Proscenium Issue Four Spring 2016

Proscenium

Issue Four º Spring 2016

Josh Wilder

David Henry Hwang

Tanya Barfield

Simon Fill

James Harmon Brown

Dan O’Brien Spring 2016 Proscenium 1

Pericles Wet Ellen Margolis

TABLE OF CONTENTS Issue Four º 2016

The Plays 06 Interview with David Henry Hwang 10 Leftovers Josh Wilder

Editor-In-Chief Steven Rathje Managing Editor William Rathje

60 The Groyser James Harmon Brown 115 Interview with Dan O’Brien

Christopher Livingston and Eric Berryman in “Leftovers.”

A. Vincent Scarano

58 Interview with Tanya Barfield

Prosceniumjournal.com Contact us at info@prosceniumjournal.com www.facebook.com/prosceniumjournal Follow us on Twitter @ProsceniumPlays

David Kinder

120 Night Visits Simon Fill

Chantal DeGroat in “Pericles Wet”

Cover photos (from left to right top to bottom) courtesy of Josh Wilder, Bjorg Magnea, Simon Fill, Lea Chang, Doree Glaser, and Barney Couch.

2 Proscenium Fall 2014 2015

Dear Reader,

Proscenium osceni

Welcome to the fourth issue of Proscenium Journal! In this issue you will find three exciting new plays chosen from over 300 submissions — “Leftovers” by Josh Wilder, “The Groyser” by James Brown, and “Night Visits” from Simon Fill.

Additionally, you will find three interviews with contemporary playwrights — David Henry Hwang, Tanya Barfield, and Dan O’Brien — as part of Proscenium’s new initiative to interview inspiring contemporary playwrights. Keep watching our website for more of these interviews!

Last summer, Proscenium held a free festival of new work in partnership with Portland Shakespeare Project called “Proscenium Live” that featured five staged readings of plays by contemporary playwrights seen by over 375 people. We are excited to announce that Proscenium is returning with Portland Shakespeare Project to host Proscenium Live at Artists Repertory Theater this summer.

Since its inception a little over one year ago, Proscenium has received over 1,200 submissions and over 24,000 online reads. We are thrilled with the support Proscenium has received and the exposure it has given to contemporary playwrights.

Thank you for reading Proscenium Journal and for supporting playwrights. We hope you enjoy this issue.

Sincerely, Steve Rathje Editor-in-Chief Proscenium Journal prosceniumjournal.com

Fall 2014 Proscenium 3

Boxing the Sun Aurin Squire

Proscenium

Live

Proscenium’s Free Festival of New Work, hosted in partnership with Portland Shakespeare Project, is coming back to Artists Repertory Theater this August.

4 Proscenium Spring 2015

Photos by David Kinder Spring 2015 Proscenium  5

Pericles Wet Ellen Margolis

6 Proscenium Fall 2015

A Conversation with David Henry Hwang About the Playwright David Henry Hwang is a playwright, librettist, and screenwriter. Some of his works include M. Butterfly (Tony Award for Best Play, Pulitzer Prize nominee), FOB (OBIE award), Golden Child (Tony nomination for Best Play), Yellow Face (OBIE award, Pulitzer Prize nominee), Chinglish, and Kung Fu. He co-wrote the book for Disney’s AIDA, wrote the book for Disney’s Tarzan, and wrote a new version of the book for Rogers and Hammerstein’s Flower Drum Song (Tony nomination for Best Book). He has also written for film, television, and opera, and currently teaches playwriting at Columbia University.

You attended Stanford University, where you founded the Asian American Theater Project (AATP) and produced your first play in your dorm. What did you learn from your time at Stanford?

I think of that period as the time I became interested in theatre, found my voice, and wrote my first play which would be professionally produced. Which is pretty good for four years.

FOB premiered with AATP at Stanford before it was selected for the Eugene O’Neill Playwriting Conference and produced Off-Broadway at the Public Theater soon after. What was it like to experience this rapid success?

nia before the opening. If the notices were bad, I didn’t want to feel worthless; if they were good, I didn’t want to think I was a genius. Putting literal distance between myself and critical success or failure was a good impulse. However, that’s much more difficult to do today in our digitally connected world. I also think early success is hard to properly appreciate, because you don’t know anything else. Only after subsequent flops did I really understand how rare a gift I was given.

What inspires you?

I continue to be fascinated by the relationship between external events and our internal sense of self. This has often led to my writing about how individual identities are shaped by social and political forces. I don’t believe that character is inborn, but largely determined by one’s context. Therefore, when that context changes, our identities can transform into something very different. At the moment, I’m interested in how shifting demographics in this country are redefining the way we see ourselves as Americans, and also in the evolving U.S.-China relationship.

What kind of theatre excites you?

I like theatre that engages both the mind and the emotions. Within that mandate, I’m interested in all sorts of forms — from commercial Broadway jukebox musicals to the experimental and avant-garde. I feel that, as a playwright, I’m much more of a formalist than I’m usualWhen FOB opened at ly perceived to be, i.e., I like to study diverse the Public, I remember forms and apply them to my own work. making the decision to return to CaliforSpring 2016 Proscenium 7

What advice do you have for playwrights In other words, learn how to do a lot of things. starting out?

In the Columbia MFA playwriting program, we offer screenwriting, TV writing, musical theatre This is not particularly profound, but I believe courses, and will soon add teaching opportunitrue: do not worry about commercial or critical ties, because these are all ways playwrights can acceptance, write what moves you most deep- make a living. Over the course of a career, there ly, what you need to explore. It’s impossible to will be times when you go cold in, say, movies, predict what will or will not be “successful.” A but then hopefully, you can get work in another truly successful play is one which enriches the genre. In order to continue writing our plays, author’s spirit. However, it is also the case that we have to find ways to survive. this sort of work is also likely to be the most successful from a career standpoint. Paradoxically, success shouldn’t be your goal. Career Most of your plays center around success is icing on the cake, not the cake itself. Asian-American identity and conflicts between the East and West. What are some ongoing challenges and achievements in You have worked in theater, musical the- the representation of Asian Americans in ater, television, film, and opera. Can you theatre today? tell us more about writing across so many genres?

Interestingly, Asian American representation has advanced most dramatically over the past The main question is: who holds the primary couple of years in television. Suddenly, we have creative vision? In each genre, there’s usually a number of TV shows featuring Asian Amerisomeone who holds that vision, and the other can leads: Fresh Off the Boat, Dr. Ken, Master artists support him or her. With plays, that’s usu- of None, etc. The increase in Asian actors on TV ally the playwright. In TV, the show runner; in (and film, to a lesser degree) is driven partially film, the director; in opera, the composer. Musi- by the importance of China, which will soon cal theatre is tricky, because that usually needs surpass the U.S. as the world’s largest movie to be a mind-meld between the book-writer, market. Hopefully, the success of these shows composer, lyricist, and nowadays, often the di- will encourage theatre producers to realize rector and/or producer as well. It also accounts there’s a domestic audience for Asian American for why musicals are so difficult to create. Go- stories as well. Because there’s such a wealth ing into each of these genres, you have to know right now of excellent young Asian American the role you’re playing, and feel comfortable if playwrights — Lloyd Suh, Jihae Park, A. Rey you decide to embark on that journey.

Pamatmat, Young Jean Lee, Hansol Jung, Susan Stanton, Qui Nguyen, the list goes on and on. So far, only Rajiv Joseph and I have made it You teach playwriting at Columbia Univer- to Broadway, but so many more of these writers sity. What are some of the most important deserve wider exposure. things you teach your students?

I believe, if one wants to have a long career, it’s important to diversify one’s creative portfolio.

8 Proscenium Spring 2016

What projects are you working on now?

I’m working on a rewrite of my Bruce Lee play, Kung Fu, as well as a new play which I can’t discuss yet, but which will premiere in 2017.

In TV, I’m a writer/producer for Showtime’s The Affair, and am developing a new series of my own. In opera, I’ve co-written the libretto for Dream of the Red Chamber with composer Bright Sheng, which will premiere at San Francisco Opera this fall, and writing a couple of projects with composer Huang Ruo. I’m also developing a new musical, The Forgotten Arm, with singer/songwriter Aimee Mann.

ture than at any time since the 1950’s. So that’s good. The problem is that Broadway pulls the cart and sets the agenda for our entire field, in a way that also hasn’t really been the case since the 1950’s. So I think we need to regain a balance — where we place just as much, if not more, importance on work which is never in tended to make money, as on pieces which hold the promise of commercial success.

What is something most people do not know about you?

I like to cook — mostly Asian, but other cuisines too.

What does the future look like for you?

Well, my vision of the future can’t help but be colored by having been stabbed in the neck recently by a random attacker, who severed one of my arteries. The fact that I’m completely recovered makes me feel simply grateful to be alive, lucky that I get to stay on this earth a bit longer, and to make every day count, since we never know when it’ll be our time to go.

What do you think about the current state and the future of theatre?

I think those of us who work in theatre are incredibly lucky to have chosen a form which cannot be digitized (at least for the moment). It seems to me that the centers of artistic culture right now are TV and live entertainment. Musicals, at least, are currently closer to pop culSpring 2016 Proscenium 9

Leftovers Josh Wilder

LEFTOVERS by

Josh Wilder 10 Proscenium Spring 2016

A Conversation With the Playwright About the Playwright Josh Wilder’s work has been developed at The Fire This Time Festival, The Playwrights’ Center, Pillsbury House+Theater, The History Theatre, The New York Theatre Workshop, The Drama League, Oregon Shakespeare Festival and The O’Neill National Playwrights Conference. His play “Leftovers” was a recipient of the 2014 Holland New Voices Playwright Award at The Great Plains Theatre Conference. He is a former Jerome Fellow and Many Voices Fellow at The Playwrights’ Center and has been in residence at The Royal Court Theatre. Josh is a MFA candidate in Playwriting at Yale School of Drama and received a BFA in acting from Carnegie Mellon.

What was your inspiration for this play?

So many things inspired me to write LEFTOVERS. I think the pursuit of happiness and the struggle to achieving our dreams is what made me write this play. Growing up in the inner city as a young Black man I felt like my dreams and my environment were at war.

Growing up, I’ve witnessed so many smart and talented people become casualties in this pursuit to be their ideal selves. Writing this play helped me understand why people in my neighborhood gave up and it helped me heal the wounds I accumulated in my pursuit of my own dreams and it made me understand why I loved The Cosby Show so much.

What projects are you working on now?

Right now I’m working on a political comedy called SALT PEPPER KETCHUP. It’s a play about gentrification and food politics set in a

Chinese Take-Out in South Philly.

What playwrights inspire you?

August Wilson, Thornton Wilder, Edward Albee, Steven Adly Guirgis, Quiara Hudes, Sophocles, Shakespeare, Anna Deavere Smith, Lynn Nottage, Tracy Letts, Marcus Gardley–– that’s just the tip of the iceberg!

Why did you start writing plays?

While I was at Carnegie Mellon training to be an actor I felt like I had more to offer as an artist. I felt like acting wasn’t the right outlet for my voice. Once I got past the bulk of my training, I wrote my first solo performance and performed it. It all just clicked. From that moment on I knew that my writing was something that I had to pay more attention to. When I got a Jerome Fellowship and moved to Minneapolis to be in residence at The Playwrights’ Center I knew that writing plays was the ultimate calling for me. I became a playwright at The Playwrights’ Center.

What kind of theatre excites you?

My first time seeing a professional play was The Pillowman, by Martin McDonagh at The Wilma Theatre. That play cracked my chest open, took me out of my seat and transported me to some crazy places. I’m always hoping for that kind of experience when I see or read a play. I want to do what McDonagh did to me on that fateful day.

Spring 2016 Proscenium 11

Leftovers Josh Wilder

What advice do you have for playwrights starting out?

I think the biggest piece of advice I can offer is to be a radical listener. Language keeps our species alive and there are so many complexities to it, so developing an ear for rhythm and musicality is key. You can hear what’s working in your play and what’s not. My second piece of advice in terms of collaboration is to take an acting class. The playwright has to have an understanding of the acting process because ultimately actors are putting their bodies on the line in rehearsal and performance. Playwrights shouldn’t take actors for granted–– they’re magic people.

Can you tell us about your experience developing this play at the Eugene O'Neill Playwrights Conference?

The O’Neil was such an amazing development opportunity for this play. I was nervous to even apply because the odds are being invited are so low. When I got there I was immediately immersed in rewrites and that’s where the real writing comes in. The O’Neill provided the perfect environment for me to dig deep into the play and the collaborators I met there pushed me to be my best self. Everyone should apply for it!

Is there anything else you would like to add?

Produce this play.

Leftovers is copyright © 2015 by Josh Wilder. All inquiries regarding rights shall be sent to the Gersh Agency (jamato@gershny).com. Performances of Leftovers are subject to royalty, and are fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America and all countries covered by the International Copyright Union. All rights, including professional and amateur productions, staged readings, television, motion picture, radio, translations, photocopies, and all other reproductions of this play are strictly reserved.

12 Proscenium Spring 2016

Leftovers

By Josh Wilder CHARACTERS

JALIL. 18. Disappointed and confused.

KWAMAINE. 15. Disappointed and hopeful.

RAQUELLE. 45. Disappointed and tired.

DIJON. 18. Disappointed and determined.

CHRIS. 52. A Disappointment.

MAN IN WHITE. A Wish Granter.

CLIFF HUXTABLE. A figment of so many imaginations.

THE LOTTERY LADY. A Wish Granter and Number Picker.

The actors playing RAQUELLE and MAN IN WHITE will be double cast as THE LOTTERY LADY, and CLIFF HUXTABLE. DICTIONARY

Ard- “all right” Drawlin’- messing around or playing around or acting a damn fool Jawn- a noun Bul- man or dude Huhn- “Here” Youngbul- young man or younger friend Yah’mean- “you know what I mean?” (a rhetorical question) […] – a pause, a gesture from the gut or moment or reflection VIBE INTROVERTED RAGE/ INTROVERTED HAPPINESS SETTING A row home in South Philly/ Interstate 76 W/The Other Side WHEN? 2008+

“Before they were America’s favorite family, the Huxtables were a psychologically complicated exercise in wish fulfillment.” ~The New Yorker, September 2014 “If Bill Cosby is finished, what does that mean for Cliff, and the rest of the tribe called Huxtable?” ~Ebony Magazine, October 2015 Spring 2016 Proscenium 13

Leftovers Josh Wilder

From left: Christopher Livingston and Eric Berryman in “Leftovers” at the Eugene O’Neill Theater Center. Photo by A. Vincent Scarano.

PROLOGUE. JALIL and KWAMAINE are sitting on the couch in darkness. The only source of light is from the TV. We hear the brass section from the Cosby Show theme song as the brothers get ready for their daily ritual. JALIL graduated high school today, he’s still in his cap and gown. There’s a deep sadness that’s washed over him, but the TV will make everything better. KWAMAINE starts his air trumpeting as the theme song continues, attempting to snap JALIL out of his self-destruction. KWAMAINE fails, shakes it off and goes back to the TV. As the theme song ends and the opening credits of the Cosby Show play, there is a slight rumble that shakes the living room that snaps them both out of their daze.

RAQUELLE (screams from her window) DID Y’ALL FEEL THAT? Offstage there is this huge CRACK that sounds like a collapsing building. It shakes the house violently.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! SHIT! SCENE 1.

Outside of the house. JALIL and KWAMAINE are staring at the giant dandelion. RAQUELLE is on the phone.

RAQUELLE: CAROL! Girl, guess what just happened over here? You ain’t gonna believe this 14 Proscenium Spring 2016

damn shit. So I’m in my room having a little taste trying to calm my nerves and next thing you know I felt a little rumble underneath my feet–– and I’m like, “I know damn well this floor ain’t about to give out on me”. So I go to a different spot on the floor and it’s still shaking. Girl, I’m yelling downstairs to the boys to see if they feel the floor rumbling too and the next thing you know I look outside my window and the sidewalk busts open! Girl, you know I was praying!!!

Hahahahaha! Yup, and this big ass whatchamacallit comes out the pavement like Jack and the Mothafuckin’ Beanstalk. YES! Well, the news came over here and everything. Yeah, I hope ain’t nobody get hurt ‘cause they shit out of luck if they tryna catch a case. I ain’t got no money. Well I know one thing, the city better take care of this! Yeah girl, this shit is off the hook! THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING. (Beat) Oh Jalil, yeah he gon’ be alright. He just a little hurt¬– yup he still got his cap and gown on and everything. When nothing goes his way he starts acting all depressed. No, I ain’t hear from him yet, but when I see him I’ma get into his world. I know. I wanna know his excuse this time from missing his son’s big day. It was just me and Kwamaine and that fast ass girl Jalil messing with. Wait hold on Carol–– Kwamaine!

KWAMAINE snaps out of his stupor.

KWAMAINE: Yeah?

RAQUELLE: Go get the big broom and sweep this sidewalk and bring one of those black trash bags and the dustpan.

KWAMAINE goes in the house.

RAQUELLE (Cont.) Carol? Yeah girl, so that’s what’s happening right now. Make sure you look on the news tonight; it’s coming on at 6. I think its NBC Channel 10 or something. Girl, I didn’t ask what channel they was from. I didn’t even want them to be showing the front of my house on TV. Anyway, what can you do. Ard, Carol. Yeah, I’ll holla at you later.

KWAMAINE enters with broom and trash bag in hand.

KWAMAINE: What you want me to do mom?

RAQUELLE: Sweep in front of the house.

KWAMAINE: Sweep what? The slabs of concrete?

RAQUELLE: Do what you can baby and watch that smart mouth of yours.

KWAMAINE: What about Jalil?

RAQUELLE: What about him? He just graduated. Leave him alone. After you finished, make sure you go to the store and play my number.

KWAMAINE: Ard. RAQUELLE exits into the house. JALIL is still looking up at the dandelion.

You gonna be alright?

JALIL: Yeah.

KWAMAINE: My bad ‘Lil. JALIL: It’s cool. He couldn’t make it, ain’t nothing new. He wasn’t there so let’s just get over it and keep it movin’.

KWAMAINE: You gonna help me?

JALIL: Yeah, I got you.

KWAMAINE: This shit ain’t never happen on the Cosby Show.

JALIL: Yeah you right.

JALIL goes to the step and takes off his cap and gown, revealing his oversized white tee and Spring 2016 Proscenium 15

Leftovers Josh Wilder

jeans. Seeing that JALIL is feeling better, KWAMAINE does his best Bill Cosby impression.

KWAMAINE: Ya see, Theo, what you got to understand about weeds is that they could grow anywhere. Wherever there is some dirt best believe that the mothafucker is going to grow there.

Weeds are unwanted flowers and they usually thrive in the ghetto. Because they’re too ugly to look good in a vase and too needy to be in a garden--JALIL: He ain’t come.

KWAMAINE: Stop drawlin’, ‘Lil. JALIL: I’m not drawlin’. I’m stating facts. He ain’t come. Six weeks of promising.

KWAMAINE: He probably got caught up with Ms. Shirley or he missed the bus or something.

JALIL: That’s not the point.

KWAMAINE: Did you call him?

JALIL: Like twenty times. Didn’t answer not once.

KWAMAINE: Sorry.

JALIL: Ard. Whatever man.

KWAMAINE: Me and mom was there though.

JALIL: Yeah you right.

KWAMAINE: And Shemariah.

JALIL: Yeah.

KWAMAINE: So today wasn’t as messed up as you think. Man, you done high school! Free at last! Free at last!

JALIL: You trippin’, ‘Maine.

KWAMAINE stares at the giant dandelion with hope. JALIL joins him.

Crazy right? Jawn just came out of nowhere.

KWAMAINE: Yeah…

JALIL: What’s that white stuff on top?

KWAMAINE: Wishes.

JALIL: Ard ‘Maine.

KWAMAINE: No, really though! You remember blowing on them when we was little? Make a wish.

JALIL: Now? KWAMAINE: Yeah, make a silent wish and blow on it.

JALIL: It’s as big as the house. You can’t reach it.

KWAMAINE: Shit.

Beat.

JALIL: Tsch. I’m going to the store.

KWAMAINE: Get me some Rap Snacks and a Day’s soda. The blue one.

JALIL: Ard. KWAMAINE: ‘Lil? JALIL: What?

KWAMAINE: You good?

JALIL: Yeah, I’m ard.

JALIL exits. KWAMAINE looks at the dandelion and starts to sweep up the debris.

RAQUELLE (from her window) JALIL! 16 Proscenium Spring 2016

KWAMAINE: He went to the store!

RAQUELLE: Did you tell him to play my number?

KWAMAINE: I forgot.

RAQUELLE: Kwamaine go to the store a play my number for me.

KWAMAINE: I don’t got no money.

RAQUELLE: Go get you a damn job, boy. Shit!

RAQUELLE leaves the window. As KWAMAINE sweeps the sidewalk a gust of wind blows through. It shakes one of the dandelion seeds loose as it floats down to KWAMAINE. He surveys the area to make sure no one is looking.

KWAMAINE: I want us all together for one day. Happy. Cosby Show happy. None of that other shit–-- Cosby Show. Cliff, Claire, Theo and me. That’s us. One day. A tearless Christmas and child support payments. And uhh .. mom to have no more bags under her eyes. A good number for the lottery. Jalil to be happy. Dad really fucked up by not being there so if you can make him feel better… How did you grow through the cracks? (beat)A transpass---yeah! I want dad to walk down the street and find a monthly. Just show up. No lies. I hate liars. Cliff Huxtable never lied. A job! Yeah, a job that he can keep. Then he’ll show up and be here again. I miss him.

Um… two tickets to Six Flags! Yeah, just me and my brother. You’re better than a rose. You make dreams come true.

KWAMAINE opens his eyes and blows the wish up… up… away. He exits into the house. JALIL enters. He’s on the phone and carrying a black corner store bag.

JALIL: Ard. Sounds good. Yeah baby, I‘ma see if I can come up there tonight. I gotta get some money for the bus. Ard. I’ll holla at you later. (Hangs up phone) YO ‘MAINE! KWAMAINE enters with a bucket of water.

KWAMAINE: Mom wants you to get her number.

JALIL: Ugh! I just went to the store! Damn she drawlin’! She gonna have to wait.

He takes a soda can out of the bag.

Huhn. I got you a red one instead.

KWAMAINE: They didn’t have blue?

JALIL: No nigga, why you complaining? You ain’t pay for it.

KWAMAINE: I know, but red is just regular soda. Blue is my jawn.

KWAMAINE goes to the dandelion and pours water in the cracks.

JALIL: Kwamaine? What is you doing?

KWAMAINE: You gotta water ya plants, right?

JALIL: I swear to God, this youngbul…

KWAMAINE: What?

JALIL: Why is you watering a weed?

KWAMAINE: Cuz. JALIL: Cuz what? You the only nigga I know who goes out their way to water a weed like it deserves some treatment.

KWAMAINE: Why not? Everybody on the block looking at it all crazy like. So I’ma take care of it, until the city tear it down.

JALIL: You keep giving it water, it’s gonna turn into a weed tree like one of those in them lots.

KWAMAINE: Weed trees?

Spring 2016 Proscenium 17

Leftovers Josh Wilder

JALIL: Yeah, first you see a little weed then next thing you know its’ growing taller than usual and it starts growing bark. By the time you know it, it’s a damn tree and those funky red balls start falling off the leaves. You got weed trees growing through houses––fuckin’ up plumbing and shit.

KWAMAINE: You lyin’.

JALIL: (To the dandelion) Then explain this.

KWAMAINE: You can‘t ‘Lil. It is what it is.

JALIL: Ard. KWAMAINE: You gonna make a wish?

JALIL: It’s too big.

KWAMAINE: No it’s not. You just gotta wait for one to come down.

JALIL: How you know?

KWAMAINE: None of ya business.

JALIL: Tsch. I ain’t got nothing to wish for.

KWAMAINE shoots him a “nigga, why you lying” look.

Ard! Shit.

JALIL kicks the dandelion.

OUCH! KWAMAINE: Yo! What is you doin’?!

JALIL: I was trying to get a wish. Fuck! My foot.

KWAMAINE: Not like that. You gotta wait.

JALIL: Whatever man.

RAQUELLE (from the window) Kwamaine go to the store and play my number for me!

KWAMAINE: I don’t got a dollar.

RAQUELLE: Find one. And make sure you box it. Play “1205” in a box!

KWAMAINE sticks his hand out to JALIL. He reluctantly gives him the dollar. KWAMAINE puts the soda can back in the black corner store bag and exits. JALIL surveys the area then takes the dandelion in…

JALIL: Why the fuck is ‘Maine all hype over you? Just a silly-ass, husky-ass weed…and you white. (Beat) I wish he would’ve came today. He didn’t even show up to my graduation. Left me all hanging and shit. It’s cool though. I don’t need him anyway. I’ma be rolling in the big bucks soon. Then we gonna move to Chestnut Hill and be all boujie like the Huxtables and shit. (Chuckles) I’m really having a whole conversation with this weed right now. I’m tripping.

MOM! RAQUELLE (from the window) What!

JALIL: You makin’ any food?

RAQUELLE: There’s some leftovers from yesterday in the ‘fridgerator.

JALIL: I’m tired of leftovers. You ain’t cookin’?

RAQUELLE: Leave me alone! My stories is on!

JALIL: TSCH. Ard. (To the dandelion) He ain’t come. That’s cool.

JALIL sits on the step and digs in the corner store bag and opens a bag of Funions. There’s a gust of wind that shakes a wish loose from the dandelion. JALIL dashes from the step to watch the wish float to the ground. He tries to catch it as it sways with the wind. In deep desperation, 18 Proscenium Spring 2016

he rips the wish out of the air and smiles at the little victory.

Kwamaine better not be lying about this.

JALIL closes his eyes.

I wish…

Opens them.

