.
Silence.
ROBERT
Did the agency call?
MACY
No.
ROBERT
They’re all on Christmas vacation.
MACY
Wish I was on Christmas vacation.
Silence.
ROBERT
Did she say why she was leaving?
MACY
No.
Silence.
ROBERT
Somebody from the agency should have called.
Silence.
MACY
Teenage girls just represent to much... risk.
ROBERT
Pregnancy, drugs, fights, run aways...
MACY
And all the drama.
ROBERT
We’ve had it all.
MACY
Too much risk. Too much liability.
Silence.
ROBERT
I thought we’d turned a corner with Anna.
MACY
Two years.
ROBERT
I really thought we’d turned a corner.
MACY
She would get scared whenever she got too close... And she got way to close this time.
Silence.
ROBERT
And Matilda... A mile wide and an inch deep.
MACY
It’s always the deepest problem.
ROBERT
Not the PTSD or the depression or the bad brain chemistry.
MACY
Attachment.
Silence.
ROBERT
When your mommy and daddy don’t want you, it’s hard to believe anyone ever will.
MACY
And when it does look like someone might want you...
ROBERT
Better to not take the risk.
Robert steps back from the door and closes it gently. He turns to Macy.
ROBERT
(breaking down)
Merry... merry...
Macy comes into his arms and they cry.
End of play.
Alison Frost, director/educator
Robert stands at the open front door looking out. Macy wanders in.
MACY
You can close the door. They’re not coming back.
ROBERT
I was looking to see if Santa was on his way.
MACY
‘Bout as likely as a white Christmas.
Silence.
ROBERT
Two in two weeks.
MACY
I don’t what to do with myself.
Silence.
ROBERT
Did the agency call?
MACY
No.
ROBERT
They’re all on Christmas vacation.
MACY
Wish I was on Christmas vacation.
Silence.
ROBERT
Did she say why she was leaving?
MACY
No.
Silence.
ROBERT
Somebody from the agency should have called.
Silence.
MACY
Teenage girls just represent to much... risk.
ROBERT
Pregnancy, drugs, fights, run aways...
MACY
And all the drama.
ROBERT
We’ve had it all.
MACY
Too much risk. Too much liability.
Silence.
ROBERT
I thought we’d turned a corner with Anna.
MACY
Two years.
ROBERT
I really thought we’d turned a corner.
MACY
She would get scared whenever she got too close... And she got way to close this time.
Silence.
ROBERT
And Matilda... A mile wide and an inch deep.
MACY
It’s always the deepest problem.
ROBERT
Not the PTSD or the depression or the bad brain chemistry.
MACY
Attachment.
Silence.
ROBERT
When your mommy and daddy don’t want you, it’s hard to believe anyone ever will.
MACY
And when it does look like someone might want you...
ROBERT
Better to not take the risk.
Robert steps back from the door and closes it gently. He turns to Macy.
ROBERT
(breaking down)
Merry... merry...
Macy comes into his arms and they cry.
End of play.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
13 Aug 2015
PROMPT: A dirty boxfan in the window . . .
Carolyn Maye, interdisciplinary artist
Natalie, 56, and Martin, 58, sit in their van that is parked in a driveway, looking out the front window and over the heads of the audience.
NATALIE
(shocked)
Wow.
MARTIN
It’s worse than I thought.
NATALIE
No AC.
MARTIN
The window screens are all ripped.
NATALIE
At least they have box fans in the windows.
MARTIN
Dirty box fans.
Silence.
NATALIE
(pointing up
Is that a hole in the roof?
MARTIN
I think so.
Silence.
NATALIE
We are so lucky.
MARTIN
So lucky.
Seeing Anna come on stage.
NATALIE
Here she comes!
Natalie and Martin get out of the car and go to greet, Anna, 19.
NATALIE
Hello sweetheart! How are you?
Anna acts a bit shy, but hugs Natalie and even gives Martin half a hug.
MARTIN
It’s so good to see you. How are you doing?
Anna steps back.
ANNA
(slight Mexican accent)
I’m fine.
NATALIE
That’s good.
MARTIN
We miss you.
ANNA
I miss you too.
Silence.
NATALIE
Are you... working?
ANNA
I’m a flagger on a road construction crew.
MARTIN
Wow. That’s sounds good.
NATALIE
Do you like it?
ANNA
(holding out her arms)
Yea, except I’m turning brown.
NATALIE
You are getting brown.
ANNA
Starting to look like a real Mexican.
MARTIN
You look beautiful.
ANNA
(shyly)
Thank you.
NATALIE
Is you’re mom here? We’d like to meet her.
ANNA
She’s working.
MARTIN
And your sister?
ANNA
(scornful)
She moved in with her boyfriend... And she’s pregnant again!
MARTIN
I’m... sorry to hear that.
NATALIE
How many kids does she have?
ANNA
Two.
NATALIE
So this will be her third.
ANNA
Uh-huh.
Silence.
MARTIN
And... what about.. Denzel?
ANNA
I broke up with him about three weeks ago.
MARTIN
How do you feel about that?
ANNA
Good. I just couldn’t handle anymore of his junk.
NATALIE
Okay.
ANNA
(angry)
Him and all his hoes.
Silence. Everyone looks uncomfortable.
ANNA
Listen, I’ve got friends coming by in a few minutes...
MARTIN
Yea. We need to get back on the road too.
Anna gives Martin a hug.
MARTIN
I love you...
Anna steps back. He looks down at her.
MARTIN
You’re still our daughter. That hasn’t changed. We still love you.
Natalie hugs Anna.
NATALIE
We love you.
ANNA
I love you.
Silence.
ANNA
Would it be okay if I came and visited?
NATALIE
You are always welcome in our house.
MARTIN
Your house. You are still our daughter.
ANNA
(nodding)
I’d like that.
End of play.
Carolyn Maye, interdisciplinary artist
Natalie, 56, and Martin, 58, sit in their van that is parked in a driveway, looking out the front window and over the heads of the audience.
NATALIE
(shocked)
Wow.
MARTIN
It’s worse than I thought.
NATALIE
No AC.
MARTIN
The window screens are all ripped.
NATALIE
At least they have box fans in the windows.
MARTIN
Dirty box fans.
Silence.
NATALIE
(pointing up
Is that a hole in the roof?
MARTIN
I think so.
Silence.
NATALIE
We are so lucky.
MARTIN
So lucky.
Seeing Anna come on stage.
NATALIE
Here she comes!
Natalie and Martin get out of the car and go to greet, Anna, 19.
NATALIE
Hello sweetheart! How are you?
Anna acts a bit shy, but hugs Natalie and even gives Martin half a hug.
MARTIN
It’s so good to see you. How are you doing?
Anna steps back.
ANNA
(slight Mexican accent)
I’m fine.
NATALIE
That’s good.
MARTIN
We miss you.
ANNA
I miss you too.
Silence.
NATALIE
Are you... working?
ANNA
I’m a flagger on a road construction crew.
MARTIN
Wow. That’s sounds good.
NATALIE
Do you like it?
ANNA
(holding out her arms)
Yea, except I’m turning brown.
NATALIE
You are getting brown.
ANNA
Starting to look like a real Mexican.
MARTIN
You look beautiful.
ANNA
(shyly)
Thank you.
NATALIE
Is you’re mom here? We’d like to meet her.
ANNA
She’s working.
MARTIN
And your sister?
ANNA
(scornful)
She moved in with her boyfriend... And she’s pregnant again!
MARTIN
I’m... sorry to hear that.
NATALIE
How many kids does she have?
ANNA
Two.
NATALIE
So this will be her third.
ANNA
Uh-huh.
Silence.
MARTIN
And... what about.. Denzel?
ANNA
I broke up with him about three weeks ago.
MARTIN
How do you feel about that?
ANNA
Good. I just couldn’t handle anymore of his junk.
NATALIE
Okay.
ANNA
(angry)
Him and all his hoes.
Silence. Everyone looks uncomfortable.
ANNA
Listen, I’ve got friends coming by in a few minutes...
MARTIN
Yea. We need to get back on the road too.
Anna gives Martin a hug.
MARTIN
I love you...
Anna steps back. He looks down at her.