Damn I don’t even know what to wish for.

JALIL takes a deep breath of uncertainty. He closes his eyes again.

I wish I was one. Only ‘cuz I want to feel like I’m taken care of. I don’t even remember being one, but I know that shit was poppin’. Before mom was pregnant with ‘Maine. And I wish I get a good job– none of that minimum wage. A twenty dollar an hour job and my own house so me and Shemariah can have our own. Mom to win the lottery, so she can stop wasting her fucking money on tickets. Kwamaine to go to a good college. Also, I want dad to get his shit together.

I want to love him again, like when I was one years old. And while I’m on a roll I want a Playstation 3 with all the new games.

KWAMAINE enters unnoticed. He sees JALIL and leaves him alone for now. He goes quietly into the house. JALIL opens his eyes and blows the wish up… up… away.

RAQUELLE (offstage) God dammit Kwamine! I told you to box “1205” not play it straight!

That was four hundred dollars I could have had! Damn I can’t stand you! “5201” can you believe that shit! Four hundred dollars! Go outside! Get out of my face–stupid ass.

JALIL is cracking up. KWAMAINE storms out of the house.

KWAMAINE: It’s not funny! Shut up, JALIL! Stop fucking laughing!

JALIL: You mad!

JALIL laughs even harder.

RAQUELLE (offstage) SHUT UP ALL THAT DAMN NOISE! JALIL’s laughter becomes silent and hysterical.

KWAMAINE: She never going to win the lottery. I don’t know why she’s wasting all of her money on chance. Then complain why she’s always broke. Can’t stand her.

JALIL: Yeah, me neither. She chumped the shit out of you ‘Maine.

KWAMAINE: Right?! She always got an excuse when her number don’t come out. She needs to play it her damn self. (Beat) So what you wished for?

JALIL: What you talking about?

KWAMAINE: You was wishing.

JALIL: How you know? I thought you was at the store.

KWAMAINE: Yeah, and I came back and saw you wishing.

JALIL: Yeah I was wishing, so what?

KWAMAINE: So what is it?

JALIL: NONE OF YA BUSINESS DO YOU TELL ME YOUR WISHES? KWAMAINE: Ard chill!

KWAMAINE sits on the step. He digs in his corner store bag and pulls out a blue Day’s soda.

He cracks it open.

JALIL: I wished for a Playstation 3 and some new games.

KWAMAINE: You used a wish on that?

JALIL: Yeah, I really want one. Where you get that blue soda?

Spring 2016 Proscenium 19

Leftovers Josh Wilder

KWAMAINE: From the store, I gave them back the regular one. Found this jawn all the way in the back.

JALIL: Tsch. Aye, where the football at?

KWAMAINE: I’ono.

JALIL goes into the house. KWAMAINE checks the sky.

(To the dandelion) He’ll be here. Yup. Yup. JALIL enters with a football. Really hype.

JALIL: There goes McNabb ducking and dodging the fat-ass D-line from the Giants but, OH SHIT! Here comes Shaun Williams trying to sack McNabb, but he spins left and breaks bul’s ankles. OH SNAP! Pinkston is rushing down the field looking for Mcnabb to throw him the ball. McNabb sees Pinkston–McNabb throws! Pinkston catches it…he…could…. go…all…the…way… TOUCHDOWN!!! The crowd is going wild…ahhhhhhh!!!! Drunk-ass Italians are throwing cheese steak meat at the Giants fans.

JALIL/KWAMAINE: E.A.G.L.E.S. EAGLES!!!!!

KWAMAINE: Let’s do one more.

JALIL: Ard. KWAMAINE: 4th quarter. Overtime. 30-30. Eagles have the ball. McNabb just got off the field due to some injury and AJ Feely is on. The stadium is really quiet ‘cause this could be it folks.

The Packers D-Line is setting up for a blitz. “Blue 42! Blue 42!..... HUP”! The ball snaps back to Feely. He’s trying to spot Chad Lewis. Lewis is being real occupied at the moment so Feely tosses the ball to Buckhalter and he’s tryna run it down the line but the Packers are in the way.

He spins. Pump fakes, crosses over the whole defensive line! He tosses it back to Feely. Feely sees Lewis, but Lewis is all the way down at the fifteen-yard line. Feely throws a Hail Mary..... and LEWIS CATCHES THE BALL!!! TOUCHDOWN!!!

JALIL and KWAMAINE slap five and cool down with a little round of catch.

So what you gonna do now?

JALIL: What do you mean?

KWAMAINE: With your life.

JALIL: I dunno man, wherever the wind blows. Prolly chill at the crib until I figure something out.

KWAMAINE: I feel you.

JALIL: What about you? You got big plans?

KWAMAINE: Yeah, I’m trying to go to school.

JALIL: For what?

KWAMAINE: Psychology.

JALIL: Psychology?

KWAMAINE: Yeah. I always wanted to know why people do the shit that they do.

JALIL: Sounds like you just wanna be in people’s business.

KWAMAINE: It’s interesting though: decision-making. Like, one decision or a series of decisions can fuck your life up or it can make it the best life possible. That’s crazy.

JALIL: Yeah you right about that.

KWAMAINE: Remember when you wanted to be a football player?

JALIL: Yeah.

20 Proscenium Spring 2016

KWAMAINE: You was so serious about being a quarterback.

JALIL: Because that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. I should’ve been drafted-KWAMAINE: But you broke your leg on the first play at your first game.

JALIL: Shut up.

KWAMAINE: You was so salty! YO! KWAMAINE howls with laughter.

JALIL: Shut up. It wasn’t that funny. I would’ve stayed at Neumann if my leg wasn’t broke.

KWAMAINE: You didn’t have to leave school though.

JALIL: I was that salty, ‘Maine! I had to go. Didn’t know I was gonna end up at Southern though. That shit was jail. Cops taking algebra, taking gym, walking you to the bathroom. I’m glad I made it out alive. But you go to Masterman, so you ain’t gotta worry about fighting every day. (Beat) So you gonna be a psychologist and get paid to be in everybody’s business?

KWAMAINE: Naw nigga, they gonna pay me for being in their business. It’s not as easy as it sounds. Psychology is just a general major, but when I’m ready to pick a certain type of psychology, I’ma go into therapy.

JALIL: You gonna be that bul that sit people on the couch?

KWAMAINE: Exactly. They make money!

JALIL: Word?

KWAMAINE: Have you seen Montell Williams!?

JALIL: You tryna be like him?

KWAMAINE: Naw, never that. He don’t do it right. I don’t want to be no TV therapist, ‘cuz all they do is find these ghetto-ass niggas to put on their show. One jawn doesn’t know who the father of her child is and got eleven different dudes taking a paternity test. Then you got the bul who really is the father and he wants take a lie detector test to prove that the baby ain’t his!

Naw, I’m good.

JALIL: Where did all this psychology come from?

KWAMAINE: I dunno, just being around everything I suppose.

JALIL: What you mean by that?

KWAMAINE: Seeing everyone’s life you know. Seeing mom deal with her issues, you and dad.

It all happened out of making the right or wrong decisions. You know what I’m saying? I want to know why people end up being the way they are. Like, whose fault is it?

JALIL: God’s I suppose.

KWAMAINE: Then why is there a church on every corner?

JALIL: ‘Cuz niggas need a constant reminder.

KWAMAINE: I dunno man. You still want to be a football player?

JALIL: Not anymore. Every nigga ‘round here wanna be a football player. I’m tryna live my own dreams.

KWAMAINE: I feel you.

JALIL: I’m thinking about going into the service. I was at the Gallery the other day and this recruiter started talking to me.

KWAMAINE: What he say?

JALIL: He said, “There’s too many young soldiers running the streets with no purpose”. I guess I get where he’s coming from. It’d be decent though to know what I wanna to do instead of feelSpring 2016 Proscenium 21

Leftovers Josh Wilder

From left: Eric Berryman and Starla Benford at the Eugene O’Neill Theatre Center. Photo by A. Vincent Scarano. ing like I’m not going anywhere. The last thing I wanna do is be a nobody.

KWAMAINE: Is that what you wished for?

JALIL: No. KWAMAINE: Why not?

JALIL: You can’t be greedy with wishes.

KWAMAINE: What’s Shemariah doing?

JALIL: She dunno either. She might go to Community College or go to hair school or something.

KWAMAINE: Like every other girl in Philly.

JALIL: Don’t talk shit about Shemariah. She figuring everything out by herself.

KWAMAINE: I’m not, I’m just saying.

JALIL: What you tryna say?

KWAMAINE: Nothing.

JALIL: Not everybody smart like you.

KWAMAINE: I didn’t say that.

JALIL: You can’t walk around like you better than everybody. That’s how niggas like you get beat up.

A gust of wind blows through, shaking a wish loose.

KWAMAINE: Look!

22 Proscenium Spring 2016

KWAMAINE and JALIL both take a step towards the wish, both realizing what they’re doing.

JALIL: Get it ‘Maine!

KWAMAINE: You sure?

JALIL thinks about it.

JALIL: Yeah, go ‘head.

JALIL watches as KWAMAINE follows the wish as it drops down in his hands. KWAMAINE examines it like it’s heaven sent. He closes his eyes to make a wish. Midway he stops and turns to JALIL. KWAMAINE: Huhn.

JALIL: What for?

KWAMAINE: You need it more than I do. I don’t want to be greedy.

JALIL: Naw I’m good.

KWAMAINE: Don’t play me, ‘Lil. Take it.

JALIL takes the wish. KWAMAINE sits on the steps as JALIL closes his eyes.

JALIL: I wish everybody had a fair chance.

JALIL blows the wish up… up… away. We hear the Cosby Show theme song from RAQUELLLE’s window.

RAQUELLE: Y’all the Cosby show is on!

JALIL/KWAMAINE: ARD! JALIL and KWAMAINE get the football and run into the house. A gust of wind is heard. Enter CHRIS, JALIL and KWAMAINE’s father. He’s wearing an old school Eagles jacket and dirty jeans. CHRIS surveys the dandelion in awe, then over to the house as he watches the lights flash from RAQUELLE’s window. He crosses to the front steps, but can’t find the courage to knock on the door. He exits.

SCENE 2.

That night. A light sound of thunder is heard in the distance. DIJON enters, carrying a backpack. He’s taken aback by the dandelion.

DIJON: The fuck?

DIJON pulls out his phone and takes a picture. He goes over to the step and takes a seat. JALIL exits the house wearing basketball shorts and a wife beater. He’s barefoot.

JALIL: Asalaam a fakeum brotha!

DIJON: Wa fakeum salaam nigga!

JALIL: What’s good?

DIJON: Nothing but this big-ass weed coming out the sidewalk.

JALIL: Shit crazy right? It just came outta nowhere.

DIJON: Shit.

JALIL: You got some tree?

DIJON: Do I? DIJON digs in his pocket and pulls out a blunt and a lighter. JALIL leaves the step to see if RAQUELLE’s window is open. The coast is clear. DIJON and JALIL puff-puff-pass.

Congratulations my dude. We did it!

JALIL: Yeah man.

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Leftovers Josh Wilder

DIJON: How you feel?

JALIL: The same. Just another day yah’mean.

DIJON: Yeah I feel you.

JALIL: Still a lil’ fucked up over my pops.

DIJON: You still on that shit man?

JALIL: What you mean?

DIJON: I’m just saying man, chalk that shit. Dads leave. That’s what they do. You can’t expect bul to show up when he never around.

JALIL: Yeah, you right.

DIJON: My pops wasn’t there. All that mattered was my mother.

JALIL: So what’s ya plans?

DIJON: What I’m doing now. Hustlin’. Then when I’m stacked up, I’m out this jawn.

JALIL: I’ma go into the service.

DIJON: Word? Why? You lost or something?

JALIL: Naw, I just wanna fly planes…and get out of Philly.

DIJON: The military is for lost boys, man.

JALIL: I ain’t lost.

DIJON: Nigga you is a lost black boy. Just like me. I just ain’t going to the military.

JALIL: So you think selling CDs and DVDs gonna get you outta here?

DIJON: I hope so. If not then I’ll find another way. I’m tryna get outta Philly as much as the next nigga, but you gotta be patient. Play ya cards right. Now if you want, I could hook you up with my man’s if you tryna move some weed around. Make you a couple dollars on the side.

JALIL: Naw I’m good. You wanna make a wish?

DIJON: What? Nigga you is HIGH! They laugh.

Oh yeah, I got something. I was on my way over here and this bul told me to give this to you.

JALIL: Who was it?

DIJON: I dunno. He was wearing all this fuckin’ white. I’m like, “shit, I know it ain’t that hot for him to be wearing all that white”. Had all this lint and shit in his nappy afro. Kinda look like that white stuff up there. Huhn.

He hands him a dirty gold envelope.

JALIL: Was he from around here?

DIJON: I’ono, but he knew you. Bul was mad weird.

DIJON moves away from JALIL. JALIL: Why you moving away?

DIJON: Man, that shit might be anthrax. I ain’t taking no chances.

JALIL opens the envelope.

JALIL: Season passes.

DIJON: To Six Flags? Fuck. Why didn’t I just keep it? This what I get for being too nice.

KWAMAINE exits the house with a bucket of water.

KWAMAINE: What’s up y’all?

DIJON: What’s goin’ on youngbul?

KWAMAINE: Nothing man. What y’all doing out here?

24 Proscenium Spring 2016

DIJON: What you think?

DIJON passes the blunt to KWAMAINE. He takes a hit. Too big of a hit. He begins to cough hysterically.

Tweety Bird-ass bul. Drink some of that water, man.

KWAMAINE: It’s for the dandelion.

DIJON: Ya brother is weird man.

DIJON and JALIL laugh. RAQUELLE’s light turns on.

Oh shit!

They scramble to hide the blunt and play it cool. RAQUELLE opens her window.

RAQUELLE: What y’all doin’ out there?

DIJON: Hey, Ms. Roc! RAQUELLE: Who’s that?

DIJON: It’s the man of your dreams.

RAQUELLE: Shiiiit, I know you ain’t Denzel.

DIJON: Naw, I’m better than that.

RAQUELLE: Jalil? Who is that outside my house?

KWAMAINE: Mustard.

KWAMAINE is cracking up.

RAQUELLE: Oh hey, Dijon! How ya mom doin’?

DIJON: She ard, Ms. Roc. RAQUELLE: Oh okay. What happened to those bean pies you said you was gonna give me?

DIJON: I ain’t got ‘em today, but I got CDS, DVDs and oils.

RAQUELLE: Naw, I’m good baby.

DIJON: But I got you on those bean pies though.

RAQUELLE: Yeah ard, Dijon. Tell ya mom I said hi.

DIJON: Ard. KWAMAINE: Night mom!

RAQUELLE closes her window, but she keeps the light on. They boys take an exhale of relief.

DIJON: Ard y’all, I’m ‘bout to be out.

JALIL/KWAMAINE: Ard, ‘Jon. DIJON daps them up.

DIJON: Don’t make people who don’t matter important. You’ll go crazy if you do.

KWAMAINE: Where you goin’?

DIJON: To find that nappy headed nigga with the gold envelopes. I know he walking around somewhere.

DIJON exits.

KWAMAINE: What is he talking about?

JALIL: We goin’ to Six Flags.

JALIL hands KWAMAINE the envelope. He reads it.

KWAMAINE: YO! JALIL: Shhhhh!

KWAMAINE: That was one of my wishes.

JALIL: What?

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Leftovers Josh Wilder

KWAMAINE: I wished for these.

JALIL: Stop lying.

KWAMAINE: I swear to God! JALIL/KWAMAINE: (To the dandelion) Damn.

KWAMAINE: When we goin’?

JALIL: Let’s go tomorrow.

KWAMAINE: What about Shemeriah?

JALIL: What about her? Tomorrow it’s just me and you man.

KWAMAINE: (Bill Cosby voice) Ya see what happens when wishes come true Theo?

JALIL: (Bill Cosby voice) OWWWWWWW! KWAMAINE: (Bill Cosby voice) OWWWWWWW! KWAMAINE rereads the envelope.

“Must drink one hundred cans of Cocoa Cola to redeem tickets”.

JALIL/KWAMAINE: WHAT??

Blackout.

SCENE 3.

The next day. RAQUELLE is standing in the door watching JALIL attempt to drink a whole sixpack of Coca-Cola.

RAQUELLE: The city is coming out here tomorrow to cut this damn thing down. Plus when they cut it down, they gonna repave the pavement. I’m tired of everybody looking at my house like it’s some damn tourist attraction. (Beat) Why you drinking all that Coke? Your face gonna break out if you keep drinking all that stuff.

JALIL: We goin’ to Six Flags.

RAQUELLE: Who’s we?

JALIL: Me and Kwamaine.

RAQUELLE: With who’s money? I ain’t giving you any money for this last minute trip.

JALIL: I don’t need any money. We got season passes.

RAQUELLE: What that mean?

JALIL: It’s free.

RAQUELLE: How you getting there?

JALIL: Shemariah’s cousin.

RAQUELLE: Be careful.

RAQUELLE looks up at the dandelion. Looks at JALIL then out of nowhere…

RAQUELLE: (Cont.) I had this dream last night that I climbed this thing.

JALIL: Word?

RAQUELLE: Yeah. I was outside minding my own business and a voice said, “Yo Roc! Climb up here. I wanna show you something”. Next thing you know I’m climbing! I mean, I’m going up past the house, past the clouds and when I get to the top… I see all of these boxes. So, I come across this box with my name on it. I mean it’s a regular ol’ box–– nothing special. I open it and there’s my life. I mean, I’m watching what I do every day. Watch my stories, yell at y’all, cook dinner, go to sleep, wake up at eleven, be at work by twelve, come back eight in the morning and do it all over again. Shit was deep. Then there was this other box that said, “your 26 Proscenium Spring 2016

dreams”. So I opened that one and I’m in my sewing room making this bomb-ass black dress. I mean, it’s got this shiny silver fabric that criss-crosses on the top and some black fabric underneath that’s just flowing and I have on these long black gloves and Shorty did my hair just right.

So I put on everything and I walk out the house with a bunch of roses trailing me off to this long white limo. I go in the limo and this dude is there with the sharpest suit on and he’s looking outside the window. All I can see is the back of his head. I reach out and touch his shoulder and he starts to turn around and I wake up. When I woke up I said, “SHIT!”. (Laughs) You know what though? That man in that limo is coming for me honey and I’m gonna start making that dress. I haven’t sewn in a while, but it’s gonna look just like one in my dream—OOH you know what I’ma do? Go in my dream book and find me a number to play. Yup. I’ma look up the word “dress” and find out what the book say. Then I’ma play that bitch and hit that Big Four. Watch me.

JALIL: What you think about me going to the service?

RAQUELLE: The service? Wait a minute when you start thinking about the damn service?

JALIL: Couple days ago. I was at the Gallery and a recruiter just started talking to me. I think I might go. I wanna get out of Philly. Ain’t nothin’ here for me. Something is out there for me, but I don’t know what it is. If I don’t leave, I’m gonna go crazy.

RAQUELLE: All my brothers joined the service. What you thinking?

JALIL: Air Force.

RAQUELLE: You wanna fly panes or something?

JALIL: Yeah, I guess, I wanna see the world. Tired of feeling lost.

Beat.

RAQUELLE: What about the Navy? You know Uncle Day was in there for twenty years. He retired a captain.

JALIL: I wanna fly a plane.

RAQUELLE: Do what you want Jalil, just be careful. I don’t want you getting killed over some bullshit. (Beat) Give me a hug.

They hug. RAQUELLE holds JALIL tight.

RAQUELLE: (Cont.) I love you. You hear me? Nobody has life figured out. Just do you and do right.

A gust of wind is heard. A dandelion wish floats down from the sky towards JALIL and RAQUELLE. JALIL: Look!

JALIL catches the wish out of the sky.

Make a wish mom.

RAQUELLE: What’s this supposed to do?

JALIL: Just make a wish!

RAQUELLE closes her eyes and makes a wish. She blows it up, up, away.

RAQUELLE: Now what, Jalil?

CHRIS: (offstage) Hey. CHRIS enters with the same clothes on from last night. Something in JALIL just broke.

RAQUELLE: (To the dandelion) Hmph. Too little, too late. (To CHRIS) What I tell you about showing up to my house unannounced? You can’t call nobody?

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Leftovers Josh Wilder

CHRIS: (Apologetically) Excuse me, I just want to see my son that’s all.

RAQUELLE: Where my child support at nigga? You working? You got some money?

CHRIS: My truck is parked around the corner. Working for a new company now.

RAQUELLE: Oh ard. Make sure when you get paid you give me some money. I don’t want to have to send your ass to jail.

CHRIS: Come on now, you don’t gotta do all that.

RAQUELLE exits into the house.

JALIL: Where were you?

CHRIS: What you talking about?

JALIL: Yesterday at my graduation.

CHRIS: …

JALIL: What you don’t know? I was blowing your phone up all day. I know you saw it ringing!

Your phone wasn’t off!

CHRIS: I know.

JALIL: SO WHY DIDN’T YOU COME!?

CHRIS: I didn’t have a suit.

JALIL: You could have went the way you were! You’ve promised. IT WAS MY ONE DAY! All you had to do was show up. You act like we don’t fuckin’ exist anyway and the one thing I ever needed from you was to show your face.

CHRIS: I’m here now.

JALIL: You supposed to be my dad, man! Why can’t you be that?

CHRIS: …

JALIL: You know what though? Fuck it. I don’t need you. You ain’t shit to me. I’ma be in the service and get the fuck away from here.

CHRIS: Come on, son.

CHRIS tries to muddle his anger with a hug. JALIL explodes.

JALIL: GET OFF OF ME! JALIL tries to escape CHRIS’s arms. He pushes.

Get OFF of me! and tugs…

Get off of ME! and pulls...

Get off of me! but can’t get loose…

Getoffofme….

JALIL gives up…. cries. KWAMAINE stands in the doorway. An intense gust of wind shakes the dandelion wildly sending the wishes everywhere. KWAMAINE takes in the beautiful stupor.

CHRIS: I’m sorry, son. I promise I won’t do it again.

JALIL: Fuck promises. Stop promising. You either gonna be in my life or you not. We can’t have both ard?

CHRIS: Alright.

CHRIS lets him go. JALIL is pulls himself together. Beat.

You wanna come with me on this trip tomorrow? Going to Ohio. I got a bed and everything in 28 Proscenium Spring 2016

the back of my truck. I’ma need some company on the way there. Even let you drive it.

JALIL: Ard. JALIL musters up a smile. KWAMAINE looks up at the dandelion.

KWAMAINE: One day. Cosby Show happy.

SCENE 4.

The next day. RAQUELLE is on the phone, sweeping in front of the house.

RAQUELLE: Carol? Hey girl what’s going on? Well let me tell you what that damn Jalil got into now. He gonna plan a trip with his father and run off in that big-ass Honkatonk truck. Girl, yes he did. When his ass get back I am kicking him out–– I’m serious as a damn heart attack. And peep this… he gonna leave his phone home so I can’t cuss his ass out. Oooh I can’t stand him. I know one thing; that damn Chris better drive back with some child support. I don’t care if Jalil is eighteen. HE OWE BACK CHILD SUPPORT. You know how many years he didn’t give me no money? Now he got a job and don’t know the program, right? That’s fine! Because I’ma get the court on his ass. Scoop all that money up. Yeah girl, I’ma trip ain’t I? (Beat) Kwamaine? Oh he ard. Just staring up at the damn sky like it’s about to fall down. Wish he get a damn job. We need some money circulating in here. Anyway, did I tell you they suspended me from the job?

Yuuup. Those new managers over at Central gonna say they caught me sleeping in the booth. I said, “You ain’t catch me sleep in no booth, because I wasn’t sleeping”. Then they gonna show me on camera leaning up against the wall dipping for about two hours-JUST BECAUSE I’M DIPPIN’ DON’T MEAN I’M SLEEP! Well…. yeah but I told… you right. Ard Carol you right I was caught sleeping, but that’s not the point. They didn’t have to suspend my ass for two weeks!

That was the last thing I needed. I know one thing; the city better come over here and tear this damn weed down. They said they were gonna take care of it yesterday, but never showed up.

The city ain’t shit, just like they father. Never show up when you need them, only come ‘round when they feel like it or want something from you. Girl, I tell ya…. Anyway, I’m outside sweeping the pavement. Tired of looking at all this damn trash in front of my house. Ard. Well look if you not doing anything let’s go to Atlantic City next week. Yeah girl, I ain’t got work so let’s party. Hahaha. Ard Carol, I’ll holla at ya. (RAQUELLE hangs up). KWAMAINE! KWAMAINE: Yeah?

RAQUELLE: Get one of those black trash bags from the kitchen and help me pick up this trash.

KWAMAINE: Ard. RAQUELLE looks at the dandelion with intrigue, then love, then disappointment. She gets over it and gets back to sweeping the sidewalk. KWAMAINE enters from the house.

Huhn.

RAQUELLE: Open up the bag, boy.

KWAMAINE: My bad.

RAQUELLE begins to put the trash in the trash bag.

RAQUELLE: I don’t understand why I gotta be doing all of this heavy work. You and ya brother can’t sweep the front of the step? No. Y’all gotta wait for me to do it.

KWAMAINE: You didn’t ask.

RAQUELLE: See, that’s the shit I’m talking about. Why do I gotta ask? Why can’t you just do it?!

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KWAMAINE: Why you yelling at me for?

RAQUELLE: Because I got two lazy ass boys who don’t wanna do nothing but pussyfoot around and stare at the sky.

KWAMAINE turns on “the deaf ear”.

How ‘bout I just pack my shit and go? Leave y’all hanging to fend for yourself. Then you understand where I’m coming from. I come home from work; dishes ain’t done, floor not swept, bed not made. Drives me up a damn wall. I tell you one thing; starting today I ain’t doing that shit no more. You and ya brother are responsible for cleaning up after y’allselves. I’m off this week. I ain’t tryna do nothing, but watch my stories, drink an ice cold brew and cook dinner.

FOR ME. You listening to what I’m saying?

KWAMAINE: Yeah, you wanna watch your stories, drink beer and cook dinner.

RAQUELLE: That’s right. I’m taking a vacation from y’all asses. And I’m gonna start working on my dress.

KWAMAINE: What dress?

RAQUELLE: None of ya business. I’m just making a dress. I’m tryna hook a crook out here.

KWAMAINE: You got two dollars?

RAQUELLE: For what?

KWAMAINE: I’m tryna go to the store.

RAQUELLE: I got enough for my number and two loosies.

KWAMAINE: Mom, you need to stop wasting you money on the lottery.

RAQUELLE: Don’t tell me what to do with my money, Kwamaine.

KWAMAINE: I’m just saying, mom. You spend two dollars on loosies and the lottery every day.

That’s two dollars I can have.

RAQUELLE: It’s none of your business what I buy! If I wanna buy some damn cigarettes I’m gonna–– WHY DON’T YOU ASK YA DAMN FATHER FOR SOME MONEY? Everybody always asking me for some money. GO ASK HIM or get a damn job. Y’all make me sick with that shit. “Mom I need this, mom I need that.” I don’t got it, son. Ya mother doesn’t have it.

KWAMAINE gives up. He ties up the trash bag and leans it against the step. RAQUELLE gives KWAMAINE two dollars.

Huhn. Go on and play this number for me. “0630”. I saw it yesterday in my number book.

Make sure you box it!

KWAMAINE begins to exit.

Don’t worry about those loosies either. Go get you some snacks.

KWAMAINE: Ard. RAQUELLE: OH, and when you get back the city might be around to cut this weed down.

KWAMAINE: WHAT? Why? RAQUELLE: I’m tired of lookin’ at it– and if the city don’t come then I’m doing it my damn self.

KWAMAINE: You can’t cut it down.

RAQUELLE: Why not?

KWAMAINE: It still has wishes.

RAQUELLE: Oh yeah? Where they at?

KWAMAINE: They– 30 Proscenium Spring 2016

RAQUELLE: GONE. Ain’t nothing up there but a naked stem. Look at it. It’s all brown and wilted and it’s messing with the pipes.

KWAMAINE: The wishes will come back. That’s what dandelions do. You blow the wishes away and they’ll come back.

RAQUELLE: I wish you go to the store and do what I asked.

KWAMAINE shuts up, takes in a breath of frustration and exhales. He exits. RAQUELLE calms her nerves. She looks at the dandelion.

Hit my number. We’ll see what happens then.

SCENE 5.

That afternoon. CHRIS and JALIL are on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Interstate 76 West.

JALIL: When did you start driving trucks?

CHRIS: In my twenties. I used to work on the ships at the Navy Yard, but I got too scared hanging above the water all the time. How come you ain’t driving yet?

JALIL: I dunno. I’m tryna save up for a hoopty. Once I get that I’ll get my license.

CHRIS: Yeah man, driving ain’t hard. Just point the car the direction you wanna go, stay in your lane, and don’t kill nobody.

JALIL: I feel you.

Beat.

CHRIS: So what’s going on, son?

JALIL: Nothing really. Just tryna figure out some things. Where I’m tryna go. Who I’m tryna be.

CHRIS: Well you can’t be nobody but yourself.

JALIL: That’s not what I’m saying. I am myself. I mean, my career.

CHRIS: Oh ard. What you wanna do?

JALIL: I was thinking bout joinin’ the Air Force.

CHRIS: Oh yeah?

JALIL: Yeah. I was at The Gallery and a recruiter just started talking to me about joinin’ the Air Force. I talked to him the other day. All I gotta do is go down there and sign my papers and go into training.

CHRIS: Did you talk to ya mother about this?

JALIL: Yeah.

CHRIS: And what she say?

JALIL: “Don’t get hurt, Jalil.”

CHRIS: Ard. So why the Air Force? You don’t wanna be in the Marines?

JALIL: No. I wanna fly planes.

CHRIS: I never been on a plane before.

JALIL: Yeah. Me neither.

CHRIS: My brother Kenny went to the Air Force. He a pilot for one of those airlines.

JALIL: Yeah I know. I talked to him already.

CHRIS: Oh yeah? What he say?

JALIL: “Go for it”. I want to see the world. I gotta get out of Philly.

CHRIS: Ain’t nothing wrong with Philly. You got everything here. Family, friends, the Eagles.

JALIL: I ain’t tryna be no fake Muslim selling oils on the subway or a regular bul who ain’t Spring 2016 Proscenium 31

Leftovers Josh Wilder

about shit. Kwamaine is gonna be a therapist and I’m gonna be a pilot… and the Eagles are bums.

CHRIS: Ard now, don’t talk shit about the Eagles. They gonna get that trophy this season.

JALIL: Yeah ard. We’ll see. We’ll see when they make it to the NFC. If they even do that. Ain’t that crazy? They let us down every year, but we still root for ‘em.

CHRIS: That’s how it is. If you born in Philly you an Eagles fan. Bottom line. Guess we’re stuck with ‘em (laughs).

JALIL: How long have you had that jacket?

CHRIS: Since ’95.

JALIL: It’s dirty.

CHRIS: Yeah I haven’t found time to get a new one. I like it.

Beat.

JALIL: But yeah, when I sign my papers, they said I have to go to Texas for a couple months and then they’ll send me to a base wherever I want to go in the world.

CHRIS: Oh yeah? What’s the catch?

JALIL: There is no catch.

CHRIS: Shiiiit. You fuckin’ with Uncle Sam. There’s always a catch.

JALIL: There’s not.

CHRIS: Ard just saying be careful. Read everything that contract say.

JALIL: Ard. CHRIS: Yeah back in the day, those Army recruiters used to sweep the block man. Every nigga they could find they got. Lied to ‘em about going to college and having a career. Shhhhhwww.

Those fellas didn’t know they was being sent over there to die. Not my ass. Graduated Milton Hershey in ’76 and I was on my way to play football. They wasn’t getting me.

JALIL: Play football where?

CHRIS: Penn State.

JALIL: I didn’t know that.

CHRIS: Yeah. Running back. Would’ve made it to the NFL too.

JALIL: What team you wanted to play for-CHRIS/JALIL: The Eagles.

Beat.

JALIL: Why did you stop?

CHRIS: Ahh, got into an accident.

JALIL: Yeah?

CHRIS: Yeah. Had to learn how to walk and everything.

JALIL: Damn. What happened?

CHRIS: Don’t remember. (Beat) So you gotta girl?

JALIL: Yeah.

CHRIS: What’s her name?

JALIL: Shemariah.

CHRIS: Y’all fuckin’?

JALIL: WHAT? CHRIS laughs.

32 Proscenium Spring 2016

CHRIS: I’m just asking son. You don’t gotta tell me.

JALIL: Oh. Yeah, we fuckin’.

CHRIS: Ard cool. Just make sure that shit stay wrapped up. You don’t want no woman holding your life up.

JALIL: Yeah…

CHRIS: You have been using rubbers right?

JALIL: Yeah. She on birth control too. So sometimes we do sometimes we don’t.

CHRIS: You love her?

JALIL: I dunno. Love is just a feelin’. Does she make me feel? Yes. Is it love? I’ono.

CHRIS: Yeah I understand what you saying.

JALIL: She bad though.

CHRIS: Yeah?

JALIL: Yup. Big ass. Cute face.

CHRIS: She got nice titties?

JALIL: They ard, but her ass is the best part.

CHRIS: Can’t have everything.

They laugh.

You think she love you?

JALIL: Yeah. I do. She never gives me any space. Always wanna be around me all the time. I get it sometimes, but…

CHRIS: How old is she?

JALIL: Seventeen.

CHRIS: Where she from?

JALIL: North Philly.

CHRIS: Naw man, you can’t be dealing with no North Philly girls. They crazy. You need to get you a West Philly girl.

JALIL: It don’t matter what part of Philly they from, dad.

CHRIS: Ard. JALIL: I mean, she ain’t that crazy. She just really really seem to be in love with me.

CHRIS: But you don’t really really love her?

JALIL: No. Beat.

CHRIS: When you run into a girl like that there’s only three things you can do: fuck her, feed her and forget about her. That’s what you do. There are plenty of women out there and you shouldn’t let one hold you back from anything. She probably tryna get pregnant so she can keep you in her life. Girls do that type of shit. When you really love a girl. I mean really love a girl, that’s when you treat her different, but these other ones…

JALIL: …

CHRIS: Now back in ’85 when I met your mother. I had about three or four girls at the same time, but Roc wasn’t playing that shit. She kicked all they asses, one by one. That’s when I knew she was it. I loved her ever since. My girl. Yeah, she was my girl–still to this day.

JALIL: That sound crazy to me. What kinda girls you have?

CHRIS: North Philly girls (laughs). But your mother’s from West Philly. Yeah, she saw right Spring 2016 Proscenium 33

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through that bullshit. West Philly girls are smart. They believe in a nigga before they have their baby.

JALIL: Ain’t Ms. Shirley from North Philly?

CHRIS: Yup. And I’m crazy for dealing with her ass too. But one thing I can say about North Philly girls: they put up with ya shit. You with a North Philly girl for life. When a West Philly girl is tired of you, she means it. Leave you hanging, crying in the rain.

JALIL: I feel you.

CHRIS: How’s ya mother? She doin’ ard?

JALIL: She ard. She say you owe her back child support.

CHRIS: Ahhhh, there she go with that.

JALIL: You do owe us.

CHRIS: I’m trying.

Beat.

I’m glad you’re here with me son.

JALIL: Yeah, me too.

JALIL looks outside the window. He cracks a smile to himself.

CHRIS: You like oldies?

JALIL: They ard. Mom blast them every Sunday night.

CHRIS digs in the glove compartment and grabs an unmarked CD and inserts it in the CD player and presses play. “Papa Was A Rolling Stone,” by the Temptations.

CHRIS: Aww shiiit!! I know you know this song.

JALIL: Yeah.

CHRIS: Rolling stone! You hear that guitar? That’s my favorite sound in the oldies.

JALIL and CHRIS grove for a moment to the music.

JALIL: Did you know your dad?

CHRIS: Yeah, I knew him ‘til I was twelve. He was something all right. Alcoholic. He’d come in the house after work, slap my mother around then slap us around. One day my father hit my mother and we all rolled on his ass. Me, your uncle Kenny, even your uncle Tracy¬--- and he was eight. Yeah… we kicked him out his own house. He rolled on and made himself a new family, Buster and Joe. Those my other brothers. He did the same thing to their mother. Died from a blood clot in his head. Yeah… that was my old man. One thing I would say about him is that he made sure his boys were fed, wife always looked sharp. If he didn’t drink so much he’d still be livin’.

JALIL: You ever think about getting back with mom?

CHRIS: All the time. But that’s not how things work so…

JALIL: You a rolling stone, huh?

CHRIS: Hahahaha. Yeah I guess I am.

Beat.

You wanna drive?

JALIL: Naw man, I’m good. That shit look too crazy to handle.

CHRIS: It’s easy.

JALIL: Dad, this is an eighteen-wheeler!

CHRIS: Don’t be scared of that. Come on.

34 Proscenium Spring 2016

CHRIS pulls over to the side of the road. JALIL can’t believe this is happening.

Get out.

They get out the truck and trade places.

JALIL: Yo I can’t believe I’m doing this. Wait until I tell Kwamaine.

CHRIS: And when you tell him make sure you tell him he’s next in line. Ard, so first thing’s first– JALIL: Seat belt.

CHRIS: Fuck the seat belt. Your mirrors.

JALIL: Ard. CHRIS: Now you really gotta make sure you know where everything is. You’re big, you can crush anybody out there on the road just by making a simple mistake. You can’t see everything so the cars really gotta be careful about where you goin’. ‘Cause a truck is the boss of the road.

Everything is bigger, you can see further down the road and behind you. You need more space to turn. But once you get that power under control, the road is yours. Took me years to adjust to it.

JALIL: Ard. What’s next?

CHRIS: Adjust your seat to the wheel. Can you see the road ahead?

JALIL: Yeah. Done.

CHRIS: Ard. Turn on the engine.(The engine roars.)Ard now you see how the stick is in the middle? That’s neutral always start in neutral.

JALIL is nervous.

Ok look at your rear view. Put the truck in drive. Put the truck in drive! Come on, man. Cars are coming.

JALIL: Which gear?

CHRIS: Down to the right. Release the break.

JALIL: Where?!

CHRIS: Right there! Press the button!

JALIL: Ok, ok. Ok. Ok. JALIL begins to drive, many cars beep and honk.

Am I doing it?

CHRIS: Yes! JALIL laughs victoriously.

Speed up a bit! You gotta drive the speed limit.

JALIL: Ok, ok.

CHRIS: Keep your eyes on the road. It’s a straight shot from here!

JALIL: Ard. Fuck I’m driving a truck!

HONK! HONK! They drive on.

SCENE 6.

KWAMAINE is sitting on the step drinking another Day’s soda, the blue kind.

KWAMAINE: I know you’re not dead, just tired. Tired of us using you. I won’t use you anymore. I just want you to grow again and make mom understand that you’re not a weed. Did you really mess up the pipes underneath the pavement? Oh it’s the roots. Gotchu! (beat) You want Spring 2016 Proscenium 35

Leftovers Josh Wilder

some soda? A little bit won’t hurt.

KWAMAINE crosses to the dandelion and pour a little bit in the cracks. DIJON enters carrying a backpack.

DIJON: Wassup youngbul.

KWAMAINE: What’s up, Dijon.

DIJON takes in the dandelion with extreme disappointment.

DIJON: Yo! What happened to the jawn?

KWAMAINE: Oh the dandelion. The wishes all flew away yesterday.

DIJON: FUCK! Tsch. Man….

KWAMAINE: You okay?

DIJON: Yeah I’m good. Where Jalil at?

KWAMAINE: He went somewhere with my dad.

DIJON: Oh word? Ya pops showed up?

KWAMAINE: Yeah.

DIJON: Oh ard. Well look when you see him tell him to holla at me. I had a little business venture I’m was tryna put him on with, but forget about it now. Tsch! Fuck.

KWAMAINE: What is it?

DIJON: I dunno man, y’all youngbuls be running y’all mouth too much.

KWAMAINE: What is it? I won’t say nothing.

DIJON checks to see if the coast is clear.

DIJON: Look man I ain’t gonna front. When I found out ya’ll was going to Six Flags I was mad salty.

KWAMAINE: Why? DIJON: Because I was like “damn why can’t they share the wealth?” Yah’mean?

KWAMAINE: I never really thought about it like that.

DIJON: Well I did. Look. I been telling the whole hood about this jawn. Y’all famous around here.

KWAMAINE: We are?

DIJON: Yeah.

He digs in his backpack and takes out a plethora of scrap paper.

DIJON (Cont.) Huhn. Look. What all them papers say?

KWAMAINE: Are these wishes?

DIJON: Exactly. Everybody got a wish ‘round here and y’all got the juice. So peep game. I been knocking on doors letting niggas know that for a small fee ya wishes can come true. All you gotta do is just write it on a piece of paper and I’ll give it to my mans Jalil and Kwamaine and they can make it happen for you. Door to door sales homie. Grassroots! It’s all about them grassroots if you tryna make it round here, that’s Business 101.

KWAMAINE: You selling wishes?

DIJON: I’m providing a service. You know how they got stockbrokers? Well I’ma be y’all wishbroker.

KWAMAINE: But it’s not your dandelion.

DIJON: It ain’t yours either KWAMAINE: But it grew in front of my house. That’s my property. No one asked you to do all 36 Proscenium Spring 2016

that.

DIJON: Yo calm down youngbul I ain’t even get to the good part yet. The money (He pulls out a wad of money). This is y’all cash advance if you tryna be a part of the movement. I been collecting the wishes for two dollars a pop. That’s the same price as a Powerball ticket and you know how niggas be spending at least twenty dollars on the Powerball. Since y’all wishes been coming true like that. It’s a guaranteed win for everybody.

RAQUELLE (from the window) KWAMAINE! Did you play my number? The lottery about to come on.

KWAMAINE: Yeah! I put in on the table!

DIJON: So what you think?

KWAMAINE: Why y’all fake-ass Muslims always tryna hustle somebody? If you tryna make money so bad then why won’t you just find a regular job.

DIJON steps to KWAMAINE. DIJON: Yo watch ya mouth, youngbul!

KWAMAINE: …

DIJON: You glad you Jalil’s lil’ brother. Keep talking out ya neck and see what happens. You got the wrong one. Now I already got the money. If I start telling niggas that the dandelion don’t work then they gonna try to chop it down.

KWAMAINE: Then give them they money back.

DIJON: I don’t do refunds.

KWAMAINE: …

DIJON: You know what? Forget it, man. I’m talking to the wrong person. Tell ya brotha I said holla back.

DIJON exits. RAQUELLE screams! There are loud thuds coming from her room. She bursts out of the door holding her lottery ticket in hand.

RAQUELLE: GUESS WHAT? MY MOTHAFUCKIN’ NUMBER CAME OUT (screams and laughter of victory)! You see I told you I was gonna win! Look at that. 0! 6! 3! 0! TAH-DOW, WA-BAM (screams and laughs again)! Ard. Now listen. I’m gonna pay some bills! Get groceries! Some crabs! A couple Coronas!...and be broke again. Shit! Why did I box it? I knew I should’ve just played it straight! But it’s okay, though. I won. I won. (Beat)You see how fast four hundred dollars go? I tell ya, the Big Four ain’t shit. Now what I really need to do is start playing that Powerball, but who am I kidding? Black folks never win the Powerball–– KWAMAINE (forcefully) Don’t cut the dandelion down.

RAQUELLE: Why do you care so much about this damn thing, Kwamaine. I told you already, it’s messin’ with the pipes and its damn near dead.

KWAMAINE: You can’t get the pipes fixed?

RAQUELLE: The city can only do that. They gotta take up the pavement before they can fix them.

KWAMAINE: Mom! RAQUELLE: What?

KWAMAINE: It’s gonna grow again. The wishes will grow back.

RAQUELLE: What you wishin’ for Kwamaine?

KWAMAINE: Simple things. I just want everybody to be happy that’s all. Cosby Show happy.

Spring 2016 Proscenium 37

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The dandelion didn’t come from nowhere. It’s different. It’s real! Everything I wished for came true. You won the lottery!

RAQUELLE: I won four hundred dollars.

RAQUELLE is over it. She begins to exit.

KWAMAINE: DAMN IT, MOM! LISTEN! RAQUELLE: WHO THE HELL YOU THINK YOU TALKING TO? KWAMAINE: YOU! You don’t listen to anything. All you wanna do is be mad. You got a lottery ticket in your hand and you still mad. No one is happy around here! Everything is wrong.

RAQUELLE slaps KWAMAINE. Beat.

RAQUELLE: I’m doin’ my best Kwamaine. It may not be the way you like or dreamed of, but I’m doing my best.

KWAMAINE: I wasn’t tryna – RAQUELLE: YES YOU WAS! (Beat) You try it. Try raising a family by yourself. I wanna see you do it. Y’all boys never appreciate a damn thing I do…

KWAMAINE: Mom, I didn’t say that.

RAQUELLE: Yes you did! “Everything is wrong”. Who’s fault is it then? Hmm? You didn’t ask to be here. Who you pointing the finger at?

KWAMAINE: Mom, it ain’t like that.

RAQUELLE: What is it? What did I do, Mr. Therapist? Since “everything is wrong” there must be something wrong with me, huh?

KWAMAINE: Ain’t nothing wrong with you.

RAQUELLE: BULLSHIT. ‘ Look at me, Kwamaine. Take a real good look at me. Do I look like some boujie bitch with a law degree?

KWAMAINE: No. RAQUELLE: Do I look like I ain’t got a care in the world?

KWAMAINE: No. RAQUELLE: Then what do I look like Kwamaine?

KWAMAINE: My mom.

RAQUELLE: That’s right. I look like your single, poor, Black mother who’s tryna make it out here by her damn self. Who works in the middle of the fuckin’ night staring at parked cars for twelve dollars an hour so your ungrateful-ass can eat a decent breakfast in the morning. That’s who you’re looking at, but you don’t like what you see–– DO YOU? You’d rather stare up at the fucking sky wishing for Claire RAQUELLE (Cont.) Huxtable to sweep you off your feet ‘cuz you’re ashamed of the real mother you got!

KWAMAINE: …

RAQUELLE: Well how about this. You can get the hell out of my house and move to North Philly with your father since what I’m doing isn’t the way you want things to be! Go ask him for money and books and food and shelter––GO ASK HIM! I’m tired of this shit, if you ain’t happy then leave, Kwamaine.

KWAMAINE: Mom? What are you talking about?

RAQUELLE: When was the last time you said, “thank you” to me, huh? “Thank you for din38 Proscenium Spring 2016

ner”. “Thank you for getting me clothes for school”. “Thank you for being my mom and dad”.

I raised you and Jalil by myself! Me! Can’t sleep at night ‘cause I’m worrying about how I’m gonna make it to the next month. You don’t gotta think about that––I do!––( exhale/inhale…exhale..) I made you and Jalil and ya father my life. I gave my life to y’all, but when Chris started…we just didn’t matter. He left us and we didn’t even go anywhere. Had to get rid of him and move on. Now what do we got? Leftovers. You gotta deal with the leftovers. Try to remake ‘em, add new things, but it’s still the same shit from yesterday, just a different day. Ain’t nothing on TV what it seem to be in real life, Kwamaine. Nothing. (She takes the dandelion in.) The city coming tomorrow.

KWAMAINE: If the wishes grow back, we can wish for more things– RAQUELLE: Just shut up, Kwamaine.

RAQUELLE exits. KWAMAINE cries. THE SKY OPENS UP! MAN IN WHITE (from the sky) HEY! COME UP HERE. I WANT TO SHOW YOU SOMETHING. KWAMAINE climbs the dandelion up…up… away.

SCENE 7.

Later that night. HONK! HONK! CHRIS and JALIL pull up on the block.

JALIL: Wow. That was decent. When am I seeing you again?

CHRIS: I dunno. Maybe in a week. Who knows?

Beat.

JALIL: You got any money?

CHRIS: Naw, I get paid when I return this truck back to the yard. That weed is still there, huh?

JALIL: It’s not a weed. It’s a dandelion. You make wishes with it.

CHRIS: Yeah?

JALIL: Yeah. Me and Kwamaine wish sometimes.

CHRIS: About what?

JALIL: Nothing deep. Just simple things. I wished for you.

CHRIS: …

JALIL: …why didn’t you come to my graduation? Besides the suit.

CHRIS: I didn’t have any shoes.

JALIL: …come on man.

CHRIS: Ya dad is sick son. Been for a while now.

JALIL: What’s making you sick?

CHRIS: Me. JALIL: What does that mean?

CHRIS: I wasn’t in my right mind to be around y’all. Your mother didn’t want you to see me sick all the time.

JALIL: Drugs.

CHRIS: …

JALIL: What kind?

CHRIS: …

JALIL: …

Spring 2016 Proscenium 39

Leftovers Josh Wilder

CHRIS: It don’t matter what kind.

JALIL: I’m not a little kid.

CHRIS: …

JALIL: ….

CHRIS: ….crack JALIL: …ard.

CHRIS: …

JALIL leaves the truck. He sits on the step. CHRIS exits the passenger side of the truck.

Next time I’m heading to Ohio I’ll pick you up, ard? I’ll even let you drive again.

JALIL: …………ard.

CHRIS heads back to the truck.

Dad? CHRIS: Yeah son?

JALIL: Do you want us?

CHRIS: I don’t know. (Beat) When you plant your seed in the world a piece of you goes with it.

It might be big or small, but it’s still a piece that you can never get back.

JALIL: Like the dandelion.

CHRIS: Don’t blow your wishes. Keep them safe.

JALIL: Do you love us?

CHRIS: Of course.

CHRIS and JALIL take each other in.

See ya later son.

CHRIS exits into the truck. Starts the engine and drives on. JALIL takes the dandelion in. Lost in his brain.

JALIL: ………………………………………………………………………AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! UUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH40 Proscenium Spring 2016

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH….

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! He attacks the dandelion. Violently. He beats it until his arms and legs are weak. He cries. THE SKY OPENS UP to reveal KWAMAINE. KWAMAINE (in the sky) JALIL! JALIL looks up. He takes it all in and climbs up…up…away.

END OF ACT 1.

INTERLUDE. MAN IN WHITE plays a black and white film. 3…2…1… cue generic ’50s music.

“HOW WISHES COME TRUE: A STEP BY STEP PROCESS ON MAKING THE GHETTO A BETTER PLACE.” STEP ONE: Find a dandelion. Dandelions can be located in empty lots between abandoned buildings, dilapidated fields or in the crevices of sidewalks.

STEP TWO: Once you have found your dandelion. Go to a secluded area away from the wind and make a wish. Be careful. Some wishes can be dangerous or unnecessary so wish wisely.

STEP THREE: After your wish is complete, propel your wish into the sky by using a strong forceful exhale or by facing the dandelion in the direction of an opposite gust of wind. There you have it! You have successfully made a wish.

STEP FOUR: After your wishes are sent into the wind only a select few will make it to the wishing center. There at the center the wish granter sorts out which wish will be sent to the boss for authorization.

STEP FIVE: After the wishes are authorized by the boss, the wish granter has the grueling task of sending the wish back to the wisher. This can be difficult if the wind becomes a factor. Once the wish is sent back down, the wish granter can only wait to see if it is received by the wisher—THAT’S YOU! remember to say “thank you,” okay brotha?

END. ACT 2.

The other side. Nothing has changed but plane and a little bit of time. The house is still there.