MARTIN
You’re still our daughter. That hasn’t changed. We still love you.
Natalie hugs Anna.
NATALIE
We love you.
ANNA
I love you.
Silence.
ANNA
Would it be okay if I came and visited?
NATALIE
You are always welcome in our house.
MARTIN
Your house. You are still our daughter.
ANNA
(nodding)
I’d like that.
End of play.
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
12 Aug 2015
PROMPT:
Darcy, 55, sits on the floor holding a rag nearly in tears. Stephen, 57, comes over to her.
DARCY
I can’t get it clean, no matter what I do.
STEPHEN
Fuckin’ teenagers. Who’s idea was it to become foster parents anyway?!
DARCY
Yours.
STEPHEN
Oh... yea...
(kneeling down and looking at the floor)
What is it, anyway?
DARCY
Hair dye?
STEPHEN
It’s green?!
DARCY
Julie has green hair now.
STEPHEN
Fucking’ teenagers.
DARCY
All the kids are doing ti.
STEPHEN
I know. How’d she pay for the hair dye?
DARCY
(hesitating)
I bought it for her.
STEPHEN
So this is your fault.
DARCY
This is my fault.
STEPHEN
Good to know who to blame.
DARCY
That’s our family motto...
STEPHEN
Know who to blame.
DARCY
Me.
They both look at the stain.
STEPHEN
Ugly color.
DARCY
Specially on the carpet.
STEPHEN
How’s it look on Julie’s hair?
DARCY
‘Bout the same.
STEPHEN
She’s such a pretty girl!
DARCY
I think it scares her to be attractive.
STEPHEN
I guess I can understand that.
DARCY
Yup.
Silence. They look at the stain.
STEPHEN
It’s not going to come out of the carpet is it?
DARCY
Nope.
Silence.
STEPHEN
Julie’s hair is... was awfully dark.
DARCY
Bleach.
STEPHEN
Before she dyed it?
DARCY
Platinum blond.
STEPHEN
(laughs)
I’d pay to see that!
DARCY
I got pictures.
STEPHEN
She let you take pictures?!
DARCY
She didn’t let me.
STEPHEN
You just did it.
Darcy nods.
STEPHEN
Ya gotta post those on FaceBook.
DARCY
That seems kinda cruel.
STEPHEN
Crueler than a hall carpet with a big green stain?!
DARCY
Don’t forget about the towels and the shower and the sink and the floor in the bathroom.
STEPHEN
It will come off of those though, right?
DARCY
Not the towels.
Silence.
DARCY
Let’s post ‘em right now.
Darcy stands.
End of play.
Darcy, 55, sits on the floor holding a rag nearly in tears. Stephen, 57, comes over to her.
DARCY
I can’t get it clean, no matter what I do.
STEPHEN
Fuckin’ teenagers. Who’s idea was it to become foster parents anyway?!
DARCY
Yours.
STEPHEN
Oh... yea...
(kneeling down and looking at the floor)
What is it, anyway?
DARCY
Hair dye?
STEPHEN
It’s green?!
DARCY
Julie has green hair now.
STEPHEN
Fucking’ teenagers.
DARCY
All the kids are doing ti.
STEPHEN
I know. How’d she pay for the hair dye?
DARCY
(hesitating)
I bought it for her.
STEPHEN
So this is your fault.
DARCY
This is my fault.
STEPHEN
Good to know who to blame.
DARCY
That’s our family motto...
STEPHEN
Know who to blame.
DARCY
Me.
They both look at the stain.
STEPHEN
Ugly color.
DARCY
Specially on the carpet.
STEPHEN
How’s it look on Julie’s hair?
DARCY
‘Bout the same.
STEPHEN
She’s such a pretty girl!
DARCY
I think it scares her to be attractive.
STEPHEN
I guess I can understand that.
DARCY
Yup.
Silence. They look at the stain.
STEPHEN
It’s not going to come out of the carpet is it?
DARCY
Nope.
Silence.
STEPHEN
Julie’s hair is... was awfully dark.
DARCY
Bleach.
STEPHEN
Before she dyed it?
DARCY
Platinum blond.
STEPHEN
(laughs)
I’d pay to see that!
DARCY
I got pictures.
STEPHEN
She let you take pictures?!
DARCY
She didn’t let me.
STEPHEN
You just did it.
Darcy nods.
STEPHEN
Ya gotta post those on FaceBook.
DARCY
That seems kinda cruel.
STEPHEN
Crueler than a hall carpet with a big green stain?!
DARCY
Don’t forget about the towels and the shower and the sink and the floor in the bathroom.
STEPHEN
It will come off of those though, right?
DARCY
Not the towels.
Silence.
DARCY
Let’s post ‘em right now.
Darcy stands.
End of play.
Sunday, August 2, 2015
2 Aug 2015
PROMPT:
Bob, 55, sits stiffly in a chair. There is a knock on a door. Daisy, 18, peeks in.
DAISY
(quietly, concerned)
Are... are you all right?
BOB
(not looking at Daisy, angry)
Did it seem like I was alright when I stomped out of the room screaming two minutes ago?!
DAISY
(hesitantly)
N... no.
BOB
You heard the door to this room slam when I entered?
DAISY
Yes.
BOB
Three times, right?
DAISY
Three times.
BOB
You heard me shouting and cursing from behind the closed door?!
DAISY
I think the neighbors heard you shouting and cursing.
Bob has not yet turned toward Daisy, but now he does as he slowly stands.
BOB
So your question, am I alright, was rhetorical, right?
DAISY
I... I don’t know what...
(pronouncing the word carefully)
... rhe-tor-ical means.
BOB
A rhetorical question is a question you ask that you already know the answer to.
DAISY
Oh... Yes. I guess it was... rhetorical.
BOB
You knew what the answer was?
DAISY
I knew.
BOB
(shouting and stomping toward Daisy, who retreats and cringes)
Then why, the fuck, did you disturb my solitude and open the door and ask it!?
Silence.
DAISY
(still cringing)
I... I was worried about you.
Daisy words strike Bob almost like a blow. He stops steps back and sinks onto the chair.
BOB
(he knows the answer)
Why did you cringe?
DAISY
I thought you might hit me.
Bob’s head falls.
BOB
That was a rhetorical question. I’m... I’m sorry I scared you.
DAISY
I knew in my head you wouldn’t hit me, but my body just... reacted.
Silence.
BOB
I’m sorry I stormed out.
DAISY
Sometimes people just need to be alone.
BOB
That’s right. I didn’t want to say anything else that was stupid...
DAISY
You didn’t say anything that was stupid. You were saying things I needed to hear.
BOB
I didn’t need to shout them.
Silence.
DAISY
I... I have a lot of anxiety.
BOB
I know. Me too.
DAISY
Sometimes I make decision because of my anxiety rather than...
Silence.
BOB
Me too.
Silence.
DAISY
Will... you give me a hug?
BOB
(smiling a little)
Are you sure?
DAISY
Yes.
Daisy holds out her arms and Bob gives her a gentle hug, and then steps back.
BOB
Will you give me a minute?
Daisy nods and leaves. Bob sits down and breaths a big sigh of relief.
End of play.
Bob, 55, sits stiffly in a chair. There is a knock on a door. Daisy, 18, peeks in.
DAISY
(quietly, concerned)
Are... are you all right?
BOB
(not looking at Daisy, angry)
Did it seem like I was alright when I stomped out of the room screaming two minutes ago?!
DAISY
(hesitantly)
N... no.
BOB
You heard the door to this room slam when I entered?
DAISY
Yes.
BOB
Three times, right?
DAISY
Three times.
BOB
You heard me shouting and cursing from behind the closed door?!
DAISY
I think the neighbors heard you shouting and cursing.
Bob has not yet turned toward Daisy, but now he does as he slowly stands.
BOB
So your question, am I alright, was rhetorical, right?
DAISY
I... I don’t know what...
(pronouncing the word carefully)
... rhe-tor-ical means.
BOB
A rhetorical question is a question you ask that you already know the answer to.
DAISY
Oh... Yes. I guess it was... rhetorical.
BOB
You knew what the answer was?
DAISY
I knew.
BOB
(shouting and stomping toward Daisy, who retreats and cringes)
Then why, the fuck, did you disturb my solitude and open the door and ask it!?
Silence.
DAISY
(still cringing)
I... I was worried about you.
Daisy words strike Bob almost like a blow. He stops steps back and sinks onto the chair.
BOB
(he knows the answer)
Why did you cringe?
DAISY
I thought you might hit me.
Bob’s head falls.
BOB
That was a rhetorical question. I’m... I’m sorry I scared you.
DAISY
I knew in my head you wouldn’t hit me, but my body just... reacted.
Silence.
BOB
I’m sorry I stormed out.
DAISY
Sometimes people just need to be alone.
BOB
That’s right. I didn’t want to say anything else that was stupid...
DAISY
You didn’t say anything that was stupid. You were saying things I needed to hear.
BOB
I didn’t need to shout them.
Silence.
DAISY
I... I have a lot of anxiety.
BOB
I know. Me too.
DAISY
Sometimes I make decision because of my anxiety rather than...
Silence.
BOB
Me too.
Silence.
DAISY
Will... you give me a hug?
BOB
(smiling a little)
Are you sure?
DAISY
Yes.
Daisy holds out her arms and Bob gives her a gentle hug, and then steps back.
BOB
Will you give me a minute?
Daisy nods and leaves. Bob sits down and breaths a big sigh of relief.
End of play.
Thursday, July 30, 2015
30 July 2015
PROMPT: Each of your characters suffers from a phobia of some kind.
Alison Frost, director/educator
Bonnie, 19, sits at the dinner table looking fearfully down at her plate. Theodore, 58, sits with her eating from his plate. Bonnie picks up her fork and pushes around the food on her plate.
BONNIE
What is this crap?!
THEODORE
Stroganoff.
BONNIE
Beef stroganoff?
THEODORE
You know we’re vegetarians.
BONNIE
(picking at her plate)
Those are mushrooms, right?!
THEODORE
Yup.
Bonnie drops her fork with a clank and shoves the plate as far away from her as possible.
BONNIE
You know I don’t eat mushrooms!
THEODORE
Do you know what mushrooms are?
BONNIE
Fungus!
THEODORE
Exactly.
BONNIE
Fungus freaks me out! It lives on... dead things!
Silence.
THEODORE
So do we.
BONNIE
Are you saying I’m a fungus?!
THEODORE
No, no. Nearly everything that’s living, lives on other things that were... or are alive.
BONNIE
Are alive!?
THEODORE
Athelete’s foot?
BONNIE
I got it at the last group home I lived in.
THEODORE
It’s quite common. I’ve had it many times...
BONNIE
Yuck.
THEODORE
All part of the human condition. Anyway, athelete’s foot is a fungus...
BONNIE
Gross!
THEODORE
A fungus that lives on something that is alive... us.
BONNIE
That’s disgusting!
THEODORE
Your body is filled with other living creatures...
BONNIE
You’re kidding!
THEODORE
Up to five pounds of...
(indicating Bonnie)
... you is made up of bacteria and other organisms that live inside you, including fungus.
BONNIE
That is so disgusting! Is there a shot or something I can take to get rid of all those... thoses... Ewww!
THEODORE
You need them.
BONNIE
I don’t need them!
THEODORE
If you don’t have all that flora and fauna.
BONNIE
Flora and fauna... You mean, plants and animals?!
THEODORE
And fungus, yup. If you don’t have all those critters running around and growing inside you, you couldn’t digest your food. They help protect you from disease...
BONNIE
Why are you telling me this?!
THEODORE
Because being afraid of fungus is like being afraid of your nose.
BONNIE
Nobody’s afraid of their nose.
THEODORE
Exactly. There’s fungus in us and we eat lots and lots of different kinds of fungus all the time. It’s one of the most important things in our food.
BONNIE
(getting interested)
You’re kidding.
THEODORE
Nope. Cheese. You love cheese and yogurt and crema.
BONNIE
Yea!
THEODORE
Fungus. Vinegar, wine, beer.
BONNIE
Fungus?
THEODORE
Fungus. They filter most of it out, but there is still small amounts in all of them. And in fact, I buy vinegar that says it has...
(air quotes)
... “the mother” in it.
BONNIE
The mother? Fungus?
THEODORE
Yup. A big clump. Looks like a giant booger.
BONNIE
You are so disgusting.
THEODORE
There are plenty of real things in this world to be afraid of, without being afraid of something we need for our survival.
BONNIE
(indicating Theodore’s shoulder)
Like that spider crawling up your arm?
Theodore leaps up knocking back his chair and slapping at his arm and dancing around in fear.
THEODORE
Get it off me!
BONNIE
Grown man afraid of spiders.
THEODORE
(still dancing and brushing at his sleeve and back)
Get it off!
BONNIE
I lied.
THEODORE
(stopping and glaring)
What?!
BONNIE
No spider.
THEODORE
You little...
Finally, Theodore smiles.
THEODORE
(picking up his chair)
Good one.
Theodore sits back down.
BONNIE
I’m still not eating mushrooms.
THEODORE
(picking up Bonnie’s plate and scraping the contents onto his)
More for me.
End of play.
Alison Frost, director/educator
Bonnie, 19, sits at the dinner table looking fearfully down at her plate. Theodore, 58, sits with her eating from his plate. Bonnie picks up her fork and pushes around the food on her plate.
BONNIE
What is this crap?!
THEODORE
Stroganoff.
BONNIE
Beef stroganoff?
THEODORE
You know we’re vegetarians.
BONNIE
(picking at her plate)
Those are mushrooms, right?!
THEODORE
Yup.
Bonnie drops her fork with a clank and shoves the plate as far away from her as possible.
BONNIE
You know I don’t eat mushrooms!
THEODORE
Do you know what mushrooms are?
BONNIE
Fungus!
THEODORE
Exactly.
BONNIE
Fungus freaks me out! It lives on... dead things!
Silence.
THEODORE
So do we.
BONNIE
Are you saying I’m a fungus?!
THEODORE
No, no. Nearly everything that’s living, lives on other things that were... or are alive.
BONNIE
Are alive!?
THEODORE
Athelete’s foot?
BONNIE
I got it at the last group home I lived in.
THEODORE
It’s quite common. I’ve had it many times...
BONNIE
Yuck.
THEODORE
All part of the human condition. Anyway, athelete’s foot is a fungus...
BONNIE
Gross!
THEODORE
A fungus that lives on something that is alive... us.
BONNIE
That’s disgusting!
THEODORE
Your body is filled with other living creatures...
BONNIE
You’re kidding!
THEODORE
Up to five pounds of...
(indicating Bonnie)
... you is made up of bacteria and other organisms that live inside you, including fungus.
BONNIE
That is so disgusting! Is there a shot or something I can take to get rid of all those... thoses... Ewww!
THEODORE
You need them.
BONNIE
I don’t need them!
THEODORE
If you don’t have all that flora and fauna.
BONNIE
Flora and fauna... You mean, plants and animals?!
THEODORE
And fungus, yup. If you don’t have all those critters running around and growing inside you, you couldn’t digest your food. They help protect you from disease...
BONNIE
Why are you telling me this?!
THEODORE
Because being afraid of fungus is like being afraid of your nose.
BONNIE
Nobody’s afraid of their nose.
THEODORE
Exactly. There’s fungus in us and we eat lots and lots of different kinds of fungus all the time. It’s one of the most important things in our food.
BONNIE
(getting interested)
You’re kidding.
THEODORE
Nope. Cheese. You love cheese and yogurt and crema.
BONNIE
Yea!
THEODORE
Fungus. Vinegar, wine, beer.
BONNIE
Fungus?
THEODORE
Fungus. They filter most of it out, but there is still small amounts in all of them. And in fact, I buy vinegar that says it has...
(air quotes)
... “the mother” in it.
BONNIE
The mother? Fungus?
THEODORE
Yup. A big clump. Looks like a giant booger.
BONNIE
You are so disgusting.
THEODORE
There are plenty of real things in this world to be afraid of, without being afraid of something we need for our survival.
BONNIE
(indicating Theodore’s shoulder)
Like that spider crawling up your arm?