Everything is still there. There are missing posters of JALIL and KWAMAINE stapled on the stem of the dandelion. Teddy bears and candles lay at the base. KWAMAINE enters from the cracks. He crawls through the teddy bears and candles. His clothes are dirty and worn out from the climb up. He takes a huge breath and coughs. The air is different. Something feels off in this space. He’s out of breath and words.

KWAMAINE: ………what?

JALIL (offstage) Kwamaine! Did we get there? Where you at man?

JALIL enters the same way. Out of breath with the same tattered clothes.

Why are we still here?!

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Leftovers Josh Wilder

KWAMAINE: I’ono.

JALIL: You mean we did all that climbing for NOTHING? KWAMAINE: I’ono!

JALIL: Whatchu mean you don’t know? I was following you!

KWAMAINE: And I was following the dude.

JALIL: Where he at then?

KWAMAINE: I think I lost him or something.

JALIL: But we was climbing.

KWAMAINE: I know!

JALIL: I can’t believe this. YO MOM! KWAMAINE looks back at the memorial.

JALIL: Where are we?

KWAMAINE: I dunno. Heaven, I guess.

JALIL: Wait. We’re dead?!

KWAMAINE checks his heart.

KWAMAINE: No, we ain’t dead. I can feel my lips. My toes.

JALIL: Yeah, but we climbed… the sky opened up!

KWAMAINE: Yeah it did.

A dandelion wish floats by.

KWAMAINE: LOOK! JALIL: Get it Kwamaine!

KWAMAINE chases after the wish and tries to catch it, but is easily winded. He pants.

KWAMAINE: I can’t… I can’t breathe JALIL: Look at all these missing posters. How long have we been climbing?

KWAMAINE: JALIL! I can’t breathe… I can’t fucking breathe!

JALIL crosses over to KWAMAINE and guides him to the steps. They sit down.

JALIL: C’mon man. Relax…relax.

JALIL and KWAMAINE adjust to the air.

JALIL: Who was that man? That man you was following?

KWAMAINE: I dunno JALIL: The fuck you follow him for?

KWAMAINE: Mom kicked me out and I didn’t know where to go…. The sky opened up.

JALIL: What you do?

KWAMAINE: I don’t wanna talk about it.

THE LOTTERY LADY (offstage) IS THAT JALIL AND KWAMAINE? JALIL/KWAMAINE: MOM? THE LOTTERY LADY (offstage) You and you! We gotta talk.

KWAMAINE: Mom? THE LOTTERY LADY exits the house.

THE LOTTERY LADY: Boy I ain’t none of ya mother. Speaking of her, I’m getting tired of her ass too.

JALIL: Who are you?

THE LOTTERY LADY: The Lottery Lady. I play the lottery so much that people forgot my real 42 Proscenium Spring 2016

name. Shit, I don’t even know my real name. All I do is wake up, see what you wishing for and I play my number. I gotta play a number on every wish you have. Every time you wish for something my job is to make it come true. Ever since that dandelion grew, things have been going haywire up here. We all tryna figure out what else we can do to give y’all a clue, and babies, y’all driving me crazy.

KWAMAINE: But we don’t play the lottery.

THE LOTTERY LADY: Well y’all sure do have some expensive-ass wishes. Let me go in my book (she digs in her pocket book and pulls out a huge book.). Kwamaine you wished for transpass money, child support money, amusement park money, and a winning lottery ticket. And Jalil I don’t know where you think you getting all this stuff from baby. You gotta get you a job.

JALIL: But–– THE LOTTERY LADY: Don’t start none of that “but” business with me. I gotta try to figure out the numbers to make all this happen okay? Y’all asking for so much that I’m losing my mojo. I can’t find the right number for anything anymore. I gotta worry about what’s the right number to play for HAPPINESS. Now what kind of shit is that to play the lottery on? Y’all are stressing me out! Why you can’t wish for an A on your test? Or find twenty dollars on the ground? That’s easy. But no, you boys are going for the big dogs and wishing for happiness! What’s wrong with you Black boys these days? All y’all sad or something? So I told the man, I said baby you gonna have to revoke they wishing privileges, ’cause they ain’t treating that dandelion right.

JALIL: What you mean?

THE LOTTERY LADY: You think this was just some freak accident? (She laughs) We gave y’all knuckle heads a direct line to us. Dandelions ain’t supposed to be that big! If it was we’d be in a perfect-perfect world. Y’all wishes would’ve came true, but y’all need to solve the problem, to fix our problem, so we can help you with your so-called “problems”.

JALIL: I don’t like her.

KWAMAINE: Me neither.

THE LOTTERY LADY: Oh you ain’t gotta like me. Y’all kids can’t take me. You gotta number I can play? I’ma see if ya mother can hit this lottery again so she can get these bills paid.

KWAMAINE: “0630”. It worked last time.

THE LOTTERY LADY: Ohhh, okay Mr. Number Man. Yeah, you lucky with the numbers. Unhun MAN IN WHITE enters.

MAN IN WHITE: Jalil and Kwamaine. Welcome brothas! How you doing Lottery Lady?

THE LOTTERY LADY: I got a name nigga. Learn it sometime. (To the boys) Ard fella’s wish me luck. If you need me, you know where to find me.

THE LOTTERY LADY exits into the house.

JALIL: She reminds me of mom.

KWAMAINE: Mom’s a bitch.

JALIL slaps KWAMAINE in the back of the head.

KWAMAINE: Yo! JALIL: Don’t talk about mom like that.

MAN IN WHITE: Your brother’s right.

KWAMAINE: That’s him.

JALIL: Yo where did you go? Why are we back home?

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Leftovers Josh Wilder

MAN IN WHITE: Easy man, easy. You’re home, but just on the Other Side.

KWAMAINE: Who are you?

MAN IN WHITE: Just a messenger.

MAN IN WHITE hands a dirty gold envelope to JALIL but KWAMAINE snatches it.

KWAMAINE: “What makes the Huxtables stick together like glue?” What’s this?

MAN IN WHITE: A riddle, a clue, whatever works for you. This is the wishing place. We make dreams come true up here.

DIJON enters wearing a city worker’s uniform. He examines the dandelion and takes pictures.

JALIL: Yo there’s Dijon. Yo ‘Jon! ‘Jon! DIJON crosses to the house and knocks on the door.

Why can’t he hear me? Are we invisible?

MAN IN WHITE: Up here you can’t hear us, but we can hear you.

RAQUELLE exits the house.

RAQUELLE: Can I help you?

DIJON: Hey what’s up, Ms. Roc! RAQUELLE: Dijon? Boy where you been at? I haven’t seen you around here in months.

DIJON: Yeah, I’ve been a little busy lately. I’m interning right now and they got me working for the city. I called that number that be on the commercials and I’m getting hooked up with an engineering certificate. My supervisor told me to find something that needs to be fixed in the community and I mentioned this weed/tree/dandelion or whatever that’s here.

Beat.

RAQUELLE: Go ‘head…

DIJON: The city gonna tear it down like you requested.

JALIL/KWAMAINE: NO!!

JALIL: We’re gonna be stuck here!

MAN IN WHITE: Not if you solve the clue KWAMAINE: What if we don’t?

MAN IN WHITE: Then you can’t go back.

RAQUELLE: They gonna tear it down? When this happen?

DIJON: The city keep getting complaints about it. The block captain said it’s messing with everybody’s water.

RAQUELLE: The block captain? This dirty ass block ain’t have a captain for years. Now the block got a captain and he complaining. Ain’t nobody knock on my door to complain. My water been messing up ever since that damn thing grew from the sidewalk but y’all wasn’t here investigating it. I had to damn near beg, but now since the whole block got water issues they sending folks down here now? The city ain’t shit!

DIJON: …

RAQUELLE: Not you Dijon, the city. You Jalil’s friend. Damn I miss my boys.

DIJON: I miss them too, Ms. Roc. I know they looking down watching over you.

RAQUELLE: Yeah that’s cuz they crazy-asses climbed up this thing.

Beat.

DIJON: Ard, Ms. Roc. RAQUELLE: I’m not kidding.

44 Proscenium Spring 2016

DIJON: There’s teddy bears and candles all over. They dead.

RAQUELLE: My boys ain’t dead. They missing! Can’t you read the posters?

DIJON: Ms. Roc, the neighborhood had a vigil for them.

RAQUELLE: Without my permission. Niggas took it upon themselves to declare them dead.

They ain’t no friends of Jalil and Kwamaine. My boys ain’t dead. I feel them.

DIJON: …

RAQUELLE: When the city coming?

DIJON: Tomorrow morning.

RAQUELLE: TOMORR– ard listen Dijon. You tell who ever you gotta tell to postpone it. They gotta wait until Jalil and Kwamaine come back down.

DIJON: I don’t know if I can do that, Ms. Roc. It’s all ready on the schedule.

RAQUELLE: Change the schedule then.

DIJON: I don’t know how to do that.

RAQUELLE: TELL THEM TO WAIT! DIJON: Damn. Ms. Roc, you making my life real difficult. I’ll see what they say and I’ma come back later on.

RAQUELLE: Thank you, baby.

DIJON: Tell them to hurry up or something. If they up there or whatever.

RAQUELLE: Shit, if I had the equipment, I’d ask you to climb up this damn thing. (Sighs. Quick beat.) You ever make a wish on this?

DIJON: Naw, Ms. Roc. RAQUELLE: Never too old.

DIJON: I feel you. I’m just a little too real for all that wishing you feel me? I rather just be on my grind.

RAQUELLE: Ard, Dijon.

DIJON: Ard, Ms. Roc. I’ll let you know what’s going on.

DIJON exits. RAQUELLE looks up at the dandelion.

KWAMAINE: I never liked that nigga. He always up to some grimey shit. He’s gonna get us killed!

JALIL: He wouldn’t do that.

KWAMAINE: How you know? We’re already dead to him!

There’s a loud HONK! Offstage that knocks RAQUELLE out of the moment. CHRIS enters.

He’s carrying a black corner store bag. He’s drunk.

JALIL: WAIT! How did he get up here? MAN I’M OUT! GET ME OUTTA HERE. MAN IN WHITE flicks his hand that makes JALIL and KWAMAINE’s hands involuntarily cover their mouths.

MAN IN WHITE: Shhh! You’re up here. He’s not. Just watch.

CHRIS: HEY ROC! RAQUELLE: Come on with all that yelling man! What’s up?

CHRIS: Got you a gift (he pulls out a six-pack of Coronas). Tada! Just wanted to thank you for letting me stay a while.

RAQUELLE: If you don’t calm your drunk ass down?

CHRIS: Oh hush woman. I ain’t bothering nobody.

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Leftovers Josh Wilder

RAQUELLE: So why you over here? Shouldn’t you be at Shirley’s?

CHRIS: Hahahaha.

RAQUELLE: Whatchu do for her to take your ass back?

CHRIS: I gave her some money for the week.

RAQUELLE laughs.

RAQUELLE: You gave her ass some money for the week and I get a damn six-pack? You a trip, Chris.

RAQUELLE crosses to the steps and sits.

CHRIS: What’s wrong with that?

RAQUELLE: Nothing. But you gonna have to do a little bit more than that. You still owe me back child support, nigga. Don’t forget about that now.

CHRIS crosses to RAQUELLE. CHRIS: Aww woman, come on with that.

He offers her the six-pack. RAQUELLE takes a one.

You not gonna give me one?

RAQUELLE shoots him a “nigga please” look.

Never mind.

RAQUELLE: Go ‘head. My ass liable to drink this whole pack.

CHRIS sits down and opens one as he sits next to RAQUELLE .

I wish they come down already.

CHRIS: Yeah.

MAN IN WHITE inches the boys closer to their parents. Jalil breaks away from and crosses to the dandelion while KWAMAINE sits next to RAQUELLE. RAQUELLE: You know everybody around here think I’m a crazy woman? I was talking to Carol and she think I’m losing it too. I stopped calling her ass for a while.

CHRIS: …

RAQUELLE: What did you say to Jalil? On the trip?

CHRIS: Nothing that deep. We was just talking.

RAQUELLE: About what?

CHRIS: Everything under the sun. He had a lot on his mind. It was good. Glad I got to take a trip with him.

RAQUELLE: You really messed him up that day. I knew you wasn’t gonna show up, but I ain’t say nothing.

CHRIS: Yeah…

RAQUELLE: Sometimes I don’t know what you be thinking about, but ain’t no excuse for missing his graduation. He really wanted you to be there.

CHRIS: Yeah, don’t remind me.

RAQUELLE: You need to be reminded. Stop running from everything.

CHRIS: I’m here now, Roc. RAQUELLE: And they gone.

CHRIS: …

RAQUELLE: They coming by to chop the dandelion down. I ain’t never gonna see my boys again.

46 Proscenium Spring 2016

Beat.

RAQUELLE (Cont.) You miss them?

CHRIS: …Yeah RAQUELLE: No you don’t! Stop lyin’, Chris.

CHRIS: I do, Roc! RAQUELLE: Why you do your boys like that? What they do to you man?

CHRIS: I dunno. I…I don’t know.

RAQUELLE: That’s your answer for everything. Sometimes I just wish I never met you. Let alone married you.

CHRIS: You always gonna be my girl.

RAQUELLE: I ain’t none of your girl.

Beat.

CHRIS: They ain’t dead are they?

RAQUELLE: I don’t know man. My heart ain’t heavy, just my mind. No job, feel like… what am I livin’ for? I ain’t got nothing to do, but pay bills. It don’t feel right. I don’t feel like me. I feel like I ain’t shit. I feel like you. I’m a good mother, Chris. I did everything I had to do. I kept a job, I kept food on the table, I made myself available and lovable and you just run off like they was invisible. (Beat) My home is empty and I don’t know what to do. Everybody acting like they dead—including you.

CHRIS: C’mon, Roc. RAQUELLE: You probably feel better about yourself don’t you? Not a care in the world.

CHRIS: …

RAQUELLE: …

CHRIS: I’m trying… you’re not giving me a chance.

RAQUELLE: You still usin’?

CHRIS: See that’s what I’m saying!

RAQUELLE: Still stuck back in the day ain’t you?

CHRIS: I wouldn’t mind being back in the day.

RAQUELLE: You ain’t back there. Be here! Back is behind you man. Catch up with the rest of the world.

CHRIS: …

RAQUELLE: …

CHRIS: I’m empty, Roc. I don’t know how else to describe it. The boys ain’t make me feel whole like they did you.

RAQUELLE: But you had ‘em, Chris. With me.

CHRIS: You ain’t want me around remember?

RAQUELLE: If that ain’t bullshit then I don’t know what it smell like. I wanted you to stay, but I couldn’t. Not with them. You can’t be an addict and a father. You made your choice.

CHRIS: You partied with me too. You ain’t a saint.

RAQUELLE: Yeah and it only took me one look in the mirror to get my act together. I ain’t want them around it. Just gave my life away for you. Swore up and down we were gonna make it.

Married you in the damn courthouse. It was that deep.

CHRIS: We argued the whole way to the judge.

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Leftovers Josh Wilder

RAQUELLE: I made my dress.

CHRIS: You was real pretty that day.

RAQUELLE: And nobody came.

CHRIS: Yeah. I’m still ya husband, Roc. In God’s eyes at least.

RAQUELLE: Yeah…So Shirley don’t want kids or anything? What’s up with that bitch?

CHRIS: I ain’t givin’ her no damn kids. After the boys something broke. I don’t know what, but it’s broke.

RAQUELLE: I know. I saw.

CHRIS: Just a rolling stone.

Beat.

You make any food?

RAQUELLE: I got some leftovers.

CHRIS: Come on with the leftovers, Roc. You ain’t cookin’ nothing?

RAQUELLE: I’ll cook when my boys get here. We’ll have a big dinner. Like on the Cosby Show.

CHRIS: You watch that now?

RAQUELLE: Everyday. Re-runs. Then I watch my stories. Ain’t nothing wrong with the show.

Just don’t seem real to me.

CHRIS: It’s TV. That Cosby mothafucka ain’t perfect in real life.

RAQUELLE: I dunno… I understand what they be talking about now. Guess it’s the boys. They watched that show every day, faithfully.

CHRIS: Yeah… you gotta get all them teddy bears from around that that weed. I’ono why you let them do that.

RAQUELLE: Me neither.

RAQUELLE goes in the house to grab a black trash bag.

CHRIS: Bring out the radio!

RAQUELLE (offstage) Can you stop being so damn loud!

CHRIS: Ahhh, shut up.

RAQUELLE exits the house, black trash bag and radio in hand. She places it next to CHRIS as she crosses to the dandelion.

KWAMAINE: Mom’s watching the Cosby Show now.

MAN IN WHITE: Yeah she’s learning. They always do.

KWAMAINE: It’s too late. (Beat) How come I couldn’t go on y’all trip? He’s my dad too. You ain’t an only child, ‘Lil. We could’ve both went. I wanna know my dad just as much you do.

JALIL looks at CHRIS getting drunker.

JALIL: He a crackhead, man.

KWAMAINE: …

JALIL: Yeah, I know. It all makes sense.

MAN IN WHITE: What do you mean by that?

JALIL: It just does. I understand why he’s a fuck up. Just look at him, he can’t even function. It’s sad.

MAN IN WHITE: And you’re sad, too.

JALIL: I’m not sad. Sad about what? What’s there to be sad about? Look at him. What he got, but a case of beer, and fucked up life? Naw, I’m not sad I’M WOKE. I woke up to his bullshit.

48 Proscenium Spring 2016

I know who he is and he ain’t no fucking father to me, he just a body, see, but I’ma be somebody. I’ma go to the service and I’ma make shit happen for me! I’ma make my life happen for me. I’m gonna make my own money, have my own shit, and for once be proud that I achieved something. That’ I’m worth something. More than trash on the fuckin’ street or a piece of broken glass in an empty lot. Its like I’m walking around in life everyday looking at things I don’t want to be and he’s one of them. He’s the sad one, he’s the wash up, the has been, the fuckin’ deadbeat, the used condom in the street. Not me! I’m better than that. I’m better than all of this.

(Beat) Why he couldn’t tell me that? Why couldn’t he tell me that the world was mine? That I could do anything I want to do. That I was destined for greatness or something. Why I gotta figure that on my own if he say he love me? Why I gotta feel lost all the time when I know I’m free. I have my freedom. I don’t have to listen to nobody anymore, I can do what I want and I can feel whatever the fuck I want. He had 18 years of being important, but he couldn’t help but to be a fuck up and I’m the sad one? All those times waiting for him to show me, to teach me something-anything about myself, because he is myself. I waited man-I FUCKIN’ WAITED (Beat) Sunrise to sunset sitting on the step tryna count the stars when there’s nothing, but planes in the sky. That’s what I wanna be. I wanna be the nigga in the plane that everybody on the ground thinks is the star. I wanna do that! Get on a plane and fly the fuck away from here. I’m not sad. I’m done–– CHRIS and RAQUELLE look up at the sky.

CHRIS: I wonder what they doing up there?

RAQUELLE: Probably enjoying it. Shit, I wanna go up in the sky for a couple days. You know what that damn Kwamaine said to me before he went up there? “No one is happy here. Everything is wrong”. That fucked me up a little bit. So much that instead of seeing what he was saying, I just snapped on him. Never thought about that. (Beat.) You happy, Chris?

CHRIS: Hell naw, I ain’t happy.

RAQUELLE: Why not?

CHRIS: ‘Cause I ain’t got shit! I gotta struggle every damn day. This shit is for the birds.

RAQUELLE: Yeah I know that’s right. But you know what? I’ma keep playing my lottery. I’ma hit that bastard one day and then we’ll see who’s happy.

CHRIS: You gonna break me off, Roc? RAQUELLE: Nigga you must be out of your mind. Do you not understand that you owe me fifteen years of back child support? You owe me some money! Lucky I stopped calling the courts on your broke ass.

CHRIS: So you just gonna let me be like this?

RAQUELLE: We ain’t married. Ask Shirley to clean yourself up. When we was married you never looked like no bum. You too damn handsome to be looking like a bum.

The radio finally works.

CHRIS: Aww shit now we in business.

CHRIS finds the oldies station. The station just started playing “Come Get To This,” by Marvin Gaye.

Heeey!

RAQUELLE is grooving. CHRIS gets up and starts jamming.

RAQUELLE: Right on.

Spring 2016 Proscenium 49

Leftovers Josh Wilder

CHRIS: Remember we used to kiss through the gates when I worked over at the Navy Yard?

RAQUELLE: Shut up, you old head.

CHRIS: C’mon baby, dance with me. Don’t make me embarrass ya.

RAQUELLE looks at him. She remembers him and starts dancing. The music swells. The streetlights turn on. They are in their own world right now.

Remember our first date?

RAQUELLE: No. CHRIS: Remember our first kiss?

RAQUELLE: No. CHRIS: …

RAQUELLE: I remember your mother always protecting you when you ain’t want to see me. I would be right on that step, “Ms. June! I know Chris in there”.

They both laugh. Beat.

CHRIS: I love you, baby.

RAQUELLE: Yeah? I love you too.

They finally look into each other’s eyes.

CHRIS: You always gonna be my girl, you hear me?

They kiss. JALIL runs off.

KWAMAINE: JALIL! Where you going?

MAN IN WHITE: Wait for it.

JALIL enters again but from the other side.

JALIL: ARE YOU SERIOUS?!

MAN IN WHITE: Running away from your problems ain’t gonna help solve them. If you want to be the man you say you are then you gotta tackle them headfirst and deal with the messy stuff.

You can’t run away from you. “What makes the Huxtables stick together like glue?”

CHRIS and RAQUELLE go over to the dandelion and start to clear the vigil.

RAQUELLE: Guess who came by here today? That damn Dijon. Jalil and Kwamaine’s friend.

CHRIS: The Muslim brotha?

RAQUELLE: That boy ain’t no damn Muslim, he just hustle like one. He working for the city now. He told me that they chopping this down tomorrow. I know one thing if Jalil and Kwamaine don’t come down here I’m gonna get some rope and tie myself to this thing like them tree huggin’ white folks. Then they really gonna think I’m crazy.

CHRIS: Let me get some of those leftovers, Roc. I’m starving.

RAQUELLE: Come on man. I’ll fix you a plate.

CHRIS: Gimme a minute. I’ma run to the store real quick and grab some more beer.

RAQUELLE: Ard. Be careful.

CHRIS exits.

KWAMAINE: I thought she always hated him.

MAN IN WHITE: She don’t hate your father. She just love him too much. Just like she loves you.

RAQUELLE exits into the house. DIJON enters. He’s wearing a hard hat, an orange-neon city worker’s vest and carrying an ax. He surveys the dandelion to find the perfect spot. DIJON takes a swing at the dandelion. The floor rumbles underneath JALIL and KWAMAINE’s feet knocking them to the ground.

50 Proscenium Spring 2016

JALIL/KWAMAINE: WHOA! MAN IN WHITE: That’s your friend right?

KWAMAINE: He’s chopping the dandelion down!

DIJON takes another swing at the dandelion. The boys fall again.

JALIL/KWAMAINE: WHOA! JALIL (to DIJON) WHAT THE FUCK MAN! KWAMAINE rushes to the house and starts banging on the front door.

KWAMAINE: MOOOOOOOOOM!!!!

JALIL (to MAN IN WHITE) DO SOMETHING! MAN IN WHITE: I can’t. Not until you solve the clue.

DIJON takes another swing at the dandelion. The boys fall again.

KWAMAINE: AHHH! JALIL: FUCK! KWAMAINE: MOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!

RAQUELLE screams from her window.

RAQUELLE: DIJON! What the F–– RAQUELLE throws a shoe at DIJON hitting him square in the face.

DIJON: YO! DIJON drops his ax.

RAQUELLE: YOU BETTER NOT MOVE! RAQUELLE leaves the window in a ball of fury.

MAN IN WHITE: Oh damn. He ‘bout to the get it now.

RAQUELLE storms out of the door.

RAQUELLE: What the hell are you doing?

DIJON: Hold up, Ms. Roc. RAQUELLE: I ain’t holding on shit, boy!

DIJON: My supervisor told me I can get a head start on the project.

RAQUELLE: WHERE YA SUPERVISIOR AT? PUT HIM ON THE PHONE! DIJON: Ms. Roc–– RAQUELLE: You heard what I said Dijon!

DIJON: Ms. Roc I gotta job to do.

RAQUELLE tree-hugs the dandelion.

RAQUELLE: Then you gonna have to hit me.

DIJON: I don’t wanna hit you, Ms. Roc. RAQUELLE: Then go home!

JALIL and KWAMAINE rush to guard RAQUELLE. JALIL (to DIJON) DON’T TOUCH MY FUCKIN’ MOTHER! MAN IN WHITE: He can’t hear you, Jalil.

DIJON: Get out of my way, Ms. Roc! Ms. Roc, MOVE! RAQUELLE: NO! YOU AIN’T CHOPPING IT DOWN! DIJON raises the ax.

KWAMAINE: MOM MOVE!!

RAQUELLE: AHH!!

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Leftovers Josh Wilder

CHRIS enters behind DIJON. He grabs the ax out of his hands and clocks him with a left hook.

CHRIS tosses the axe to the ground.

Chris!

CHRIS lifts DIJON off the ground like a ragdoll.

DIJON: Get off me man!

RAQUELLE: Chris let him go. Let him go! He’s just a kid.

CHRIS drops him.

CHRIS: Get outta here ‘fore I hurt you boy.

DIJON spits on the ground. He exits.

RAQUELLE: The city ain’t shit.

CHRIS: You ard?

RAQUELLE: Yeah…I’m good, Chris.

KWAMAINE: Dad saved us.

MAN IN WHITE: Yeah he did. Now solve the clue.

KWAMAINE digs in his pocket and reads the dirty gold envelope.

KWAMAINE: “What makes the Huxtables stick together like glue?”