Theodore leaps up knocking back his chair and slapping at his arm and dancing around in fear.
THEODORE
Get it off me!
BONNIE
Grown man afraid of spiders.
THEODORE
(still dancing and brushing at his sleeve and back)
Get it off!
BONNIE
I lied.
THEODORE
(stopping and glaring)
What?!
BONNIE
No spider.
THEODORE
You little...
Finally, Theodore smiles.
THEODORE
(picking up his chair)
Good one.
Theodore sits back down.
BONNIE
I’m still not eating mushrooms.
THEODORE
(picking up Bonnie’s plate and scraping the contents onto his)
More for me.
End of play.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
26 July 2015
PROMPT: Your instruction for the day is to get lost. Get Lost. Lose yourself. Can you do it? Go.
Katie Pearl, writer/director/performer
Connie, 59, stands in front of Herbert, 60, who sits in an easy chair with head in his hands.
CONNIE
Dickhead!
Herbert sinks deeper into the chair.
CONNIE
What the hell were you thinking!?
HERBERT
I... I don’t know.
Connie shakes her head and sinks to the arm of the chair.
CONNIE
You’ve done some dumb shit, Herbert, but this...!
HERBERT
I know... I know.
CONNIE
We don’t have that kind of money!
HERBERT
I know.
CONNIE
She owes us from the last time she was arrested!
HERBERT
I know.
CONNIE
She owes us fifteen hundred dollars!
HERBERT
(weakly)
She was never going to pay that back.
CONNIE
I know!
HERBERT
I... I couldn’t let her sit in jail.
CONNIE
Why not!?
HERBERT
She’s my daughter.
Silence.
CONNIE
Daughter is a two way street, Herbert.
HERBERT
I know.
CONNIE
You can say all you want that Anna is our daughter, but she has to want to be our daughter as much as we want her to be our daughter.
HERBERT
I know.
CONNIE
Has she done anything... anything since she left to stay in relationship with us?
HERBERT
No.
CONNIE
We hadn’t heard from her until she was locked up and in trouble.
HERBERT
I know.
CONNIE
And needing money!
HERBERT
I know.
Silence.
CONNIE
We talked about this.
HERBERT
I know, Connie.
CONNIE
We talked about this.
HERBERT
I know.
Silence.
HERBERT
She called again.
CONNIE
She did? When?
HERBERT
Day before yesterday. She sounded pitiful.
CONNIE
I’m sure she did!
HERBERT
I didn’t know what to do.
CONNIE
So you took five thousand dollars out of our retirement and paid her bail.
Herbert nods.
Silence.
CONNIE
They still have piece of your soul, don’t they?
HERBERT
(nodding)
Yea.
CONNIE
Mine too.
Silence.
CONNIE
Maybe, she’ll pay us back this time.
HERBERT
No.
End of play.
Katie Pearl, writer/director/performer
Connie, 59, stands in front of Herbert, 60, who sits in an easy chair with head in his hands.
CONNIE
Dickhead!
Herbert sinks deeper into the chair.
CONNIE
What the hell were you thinking!?
HERBERT
I... I don’t know.
Connie shakes her head and sinks to the arm of the chair.
CONNIE
You’ve done some dumb shit, Herbert, but this...!
HERBERT
I know... I know.
CONNIE
We don’t have that kind of money!
HERBERT
I know.
CONNIE
She owes us from the last time she was arrested!
HERBERT
I know.
CONNIE
She owes us fifteen hundred dollars!
HERBERT
(weakly)
She was never going to pay that back.
CONNIE
I know!
HERBERT
I... I couldn’t let her sit in jail.
CONNIE
Why not!?
HERBERT
She’s my daughter.
Silence.
CONNIE
Daughter is a two way street, Herbert.
HERBERT
I know.
CONNIE
You can say all you want that Anna is our daughter, but she has to want to be our daughter as much as we want her to be our daughter.
HERBERT
I know.
CONNIE
Has she done anything... anything since she left to stay in relationship with us?
HERBERT
No.
CONNIE
We hadn’t heard from her until she was locked up and in trouble.
HERBERT
I know.
CONNIE
And needing money!
HERBERT
I know.
Silence.
CONNIE
We talked about this.
HERBERT
I know, Connie.
CONNIE
We talked about this.
HERBERT
I know.
Silence.
HERBERT
She called again.
CONNIE
She did? When?
HERBERT
Day before yesterday. She sounded pitiful.
CONNIE
I’m sure she did!
HERBERT
I didn’t know what to do.
CONNIE
So you took five thousand dollars out of our retirement and paid her bail.
Herbert nods.
Silence.
CONNIE
They still have piece of your soul, don’t they?
HERBERT
(nodding)
Yea.
CONNIE
Mine too.
Silence.
CONNIE
Maybe, she’ll pay us back this time.
HERBERT
No.
End of play.
Monday, July 20, 2015
20 July 2015
PROMPT: A bad haircut, a disintegrating relationship, a confused visitor, an apocalyptic event.
Allison Gregory, playwright
Carrie, 54 year old woman, sits at the table. Dan, 59, enters.
CARRIE
Jeez, you’re hair is getting long!
DAN
And it’s gonna get longer. The last haircut you gave me was so bad, I decided to just let it grow.
CARRIE
You look like a hipster.
DAN
Now, you’re just trying to piss me off.
CARRIE
You’re an idiot.
DAN
(with pride)
American made.
Dan starts to sit when a knock is heard. With a sigh, Dan exits to answer it. He comes back a few moments later with Berta, 28.
CARRIE
Hey, Berta.
Berta goes to Carrie and gives her a little hug.
DAN
Come to check up on us.
BERTA
Umm. No.
CARRIE
Well, what brings you to our humble abode?
BERTA
CPS is getting worried.
CARRIE
About Britney.
BERTA
Yup.
DAN
We’re doing everything we can, Berta. She’s been grounded for a month. She’s lost her phone. We check up on her all the time.
BERTA
I know. They know.
CARRIE
What are they thinking?
BERTA
Residential Treatment Facility.
CARRIE
She’ll never go.
BERTA
She’s seventeen. She can leave care if she wants.
DAN
She doesn’t want to leave care! Where would she go?! Back to her mother?! Her mother is a drug addict and an alcoholic.
BERTA
I know.
CARRIE
She’ll lose all her benefits if she leaves care!
BERTA
I know.
Silence.
BERTA
There’s nothing I can do. They are afraid that something bad will happen if she stays here.
DAN
Something bad might happen, but something bad will certainly happen if she leaves care. She’ll end up homeless, or a drug addict, or die.
CARRIE
But it won’t be their fault.
BERTA
‘Bout sums it up.
CARRIE
(quietly)
There’s nothing we or you can do?
BERTA
Call her case worker. I will to.
Silence.
BERTA
I have another matter I need to talk to you about.
DAN
Ok.
BERTA
I have a new placement that would be perfect for ya’ll.
CARRIE
And by perfect you mean...?
BERTA
She’s out in the car.
CARRIE
Out in the car!
BERTA
It’s an emergency placement.
DAN
(with a sigh)
Tell us about her.
BERTA
She was in a home in Temple. There were several other girls in the home. One of the other girls in the home accused the father of sexual molesting her.
CARRIE
Your kidding!
BERTA
Nobody thinks that there was anything going on, but the department...
DAN
CYA.
BERTA
Exactly. All the girls were removed from the home while there’s an investigation.
CARRIE
Including the young lady out in your car.
BERTA
She’s fifteen. Mother died in a car accident when she was eleven, father got remarried and step-mom didn’t want the young lady around. Her name is Trisha.
DAN
What kind of problems does she have?
BERTA
A month ago, she was released from an Residential Treatment Facility. She has some anger issues, PTSD, has used drugs, depression.
CARRIE
I’ll bet.
Silence. Carrie looks at Dan. Dan rolls his eyes and shrugs.
CARRIE
Bring her in.
Berta gives them both a little hug.
BERTA
Thank you.
Berta exits.
DAN
Hope this isn’t a mistake.
Berta returns carrying two large, over-stuffed, black garbage bags. Trisha follows her carrying a third garbage bag. Berta dumps hers on the floor. Trisha tentatively sets hers down.
BERTA
This is Trisha
Trisha doesn’t lift her head. She keeps her gaze on the floor.
TRISHA
(barley a whisper)
Hi.
Dan steps forward and extends his hand.
DAN
Hello, young lady. I’m Dan. Welcome to our home.
Trisha gives him her limp hand, but doesn’t look up.
TRISHA
Thank you.
Carrie gets up and goes over to Trisha.
CARRIE
Hi, Trisha. I’m Carrie.
TRISHA
(head down)
Hi.
Carrie puts a reassuring hand gently on Trisha’s back. Carrie picks up one of the trash bags.
CARRIE
Let me show you your room.
Trisha looks up for the first time.
TRISHA
I have a room?
DAN
Sure.
TRISHA
Wow.
Trisha picks up the bag she was carrying and follows out Carrie, who exits.
DAN
(nodding toward the third garbage bag)
Is that all her stuff?
BERTA
Yep.
Silence.
DAN
The finest in foster care luggage. I hate that they come into our home with all their worldly possession in garbage bags. I feel sick when I see it.
Silence.
DAN
If we didn’t take her, what was going to happen.
BERTA
Probably a conference room cot at CPS offices.
Dan shakes his head.
End of play.
Allison Gregory, playwright
Carrie, 54 year old woman, sits at the table. Dan, 59, enters.
CARRIE
Jeez, you’re hair is getting long!
DAN
And it’s gonna get longer. The last haircut you gave me was so bad, I decided to just let it grow.
CARRIE
You look like a hipster.
DAN
Now, you’re just trying to piss me off.
CARRIE
You’re an idiot.
DAN
(with pride)
American made.
Dan starts to sit when a knock is heard. With a sigh, Dan exits to answer it. He comes back a few moments later with Berta, 28.
CARRIE
Hey, Berta.
Berta goes to Carrie and gives her a little hug.
DAN
Come to check up on us.
BERTA
Umm. No.
CARRIE
Well, what brings you to our humble abode?
BERTA
CPS is getting worried.
CARRIE
About Britney.
BERTA
Yup.
DAN
We’re doing everything we can, Berta. She’s been grounded for a month. She’s lost her phone. We check up on her all the time.
BERTA
I know. They know.
CARRIE
What are they thinking?
BERTA
Residential Treatment Facility.
CARRIE
She’ll never go.
BERTA
She’s seventeen. She can leave care if she wants.
DAN
She doesn’t want to leave care! Where would she go?! Back to her mother?! Her mother is a drug addict and an alcoholic.
BERTA
I know.
CARRIE
She’ll lose all her benefits if she leaves care!
BERTA
I know.
Silence.
BERTA
There’s nothing I can do. They are afraid that something bad will happen if she stays here.
DAN
Something bad might happen, but something bad will certainly happen if she leaves care. She’ll end up homeless, or a drug addict, or die.
CARRIE
But it won’t be their fault.
BERTA
‘Bout sums it up.
CARRIE
(quietly)
There’s nothing we or you can do?
BERTA
Call her case worker. I will to.
Silence.
BERTA
I have another matter I need to talk to you about.
DAN
Ok.
BERTA
I have a new placement that would be perfect for ya’ll.
CARRIE
And by perfect you mean...?
BERTA
She’s out in the car.
CARRIE
Out in the car!
BERTA
It’s an emergency placement.
DAN
(with a sigh)
Tell us about her.
BERTA
She was in a home in Temple. There were several other girls in the home. One of the other girls in the home accused the father of sexual molesting her.
CARRIE
Your kidding!
BERTA
Nobody thinks that there was anything going on, but the department...
DAN
CYA.
BERTA
Exactly. All the girls were removed from the home while there’s an investigation.
CARRIE
Including the young lady out in your car.
BERTA
She’s fifteen. Mother died in a car accident when she was eleven, father got remarried and step-mom didn’t want the young lady around. Her name is Trisha.
DAN
What kind of problems does she have?
BERTA
A month ago, she was released from an Residential Treatment Facility. She has some anger issues, PTSD, has used drugs, depression.
CARRIE
I’ll bet.
Silence. Carrie looks at Dan. Dan rolls his eyes and shrugs.
CARRIE
Bring her in.
Berta gives them both a little hug.
BERTA
Thank you.
Berta exits.
DAN
Hope this isn’t a mistake.
Berta returns carrying two large, over-stuffed, black garbage bags. Trisha follows her carrying a third garbage bag. Berta dumps hers on the floor. Trisha tentatively sets hers down.
BERTA
This is Trisha
Trisha doesn’t lift her head. She keeps her gaze on the floor.
TRISHA
(barley a whisper)
Hi.
Dan steps forward and extends his hand.
DAN
Hello, young lady. I’m Dan. Welcome to our home.
Trisha gives him her limp hand, but doesn’t look up.
TRISHA
Thank you.
Carrie gets up and goes over to Trisha.
CARRIE
Hi, Trisha. I’m Carrie.
TRISHA
(head down)
Hi.
Carrie puts a reassuring hand gently on Trisha’s back. Carrie picks up one of the trash bags.
CARRIE
Let me show you your room.
Trisha looks up for the first time.
TRISHA
I have a room?
DAN
Sure.
TRISHA
Wow.
Trisha picks up the bag she was carrying and follows out Carrie, who exits.
DAN
(nodding toward the third garbage bag)
Is that all her stuff?
BERTA
Yep.
Silence.
DAN
The finest in foster care luggage. I hate that they come into our home with all their worldly possession in garbage bags. I feel sick when I see it.
Silence.
DAN
If we didn’t take her, what was going to happen.
BERTA
Probably a conference room cot at CPS offices.
Dan shakes his head.
End of play.
Sunday, July 19, 2015
19 July 2015
PROMPT:
Dr. Heidi Russell, 36, well-dressed with glasses, sits behind her desk. Edgar, 58, enters.
HEIDI
I’m disappointed, Edgar.
EDGAR
(with a shrug)
I gave it a shot. Groucho meets Bugs Bunny in the fifth dimension.
HEIDI
This is an important grade, Edgar. I will give you a chance to rewrite the paper or turn in a new one, if you wish.
EDGAR
That very generous of you, Dr. Russell, but I don’t think more time or thought would make any difference.
HEIDI
You can’t really believe what you wrote?!
EDGAR
Of course I believe it.
HEIDI
We’ve been to the Moon, Edgar. We’ve just taken close up pictures of Pluto. We’re on the verge of solving the mysteries of the universe...
EDGAR
What difference does any of that make?
HEIDI
What difference?! What difference!?
EDGAR
Yea. What difference?
HEIDI
It’s... it’s...
EDGAR
We still dig rocks out of the ground, melt the metal out, process the metal into car parts, assemble two tons of these parts, half way around the world, ship the assemble vehicles to a car park nearby, dig crude oil from half way around the world, ship it in giant ships to this country for processing, then ship small quantities of it to local stores on many, many corners of every city on the globe, so you and me and my grandmother can go to the mini-mart for soda pop that is killing us. And that’s not even the tip of the iceberg.
HEIDI
I understand how you feel, Edgar, but the advance in science and medicine...
EDGAR
Medicine is amazing. My life expectancy is into the nineties. I’m going to far outlive the money I’ve earned. Children in this country and most of the modern world don’t die of illness that used to wipe out one in three. And for what? We can’t control population growth. Malthus may have had the date wrong, but not the wrong principle. The planet cannot sustain our species much longer, even if we stop, today, global warming.
HEIDI
We’ll find a way...
EDGAR
And what way will we find when Alabama gets the bomb?
HEIDI
What?!
EDGAR
It’s an old joke, but not that far-fetched. Iran can make bombs, Saudi’s certainly can, the Israeli’s. The list grows daily. Sooner or later...
Edgar jabs an imaginary button in his opposite palm.
HEIDI
Edgar...
EDGAR
And you know, better than I, how we treat tens of thousands of our own children in this country. You told me you were you’d been in foster care as a kid when I said I was a foster parent.
HEIDI
I... I was...
EDGAR
Were you an orphan?
HEIDI
No.
EDGAR
No. Most of the kids in foster care aren’t. Their parent abused, neglected, or abandoned them.