CHRIS: What happened to that beer?

RAQUELLE: I thought you went to get some?

CHRIS: The store was closed.

RAQUELLE: … I put some in the freezer.

CHRIS: Be right back.

CHRIS exits into the house.

JALIL: I wanna go home.

CHRIS re-enters and sits on the step. He hands a beer to RAQUELLE. CHRIS: Here.

RAQUELLE: Thanks.

Beat.

RAQUELLE: You know. It’s never gonna be enough is it? No matter how hard I try what I do it’s never gonna be enough.

CHRIS: What you talking about?

RAQUELLE: They gone. I keep feeling like I’m the reason why they left. Why everybody leaves. First you and now them. What did I do to make everybody just up and leave?

CHRIS: You ain’t do nothing wrong. You raised them boys right.

RAQUELLE: Yeah but I’m not you. I’m not a man. Man I wish I could be you.

CHRIS: No you don’t. You wouldn’t have anything to live for.

CHRIS digs in his pocket and pulls out some cash.

CHRIS: Huhn.

RAQUELLE: What you giving me this for?

CHRIS: The store was closed. Didn’t want to blow it on anything so…

RAQUELLE: …

CHRIS: I’m sorry, Roc. Sorry for putting you through all of this.

RAQUELLE: You ard, Chris. You ard. Ain’t nothing I can do, but let you be you. You still owe me child support nigga.

52 Proscenium Spring 2016

RAQUELLE takes the cash.

CHRIS: That’s a payment right there.

RAQUELLE: It’s a start.

Beat.

CHRIS: Baby?

RAQUELLE: Yeah?

CHRIS: You forgive me?

RAQUELLE: Yeah…I forgive you.

RAQUELLE exits to make a plate of leftovers. Then…A discovery.

KWAMAINE: Forgiveness.

MAN IN WHITE: What?

KWAMAINE: It wasn’t just Theo and them. It was Cliff and Claire, too! That’s what made the Huxtables stick together like glue. If they were always bitter at each other, if they never forgave each other then they would’ve fell apart.

MAN IN WHITE: Yes! That’s why I brought you guys up here. I figure if you listen to yourself you’d understand what your problem is more than if you heard it from somebody else.

KWAMAINE: Do a lot of people have this problem?

MAN IN WHITE: Yes. Especially Black boys. In fact, it’s a huge problem, epidemic even. Since we can’t help everybody at once, we have to do it the best way we know how. Find someone, tell them the truth, and spread it around. That’s why I-- Dr. Huxtable wanted to have a TV show, you know? He figured since everybody had a TV, he’d make a show that spoke directly to you guys. To counteract all the wrong things in the communities. To connect with all of those boys and girls and mothers and fathers, but I think the problem is that it was too perfect. Once he figured that out he stopped it. The show worked for a while, then the communities evolved and they wanted more, but what? One day I looked down and saw millions of boys looking up. Just like you. Looking up for something more. I said to myself, “but they have everything”, but then again they don’t believe they have everything. You, your mother and father have everything to be the best people you can be. You just gotta understand that. It’s all part of the equation. We sent the dandelion to save you from your own destruction Jalil and from your doubts, Kwamaine.

KWAMAINE: What doubts?

MAN IN WHITE: That you don’t belong. You and the plethora of other Black boys have conditioned yourselves to feel unwanted.

JALIL: That’s it? That’s our problem?

MAN IN WHITE: You don’t know how to forgive.

JALIL: What?

MAN IN WHITE: You have to forgive your father.

JALIL/KWAMAINE: ……………………………………….

JALIL: No. MAN IN WHITE: No? JALIL: No. NO! I’M NOT DOING THAT. YOU TELLING ME MY WISHES AIN’T COMING TRUE ‘CUZ I GOTTA FORGIVE THAT NIGGA! MAN IN WHITE: It’s true.

Spring 2016 Proscenium 53

Leftovers Josh Wilder

JALIL: Fuck you man!

KWAMAINE: JALIL! JALIL: Yeah especially you.

KWAMAINE: He’s the one that brought us up here.

JALIL: No! I followed you. You the one that got us here. I shoulda just stayed home.

KWAMAINE: What’s your problem, Jalil?

JALIL: I didn’t do anything wrong! We’re the innocent ones!

KWAMAINE: But that doesn’t mean we can’t forgive him.

MAN IN WHITE: Kwamaine’s right.

JALIL: So you just gonna forgive him, too?

KWAMAINE: Why not?

JALIL: Whatchu mean “why not” Kwamaine? He’s never there!

KWAMAINE: HE JUST SAVED OUR LIVES. MAN IN WHITE: You can’t go on in life being mad at everything and everybody just because they ain’t doing what you want them to do.

JALIL: STOP! FUCKING! TALKING TO ME! MAN IN WHITE: Boy, sit yo ass down.

MAN IN WHITE flicks a strong wind that sends JALIL to the steps next to CHRIS who’s finishing his beer and staring pensively at the dandelion.

You too, Kwamaine.

KWAMAINE follows.

MAN IN WHITE (Cont.) Why are you so scared of him?

JALIL: I’m not scared of him...I just don’t want to be him.

MAN IN WHITE: ……

JALIL: I don’t want to fail.

MAN IN WHITE: At what, Jalil?

JALIL: Life. So many niggas fail at life.

MAN IN WHITE crosses to JALIL and sits on the step.

MAN IN WHITE: You know…failure is one of the greatest emotions. It’s so big that people don’t call it an emotion because it’s not as simple as being sad. Failure weighs you down. Makes you do crazy things just to get rid of it.…no man likes to be reminded of his failure. Most men can’t handle the better fractions of themselves achieving something greater than their whole selves.

Even if it’s just as simple as a high school graduation.

JALIL: …yeah you right.

MAN IN WHITE: You get that Kwamaine?

KWAMAINE: Yes. MAN IN WHITE: Your dad can’t help but be who he is.

Beat.

JALIL: What happens next then? After we forgive him.

MAN IN WHITE: Tomorrow.

RAQUELLE exits the house with a paper plate wrapped in aluminum foil.

RAQUELLE: Ard Chris. You gonna be okay on the road?

CHRIS: Yeah I got it. Gotta be home before Shirley start blowing my phone up.

54 Proscenium Spring 2016

She hands him the plate.

RAQUELLE: Don’t share my leftovers with her. I’m serious. Eat that shit before you walk in the door.

CHRIS: Oh I won’t. Shiiiit. She can’t throw down like you, Roc. These my leftovers.

RAQUELLE: I know that’s right. (She crosses her arms and looks at the sky) They better get here.

CHRIS: They gonna be here. Just keep ya head up.

RAQUELLE: Ard it’s getting cold. Don’t hit my car with that big-ass truck, Chris.

CHRIS: Oh shut up woman. I told you I got it.

RAQUELLE: Take it easy man.

RAQUELLE exits into the house. CHRIS starts to exit.

MAN IN WHITE: Here’s your chance fellas.

KWAMAINE (to JALIL) Come on man.

KWAMAINE and JALIL approach CHRIS as he stumbles towards the dandelion.

KWAMAINE: Dad? CHRIS trips and falls on his back.

CHRIS (grumbles) Ah! Shit. Ugh… He stays down to recoup. Beat.

KWAMAINE: You’ve always been a myth to me. I know you ain’t the best father and everything, but I’m glad that you come by when you can. You may not know it, but when you come around I really do feel like I’m a part of something… I know our family exists.

CHRIS muscles himself up. He takes the dandelion in.

CHRIS: …

JALIL: Just stop walking away from us, man…

CHRIS exits. MAN IN WHITE snaps his fingers and the Cosby Show theme song is heard offstage. A flash of light floods the space.

Ugh! What now?

It gets brighter.

I can’t see anything?

A flash of darkness like an unplugged TV abruptly sends them out of The Other Side. JALIL, KWAMAINE AND MAN IN WHITE are back.

KWAMAINE: …..

JALIL: What happened?

MAN IN WHITE: You’re back in South Philly.

JALIL/KWAMAINE: YO MOM! RAQUELLE exits the house out of breath.

RAQUELLE: Oh thank God! Shit!

RAQUELLE runs to them and hugs them tight.

What the hell happened to y’all? Y’all ain’t get into no fights up there did you? Look like a bunch of damn rag dolls. Stinkin’-ass boys! Go on in the house.

KWAMAINE: Come on mom!

RAQUELLE: Y’all hungry? I can put something on real quick?

RAQUELLE takes in MAN IN WHITE. Spring 2016 Proscenium 55

Leftovers Josh Wilder

Who you?

MAN IN WHITE: Aww I ain’t nobody. I’m just glad I got your boys home.

RAQUELLE: Ard...well...thank you.

MAN IN WHITE: Aw shit! I forgot they’re playing re-runs at this time of night. Alright. I gotta go! Theo’s always doing something stupid.

JALIL: Thanks man.

MAN IN WHITE runs off. A stethoscope is left behind. KWAMAINE picks it up. He observes it for a beat and finally realizes.

KWAMAINE: …………YOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Blackout.

EPILOGUE. In front of the house. The dandelion is still there. MAN IN WHITE is wearing a very eccentric sweater and a pair of reading glasses, tan pants and oxford shoes. He’s been CLIFF HUXTABLE this whole while...

JALIL: Do we really have to do this Mr. Huxtable?

CLIFF HUXTABLE: Yes. JALIL: This ain’t really us though.

CLIFF HUXTABLE: But this was the first wish that was made with the dandelion. It has to be done.

KWAMAINE: COME ON! WE’RE DOING THIS! Cosby Show happiness. This was my wish.

RAQUELLE Damn Kwamaine, it gotta be this? My stories is on.

KWAMAINE: It’s from my favorite episode!

JALIL: This is wack, we can’t just go to the movies?–– KWAMAINE: What? Fuck outta here ‘Lil. RAQUELLE: Hey watch your mouth!

KWAMAINE: Come on before he gets tired of us arguing.

CLIFF HUXTABLE: Let the boy have his wish come true.

RAQUELLE: ARD! ARD! Whatever, shit, let’s just get it over with. Come on, y’all. (Beat) What’re the words again?

In Cosby Show fashion, RAQUELLE, JALIL and KWAMAINE perform a lip-synched and choreographed version of “The Night Time”, by Ray Charles. It’s not comfortable for everyone, only KWAMAINE. As the song continues, he gets more and more into it. RAQUELLE and JALIL begin to peel away. As the music swells and the lights fade out around KWAMAINE, he continues performing with hope… then disappointment…then?

END OF PLAY

56 Proscenium Spring 2016

Fall 2015 Proscenium  57

Interview with

Tanya Barfield 58 Proscenium Spring 2016

A Conversation With Tanya Barfield About the Playwright Barfield is a recipient of the Lilly Award, the Helen Merrill Award, and was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for her play Blue Door (South Coast Repertory, Playwrights Horizons). Other works include The Call (Playwright’s Horizons, New York Times Critics Pick) and Bright Half Life (Women’s Project Theater, TimeOut Critic’s Pick). She has written for the Starz series The One Percent and writes for The Americans on FX. Tanya Barfield also has an entire season dedicated to her works this year with Profile Theatre in Portland, OR. We talked with Barfield about her work, the current state of the theatre, and her upcoming season with Profile.

tion. I believe that this is what makes characters complicated and compelling. I don’t seek to portray the people in my plays as 100% likeable. I hope to make them real. Shortcomings and flaws, ethical dilemmas and the possibility of ascension drives my work.

What kind of theatre excites you?

Plays that mix up my thoughts and feelings so that I don’t know which is which. I appreciate both a well told story and formal experimentation. In other words, both thinking inside and outside the box.

What advice do you have for playwrights You started out as an actor, saying that you starting out? “didn’t know there was such a thing as a living playwright.” You studied acting as Learn a skill and get a day job so you don’t an undergraduate at N.Y.U. How has your have to worry about money. Once you’ve masacting training and experience influenced tered the basics of survival, shoot for the stars. your writing?

Write, write, write. Listen, listen, listen. Take everything in. Hold true to yourself and don’t As an actor, one is keenly aware of when di- give up. alogue does not feel true to life – or when it doesn’t have the pitch, rhythm and ring of poet- You’ve taught playwriting (NYU, Barnard, ic expression. I like to blend colloquial speech ESPA and private classes) and worked as a and indirect poetry. The experience of words literary manager for Juillard. How has your when verbalizing feelings, thoughts and ideas time working with students influenced is important to me — the ways that language your writing? fails as a form of true communication – all this has been influenced by my early acting and solo I love teaching. I find students and early career performance career. writers to be very inspiring. Anyone can learn craft. But, the pulse of raw talent is more rare What inspires you? and exciting. When you first begin playwriting, anything is possible. As your career rises, Often my work is born out of a troubling or you become more keenly aware of things like complicated feeling. The material that makes “what’s producible” or “well made.” Even when me uncomfortable is usually my best work. I’m coloring outside the lines, the critical voice of interested in the gray areas of human interac- experience can emerge, hampering my initial Spring 2016 Proscenium 59

burst of creativity. So, being around new talent shakes me up in a good way. Sometimes, I’ll have a very accomplished writer take one of my classes or workshops when they are grappling with a period of writer’s block. Watching someone that I admire work along side “beginners” is deeply inspiring in a wholly different way.

What projects are you working on now?

Lately, most of my work has been in television.

Raising a family requires different financial demands. I also find TV to be an exciting medium because it’s a new form of storytelling for me. That said, I’m looking forward to the day when I have more time and can balance both theater and TV work. I have an overdue commission from the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.

I’m looking forward to getting started on that script soon.

It couldn’t be more different. I love TV writing, but it’s not anything like playwriting. It’s interesting because my latest play, Bright Half Light, has numerous short scenes, and one might speculate that it was influenced by writing for television. But, I actually wrote it before I landed my first TV job. Nowadays, we see a lot of plays with ten page scenes. It starts to feel redundant.

The Call opens with a twenty page scene that I’m proud of. After writing The Call, I encouraged my students to get out of the “ten page scene trap” and write a longer scene with multiple levels of conversation. Then, there was another trend I noticed – particularly with younger writers – the scenes got shorter and shorter and completely lacked a discernible event. So, I started griping, “Don’t bring in plays that read like they were written on Twitter.” With all this in mind, Bright Half Life came as a surprise to me because it contains over well over 50 short scenes, none of them exceeding ten pages. I’ve digressed… back to your question about scripts for the stage versus the screen.

You have said that a common theme that runs through your plays is the unthreading of time. You are also interested in exploring causality in your works. Can you speak In theater, the playwright is the final authority more about this? What other threads run on their script. You figure out the story on your through your work? own. No one can change a single word of dialogue without asking your permission. (SomeI write about people in a state of emotional times, actors change the language unintentioncrisis — people that teeter on the edge of dis- ally when they flub a line, of course). At times, covery. The plays often contain a micro story playwriting can be lonely, but it’s ultimately that exists within a macro story or an individ- profoundly exhilarating and satisfying. ual within a larger social landscape (as in The Call). In both Blue Door and Bright Half Life, Television, however, is very collaborative. It we look at experience from multiple points of employs a team of writers. Scripts are often view or perspectives; time doubles back and re- rewritten dozens of times by multiple people. tracts, moments and memories collide.

One can’t be precious about the work in TV. As a staff writer, you’re getting notes from a You have also written for the TV shows million people and are ultimately in service of “The Americans” and “The One Percent.” the creator and/or showrunner’s vision. For me, How is that experience different from your the pleasure comes from the exchange of ideas, playwriting experience? breaking a story with other smart people and knowing that the whole is greater than the sum 60 Proscenium Spring 2016

of its parts.

What is something most people do not know about you?

I’m afraid of swimming and driving. But, last summer, I went bungee jumping (here in Oregon) and had a terrifying blast.

we are losing some of our most promising and mid-career talent. But, the good news is that we are starting to see a handful of television writers come back to the theater, successfully balancing a career in both mediums. In this way, television is actually subsidizing theater – by providing income for the writer. Hopefully, the cross-pollination with the TV world will continue without causing the intrinsic artistry of theater to become more like the screen.

You have an entire season at Profile Theater (in your hometown of Portland, OR) dedicated to your works. Can you tell us I also hope that we find a way to have theater more about this? both publically and privately subsidized. Ticket prices need to go down while the financial comIt’s a dream come true. After almost two de- pensation for artists needs to go up. cades writing plays, I’ve been produced all over the West Coast — Seattle, San Francisco, Is there anything else you would like to Los Angeles and San Diego – but nowhere in share about your work?

Oregon. It’s an honor to be at Profile. I hope to make my mother proud.

I hope it speaks to you.

What does the future look like for you?

I’m looking forward to finding out!

What do you think about the current state and the future of theatre?

I think there’s a lot of exciting writers in the American theater right now – both established and emerging. We are in an exciting time.

But, being a playwright contains old and new challenges. It’s very hard to get a play produced. The script can take two years to write and even longer to get in front of an audience.

Playwrights rarely – even when successful – make a living wage. As more and more universities hire adjunct faculty, fewer people are able to support themselves as professional writers with teaching jobs. Hand in hand with the skyrocketing cost of living expenses, playwrights are making a mass exodus to Hollywood and Spring 2016 Proscenium 61

The Groyser James Harmon Brown

THE GROYSER by

James Brown 62 Proscenium Fall 2015

Fall 2015 Proscenium 62

A Conversation With the Playwright What was your inspiration for this play?

Arts Theater in Los Angeles.

My inspiration for "The Groyser" is my wife and her family. She, like the title character in the play, is the eldest child of Holocaust Survivors. And though the characters, circumstances and events of the play are entirely fictitious, some of the stories related by the character of Bess did, in fact, happen during my mother-in-law's time at Bergen-Belson. She, too, had difficulty talking about those experiences to her family...and only later in life agreed to relate some of the horror she and her fellow survivors endured.

What writers inspire you?

What do you want the audience to come away with?

What I want the audience to come away with is empathy and understanding for three generations of people whose lives were framed by the Holocaust. Bess because she endured it; Dinah because she assumed the burden of hope from a lost generation; and Dinah's son on whom she placed her own dreams and expectations that could never be entirely fulfilled. It is basically a play about a family working very hard to understand--and be understood by--the people they love.

What projects are you working on now?

As for new projects, I'm working on a short film for Netflix entitled "Meridian" which we plan on shooting this year. I have a screenplay, "Fateful Detour," which is in the process of securing financing with the plan of being shot in early 2017. And a new one-act play, "Searching For Neil Armstrong," which we're doing a staged reading of on March 20 at the Moving

My writing heroes begin with Paddy Chayefsky who wrote with such heart, humor and prescience (take another look at "Network" and see how close he came to what television turned into). I'm also inspired by the work of August Wilson, Harold Pinter and Arthur Miller because their work still touches, resonates and informs no matter how many years have passed since their plays were first seen. While I'm open to--and excited by---theater's unique ability to experiment...I'm mostly still moved by the well-told story and the beautiful language these and other great writers have given us.

Why did you start writing plays?

I started writing plays around ten years ago in an effort to find my own creative voice.

Having written for television for many years-mainly in daytime drama--one is usually writing to a formula and for a group of characters who've already been established for the most part. I loved the work and enjoyed the process but nonetheless felt a need to tell my own stories in my own way...and that has been a tremendous experience for me. Hearing your lines and watching your characters come to life in front of a live audience is as rewarding as it gets for a writer. There's really nothing like it anywhere else.

To put it in perspective: I've written some very successful television shows, been nominated for and won an Emmy, but I think the biggest thrill of my professional life was watching a Fall 2015 Proscenium  63

The Groyser James Harmon Brown

group of fine actors and an outstanding director do a staged reading of "The Groyser" in Ashland, Oregon, as part of the Ashland New Play Festival. They played it exactly as I heard it. And the audience responded in all the ways I wanted them to...with laughter, tears and I hope a little compassion.

What advice do you have for playwrights starting out?

In terms of advice to young writers, I'll give you the same one-word answer I got more than forty years ago: Read. Read everything... books, plays...anything that inspires you. And if you're writing for the stage, see as much theater as you can. Because even the bad stuff will teach you something...and the good stuff... especially the great stuff...will inspire you.

The Groyser is copyright Š 2015 by James Brown. All inquiries regarding rights shall be sent to the info@prosceniumjournal.com and will be forwarded to the playwright or their agent. Performances of The Groyser are subject to royalty, and are fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America and all countries covered by the International Copyright Union. All rights, including professional and amateur productions, staged readings, television, motion picture, radio, translations, photocopies, and all other reproductions of this play are strictly reserved.

64 Proscenium Spring 2016

The Groyser James Brown

CHARACTERS DINAH: Early 50s, attractive, high-strung, laughs, cries and throws barbs easily. She’s smart, funny, caustic and, when we meet her, at the end of her emotional rope.

JACK: Dinah’s husband, a few years older. Jack’s a comedy writer who submerges his feelings with humor and scotch.

BESS: Early 80s, a Holocaust Survivor and Native of Poland who still speaks with a thick accent. A tough cookie.

JASON: Dinah’s son. Mid-20s. On the surface very amiable but with a lot of anger and resentment close by.

PILAR: Jason’s wife. Mid-20s, Afro-Brazilian. Smart, wary, ambitious...every inch Dinah’s match.

AT RISE we are in the SANDERSON living room. It is Southern California circa 2004 but the look is more East Coast than West. Good art on the walls, first editions among the many books on the shelves and an Emmy on the mantle. A successful person’s house, as success is judged in this part of the world.

Entering and making his way toward the bar is JACK SANDERSON--mid 50s, dressed like the writer he is in rumpled chinos, a shapeless cardigan and deck shoes. He pours a healthy splash of Scotch into his tumbler glass and savors the first sip as his wife, DINAH, enters. Dinah is roughly the same age--still pretty but wearing down under a perpetual state of agitation. Like now...

DINAH: They think we can get $1.5 JACK: Huh? DINAH: Of course, if we’d sold last year the realtor thinks we could’ve gotten closer to two.

God our timing sucks lately.

JACK: Are you talking about the house?

DINAH: Yes, Jack, the house! This room we’re sitting in that costs ten thousand dollars a month that isn’t coming in anymore.

JACK: I’ll never make the mistake of turning 50 again.

DINAH: I’m not blaming you.

JACK: You’re sure about that.

DINAH: If that useless agent of yours would go out and do something instead of sitting in his office, waiting for the phone to ring...

JACK: Ah, so it’s Jonathan’s fault.

DINAH: You know what I mean.

JACK: It’s not that bad, honey. We’re still in his lunch rotation.

DINAH: Ha, ha, ha...

Spring Fall 2015 2016 Proscenium 65

The Groyser James Harmon Brown

JACK: You know how it is with Jon: The big earners get dinner at Mr. Chows. The formerly big earners, like myself, get lunch at Barney Greengrass. The time to really start worrying is when it’s bacon and eggs at Art’s Deli.

DINAH: I’m glad you find this so amusing.

Jack walks over and puts his arm around her.

JACK: We’ll get through this, Dinah. Something will turn up. And even if it doesn’t we’ve got a few bucks in the bank and this good God Almighty $1.5 million dollar house.

DINAH: If somebody pays it.

Jack nuzzles her neck.

JACK: They will. You’ll convince them. You’re my closer.

Dinah indicates the drink.

DINAH: How many is that?

JACK: One. INAH: The way you pour it’s more like three.

JACK: Then next time I’ll pour three little ones.

DINAH: I’m serious, Jack. The last time you were out of work I almost left you because of your drinking. Remember the Mustang?

JACK: Here we go...

DINAH: ...you rolling home at three in the morning, stinking of booze, passing out on the living room couch and then waking up a couple of hours later wondering...where’s my car?! What happened to my cherry red 1965 Little Boy Mustang convertible I love so much?

JACK: I doubt I was that coherent.

DINAH: We drove around Beverly Hills for hours looking for it until you finally remembered you traded it to Kenny Bernstein for a boat.

JACK: We sorted it all out.

DINAH: That’s not the point.

JACK: No, the point is that embarrassing little episode you’re so fond of rubbing my nose in happened fifteen years ago when, yes, I did have a drinking problem and yes, I was able to stop.

DINAH: For a while.

JACK: Go ahead and name the last time I got drunk.

DINAH: I don’t have to justify my concern.

It’s not how I was brought up, that’s all.

JACK: Oh. That’s right. I forgot. Jews don’t drink. They also don’t swear, commit crimes or fornicate outside the sacred vows of marriage. You truly are the Chosen People.

DINAH: I’m proud of who I am.

JACK: As well you should be. Just don’t rub your superiority in the face of us goyim rabble, would you? It makes us a little cranky.

DINAH: Fine. I won’t.

JACK: Why are you picking a fight with me anyway?

DINAH: I’m not picking a fight.

JACK: Yeah you are. The Mustang was a dead giveaway. What is it?

DINAH: I’m scared.

JACK: I know.

66 Proscenium Spring 2016

DINAH: I mean for godsakes we buy this house a year ago and then...boom! I lose my job, your show gets cancelled...

JACK: I’ve offered you a solution.

DINAH: Moving to Omaha is not a solution.

JACK: Omaha’s not that bad.

DINAH: Tell me that in January when it’s too cold to even cry because the tears freeze on your face.

JACK: We’ll wear masks.

DINAH: You grew up in the Valley. You have no idea what real weather is.

JACK: I know this much: If we got rid of the house, banked the money and moved out of L.A. we would never have to think about show business again. I could write things I actually cared about. You could have your book store...

DINAH: There are no more book stores, Jack. Didn’t you get the memo? They’re all coffee shops now.

JACK: Why are so resistant to this?

DINAH: Because I know what it would be like if I moved back home. My sister would get all crazy and territorial like she does whenever we spend more than a week on “her turf.” Steven will withdraw and become paranoid we’ll ask him for money. And then there’s my mother... who’d drive me insane within six months. No thank you.