HEIDI
(quietly)
My father is in prison still for killing a man in a bar. My mother used heroin. She beat me and she... she... pimped me out for drugs starting when I was ten.
EDGAR
How many foster homes were you in?
HEIDI
I... I don’t know.
EDGAR
You seem to be doing very well.
HEIDI
I meet with a psychiatrist once every other month to keep my meds balanced and I go to therapy twice a week.
Heidi pulls up her sleeves and shows the scars on her wrists and arms, some of them appear relatively new.
HEIDI
I... I cut... sometimes.
EDGAR
(sympathetic and apologetic)
Oh, Dr. Russell. I... didn’t know.
Heidi quickly roles down her sleeves.
HEIDI
I shouldn’t have done that.
EDGAR
I won’t... tell anyone.
HEIDI
I know. I wouldn’t have shown you if I didn’t trust you.
EDGAR
Dr. Russell...
HEIDI
Please, when we’re in my office, you can call me Heidi.
EDGAR
Heidi. I know that my... my point of view about the world is hard to understand.
HEIDI
I understand it completely. I just don’t want to believe it.
EDGAR
I didn’t believe it for a long time. I believed that we were an intelligent and rational species that could and would solve the any and all problems.
HEIDI
(slight laugh)
And then you became a foster parent.
EDGAR
(laughing)
No. As a matter of fact, foster parenting was my response to realizing that our nearest ancestors on the evolutionary ladder solve their problems by throwing feces at each other.
HEIDI
You became a foster parent because humans are stupid.
EDGAR
It seemed reasonable at the time. I certainly don’t regret that decision. And foster parenting has given me a chance to develop a more positive side to my philosophy.
HEIDI
Why didn’t you... why don’t you write your paper about that?!
EDGAR
Writing is a linear, logical, exercise. What I believe... what I hope, is non-linear and non-logical. I believe we will never solve the mysteries of the universe, because they are ever changing. The universe is not a rational place. The laws of physics may apply in this tiny corner, but...
(gesturing to the heavens)
...out there are angels. I believe angels are the missing matter of the universe. There is no atom smasher that can break an angel down into its constituent parents. No detector that can quantify how many them there are. But they bind the universe. And even if one day, we pass on from this planet, the angels will protect whatever is important.
HEIDI
I hope we are important.
EDGAR
I hope we are too.
End of play.
Dr. Heidi Russell, 36, well-dressed with glasses, sits behind her desk. Edgar, 58, enters.
HEIDI
I’m disappointed, Edgar.
EDGAR
(with a shrug)
I gave it a shot. Groucho meets Bugs Bunny in the fifth dimension.
HEIDI
This is an important grade, Edgar. I will give you a chance to rewrite the paper or turn in a new one, if you wish.
EDGAR
That very generous of you, Dr. Russell, but I don’t think more time or thought would make any difference.
HEIDI
You can’t really believe what you wrote?!
EDGAR
Of course I believe it.
HEIDI
We’ve been to the Moon, Edgar. We’ve just taken close up pictures of Pluto. We’re on the verge of solving the mysteries of the universe...
EDGAR
What difference does any of that make?
HEIDI
What difference?! What difference!?
EDGAR
Yea. What difference?
HEIDI
It’s... it’s...
EDGAR
We still dig rocks out of the ground, melt the metal out, process the metal into car parts, assemble two tons of these parts, half way around the world, ship the assemble vehicles to a car park nearby, dig crude oil from half way around the world, ship it in giant ships to this country for processing, then ship small quantities of it to local stores on many, many corners of every city on the globe, so you and me and my grandmother can go to the mini-mart for soda pop that is killing us. And that’s not even the tip of the iceberg.
HEIDI
I understand how you feel, Edgar, but the advance in science and medicine...
EDGAR
Medicine is amazing. My life expectancy is into the nineties. I’m going to far outlive the money I’ve earned. Children in this country and most of the modern world don’t die of illness that used to wipe out one in three. And for what? We can’t control population growth. Malthus may have had the date wrong, but not the wrong principle. The planet cannot sustain our species much longer, even if we stop, today, global warming.
HEIDI
We’ll find a way...
EDGAR
And what way will we find when Alabama gets the bomb?
HEIDI
What?!
EDGAR
It’s an old joke, but not that far-fetched. Iran can make bombs, Saudi’s certainly can, the Israeli’s. The list grows daily. Sooner or later...
Edgar jabs an imaginary button in his opposite palm.
HEIDI
Edgar...
EDGAR
And you know, better than I, how we treat tens of thousands of our own children in this country. You told me you were you’d been in foster care as a kid when I said I was a foster parent.
HEIDI
I... I was...
EDGAR
Were you an orphan?
HEIDI
No.
EDGAR
No. Most of the kids in foster care aren’t. Their parent abused, neglected, or abandoned them.
HEIDI
(quietly)
My father is in prison still for killing a man in a bar. My mother used heroin. She beat me and she... she... pimped me out for drugs starting when I was ten.
EDGAR
How many foster homes were you in?
HEIDI
I... I don’t know.
EDGAR
You seem to be doing very well.
HEIDI
I meet with a psychiatrist once every other month to keep my meds balanced and I go to therapy twice a week.
Heidi pulls up her sleeves and shows the scars on her wrists and arms, some of them appear relatively new.
HEIDI
I... I cut... sometimes.
EDGAR
(sympathetic and apologetic)
Oh, Dr. Russell. I... didn’t know.
Heidi quickly roles down her sleeves.
HEIDI
I shouldn’t have done that.
EDGAR
I won’t... tell anyone.
HEIDI
I know. I wouldn’t have shown you if I didn’t trust you.
EDGAR
Dr. Russell...
HEIDI
Please, when we’re in my office, you can call me Heidi.
EDGAR
Heidi. I know that my... my point of view about the world is hard to understand.
HEIDI
I understand it completely. I just don’t want to believe it.
EDGAR
I didn’t believe it for a long time. I believed that we were an intelligent and rational species that could and would solve the any and all problems.
HEIDI
(slight laugh)
And then you became a foster parent.
EDGAR
(laughing)
No. As a matter of fact, foster parenting was my response to realizing that our nearest ancestors on the evolutionary ladder solve their problems by throwing feces at each other.
HEIDI
You became a foster parent because humans are stupid.
EDGAR
It seemed reasonable at the time. I certainly don’t regret that decision. And foster parenting has given me a chance to develop a more positive side to my philosophy.
HEIDI
Why didn’t you... why don’t you write your paper about that?!
EDGAR
Writing is a linear, logical, exercise. What I believe... what I hope, is non-linear and non-logical. I believe we will never solve the mysteries of the universe, because they are ever changing. The universe is not a rational place. The laws of physics may apply in this tiny corner, but...
(gesturing to the heavens)
...out there are angels. I believe angels are the missing matter of the universe. There is no atom smasher that can break an angel down into its constituent parents. No detector that can quantify how many them there are. But they bind the universe. And even if one day, we pass on from this planet, the angels will protect whatever is important.
HEIDI
I hope we are important.
EDGAR
I hope we are too.
End of play.
Saturday, July 18, 2015
18 July 2015
PROMPT: This morning, I heard…
Lindsey Lane, writer/speaker/teacher
Tim, 56, sits at the breakfast table eating cereal and drinking coffee. Miranda, 15, in her p.j.’s enters. She yawns and sits at the table.
TIM
Late night?
MIRANDA
Not really.
Tim eats.
TIM
Would you like another chance to answer that question?
MIRANDA
(defensive)
Why?
TIM
Just as the sun was about to come up, I woke up. I heard a window down the hall open. They make a loud scraping noise. I heard some scrambling, some banging, some crashing.
MIRANDA
It wasn’t me!
TIM
I got up a few minutes later and went out the back door and around to the side yard.
MIRANDA
So what!?
TIM
The screen was off your window.
MIRANDA
I didn’t do it!
TIM
There were tracks in the wet grass leading from the street to your window.
Miranda glares at Tim.
MIRANDA
Are you spying on me?!
TIM
I’m a good detective Miranda, and you are not a good sneak.
MIRANDA
I wasn’t sneaking!
TIM
Also, you are not the first young lady to sneak out in the middle of the night. I snuck out myself when I was your age.
MIRANDA
I didn’t sneak out!
TIM
You wouldn’t be the first young lady who lived here dropped off by the police with a citation in their pocket.
MIRANDA
But... I...
TIM
And it’s dangerous out there in the middle of the night for a young lady without good fighting skills.
MIRANDA
I got great skills!
TIM
I have no doubt that you could handle yourself if some other one hundred and fifteen pound...
MIRANDA
I weight one hundred and twelve!
TIM
Whatever. I’m sure you can handle yourself just fine. I doubt you could deal with a man who weighs nearly two hundred pounds and sneaks up on you from behind. He would drop you like a sack of kittens off a bridge.
MIRANDA
I... He...
Silence.
MIRANDA
Are you going to punish me?
TIM
Yes. Same punishment as skipping school.
MIRANDA
(head down)
Yes, sir.
Miranda takes her phone out of her pajama pocket and sets it on the table.
TIM
Thank you. You can have this back tomorrow morning.
Silence.
TIM
I may be old, but I remember what it was like to be fifteen. You need to work on your sneaking skills. But I will still catch you. Also, you are a very poor liar. By fifteen, if you can’t tell a good lie, it’s better to just learn to tell the truth and face the consequences.
MIRANDA
Yes, sir.... Can I go?
TIM
I imagine you need some sleep.
MIRANDA
Yes, sir.
Miranda turns and starts off.
TIM
And Miranda...
MIRANDA
What?
TIM
I love you.
Miranda smiles weakly and exits.
End of play.
Lindsey Lane, writer/speaker/teacher
Tim, 56, sits at the breakfast table eating cereal and drinking coffee. Miranda, 15, in her p.j.’s enters. She yawns and sits at the table.
TIM
Late night?
MIRANDA
Not really.
Tim eats.
TIM
Would you like another chance to answer that question?
MIRANDA
(defensive)
Why?
TIM
Just as the sun was about to come up, I woke up. I heard a window down the hall open. They make a loud scraping noise. I heard some scrambling, some banging, some crashing.
MIRANDA
It wasn’t me!
TIM
I got up a few minutes later and went out the back door and around to the side yard.
MIRANDA
So what!?
TIM
The screen was off your window.
MIRANDA
I didn’t do it!
TIM
There were tracks in the wet grass leading from the street to your window.
Miranda glares at Tim.
MIRANDA
Are you spying on me?!
TIM
I’m a good detective Miranda, and you are not a good sneak.
MIRANDA
I wasn’t sneaking!
TIM
Also, you are not the first young lady to sneak out in the middle of the night. I snuck out myself when I was your age.
MIRANDA
I didn’t sneak out!
TIM
You wouldn’t be the first young lady who lived here dropped off by the police with a citation in their pocket.
MIRANDA
But... I...
TIM
And it’s dangerous out there in the middle of the night for a young lady without good fighting skills.
MIRANDA
I got great skills!
TIM
I have no doubt that you could handle yourself if some other one hundred and fifteen pound...
MIRANDA
I weight one hundred and twelve!
TIM
Whatever. I’m sure you can handle yourself just fine. I doubt you could deal with a man who weighs nearly two hundred pounds and sneaks up on you from behind. He would drop you like a sack of kittens off a bridge.
MIRANDA
I... He...
Silence.
MIRANDA
Are you going to punish me?
TIM
Yes. Same punishment as skipping school.
MIRANDA
(head down)
Yes, sir.
Miranda takes her phone out of her pajama pocket and sets it on the table.
TIM
Thank you. You can have this back tomorrow morning.
Silence.
TIM
I may be old, but I remember what it was like to be fifteen. You need to work on your sneaking skills. But I will still catch you. Also, you are a very poor liar. By fifteen, if you can’t tell a good lie, it’s better to just learn to tell the truth and face the consequences.
MIRANDA
Yes, sir.... Can I go?
TIM
I imagine you need some sleep.
MIRANDA
Yes, sir.
Miranda turns and starts off.
TIM
And Miranda...
MIRANDA
What?
TIM
I love you.
Miranda smiles weakly and exits.
End of play.
Saturday, July 11, 2015
11 July 2015
PROMPT: Ojala que cuando leas esto me entiendes mucho mejor. (Hope that when you read this you understand me much better.)
Leticia Rodriguez, artist/musician/dancer
Theresa, 52, and Cal, 54, sit at the table drinking coffee.
CAL
She just left?!
THERESA
She just left.
CAL
Where did she go?
THERESA
I don’t know. She left with her boyfriend.
CAL
And she took her stuff?
THERESA
Most of it.
CAL
Why?
THERESA
I don’t know.
CAL
She didn’t say anything?
THERESA
She left this note.
Theresa picks up a slip of paper on the table and hands it to Cal.
CAL
It’s in Spanish. Why would she leave a note in Spanish?
THERESA
It is her first language.
CAL
I know! But it’s not even my second.
THERESA
You don’t have a second language.
CAL
I barely have a first.
THERESA
Can’t argue with that.
Cal hands the note back to Theresa.
CAL
What does it say?
THERESA
It says, “Ojala que cuando leas esto me entiendes mucho mejor...”
CAL
(interrupting)
In English.
THERESA
It says, “I hope that when you read this you understand me much better...”
CAL
I can’t understand her worse.
THERESA
Would you just listen! “I hope that when you read this you understand me much better. I need to get away from your house. I feel smothered by your love. I don’t feel like I deserve it. I’ve done such horrible things since I’ve stayed with you.”
CAL
Horrible things?! What horrible things? Smokin’ weed, drinkin’, screwin’ boys, skippin’ school...
THERESA
... getting arrest for shoplifting.
CAL
It’s not like she’s the first girl in this house to be arrested.
THERESA
But it’s the first time she’s been arrested.
Silence.
CAL
We love her.
THERESA
I know... but I’m not sure she knows.
CAL
I’m not sure she even knows what love is.
Silence.
CAL
Does the note say anything else?
THERESA
It says she loves us and she’ll be in touch in a day or two.
CAL
Did we do something wrong?!
THERESA
Nope. She’s... broken.
Silence.
CAL
I know.
Silence.
THERESA
We’ll see her again.
Silence.
CAL
I hope so.
End of play.
Leticia Rodriguez, artist/musician/dancer
Theresa, 52, and Cal, 54, sit at the table drinking coffee.
CAL
She just left?!
THERESA
She just left.
CAL
Where did she go?
THERESA
I don’t know. She left with her boyfriend.
CAL
And she took her stuff?
THERESA
Most of it.
CAL
Why?
THERESA
I don’t know.
CAL
She didn’t say anything?
THERESA
She left this note.
Theresa picks up a slip of paper on the table and hands it to Cal.
CAL
It’s in Spanish. Why would she leave a note in Spanish?
THERESA
It is her first language.
CAL
I know! But it’s not even my second.
THERESA
You don’t have a second language.
CAL
I barely have a first.
THERESA
Can’t argue with that.
Cal hands the note back to Theresa.
CAL
What does it say?
THERESA
It says, “Ojala que cuando leas esto me entiendes mucho mejor...”
CAL
(interrupting)
In English.
THERESA
It says, “I hope that when you read this you understand me much better...”
CAL
I can’t understand her worse.
THERESA
Would you just listen! “I hope that when you read this you understand me much better. I need to get away from your house. I feel smothered by your love. I don’t feel like I deserve it. I’ve done such horrible things since I’ve stayed with you.”
CAL
Horrible things?! What horrible things? Smokin’ weed, drinkin’, screwin’ boys, skippin’ school...
THERESA
... getting arrest for shoplifting.
CAL
It’s not like she’s the first girl in this house to be arrested.
THERESA
But it’s the first time she’s been arrested.
Silence.
CAL
We love her.
THERESA
I know... but I’m not sure she knows.
CAL
I’m not sure she even knows what love is.
Silence.
CAL
Does the note say anything else?
THERESA
It says she loves us and she’ll be in touch in a day or two.
CAL
Did we do something wrong?!
THERESA
Nope. She’s... broken.
Silence.
CAL
I know.
Silence.
THERESA
We’ll see her again.