JACK: Remember what the shrink said?

DINAH: Which one?

JACK: Cory...you know which one. She told you the reason you can’t go home is because it would be an admission of failure. That your mother would have been right when she told you you’d never make it on your own because...

They share a smile.

DINAH: ...”You don’t even know how to iron!”

JACK: Oh God no! She can’t iron?! How will she live?!

DINAH: I don’t know! In wrinkled clothes, I suppose!

The two laugh. Then: DINAH (CONT’D) The only thing she really cared about was how it would look to her friends.

Good daughters didn’t leave home in our neighborhood.

JACK: You are a good daughter. And I think you iron beautifully.

A kiss.

JACK (CONT’D) Among many other things.

DINAH: I’m sorry I’m being such a bitch. I just want this weekend to be over with. Isn’t that great? My only child is finally coming home to visit and I just want it...done.

JACK: Did Jason get in okay?

DINAH: (nods)He texted me an hour ago. He and what’s-her-name will be here any minute.

JACK: Pilar?

DINAH: Huh? JACK: Whats-her-name’s name. You might want to consider using it since she married your son.

DINAH: I don’t consider them married.

JACK: Well the state of New York does. And they sure looked close and cuddly when we saw Spring 2015 2016 Proscenium 67

The Groyser James Harmon Brown

them six months ago.

DINAH: They were dating, Jack. That’s all. They were sleeping together. But then the poor little darling’s visa ran out and she had to go home to Rio di Janiero...that terrible, terrible place. So my son’s brilliant solution? My son who can barely pull the trigger on a new pair of pants without trying them on seven hundred times...his solution is to marry her so she can get her green card...which is all the little bitch wanted to begin with. It breaks my heart.

JACK: He’s happy.

DINAH: How would you know?

JACK: Because since you’re so irrational on the subject he talks to me.

DINAH: About what?

JACK: You know...things.

DINAH: What kind of...things?

JACK: Do you really want to get into this right now?

DINAH: Considering all I get is the perfunctory “hi mom, bye mom” phone call on Sunday afternoons when he’s late for something...yes, I would.

JACK: Jason thinks you’re still trying to control him.

DINAH: Control him?!

JACK: That’s what he thinks.

DINAH: That is such bullshit!

JACK: You asked me what he said...this is what he said.

DINAH: I...control him?!

JACK: Yes. DINAH: And you agreed with him, of course.

JACK: Not entirely.

DINAH: What does that mean?

JACK: It means sometimes you do and sometimes you don’t.

DINAH: You’re so goddamn wishy washy, Jack. Do ever say anything directly without qualifying it with a bunch of “maybes” or “could bes?”

JACK: Okay, here’s something direct: I’m tired of this argument.

DINAH: Give me one recent example of me trying to control Jason.

JACK: And she ignores me.

DINAH: Just one.

JACK: Okay: how about flying 3,000 miles to try to stop his wedding? Or hiring a lawyer to freeze one of his bank accounts? That’s two.

DINAH: My name was on that account.

JACK: It was his Bar Mitzvah money.

DINAH: And she was not getting a nickle of it.

JACK: But you don’t see that as trying to control someone.

DINAH: No, I see that as being a responsible parent.

JACK: Well Jason sees it as you trying to run his business and he doesn’t like it. He’s a big boy.

He can take care of his own life. Let him.

DINAH: He’s not your son, Jack. The stakes aren’t quite as high for you.

JACK: Well you’ll always have that card to play, won’t you. I’ve known Jason since he was five.

68 Proscenium Spring 2016

I have a little more skin in this game than you give me credit for.

She softens.

DINAH: I know you do. I’m sorry.

The doorbell rings.

JACK: That’s them.

Dinah begins to wind herself up again.

DINAH: I control him...

JACK: Dinah-DINAH: I’m going to talk to him.

She quickly moves toward the door. Jack catches up and holds her back.

JACK: Tomorrow. Tonight you’re going to smile and be gracious. Okay? Please? Will you do that for me?

Dinah sullenly nods as Jack opens to door to Jason, a good-looking young man in his early 20s--slackerish clothes and long hair; and Pilar, a pretty, Afro-Brazilian young woman who speaks with a slight Portugeuse accent and is very much on guard. They’re carrying luggage on rollers behind them. Jack embraces Jason.

JACK (CONT’D) Hey kid, how’s it going?

JASON: Great, Jack. How about you?

JACK: Other than chronic unemployment things couldn’t be better. Flight okay?

JASON: Yeah. Not bad.

JACK: Hi Pilar...let me get those bags.

He takes them from her and she shyly nods, looking toward Dinah who forces a smile: DINAH: Pilar...it’s good to see you again.

PILAR: Hello Mrs. Sanderson.

DINAH: It’s Dinah.

PILAR: Yes. I know.

She turns to Jason as Dinah glares at Jack who signals her to take it easy.

PILAR (CONT’D) Baby, did you bring the camera?

JASON: It’s in my backpack.

PILAR: Would you get it for me, please? I want to get a picture of everyone...including Baubie.

DINAH: Baubie?!

Dinah has two reasons to be shocked. The first is that her new daughter-in-law called her mother “Baubie.” And the second is the appearance on the front step of BESS NOBLE, Dinah’s mother, a smartly dressed Polish-born woman in her late-70s who still has the thick accent from the old country.

JASON: We wanted to surprise you.

Bess slowly walks in dragging an old-fashioned suitcase.

BESS: So... (she shrugs) Surprise.

Bess folds her arms, shivering.

BESS (CONT’D) Oy, it’s always so cold in this house. Like an ice box!

DINAH: Mother, what are you doing here? Is everything all right?

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BESS: My stomach’s bad.

DINAH: Your stomach is always bad.

BESS: Worse!

DINAH: So you flew all the way to Los Angeles because you had a stomach ache?

BESS: No. Jason invited me. He had an extra ticket. Such a good boy.

As Dinah looks at Jason who smiles nervously, Bess turns to Jack.

BESS (CONT’D) So, Jack...are you working?

JACK: Not at the moment, Bess.

BESS: Intelligent man like yourself should have no trouble finding a job. You should talk to Steven.

DINAH: Steven is an accountant, mother.

BESS: So...?

DINAH: Jack writes television shows.

BESS: Accountant...writer...it’s all the same. A man should work, that’s what dad always said...

And he worked. Two jobs for thirty-eight years. The man worked until he dropped dead, God rest his soul...

JACK: Good idea, Bess. I’ll call Steve tomorrow.

BESS: (to Dinah)You see?

DINAH: That’s right, honey. And when you talk to my brother ask him if he can solve that third act problem for you...

BESS: What is this third act...?

DINAH: ...And then maybe you can give him a few ideas about tax shelters and overseas investments...

JACK: (under his breath)You’re being kind of an asshole now, sweetie.

DINAH: (whispers)I know.

JACK: Pick your battles...

BESS: Why are you whispering?

JACK: Just getting over a cold, Bess. Let me take your bag upstairs.

Jack tries to lift Bess’s suitcase and it feels like it’s bolted to the ground.

JACK (CONT’D) Bess, what did you put in this thing? An anchor?

BESS: I brought some meat.

DINAH: Oh my God...

BESS: A couple of roasts, some chickens. And those lamb chops you like, Jack. The small ones. (to Dinah) Mendel Feigenbaum, who will never be the butcher your father was if he lives to be a hundred... tried to give me the cheap cuts...that meshugganah...as if I wouldn’t know a good piece of meat after all those years working with dad in the shop.

JACK: It feels like you packed the entire flock.

BESS: The dry ice weighs it down. Oh...and Mendel had some good veal. We’ll defrost it in the microwave and make the kids some chops. Do you have fresh rosemary?

DINAH: No. BESS: Why not?

DINAH: Because we don’t eat frozen meat.

70 Proscenium Spring 2016

BESS: What’s wrong with frozen meat?

DINAH: It’s...FROZEN! BESS: Why are you shouting?

DINAH: I don’t know, mother. You’ve been here five minutes and I already feel like killing myself. I’ll put the meat in the freezer. Jack will take your bags upstairs. Eventually Jason will explain...all of this. I have to go now.

She opens up Bess’s suitcase, removes the very large packages of meat and marches stealthily toward the kitchen. Pilar looks like a deer in the headlights. Jason puts his arm around her.

JASON: Welcome to the family, baby.

PILAR: Uh, thanks...

JASON: So, you got any whiskey around here, Jack?

JACK: (nods)Drop some in a glass for me, too, while you’re at it. It’s going to be a bumpy night.

JASON: Huh? JACK: Old movie reference. Way before your time. No wonder I can’t get a job. Scotch okay?

JASON: Sure, thanks.

BESS: What did I say that was so bad?

JACK: You hurt Dinah’s feelings, Bess.

BESS: How? JACK: I don’t know. You just do.

Jack takes Bess’s bag, markedly lighter now, and heads upstairs. Pilar turns to Jason.

PILAR: I’m going to go call, you know...

JASON: Okay.

PILAR: This was a good idea.

JASON: Tell me that in a couple of days.

She kisses him, he responds. They’re obviously in love. And then she exits as Jack takes the bags and moves upstairs.

JASON (CONT’D) You need anything, Baubie?

BESS: (shakes her head)Your mother is always so...angry.

JASON: Well we did kind of spring this on her at the last minute. Mom hates surprises. You know that.

Dinah has now returned, composed. She moves to Bess and embraces her.

DINAH: I’m sorry, mom. I am glad to see you. How are you feeling?

BESS: I told you my stomach’s bad.

DINAH: Rachel said she took you to see Dr. Drell last week.

BESS: Those doctors never find anything.

DINAH: Is it possible that’s because there’s nothing wrong with you?

BESS: My stomach always hurts, Dinah. The acid burns so bad I could cry. I can’t even digest a potato. You girls don’t know. You’re not me...

DINAH: Fine. Okay. I believe you. So can I get you some tea?

BESS: Tea gives me gas.

DINAH: Then we’ll forget the tea. You’re here. What would you like to do?

BESS: I need you to drive me to Walgreens. I have a coupon for shampoo.

DINAH: We’ll go tomorrow.

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BESS: They’re open 24 hours.

DINAH: Mom...they’ll take the coupon tomorrow. I promise you. Why don’t you cook something. The chops. Go cook the chops.

BESS: You said you didn’t want them.

DINAH: I changed my mind. (on her look) Come on, mom, you know you want to. The kitchen is calling your name...”Bess...Bess...where are you, Bess?”

JASON: Jesus, mom-DINAH: It’s a joke.

JASON: Really?

DINAH: (ignores, to Bess) So? Bess considers for a moment, then: BESS: I could make the veal with lemon and fresh black pepper. You have that in the kitchen, don’t you?

DINAH: I do.

BESS: I need potatos. Do you have any nice white potatos?

DINAH: You just told me you couldn’t digest them.

BESS: I’m not eating.

DINAH: Of course you’re not.

BESS: So? DINAH: The potatos are in the pantry, next to the onions.

Bess eyes Dinah for a beat, a look of suspicion in conflict with her intense desire to cook something. Finally, cooking wins out. She moves toward the door.

BESS: I’ll only make the chops if you kids eat them. I will not waste food.

DINAH: We’ll eat it all, mom. I promise. Thank you.

Looks all around and then finally Bess withdraws, leaving Dinah and Jason alone. There’s silence for a beat, then: JASON: It was kind of spontaneous.

DINAH: Obviously.

JASON: I figured it was time for Baubie to meet my wife.

DINAH: You told her?!

JASON: (nods)In the cab on the way over.

DINAH: I thought we agreed to wait until Thanksgiving.

JASON: No, that was your idea.

DINAH: You also said you’d go along with it until it was the right time.

JASON: When would that have been, mom?

DINAH: What did she say?

JASON: Nothing! That’s the point. It’s no big deal...

DINAH: Don’t kid yourself.

JASON: Baubie asked me why she wasn’t invited to the wedding and I explained it wasn’t the kind of wedding she’s used to.

DINAH: You mean the one at Temple Emanuel, with Rabbi Goodman blessing you and your 72 Proscenium Spring 2016

Jewish bride?

JASON: So we’re back to that again.

DINAH: We never left it.

JASON: I’m an atheist, mom. I respect your beliefs, please respect mine.

DINAH: Atheists don’t believe in anything.

JASON: Exactly.

DINAH: Don’t be so goddamn smug, Jason. I never shoved religion down your throat. The fact I married Jack should tell you I’m no hypocrite.

JASON: So how is this any different?

DINAH: Jack wasn’t chasing a green card.

JASON: Do you have any idea how insulting that is to me?

DINAH: You told me yourself if Pilar’s visa hadn’t run out you wouldn’t have gotten married.

JASON: That’s right.

DINAH: She could’ve gone to school to stay in the country. We would’ve paid for it. We offered to and she refused.

JASON: No, she got a job she liked instead.

DINAH: Answering phones at Univision?

JASON: And interning nights and weekends in production. Can you at least give her credit for that much?

DINAH: There were a half-dozen ways she could’ve stayed in the country without you getting married. But she wanted what she wanted and nobody was going to tell her otherwise.

JASON: Pilar and I love each other, mom.

DINAH: If you say so.

JASON: It’s the truth.

DINAH: Fine.

JASON: But you just can’t accept the fact I did something you didn’t approve of in advance.

That’s your real problem, isn’t it. I disobeyed you. For the first time in my life I didn’t go along with the Dinah Sanderson program and you just can’t stand it.

DINAH: That’s right. I control you. (on his look) Jack told me.

JASON: He shouldn’t have.

DINAH: Well he did and now I’m insulted. How do you like that?!

JASON: Are you saying you don’t?

DINAH: Oh please, Jason...Pilar’s in my house, sleeping in my guest room with you, I presume.

What more acceptance do you need?

JASON: You know what I’m talking about.

DINAH: Do you want me to lie and tell you I like her? Okay. She’s fabulous! I’m kvelling over this glorious match made in Heaven...or was it the U.S. Department of Immigration?!

JASON: Jesus-DINAH: What was I supposed to do? Send out wedding announcements?

JASON: Sure. Why not?

DINAH: I’m sorry, sweetie, but I’m not going to pretend this is what I wanted for you. It isn’t.

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And if you really believe your grandmother is okay with this you’re out of your mind. She’ll never say anything to you, of course. Uh uh. No way. Wanna know whose fault it’ll be? Mine. (mimics) ...”how could you let him do this! A boy like that could have anyone, Dinah...Anyone! And he chooses her?! What kind of a mother are you? Why didn’t you stop him?! Why didn’t you do something?! Why didn’t you...

Dinah tears up. Jason eyes her for a beat, then moves to her and stiffly embraces her.

DINAH (CONT’D) Shit. I’m such a mess...

JASON: No you’re not.

DINAH: Psycho mom strikes again!

JASON: Psycho mom?

DINAH: Your pet name for me. Remember?

JASON: I was mad when I called you that. I was also ten.

DINAH: There are some things you just don’t forget.

JASON: I’m sorry.

DINAH: So am I. Not to make excuses, honey, but menopause has not been my finest hour.

Now, as you can see, I’m ever so much calmer.

A smile, she brushes his hair away from his face.

DINAH (CONT’D) You could use a haircut.

JASON: Pilar likes it long. So do I. DINAH: You won’t even let me win the small ones, will you?

Jason takes this in with a smile, half-admiring his mother’s tenacious need to still exert control.

She takes his hand.

DINAH (CONT’D) I don’t want to lose you, Jason. And I’m feeling I am.

JASON: That’s just it, mom. You don’t have to lose anything. You just have to stop fighting everybody. I mean, come on...is being pissed off all the time really working for you?

DINAH: I didn’t think it showed.

The two exchange a smile.

DINAH (CONT’D) She can call me Dinah, by the way. I don’t bite.

JASON: Really?

DINAH: Only when cornered.

JASON: I’ll let her know.

Jack has now returned downstairs, grabs his glass and drops some Scotch into Jason’s tumbler and approaches the two. Dinah eyes the booze but keeps her mouth shut.

JACK: Where’s Bess?

DINAH: Cooking some frozen veal chops.

JACK: Mmmmmmm. Yummy. (to Jason) So how’s the movie coming along?

JASON: I ditched it.

DINAH: Is this the one about the evil puppets?

JASON: (laughs)Yeah. I was shocked nobody bought the idea. I guess doing shit is harder than it looks.

74 Proscenium Spring 2016

JACK: Tell me about it.

JASON: No, Jack, I didn’t mean...

JACK: It’s okay, kid. Shit bought us this house. And with any luck at all shit will help fund our retirement.

DINAH: In Omaha...

JASON: Really?

DINAH: Jack wants to.

JASON: I think it’d be great.

DINAH: Well then I hope you two will be very happy there...

Bess now appears in the doorway.

BESS: I want to bake some mandelbread but there’s no flour.

DINAH: I’m sorry, mom. If I’d known you were coming I would’ve stocked up. We’ll go to the store tomorrow.

BESS: Walgreens has flour.

DINAH: Yes, I know. And shampoo. Didn’t you say you had a coupon?

JASON: Are you going to make your matza ball soup, Baubie?

BESS: I don’t know. I’m not familiar with the chickens in Los Angeles.

JACK: Yes, they’re very depressed, I hear.

BESS: What?

JACK: Just kidding, Bess.

BESS: Oh. JACK: I used to make people laugh. It’s becoming harder and harder lately.

She looks around, turns to Jason.

BESS: Where is your little girl?

JASON: Outside to make a call. She’ll be back soon.

BESS: She’s very nice, your little girl.

Jason shoots a triumphant look at Dinah as Pilar walks in the door looking a little shellshocked.

JASON: Hey, baby...

PILAR: Jason, can I talk to you for a minute?

JASON: Sure. Is everything all right?

PILAR: Yes...yes! It’s great! Uh...?

JASON: I’ll be right there.

He moves to Pilar, puts his arm around her and they walk off. Jack moves into the kitchen, leaving them alone.

BESS: So...interesting news about our Jason.

DINAH: I know, mom. They told you.

BESS: But you didn’t.

DINAH: I was going to.

BESS: When?

DINAH: Okay. So now you know.

BESS: What happened to that other girl Jason was seeing?

DINAH: Miranda?

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BESS: (nods)She was a sweet girl. Very nice family. Her father was a Rabbi, wasn’t he?

DINAH: Close. He was a tax attorney but undeniably Jewish.

BESS: Why couldn’t he have picked a nice Jewish girl?

DINAH: I don’t know, mom. Maybe they were out of them.

BESS: Always with the sarcasm.

DINAH: What do want me to say? They’re married. And you seemed just fine with it a few minutes ago with Jason and his “little girl.” What was that? Your blessing?

BESS: (shrugs)There’s nothing I can do about it now.

DINAH: There’s nothing you could have done about it ever, mom! That’s the point. Trust me. I tried.

BESS: I would have stopped it.

DINAH: Oh, that’s right. I forgot. Everybody listens to Bess. You rule the world.

BESS: I think she’s pregnant.

Dinah reacts as if she’s been shot.

DINAH: What?!

BESS: I always know.

DINAH: How? Did they say anything, tell you anything...?

BESS: I knew with Rachel, I knew with you...Jason and the little girl...

DINAH: Stop! Please, stop!

BESS: What?

DINAH: I do not want to know this!

BESS: Isn’t this what you always say to me? It’s part of life, mom. Go with the flow?

Jack has now returned with a fresh drink.

DINAH: Shit!

JACK: What?

DINAH: Mom thinks Pilar’s pregnant!

JACK: Really?

BESS: I always know...

DINAH: I can’t deal with this now...

JACK: Don’t get carried away.

DINAH: A baby...?

JACK: Calm down...

DINAH: What if it’s true?

JACK: Then we’ll deal with it.

Dinah holds her chest.

DINAH: Oh, God, Jack I think I’m having a panic attack...

JACK: Okay. Let’s prioritize. The chops. I think they’re done, Bess.

BESS: No. Five minutes.

JACK: They smell done to me.

BESS: I’ve been cooking for 60 years. Five minutes. Veal chops you don’t want rare.

JACK: I like rare. I crave rare. I want the meat to be jumping around the plate before I eat it!

Let’s go check them, shall we?

Jack, ever the peacemaker, leads Bess into the kitchen. Dinah takes Jack’s glass and chugs the 76 Proscenium Spring 2016

Scotch in one gulp as Jason and Pilar walk in. They’re both smiling. Dinah heart has now sunk to the floor.

JASON: Hey mom...

DINAH: Just humor me and tell me I can plan a bar mitzvah in thirteen years. That’ll give us some time to figure out a theme and a venue...

JASON: Huh? DINAH: Of course if it’s a girl it’ll be a bat mitvah...That’s more reform than Orthodox but our family sort of threaded the needle...

JASON: That’s great, mom, but wouldn’t it require a kid first?

Dinah takes this in. Then, to Pilar: DINAH: So you’re not...?

PILAR: Pregnant? No...

DINAH: Oh thank God! (then, realizing) I mean, uh, it would’ve been so soon after...you know...

PILAR: I think I get it. You’re thrilled that I’m not.

DINAH: I’ll let “thrilled” be your word.

JASON: So, what...?

DINAH: Nothing. Nothing, Jason. Your grandmother’s over-active imagination, that’s all.

JASON: So she thought...?

DINAH: Bingo!

JASON: Wow. A kid. That’s funny.

DINAH: I suppose that depends on who you’re talking to.

JASON: No kids yet. Not for a long time. Right, baby?

PILAR: (eyeing Dinah) Right.

DINAH: Well then if you don’t mind...would someone please explain the mystery phone calls and furtive looks?

JASON: Well...

DINAH: Well?

PILAR: I got a grant!

DINAH: A grant?

PILAR: To make a documentary.

JASON: The Sundance Institute, mom. They’re financing Pilar’s movie. It’s fucking huge!

Big kiss and an embrace.

PILAR: I never thought in a million years I’d get it...Oh my God, oh my God...

JASON: I’m so proud of you.

DINAH: A movie...

JASON: An amazing movie, mom. A story that’s never been told before.

DINAH: Sounds exciting.

JASON: It is! Oh wow, yeah, it is!

PILAR: I still can’t believe it...

JASON: Believe it! Believe it!

DINAH: And, if I might ask...what’s this amazing movie about?

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PILAR: Well, it’s...

She turns to Jason, nervous.

PILAR (CONT’D) Why don’t you tell her.

JASON: You sure?

PILAR: Yes. You tell her.

Jason takes a beat. And with great pride and ceremony he takes Dinah’s hand and says...

JASON: It’s kind of about...you and Baubie.

Dinah’s jaw drops.

DINAH: Okay, run this by me again. You...Pilar...want to do a film about my mother and I? PILAR: It started with my wanting to know more about your mother’s experiences during World War II...at Bergen Belsen.

JASON: But then Pilar started doing some research and found all these great stories about the first children of holocaust survivors.

PILAR: European born...like you, Mrs Sanderson...Dinah. And how their relationship with their parents was so different than their siblings.

JASON: Like you used to say about Uncle Steven and Auntie Rae, mom...they were the American kids. And you were...what did you use to call yourself?

DINAH: The groyser... (to Pilar) It’s Yiddish for “the Big One.” And no, I never called myself that. That was baubie’s term of endearment.

PILAR: You didn’t like it?

DINAH: No. JASON: The “Big One” just meant the oldest, right?

DINAH: It wasn’t the words, Jason. It was the way she said them. Her tone of voice, like she was barking at you. The baby needs to be changed?! Let the groyser do it! There was no love or affection in that word. At least not for me.

PILAR: That must have been very hard.

DINAH: Everyone’s childhood is a series of traumatic events with different punch lines. Mine just so happened to include a dying language.

PILAR: Do you mind if I get some tape of this?

JASON: Great idea, baby.

DINAH: Absolutely not!

She looks at the two of them, incredulous.

DINAH (CONT’D) Let’s not even discuss the fact I was never consulted about this little project of yours.

JASON: We wanted to make sure we had the grant before we even brought it up.

PILAR: No, baby, your mom’s right. We shouldn’t have gone ahead without her permission.

JASON: I didn’t think it would be a big deal.

DINAH: Are you serious?

JASON: You talk about your childhood all the time, mom. Jesus I can recite the stories in my sleep. How you helped teach Baubie and Zadie English. How you helped with the kids and worked in the store and did their finances when you were 12-years-old.

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DINAH: Then why don’t you tell them to the camera and leave me out of it?

JASON: I should’ve known you’d make this impossible. You always do.

DINAH: That is so unfair!

JASON: Nothing can ever be easy with you. Everything has to be a fucking struggle. I should’ve known.

DINAH: Well you’ve certainly turned into a nasty piece of work.

JASON: I learned from the best.

DINAH: How dare you talk to me like that.

JASON: After all you’ve done for me? Is that the next line?

DINAH: You sneak your grandmother into town on the pretense of springing your Big News.

When all this is really about is pitching a goddamn movie! I’m ashamed of you.

JASON: Fine. Be ashamed. I don’t give a shit.

PILAR: Baby-JASON: This is what she does. She takes every event and warps it into some terrible catastrophe where she’s always the victim.

DINAH: I see you’ve been talking to your father again.

JASON: I don’t have to. I lived it for eighteen years.

DINAH: Poor, poor baby.

PILAR: May I say something?

DINAH: Please...you’ve suddenly turned into the nicest person in the room.

PILAR: This was never meant to hurt anyone. All I wanted to do was to make a record of a family who had lost everything...and then had the chance to start over. What that was like for the next generation. For you, Dinah. I understand we were presumptuous. I understand if you don’t want to do it. It’s okay.

DINAH: Very nicely played, dear.

JASON: Jesus Christ...

DINAH: No, it’s fine. I appreciate that. And let’s just say in a moment of madness I agreed to do this. Baubie never talks about the camps. Never.

JASON: What about all those stories I used to hear about Mengele?

DINAH: I’m not speaking to you.

JASON: Fine. Be a child.

DINAH: Do you talk to your parents like that, Pilar?

PILAR: Jason-JASON: Okay, I’ll shut up.

DINAH: As my son well knows, those were his grandfather’s stories. Daddy talked about the Nazis all the time, especially toward the end when the Alzheimers was torturing him. Those damn Nazis, he used to say. As if they were cartoon characters. Tom and Jerry with swastikas.

PILAR: Your father knew Josef Mengele?

DINAH: Well, they didn’t meet for coffee. Daddy used to work in the clinic where the asshole conducted his “experiments.” You had to be strong and clever to slip under their radar and that’s what daddy did. That’s what kept him alive...barely.

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JASON: I apologize.

DINAH: For what?

JASON: All of this. Everything. Pick something, I don’t care. I’m sorry for it. Isn’t that what you want?

DINAH: No, honey. What I want...well...what I want probably isn’t possible. Maybe it never was.

Bess and Jack appear in the doorway.

BESS: The veal chops are done. Eat before they get cold.

DINAH: Mom, Pilar and Jason want to make a movie about the camps.

BESS: Yes, I know.

DINAH: You do?

BESS: Jason wrote me a letter. My eyes aren’t so good so I had my friend Betty read it to me.

She said I should do it...all the girls did.

DINAH: What...girls?

BESS: At the Jewish Center. Two of them are Survivors and they had their stories written up in the Jewish World with their pictures and everything. So I said yes.

DINAH: You know what they want you to talk about, don’t you.

BESS: The Nazis.

DINAH: You never talked to us about it.

BESS: You were kids. Kids don’t need to know these things.

DINAH: I haven’t been a child for quite some time, mother. Why now?

BESS: They asked me. So who wants to eat?

Dinah glares at Jason and Pilar as the LIGHTS fade.

ACT ONE, SCENE TWO It’s an hour later. LIGHTS GO up on the end of a very tense dinner. Jack is returning to the table with another drink. Dinah notices but doesn’t say anything because she’s deeply into her wine. Meanwhile, Pilar tries to make small talk.

PILAR: The veal was delicious.

JASON: Yeah, baubie, it was great.

BESS: There was something wrong with the potatos.

JACK: Really? They tasted fine to me.

JASON: Me, too.

BESS: No, they weren’t fresh.

DINAH: You didn’t compliment her enough. (theatrical flourish) The meal was wonderful! Fabulous! It transcended food! My God, Mrs. Noble, how do you do it!? Like that.

JASON: Mom-DINAH: What?

JASON: It’s okay.

DINAH: No it isn’t. There’s a crisis with the potatos!

BESS: I’m telling you they were bad. Where did you get them, Dinah?

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DINAH: I don’t remember.

BESS: How can you not remember where you buy potatos?

DINAH: Because I don’t care, mom. Okay? It’s not important to me. If you don’t like them we’ll throw them away.

BESS: I never waste food.

DINAH: I know. Even rotten food. (laughs) Remember when cousin Judy brought that cooler to Kevin’s Bar Mitzvah with those awful frozen tacos? I mean they’d been on ice for three years but Judy wasn’t going to waste them. (to Pilar) My family’s rather cheap in case you haven’t noticed.

BESS: I’m not cheap!

JACK: Dinah?

DINAH: Yes? JACK: Do we need to hear this right now?

DINAH: It’s a funny story. Anyway, mom decides to make the tacos because she will not... waste...food! And oh my God...oh...my...God! There was a conga line to the bathroom...

BESS: It was the flu!

DINAH: That’s right. Everyone caught the flu at the same time.

JACK: Boy, how about those Dodgers?

BESS: You always have to say things that aren’t true. Just to upset me.

DINAH: You got it, mom, my entire life has been devoted to torturing you.

JACK: I hate baseball but I suddenly just feel like talking about it.

JASON: I hear you, Jack.

DINAH: Everyone hears Jack.

JACK: Not everyone sweetie. So who’d like more wine?

PILAR: I’d like some.

JACK: You’re learning to survive. That’s good. Jason?

JASON: Sure. Why not?

JACK: Dinah?

DINAH: No, I like my potatos with scotch.

And she takes Jack’s glass and downs it in one, long gulp, wincing as she does.

DINAH (CONT’D) Mmmmmmmmmmm. Delicious!

Jack glares at her. It’s now even more tense. But he continues to try and diffuse it, turning to Bess.

JACK: Bess? Some vino?

BESS: Is it Kosher?

JACK: Not unless the Zeven Deadly Zins converted.

BESS: What?

DINAH: No, mom, it’s not Kosher. Jack was just trying to be funny. It’s his job. Or at least it used to be.

JACK: (getting pissed)Excuse me?

DINAH: Did I say something?

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JACK: You’ve been saying something all night and we’re all getting a little sick of it.

She slaps her hand.

DINAH: Bad Dinah-JASON: Jesus, mom...

DINAH: (to Pilar)My husband is a comedy writer. That’s why this house is always filled with laughter.

JACK: Godamnit!

DINAH: What?

JACK: You know what. This...whatever this is you’re doing right now. Our kid’s here. Your mom’s here. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves.

DINAH: (mock salute)Aye aye, sir!

JACK: Please?

DINAH: I’m enjoying myself. I’m having a great time.

Jack glares at her, then pulls back.

JACK: I’ll go get the wine.

He begins to exit and Dinah trills out: DINAH: There’s vodka in the kitchen, honey.

Jack turns, clearly displeased as Dinah turns to Pilar.

DINAH (CONT’D) That’s what Jack’s mother used to say to his dad, who was a raging alcoholic among many other unpleasant things. There’s vodka in the kitchen, honey. Help yourself. Kill yourself. Love you...

JACK: Please stop this.

DINAH: I just thought Pilar should hear some of your family stories, too.

JACK: I don’t think she’s interested.

DINAH: Well I am. I’m in a real storytelling mood. But first...

Dinah gets up from the table, a little unsteady and pours a large glass of scotch.

DINAH (CONT’D) ...some refreshments.

JACK: I think you’ve had enough.

DINAH: Said the pot to the kettle.

JACK: Put it down please.

DINAH: I’m thirsty.

JACK: Dinah...come on...

DINAH: But isn’t that how we solve our problems in this house, Jack darling? By drinking them away?

Jack moves to take it away but she resists.

DINAH (CONT’D) Get your hands off me...

JASON: Guys?

JACK: Why are you doing this?

DINAH: Because I want to!

JACK: Put the fucking glass down!

DINAH: Oh there he is...I’ve missed you, Mr. Hyde. You never see this part of my husband but trust me I’m on intimate terms with him.

Jack again tries to wrench the glass away but Dinah resists, and the contents spill out all over 82 Proscenium Spring 2016

him.

DINAH (CONT’D) Woops!

JACK: Why did you do that?

DINAH: It was an accident.

JACK: No it wasn’t.

DINAH: Well don’t worry, honey. You can wring out your shirt into a shot glass. I’m sure there’ll be enough booze left for a nightcap.

JACK: Fuck you, Dinah!

DINAH: Your breeding’s showing again.

JACK: And your contempt for me right along with it. You’re so unhappy...about what I don’t have a clue but it covers this house like a goddamn shroud. Nobody can relax. Nobody can just...live. All because you have a bug up your ass twenty-four hours a day.

Jack would say something more but pulls himself back. He turns to Bess, Jason and Pilar.

JACK (CONT’D) I’m sorry, Bess.

Jack turns and starts for the stairs. Dinah, realizing she’s gone too far, gets up and moves to him.

DINAH: Jack-He holds up his hand.

JACK: Don’t.

She pauses, he exits.

JASON: That was great, mom. Nice job.

PILAR: Jason, no-JASON: What? She gets to be an asshole and everybody else has to sit and listen to it? (to Dinah) You’re pissed at us about making the documentary. So why take it all out on Jack?

Dinah looks off, realizing she’s gone too far.

DINAH: I honestly don’t know.

JASON: This is so fucked up. I need to get out of here.

He gets up, kisses Bess on top of the head.

JASON (CONT’D) Sorry, baubie. For the language. I know you don’t like it.

BESS: I’ve gotten used to it.

JASON: Well you shouldn’t have to. (to Pilar) You coming?

She rises, looking past Dinah to Bess: PILAR: Thank you so much for a wonderful meal, baubie.

BESS: You’re welcome.

And she joins Jason as they exit, leaving Dinah and Bess alone.

DINAH: Okay, mom, let’s hear it.

BESS: I don’t have nothing to say.

DINAH: Sure you do. You just haven’t wound yourself up yet. I was hateful to Jack. I was hateful to everyone. I’ve turned into a complete bitch and I can’t seem to stop myself anymore.

BESS: Why is he drinking so much?

DINAH: Because I drive him crazy.

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BESS: That’s no excuse to be a meshugganah.

DINAH: I’m your daughter, mom. That’s what we Nobles do--we terrorize our men with our sharp tongues and Biblical judgements.

BESS: I never did that.

DINAH: No, of course not.

BESS: Dad always said how I took such good care of him.

DINAH: Oh, come on: You fed him and made sure his clothes were washed and ironed. The rest of the time you made him feel three feet tall, just the way I do with Jack.

BESS: That’s not true!

DINAH: You’re right. I’m much worse. That’s what a master’s degree in literature will do for you. It gives you bigger, nastier words to cut with.

BESS: Bah! DINAH: It doesn’t matter.

She becomes emotional, teary.

DINAH (CONT’D) Shit.

BESS: What?

DINAH: Nothing.

BESS: You’re crying.

DINAH: I know I’m crying! I’ve been crying my whole life. God that sounds pitiful. Poor, poor pitiful me.

BESS: Why are you crying?

DINAH: You know, mother, I would love to tell you. I really would. But we don’t do that, you and me. Talk to one another, provide comfort...it isn’t in our DNA. BESS: So fine. I’m a terrible mother.

DINAH: Yes, you are.

BESS: Why do you say this?!

DINAH: You just admitted it and I was agreeing with you.

BESS: If you don’t want me to make Jason’s movie then fine...I won’t.

DINAH: I don’t care about the movie. Do whatever you want.

BESS: You do care.

DINAH: Not anymore.

BESS: Why not?

DINAH: Because caring would mean you had something I wanted...and would hold over me like an ax. I can’t afford that. I’m too fragile right now. So go ahead and tell your story. Tell the whole goddamn world. (shakes her head) God, listen to the booze talking...and talking and talking...

She looks up a Bess and we can sense a softening in Bess’s demeanor that makes us believe she will comfort her daughter. But then, just as quickly, it passes.

BESS: It’s late.

DINAH: I know.

BESS: I can help with the dishes.

DINAH: No, mom, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it. Thanks.

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BESS: So you’ll take me to Walgreens tomorrow?

DINAH: Someone will take you to Walgreens, mom. I promise.

Bess moves toward the stairs.

BESS: Good night.

DINAH: ‘Night mom.

As Bess exits she shivers.

BESS: Oy, it’s always so cold in this house...

We stay with Dinah as she moves to the thermostat and pauses. She leans against the wall, unsteady on her feet and then falls to the ground in the fetal position, sobbing freely. LIGHTS DIM. ACT ONE: SCENE THREE Lights up. It’s the next morning. Dinah staggers down the stairs in the throes of a throbbing, industrial strength hangover. She finds the couch and almost collapses onto it, holding her head.

PILAR: Good morning.

Dinah looks up, sees Pilar standing there with a cup of coffee in her hand.

DINAH: Is it morning?

PILAR: Eleven o’clock.

DINAH: Jesus. (looks around) Where is everybody?

PILAR: Jason took baubie to the store.

DINAH: Of course. The shampoo.

PILAR: Excuse me?

DINAH: My mother’s coupon. It doesn’t matter. Did Jack go with them?

PILAR: I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.

Dinah nods numbly as Pilar sets the cup down in front of her.

PILAR (CONT’D) I made some coffee. It’s pretty strong. I hope that’s okay.

DINAH: Thanks. I could use a little strength today. I don’t usually drink like that, you know.

PILAR: You don’t have to explain.

DINAH: My behavior was appalling. I’m very sorry, Pilar.

PILAR: You were upset. We...upset you. Because of the documentary. I should have asked your permission.

DINAH: Yes, you should have.

PILAR: Jason thought-DINAH: (over) That I’d go batshit crazy? Well I didn’t disappoint him, did I? It’s sad to have become so predictable.

PILAR: That isn’t what he said.

DINAH: No? PILAR: Jason wanted to speak with you first. Not just about the movie but, you know...everything else.

DINAH: “Everything” meaning the global everything? Marriages? Green cards? That kind of everything?

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PILAR: He wanted to clear the air.

DINAH: And you didn’t?

PILAR: Yes, of course I wanted to. But I thought...if we could work together on the movie, get to know each other that way...it wouldn’t seem so forced. So much of an obligation. I was totally wrong and I apologize for that. You had every right to be angry. But be angry at me not at Jason. That shouldn’t be too hard for you.

DINAH: Well, well, well...an apology with a little smack at the end.

PILAR: It’s just the two of us here. We don’t need to be polite.

DINAH: You dislike me.

PILAR: I don’t know you well enough to dislike you.

DINAH: Bullshit.

PILAR: It’s true.

DINAH: It’s bullshit, Pilar. Come on, honey. You want honesty? Try this: When I found out you were marrying my son I prayed...and I seldom do that, by the way...I prayed to God you’d get hit by a bus and die. But then I thought no, Jason would mourn you, he would be hurt...he would somehow figure out a way to blame me...I was driving the bus! Something like that. So then I asked God for a smaller favor...like Immigration stepping in at the eleventh hour.

PILAR: So you called them.

DINAH: I thought about it.

PILAR: Well somebody did.

DINAH: Wasn’t me.

PILAR: They were hanging around our apartment all the time, asking questions, looking in our bedroom to see if we slept together.

DINAH: In other words doing their job.

PILAR: (skeptical)But you didn’t call them.

DINAH: Does Jason think I did?

PILAR: Yes. DINAH: Well that explains a lot.

PILAR: Wouldn’t you believe that? After everything you tried to do to ruin things for us?

DINAH: Apparently that’s become a gift of mine...ruining things.

PILAR: Why won’t you just admit it?

DINAH: Okay, fine. I called them. And then right after that I stole some little girl’s lunch money and killed a couple of puppies. I’m just an evil person, Pilar. Best to steer clear of the likes of me.

PILAR: So you won’t tell me the truth.

DINAH: What difference does it make? You passed the test. You’re here in the good old USA. I probably should have called Immigration since I’m being blamed for it anyway. But I didn’t.

Who knows? Maybe your family called them.

PILAR: They would never do that.

DINAH: Of course not. You’d just punched your ticket for a one-way trip to the promised land.

PILAR: Brazil is not a Third World country, Dinah. We have civilization there, too.

DINAH: But you couldn’t wait to get out.

PILAR: I wanted to see America, yes. But it was never going to be permanent. Six months, may86 Proscenium Spring 2016

be less. That’s all it was going to be. I was engaged to be married.

DINAH: (floored)You were...what?

PILAR: Jason never told you?

DINAH: Obviously there are a lot of things Jason doesn’t tell me.

PILAR: His name was Carlos. We’d known each other since we were children. Our parents were friends and it was always assumed the two of us would end up together. Pilar and Carlos. There wasn’t any question about it.

Pilar pauses, reliving this painful memory.

PILAR (CONT’D) He didn’t want me to come here. Carlos thought we should just run away and get married and have the big wedding for the family later on. He said if you love each other why wait? Well what could I say? I thought I loved him. I told him I did. But in the end I couldn’t go through with it.

DINAH: Poor Carlos.

PILAR: Yes. He’s a good man. He didn’t deserve to be hurt like that.

DINAH: But you wanted what you wanted.

PILAR: Is that such a bad thing? Is that any different from you, Dinah? Didn’t you have dreams once, too?

DINAH: Yes. And one of them, believe it or not, was to see my son married. Happily.

PILAR: He is...but not to a Jewish girl. Or a white girl.

DINAH: So I’m a racist now, too, huh?

PILAR: I considered that for a while but then I thought no, I can usually tell. It was just me you didn’t like.

DINAH: Okay. Let’s just say for the sake of argument that’s true. I don’t like you.

PILAR: Felt good, didn’t it.

DINAH: We’re being hypothetical.

PILAR: If you say so.

DINAH: Why would it bother you?

PILAR: It doesn’t really. I don’t care if you like me or not. It does matter to Jason.

DINAH: Oh, please. My son traveled more than 3,000 miles to go to school and he never came home. He’s about as far away from me as he can get without leaving the United States.

PILAR: Your opinion of him still counts.

DINAH: He has an odd way of showing it.

PILAR: It hurts him you can’t accept...us. This marriage. And when Jason is hurt he gets angry, he lashes out.

DINAH: And this wisdom comes from what? Dating him for a couple of months?

PILAR: We’re a good team, Dinah.

DINAH: So were the Lakers.

PILAR: This is a real relationship.

DINAH: Do you love Jason?

PILAR: What kind of question is that?

DINAH: A simple one. Are you in love with the man you married? Or is this just another Carlos? A stepping stone to something better down the road?

PILAR: I can see where you’d think that after what I just told you.

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DINAH: One of the perils of getting to know someone.

Pilar pauses. Then: PILAR: Jason makes me laugh. We can be in the same room together and not say anything at all and still feel close, connected. We get each other, Dinah. When my visa was up and I had to go back home we both cried...and Jason decided, we both decided...we wanted to see where this would lead us. And if that meant getting married then, well, we would.

DINAH: A trial run, in other words.

Not for better or for worse but for...maybe or...we’ll see.

PILAR: Are there ever any guarantees?

DINAH: No, but there’s usually some commitment in there somewhere. Even if it’s just a fantasy.

PILAR: Yes. I do love Jason. He is my heart. And I hope someday to have children with him... grow old with him. Will that satisfy you?

DINAH: No. But that’s becoming more my problem than yours.

Dinah registers this for a beat, then takes a sip of coffee and winces.

DINAH (CONT’D) Whew! You were right about the coffee. I think the spoon could stand up all by itself.

PILAR: Try some honey and a shot of Old Parr.

DINAH: Old...what?

PILAR: Scotch. It was my father’s remedy for hangovers.

DINAH: I think I’ll just go ahead and suffer but thanks anyway.

PILAR: You’re welcome.

DINAH: Are you sure you’re not Jewish.

PILAR: No. Why? DINAH: You argue like a Jew. PILAR: I wasn’t aware we were arguing. Is that supposed to be a compliment?

DINAH: The highest.

Pilar hesitates, then: PILAR: You know that bus you were praying would hit me?

DINAH: Yes? PILAR: I was imagining you in the middle of the subway tracks.

DINAH: (smiles)After you pushed me there, no doubt.

PILAR: (smiles back) Just a little nudge.

DINAH: That’s all it takes.

On this we hear the sound of the door opening. Jason has arrived with Bess, laden with packages. He looks at Pilar and Dinah seated together and eyes them warily.

JASON: (to Pilar) Everything okay?

DINAH: Don’t worry, Jason. I haven’t said anything vile in hours now. I’m approaching my alltime record.

PILAR: It’s fine, baby. Dinah and I were just...talking.

DINAH: Did you get your shampoo, mom?

BESS: (nods)But they were out of flour.

DINAH: Sorry.

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BESS: I told you we should have gone last night.

DINAH: Last night kind of got away from us, mom. All my fault.

On this, Jack enters also holding a bag. Dinah looks at him hopefully, trying to gauge his emotions.

DINAH: (CONT’D) Hi. JACK: Hi. DINAH: Where’ve you been?

Jack averts eye contact and conjures up a demeanor of false bonhomie.

JACK: I thought I’d rustle up some supplies. Lox...bagels...cream cheese...and it’s the good stuff, too, Bess...not the dreck they sell at the market...

BESS: You can’t eat it.

JACK: I know! So let’s get brunch started, shall we?

DINAH: I can help.

JACK: It’s okay. We’ll handle it.

Jack leads Bess away toward the kitchen, Dinah watching, emotional.

JASON: Did you apologize to him at least?

DINAH: I’ve been apologizing all night and into the morning, Jason. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want everyone I love to hate me. Especially you.

JASON: I don’t hate you.

DINAH: I wouldn’t be so sure about that.

JASON: I’d just like you to be...happy.

DINAH: Okay.

She slaps on a phony smile.

DINAH (CONT’D)Like this?

JASON: Never mind. Be whatever you want.

DINAH: I’m trying, Jason. Okay? I try and try every single day. One of my many shrinks once told me if I couldn’t find any real joy in my life I could just pretend. You know, act like I was happy. So then maybe some day the real thing would come along and I wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.

JASON: Did it work?

DINAH: I’m not a very good actress, honey.

JASON: What’s so bad about your life, mom? Is it that terrible?

DINAH: No...it just isn’t the one I had in mind, that’s all.

The moment lingers there for a beat, then: PILAR: After brunch I was thinking maybe we could all go for a walk. It’s a pretty day.

JASON: I thought you wanted to get started with the interviews.

PILAR: I don’t think so.

JASON: Why not?

PILAR: We’re not making the documentary.

JASON: No, come on-PILAR: (over) We ambushed your mom with this project. She doesn’t want to do it and we shouldn’t force her to.

JASON: So what are you going to do? Give the grant back?

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PILAR: I’ll figure something out.

Jason looks to Dinah who holds the look.

DINAH: Is this where I’m supposed to say? No, no, kids...go ahead...paint the barn and put on a show!

JASON: Pilar worked her ass off for this.

PILAR: Baby-JASON: I will never ask you to do another thing for me, mom. I swear to God. But please, please I’m asking you to do this. I’m begging you.

Dinah looks at her son almost as if she’s seeing him for the first time. Finally: DINAH: Such devotion. I’m impressed. (on his look) I’m not being sarcastic. I mean it. Sometimes even your wicked, wicked mother is capable of being touched.

JASON: So will you do it?

DINAH: Well, I don’t have a good side to photograph anymore so you’re going to have to help me.

Jason smiles, embraces her.

JASON: Thank you, mom. Thank you so much.

PILAR: Are you sure, Dinah?

DINAH: Please...what could be more fun than a trip down memory lane to good old Bergen Belson?

PILAR: That isn’t what the movie is about.

DINAH: It will be to my mother.

On this Jack re-emerges.

JACK: Soup’s on.

Dinah turns to Jason/Pilar.

DINAH: You two go ahead.

Jason and Pilar exit, Jack would follow but Dinah calls him back.

DINAH (CONT’D) Jack?

JACK: What?

DINAH: I’m sorry.

JACK: Okay.

DINAH: I was awful last night...please forgive me.

JACK: Fine. I forgive you.

DINAH: Really?

JACK: What difference does it make?

DINAH: I’ll change, I promise.

JACK: Right.

DINAH: I mean it.

JACK: I know you do.

DINAH: Why are you being so neutral?

JACK: Because I really don’t want to spend another minute of my life talking about this.

DINAH: I had a bad night.

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JACK: You had a bad night?

DINAH: If you think it’s hard to live with me you should try being me. It’s a fucking nightmare.

I’m going to go go back and see what’s-his-name. (on his look) You know...Rick. The shrink.

JACK: You told me you didn’t like him.

DINAH: Everything he says is so obvious.

JACK: Must be hard being so much smarter than everyone else.

DINAH: It is. (on his look) That was a joke.

JACK: I’m not feeling real jolly at the moment, Dinah.

DINAH: I know I need help, I know I’ve been impossible lately. I’ll find somebody else.

JACK: Fine, do whatever you need to do.

DINAH: More neutrality?

JACK: Do you want me to scream and throw things? Break a few mirrors for old time’s sake?

I can do that. You must have a videotape of me somewhere on one of my drunken rants. Why don’t you bring it out?

DINAH: I don’t want to be like this!

JACK: Then change...do something about it...

DINAH: I’m trying...

JACK: It isn’t that hard, Dinah DINAH: It is for me!

JACK: To be nice?! To be decent?! To figure out some way not to scorch the earth every time you open your goddamn mouth?!

DINAH: Jack-He holds up his hands.

JACK: I don’t want to get mad.

DINAH: You are mad and you have every right to be.

JACK: This isn’t going to solve anything. It never does. You apologize, I apologize and an hour later we’re back to hating each other.

DINAH: I don’t hate you.

JACK: Well then whatever this is with you and me...isn’t working.

DINAH: So what do we do?

JACK: I talked to Kenny this morning. He’s going to let me use his place in Arrowhead for a few weeks.

DINAH: What?

JACK: I can do some writing, clear my head...

DINAH: So you’re leaving me.

JACK: I’m not leaving, I’m taking a break.

DINAH: You’re leaving.

JACK: I think we need some time apart.

DINAH: You mean you do.

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JACK: Okay. Fine. I need it.

DINAH: We always said leaving was off the table, out of bounds.

JACK: Well I guess it’s not anymore.

Dinah is stunned, shell-shocked.

DINAH: Wow. JACK: This isn’t just about last night. It’s about the last year, Dinah. A thousand little cuts that have turned into an open wound...like you musing out loud that you think you should have done better with your life...that maybe you should have stayed in Omaha and married Dr. What’s-hisname...

DINAH: Bob Shapiro.

JACK: Well maybe you should have.

DINAH: I’d still choose you.

JACK: I don’t know about that.

DINAH: I love you, Jack.

JACK: You don’t say things like that to the man you spent the last twenty years of your life with! Don’t you get that? It hurts!

DINAH: I’m so sorry.

JACK: Do you ever ask how I’m doing? Do you even give a shit?

DINAH: Of course I do.

JACK: I don’t think so. In fact I know you don’t.

DINAH: Jack-JACK: (over) Did you think it was fun for me to hear about Pilar’s movie? A 22-year-old kid gets a big chunk of money to make a film and I can’t even get a meeting for a job I don’t even want. I was jealous, Dinah. I smiled and and did my usual happy dance but the truth is I wanted to be that 22-year-old kid just starting out, with everything to look forward to. I wanted to have all those stars in my eyes again and be wanted...by somebody.