Silence.
CAL
I hope so.
End of play.
Friday, July 10, 2015
10 July 2015
PROMPT: It’s not where you'd expect – it’s in Des Moines!
Chris Gibson, actor
Tara, 49, and Kirk, 50 sit at the table. Josie, 19, comes in. Josie looks nervous.
TARA
Hey, Josie.
JOSIE
Hi.
TARA
Phyllis called.
JOSIE
(annoyed)
My case worker? What did she want?
TARA
She had some news she thought you might want to hear.
JOSIE
(dubious)
Oh yea.
TARA
You’re father is out of jail.
JOSIE
I thought he had another two years.
TARA
I guess they let him out early.
Silence.
TARA
Your aunt would like you to call her.
JOSIE
Aunt Matilda? In Des Moines?
TARA
Phyllis gave me her number. I guess your dad is staying with her for awhile.
JOSIE
I don’t want to talk to him.
TARA
Okay.
Silence.
JOSIE
He’s not my dad. I don’t even remember him.
TARA
Okay.
Silence.
JOSIE
Did my case worker say what my aunt wanted?
TARA
She didn’t say. I’m sure she wants to talk to you about your dad. Probably wants to give you a chance to talk to him.
JOSIE
I don’t want to talk to him.
TARA
You don’t have to talk to him.
Silence.
JOSIE
Do you think he wants to see me?
TARA
Yea.
JOSIE
I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to talk to him.
TARA
Okay.
Silence.
JOSIE
Can I have my aunt’s number?
TARA
Of course you can.
Tara gives Josie a piece of paper. Josie looks at it and jams it in her pocket.
JOSIE
I don’t want to talk to him.
TARA
Okay.
Josie exits.
KIRK
Nothing good ever came out of Des Moines.
TARA
(looking at Kirk and shaking her head)
You’re an idiot.
End of play.
Chris Gibson, actor
Tara, 49, and Kirk, 50 sit at the table. Josie, 19, comes in. Josie looks nervous.
TARA
Hey, Josie.
JOSIE
Hi.
TARA
Phyllis called.
JOSIE
(annoyed)
My case worker? What did she want?
TARA
She had some news she thought you might want to hear.
JOSIE
(dubious)
Oh yea.
TARA
You’re father is out of jail.
JOSIE
I thought he had another two years.
TARA
I guess they let him out early.
Silence.
TARA
Your aunt would like you to call her.
JOSIE
Aunt Matilda? In Des Moines?
TARA
Phyllis gave me her number. I guess your dad is staying with her for awhile.
JOSIE
I don’t want to talk to him.
TARA
Okay.
Silence.
JOSIE
He’s not my dad. I don’t even remember him.
TARA
Okay.
Silence.
JOSIE
Did my case worker say what my aunt wanted?
TARA
She didn’t say. I’m sure she wants to talk to you about your dad. Probably wants to give you a chance to talk to him.
JOSIE
I don’t want to talk to him.
TARA
You don’t have to talk to him.
Silence.
JOSIE
Do you think he wants to see me?
TARA
Yea.
JOSIE
I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to talk to him.
TARA
Okay.
Silence.
JOSIE
Can I have my aunt’s number?
TARA
Of course you can.
Tara gives Josie a piece of paper. Josie looks at it and jams it in her pocket.
JOSIE
I don’t want to talk to him.
TARA
Okay.
Josie exits.
KIRK
Nothing good ever came out of Des Moines.
TARA
(looking at Kirk and shaking her head)
You’re an idiot.
End of play.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
8 July 2015
PROMPT: If a bomb went off in your play, who would place it? Who would find it? And what would it be? A letter? A diary entry? Gossip? Try exploding your play.
Liz Engleman, dramaturg/educator
Alma, 21, Hispanic, beaming, stands behind a table filled with party food and a cake. On either side of her stands, Phil, 56, and Sharon, 55. Both of them beam with joy.
PHIL
We want to thank ya’ll for coming. This is a big day for our family.
Luna, 24, angry rushes in.
LUNA
(shouting)
No it’s not! It’s not a big day for your family!
Alma rushes toward Luna.
ALMA
Luna, what the hell!?
SHARON
(going toward Luna)
Luna, we weren’t expecting you, but you’re welcome to...
LUNA
(interrupting)
I’m not going to let them adopt you!
Luna pulls a gun from under her shirt.
LUNA
You can’t leave our family!
ALMA
I’m not leaving our family!
LUNA
You’ll be a Barnhardt instead of a Gonzalez.
ALMA
So what?!
LUNA
I’m not letting that happen!
ALMA
It happens all the time!
LUNA
When you get married! You’re not getting married! They are adopting you!
PHIL
Luna, your mom will still be her mom.
LUNA
No, she won’t! This woman...
(pointing the gun at Sharon)
... will be your mom.
ALMA
Of course mom will still be mom! I’ll just have a second mom!
SHARON
Luna, they are two kinds of family in this world. The one you’re born into and the one you choose when you’re an adult. You don’t lose the first one just because you choose to be part of the second one.
LUNA
I’m never going to choose another family!
ALMA
I thought you were engaged.
LUNA
I am! So what?!
ALMA
Aren’t you choosing Roberto to be your family? Isn’t that what marriage is all about?
LUNA
(lowering the gun)
Yea.
ALMA
Mom will still be your mom thought, right?
LUNA
Well, yea.
ALMA
That’s all that’s happening here. I’m choosing to be part of these people’s family. That doesn’t mean I don’t want mom to be mom.
(Alma steps over to Luna and puts an arm around her)
And that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be my sister.
LUNA
Really?
ALMA
(smiling)
Crazy sister, but sister.
Luna smiles.
LUNA
We’re still sisters?
ALMA
Forever.
LUNA
(crying)
Okay.
Alma hugs Luna and kisses her on the cheek.
ALMA
‘Sides, we turned in the paperwork and stood before a judge two weeks ago. This is just a party to celebrate.
End of play.
Liz Engleman, dramaturg/educator
Alma, 21, Hispanic, beaming, stands behind a table filled with party food and a cake. On either side of her stands, Phil, 56, and Sharon, 55. Both of them beam with joy.
PHIL
We want to thank ya’ll for coming. This is a big day for our family.
Luna, 24, angry rushes in.
LUNA
(shouting)
No it’s not! It’s not a big day for your family!
Alma rushes toward Luna.
ALMA
Luna, what the hell!?
SHARON
(going toward Luna)
Luna, we weren’t expecting you, but you’re welcome to...
LUNA
(interrupting)
I’m not going to let them adopt you!
Luna pulls a gun from under her shirt.
LUNA
You can’t leave our family!
ALMA
I’m not leaving our family!
LUNA
You’ll be a Barnhardt instead of a Gonzalez.
ALMA
So what?!
LUNA
I’m not letting that happen!
ALMA
It happens all the time!
LUNA
When you get married! You’re not getting married! They are adopting you!
PHIL
Luna, your mom will still be her mom.
LUNA
No, she won’t! This woman...
(pointing the gun at Sharon)
... will be your mom.
ALMA
Of course mom will still be mom! I’ll just have a second mom!
SHARON
Luna, they are two kinds of family in this world. The one you’re born into and the one you choose when you’re an adult. You don’t lose the first one just because you choose to be part of the second one.
LUNA
I’m never going to choose another family!
ALMA
I thought you were engaged.
LUNA
I am! So what?!
ALMA
Aren’t you choosing Roberto to be your family? Isn’t that what marriage is all about?
LUNA
(lowering the gun)
Yea.
ALMA
Mom will still be your mom thought, right?
LUNA
Well, yea.
ALMA
That’s all that’s happening here. I’m choosing to be part of these people’s family. That doesn’t mean I don’t want mom to be mom.
(Alma steps over to Luna and puts an arm around her)
And that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be my sister.
LUNA
Really?
ALMA
(smiling)
Crazy sister, but sister.
Luna smiles.
LUNA
We’re still sisters?
ALMA
Forever.
LUNA
(crying)
Okay.
Alma hugs Luna and kisses her on the cheek.
ALMA
‘Sides, we turned in the paperwork and stood before a judge two weeks ago. This is just a party to celebrate.
End of play.
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