DINAH: I want you.

JACK: Sure you do. Misery does love company.

DINAH: It’s more than that, Jack, and you know it. You’re the love of my life.

JACK: Well then that’s really sad, isn’t it...for both of us.

DINAH: You’re just saying that to hurt me.

JACK: No, honey, I’m saying it because it’s true. You don’t even know how close I’ve come to just walking away. Sometimes I’ll be driving home from somewhere, anywhere...and I’ll have these conversations with myself. An interview that turns into a fucking interrogation. What are you doing here, Jack? What are you getting out of this besides being smacked in the head with all your many faults and your wife’s disappointment in you? Get out of there! Start over! And every once in a while I’ll try it out just to see what it would feel like. I’d drive past our off ramp and keep on going. But I always turned around and came back.

DINAH: Why? JACK: Fear. Habit. I don’t know.

DINAH: How can we fix this if we’re not together?

JACK: That’s just it, honey. I don’t know if this can be fixed. I really don’t know if it can.

Dinah takes this in. Then: 92 Proscenium Spring 2016

DINAH: Could you do me a favor then?

JACK: What?

DINAH: Don’t say anything about this until Jason and my mother leave. I don’t need her to... (pauses, emotional) ...anyway, I would appreciate it.

JACK: All right.

DINAH: Thank you.

JACK: Is that all?

DINAH: I decided to do Pilar’s movie.

JACK: Good. I think you should. Maybe you’ll learn something.

DINAH: Jack-JACK: We’d better go in.

Dinah nods, then: DINAH: You know why I think you come back? Because you still love me.

And she exits upstairs. LIGHTS FADE. End of Act One. ACT TWO, SCENE ONE It’s two hours later. Jason is setting up the camera. Bess and Dinah are seated in chairs opposite one another while Pilar is seated in front. Jack holds back, observing from a distance. Bess is fidgeting.

PILAR: Ready?

JASON: Almost.

PILAR: It’s a pretty simple shot, baby.

JASON: I want to make sure I get all three of you in frame.

PILAR: No, not me. Just Baubie and Dinah. I want this to be a conversation, not an interview.

We’ll edit out my questions in post.

JASON: (shrugs, smiles) You’re the director.

PILAR: (to Bess) Don’t be nervous.

BESS: I’m not nervous.

PILAR: That’s good.

BESS: Why should I be nervous?

JASON: All set here.

PILAR: Okay...Dinah?

DINAH: I’m ready for my close-up.

She tries again to catch Jack’s eye but he’s staring straight ahead, not connecting.

BESS: So what do we do now?

PILAR: I’ll ask some questions to get things started and you just...talk.

Pilar goes over a list, a little nervous herself.

PILAR (CONT’D) Why don’t we start with your name.

BESS: My name?

PILAR: Just say it for the camera.

BESS: My name is Bess...Basia Noble.

PILAR: Basia...that’s very pretty. Was Bess a nickname?

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BESS: (shakes her head) It was the name they gave me when we came here.

PILAR: (not getting it) “They”...? I don’t understand.

BESS: The people in charge.

DINAH: When my parents came through Ellis Island the customs people didn’t want to bother with foreign-sounding names. The ones that were too hard to pronounce got new ones. Basia became Bess. Devorrah...that was me...turned into Dinah.

PILAR: Devorrah?

DINAH: (nods) I should have been a “Debbie” but the customs guy was apparently a big fan of Dinah Shore.

BESS: She was named for my sister.

DINAH: That’s right, mom. I was.

BESS: She looked just like her, too.

DINAH: That’s what everyone always said.

PILAR: I’d like to hear about her.

BESS: She’s dead.

PILAR: Yes, Baubie, I know.

BESS: There was a picture somewhere of all of us together. Rachel has it. (to Dinah) Did she make you a copy?

DINAH: No, mom. She didn’t.

BESS: It was a photograph of my father and mother. Jacob, my brother. And Devorrah, the baby.

We weren’t a large family. Not for those days.

PILAR: (to Dinah) It really would be great if we could find it.

DINAH: I’ll talk to my sister.

PILAR: Thanks.

BESS: So ask me another question.

PILAR: Okay. Where did you grow up?

BESS: I was born in Warsaw. We moved to Lodz when Papa got work.

PILAR: What kind of work did he do?

BESS: He made clothes.

PILAR: So he was a tailor...

BESS: Papa did a lot of things. He made clothes. He repaired toasters and bicycles. Whatever you needed fixed, papa would fix it.

PILAR: He sounds like a very talented man.

BESS: He was a good looking man, too. All my friends thought he looked like that movie star... what was his name?

DINAH: Clark Gable.

BESS: He looked like Clark Gable.

PILAR: Wow. BESS: Very good-looking man.

PILAR: What about your mother?

BESS: She cooked. She took care of the children. That’s what you did in those days. The men worked and the women stayed home and took care of the house.

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PILAR: What was she like?

BESS: Who? PILAR: Your mother.

This seems to hit Bess in a vulnerable place.

BESS: She...she cooked.

PILAR: I know, baubie, but there must be other things you remember about her. What was her name?

BESS: Hannah. Her name was Hannah.

PILAR: Tell me about Hannah.

BESS: She had...beautiful hair. This I do remember. It was long and wavy and she wore it up with ivory combs. Very expensive. Poppa traded some work for them and surprised her on their anniversary. It was the only thing she took with her when we went away. I don’t know what happened to them after that.

PILAR: Did she read stories to you? Play games?

BESS: My mother and father were not educated people. We went to school. They made sure of that. But there was no time for stories. They worked. And after I got older, I worked, too.

PILAR: Doing what?

BESS: Cleaning. Ironing clothes. But mostly helping my mother take care of my brother and sister.

PILAR: So you were the oldest?

BESS: Yes. PILAR: The groyser...

BESS: (taken aback) How do you know this word?

PILAR: Dinah told me that’s how you referred to her. The oldest...the groyser, just like you.

BESS: She didn’t like it.

DINAH: Why didn’t I like it, mom?

BESS: You just didn’t, I don’t know why.

DINAH: It was...impersonal.

BESS: It was just a word. My mother called me, I called you.

DINAH: Okay, mom.

BESS: It was just a word!

DINAH: I heard you, mom, all right? Relax...it isn’t important.

BESS: I was the groyser, too! I didn’t complain...I did what I was told.

DINAH: You’re a better person than me, mom.

BESS: Bah! Always so fresh!

DINAH: (to Pilar) Please ask her another question...

PILAR: Okay.

BESS: Always has to have something to say.

DINAH: We’re moving on now, mom.

PILAR: Your sister was Devorrah...what was your brother’s name again?

BESS: Jacob. He was three years younger. He survived the war, too.

PILAR: So you’re still close?

BESS: Not so much anymore.

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DINAH: Uncle Jake is Orthodox. We’re not quite religious enough to suit him.

BESS: It was that woman’s fault...Irina.

DINAH: His wife.

BESS: She never liked me. A Russian woman. Of course she wouldn’t.

PILAR: Were you and Jacob at the same camp?

BESS: No, my brother was at Aushwitz...with Max, my husband...but they didn’t know each other then.

PILAR: And Devorrah?

BESS: At Bergen Belson...with me and my mother.

PILAR: What happened to your father?

BESS: He died in the ghetto. He just went to sleep one night and never woke up. Everyone was either hungry or sick back then. And when they died there was no place to bury them. A truck would come by every day to pick up the bodies. There were no funerals.

PILAR: And you saw all this?

BESS: I was there.

PILAR: That must have been very hard.

BESS: Every family lost someone after the Germans came. It was hard for everybody.

PILAR: How old were you when that happened?

BESS: Sixteen.

PILAR: What do you remember about that day?

Bess pauses for a beat or two.

BESS: Nobody would believe how bad it could be. They came to every apartment...soldiers, SS...always screaming: “Judah? Judah?” So we waited for them to come to us. You see Anne Frank? It was like that. Finally, they came and took us away. We all had to wear the yellow Stars of David. But I would take mine off and go outside looking for food. I looked like a shiksa. They wouldn’t bother me. But there was never enough food. And the Germans made sure whatever there was...we wouldn’t get it. They played games.

PILAR: What kind of games?

BESS: They would... (to Dinah) What’s the word, Dinah? When you have something people need but they won’t give it?

DINAH: They taunted you?

BESS: (nods)This is what they did with food.

PILAR: In what way, Bess? How? Bess fidgets a little, slightly uncomfortable.

BESS: One morning the guards called us all outside and made us line up. They were always doing this. We never knew when or why. But on this day one of the guards brought out a pail of beets and set it down in front of us. But we couldn’t have them. That’s what they said. And then they left.

DINAH: Those assholes! (to Pilar) Sorry.

PILAR: It’s okay.

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(to Bess) What happened?

BESS: We did nothing. As hungry as we all were we knew it was a trick. But some of the people...they couldn’t help themselves. So a few of them took the food. The guards came back and checked everyone’s teeth. The ones that were stained by the red beets were taken out of line and shot.

There is silence for the moment. Everyone too stunned by this story to move forward. Pilar gathers herself. Then: PILAR: How long...did you have to live like this?

BESS: I don’t remember. A long time.

And then one day they told us we had to go. They lined us up and separated us. Some would go one place, some would go to another but they’d never tell you where. I went with my sister and mother.

PILAR: To Bergen-Belson?

BESS: (nods) We each took a small bag and they put us in the wagons first. Then to the trains.

We were packed together like animals. The smell was awful. People died on those trains. They didn’t care. You slept standing up, sometimes next to a corpse.

Dinah is listening to this intently, astonished by the ease with which her mother is telling this story...portions of which she’s never heard before.

PILAR: Did any of you try to escape?

BESS: (nods)Some. They were shot. Or the dogs got to them. After a while we thought of them as the lucky ones. Their suffering was over.

PILAR: What happened once you reached the camp?

BESS: We were told to line up again. There were always different lines. I was strong, I could work, so they put me with some of the other young girls. My mother was sick. She could barely walk. But still the Germans made them take off their clothes, right where they stood. It was winter. Freezing cold. I tried to get my mother’s attention but she wouldn’t look at me. She was ashamed. Then they marched them away and we never saw them again. Those that couldn’t walk were shot.

PILAR: Baubie, could Hannah...was she able to walk?

BESS: No. Dinah begins to cry softly.

BESS (CONT’D) Devorrah started screaming. She was in the same line with me. I tried to get her to be quiet but she wouldn’t stop crying. I told her to look at me, not at our mother lying on the ground. Look at me! But she broke away and started running toward where my mother was.

A guard hit her over the head with the butt of his rifle. And then stabbed her. He didn’t want to waste a bullet.

Bess turns to Dinah.

BESS (CONT’D) You always wanted to know how she died. That was how she died.

DINAH: How come you never told me before?

BESS: You were children. Dad and I didn’t want to give you nightmares.

DINAH: Yes, but when we were older?

BESS: What did it matter then?

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DINAH: It might have given me a chance to cry for her. Or to scream at God’s cruelty.

BESS: We did what we thought was best.

DINAH: I know you did.

BESS: We lived for them. That was all we could do.

DINAH: Did you cry for her, mom?

Bess pauses. This is very hard.

BESS: There weren’t enough tears to cry for everyone.

Dinah looks out at Jack, Jason and Pilar.

DINAH: God, I was so wrong.

PILAR: What, Dinah?

DINAH: This...all of this. My mother’s told me more about herself in the last five minutes then she has my entire life.

JASON: Well that’s good, isn’t it, mom?

DINAH: It’s...strange. It’s... (to Bess) Was I a replacement?

BESS: Replacement?

DINAH: For Devorrah. Was I some kind of tribute to the little girl who ran away?

BESS: You can’t replace children.

DINAH: I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, mom. But there had to be something to that. I was the first child. The first girl. We looked the same...and you loved her very much, didn’t you.

BESS: She was my sister.

DINAH: Yes, and you took care of her and doted on her and she died horribly right in front of you.

BESS: There was nothing I could do.

DINAH: I know, mom.

BESS: Lots of little girls died.

DINAH: But they weren’t her. She was special. So special you decided to name your own baby after her. A baby who reminded you of her every day...

Bess turns to Pilar.

BESS: Ask me another question.

DINAH: Please don’t shut me out, mom.

Pilar looks from Dinah to Bess, unsure what to do.

BESS: I’m a little tired now.

DINAH: Mom-BESS: My stomach is bothering me.

PILAR: (to Jason) We can take a break.

JASON: Good idea.

DINAH: No! JACK: Dinah-DINAH: We’re talking...finally talking. You can’t stop now.

BESS: There’s nothing more to say. She died. That’s it. (to Pilar) 98 Proscenium Spring 2016

I don’t remember nothing else. It was a long time ago.

DINAH: Mom, please-And suddenly Bess stands, enraged, shaking her finger at Dinah as she screams: BESS: (Yiddish) No! Zien shtil! (leave me alone) Zein shtil!

Dinah pulls back, slammed by this.

BESS (CONT’D) No more!

Bess suddenly she pitches forward, falling to the ground.

JACK: Bess?

He moves to her quickly as Dinah steps back.

DINAH: Oh my God, oh my God...

Jack checks her out as Jason and Pilar join them. Jack turns to Jason.

JACK: Shit...call the doctor.

DINAH: Mom? Mom!!!

ACT TWO, SCENE TWO A tense Jason is seated on the couch. Pilar is next to him and they’re holding hands but it’s clear he’s very upset as both observe Jack on the phone.

JACK: ...Congestive heart failure. That’s what the doctor said...excess fluid around the heart and the lungs. That’s what made Bess pass out... no, of course she refused to go to the hospital... because she’s your mother, Steven...Bess is convinced the only good doctors in the world live in Omaha...I don’t know. Dinah’s in with her now but I don’t think you and Rachel need to come out. She’s had this for a while but obviously it was never diagnosed. Yeah, when she’s well enough to travel we’ll fly back with her. Probably in a couple of days. Okay, I’ll tell her. Talk to you later. Love to Nancy.

He hangs up, looks at Jason.

JACK (CONT’D) You guys need anything?

JASON: No. JACK: Pilar?

PILAR: I’m fine, Jack. Thank you.

JACK: She’s going to be okay.

JASON: No she’s not.

JACK: Come on, kid-JASON: You heard what the doctor said. She could go at any time.

JACK: Or she could live to be a hundred. My friend Mike Brill got diagnosed with this five years ago and he’s still writing bad screenplays.

JASON: I don’t give a shit about Mike Brill!

PILAR: Jason-JACK: You’re upset. We’re all upset. But let’s try to be positive, okay?

JASON: Why did she have to keep pushing her?

JACK: What are you talking about?

JASON: Mom and all her fucking questions. Baubie was tired. We were all taking a break. But she had to take over, the way she always does.

JACK: Your mom was finally getting answers to questions she’s been asking her entire life. I Spring 2016 Proscenium 99

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think we can give her a pass on this one.

JASON: Of course you’d say that.

JACK: Excuse me?

JASON: You defend her, even when you know she’s wrong.

JACK: Are we talking about right now or is this some bigger fish you’re frying?

JASON: That’s really clever, Jack. Maybe you should be a writer.

PILAR: Jason, stop this-JASON: But that might get in the way of your real job...which is to make sure she always gets her way.

JACK: Okay, that’s enough.

JASON: You don’t tell me “that’s enough.” I’m not twelve.

JACK: Then stop acting like it.

JASON: Fuck you, Jack.

PILAR: Jason!

JASON: (to Pilar)You’ve said it yourself...what kind of man puts up with shit like he does? Am I wrong?

PILAR: Yes. Right now you are.

JASON: You called him a pussy.

PILAR: (to Jack)I apologize. For myself and for my husband.

JASON: Don’t apologize for me!

PILAR: Your grandmother’s sick. And you’re behaving like a child.

JASON: Well thanks so much for your support!

PILAR: You want me to say you’re right when you’re wrong? Isn’t that what you just accused Jack of?

JASON: Then just stay out of it, Pilar...Okay?

PILAR: Oh, I’ll stay way out of it.

Pissed, she gets up to go, turning on him: PILAR (CONT’D) You’re being an asshole!

JASON: Fine. Then I’m an asshole.

She moves toward the door.

JASON (CONT’D) Where are you going?

PILAR: Brazil! Chupador!

And she’s gone.

JACK: Chupador?

JASON: It means cocksucker in Portugeuse.

JACK: (smiles) Ouch.

JASON: This isn’t funny.

JACK: No, it isn’t. But if you’re looking to blame somebody besides me and your mother and everyone else in this house...why don’t you throw a spear at Dr. Drell. (on his look) The ancient quack Bess goes to in Omaha. This would have been diagnosed a year ago by any competent doctor. Bess should never have been allowed to even get on that plane. But then that would have ruined your plans, wouldn’t it.

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JASON: What’s that supposed to mean?

JACK: (shrugs)Can’t make a movie without a leading lady.

JASON: So now this is our fault?

JACK: No, godamnit! You’re not getting it, Jason! Once you start assigning blame to things you can’t stop. Don’t you see that? It’s nobody’s fault. Bess could’ve passed out sipping coffee or roasting one of her goddamn chickens. An undiagnosed illness and old age. That’s whose fault it is. It’s life’s fault.

Jason takes this in.

JACK (CONT’D) Didn’t any of this touch you?

JASON: What?

JACK: What the two of them were saying to one another...or in Bess’s case not saying. There was some pretty profound family shit going on out there if you’d been paying attention...instead of waiting for your mother to fuck up so you could justify your anger.

JASON: I don’t have to justify anything.

JACK: Then why come here in the first place? Why show up with your new wife and your movie camera to spend time with someone you can’t stand?

JASON: She called Immigration on us.

JACK: No, she didn’t.

JASON: Why, because she told you?

JACK: No, because I’ve spent the past twenty years living with that woman and it’s just not something she would do, that’s all. Oh, she’d think about it. She’d roll it around that complicated head of hers and obsess for weeks on end. But she wouldn’t sneak something like that through the back door. She’d tell you about it first. And somewhere inside that hurt and pissed off heart of yours you know that’s the truth.

Then they hear the door slam.

JACK (CONT’D) That would be your wife, walking out. Are you going to do anything about it?

Jason glares at him, then gets up and moves off. Jack shakes his head and pads over to the liquor cabinet where he picks up a glass and is about to pour some scotch. He hesitates, staring at the glass for a long beat as Dinah enters.

DINAH: You can pour me one, too, if you don’t mind.

JACK: It might be a little early.

DINAH: Even for you?

JACK: Even for me. But if you want one...

She smiles and shakes her head.

DINAH: No. I really don’t.

He puts the bottle down.

JACK: So how is she?

DINAH: Sleeping. Finally. You could give my mother a horse tranquilizer and she wouldn’t bat an eye. Always afraid she’s going to miss something.

Dinah moves over to the couch and sits down, exhausted. Jack moves over to join her.

JACK: I talked to Steven. Told him we’d fly Bess out there in a day or two. So they’re not coming.

DINAH: Good. That’ll be one less guilt trip for me to manage.

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JACK: Your brother understands what happened.

DINAH: But he’ll still think I should have kept my mouth shut. And he would be right about that.

JACK: I disagree.

DINAH: Yes, I heard. Nice speech. Thanks. (on his look) Too bad my loving son believes I tried to murder his grandmother.

JACK: Jason needed somebody to take it out on.

DINAH: Wonder where he learned that? (pauses) You don’t have to come with me, you know. To Omaha.

JACK: Of course I’m coming with you.

DINAH: But you don’t have to.

JACK: Dinah, let’s stop this, okay? I care about Bess. I care about you. We’re a family. A profoundly fucked up family, yes, but I haven’t run into too many that aren’t.

DINAH: So I won’t be forwarding your mail to Kenny Bernstein’s house?

JACK: Not this week.

DINAH: But maybe next?

JACK: Dinah-DINAH: Are you going to make me beg, Jack? Because I will. And if that doesn’t work I’ll drive to Arrowhead and burn the goddamn house down--and you know I’m capable of doing that.

JACK: You would, wouldn’t you.

DINAH: Damn right I would.

Dinah and Jack just stare at one another.

DINAH (CONT’D) So? JACK: So? DINAH: What do you say?

JACK: I’m staying, as we discussed.

DINAH: But you’re still planning to leave.

JACK: Jesus Christ-DINAH: Either leave or stay, Jack! I don’t need “maybe” right now!

JACK: You want to push this like you push everything else? Has that ever fucking worked for you?!

DINAH: No! JACK: Then why do you keep doing it?

DINAH: I want you to forgive me!

JACK: Then make peace, godamnit!

DINAH: I’m trying!

JACK: Stop trying and just do it. Because until you’re able to, nothing changes. Nothing! (softly) Make peace, Dinah. With everybody. Beginning with yourself.

Dinah digests this for a beat. Then, emotional: DINAH: I didn’t want her to die, Jackie.

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JACK: Of course you don’t.

DINAH: Maybe that’s why she started to tell her story. Because she knows it’s close to the end.

JACK: Maybe.

DINAH: We haven’t resolved...anything.

JACK: Basia Noble is a resilient woman. The Nazis couldn’t kill her. Old Dr. Drell couldn’t finish her off. She’ll leave this world when she’s damn well good and ready. And she’s not ready yet.

DINAH: How do you know?

JACK: Because she’s your mother. And that’s what your family does. They fight.

DINAH: Even for lost causes?

JACK: Especially those.

DINAH: I love you, Jack. (on his look) You don’t have to answer that. Unless you want to, of course.

JACK: I love you, too.

DINAH: You do know I’d stalk you like an animal if you left me.

JACK: And then you’d have to shoot me. Have me stuffed and mounted and hung on the wall.

DINAH: You’d be mine forever.

JACK: What room would we put me in?

DINAH: I’d move you around, keep you off balance.

JACK: Just like always.

DINAH: Just like always.

Jack holds her and lets Dinah rest her head on his shoulder. Dinah looks up as Jason enters. It’s awkward.

JASON: Hey...

JACK: (nods) Jason...

JASON: (to Dinah) How’s Baubie?

DINAH: She’s resting.

JASON: Did you talk to the doctor?

DINAH: (nods) She is not in any imminent danger. Otherwise we would have forced her to go to the hospital.

JASON: Okay.

DINAH: I just thought you should know my assassination attempt was unsuccessful.

JASON: I didn’t say that.

DINAH: Really?

Jason shoots a look at Jack who shrugs.

JACK: Your mother has the ears of a Vulcan. Except when it comes to listening to me.

DINAH: I’m listening, Jack. I heard everything you said.

JASON: So what happens now? You want me to apologize? Okay. Fine I apologize.

DINAH: That was so heartfelt.

JASON: What do you want me to say?

DINAH: You don’t have to say anything to me. But you do have to apologize to Jack. He puts up with more from all of us than any man should have to.

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JASON: Sorry, Jack. I said a bunch of shit I didn’t mean.

JACK: You probably did mean some of it but that’s okay. Where’s Pilar?

JASON: Outside, talking to her mom.

JACK: Did you work everything out?

JASON: Yeah, I guess so. We thought we’d head up the coast for a few days. Stay with some friends in San Francisco. But I wanted to make sure Baubie was okay first.

DINAH: She’ll be fine.

JASON: All right.

DINAH: What about your movie?

JASON: There obviously isn’t going to be any movie.

DINAH: Why not?

JASON: Seriously?

DINAH: You and Pilar came here to make a movie, didn’t you?

JACK: Dinah-DINAH: This isn’t me being difficult, Jack. I swear to you on my life.

JASON: We’re going to scrub the movie. Pilar’s giving back the grant.

DINAH: Has she already done it?

JASON: When we get back to New York.

DINAH: Then there’s still time.

Dinah gets up, moves toward the door, opens it and calls out: DINAH (CONT’D) Pilar? Could you come in here please?

JASON: What are you doing?

DINAH: Get the camera and set it up.

JASON: Mom...stop this.

Pilar enters, tentative.

PILAR: Is everything...okay?

DINAH: No, Pilar...everything is awful. Most of that because of me. So I need to make it less awful if I possibly can. Sit down. Please. (to Jason) The camera?

As Pilar sits, Jason moves over to a corner and picks up the camera. Dinah turns to Pilar: DINAH (CONT’D) You wanted a story of what it was like to grow up in a family of holocaust survivors. My mother told you her part of it, or at least as much as she could. I can only tell you my half...if you’re still interested.

PILAR: You don’t have to do this.

DINAH: Actually, I do.

Pilar looks at Jason.

JASON: What do you want me to do?

PILAR: I don’t know...

JASON: Mom-DINAH: You begged me to be a part of this. Now I’m begging you to let me.

JASON: Why? What’s it going to prove?

DINAH: Probably nothing. Call it the act of a desperate woman. A mother, a daughter, a wife...

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trying to be understood by the people she loves.

There’s a long, tension-filled pause. Then: PILAR: Turn on the camera.

JASON: Are you sure?

PILAR: Yes. DINAH: Thank you, Pilar.

PILAR: How do you want to start?

DINAH: I’ll talk. Then you can interrupt. That’s how most people have learned to communicate with me.

This brings a thin smile to both Pilar and Dinah.

PILAR: All right.

JACK: Do you want me here for this?

DINAH: I would but I’m not going to force you to. You’ve heard this story.

JACK: Maybe not all of it.

DINAH: Then yes. I would like you to stay, Jack. Very, very much. (to Pilar) So how should we do this?

PILAR: Start with your earliest memory.

DINAH: Well, that would be me spitting up on my mother’s brand new sweater at Bergen Belson.

PILAR: You lived at Bergen Belson?

DINAH: I was born there. It was a DP camp after the war...Displaced Persons...and God were we ever. Nowhere to go, no one who wanted us. They placed the families in the solders’ barracks so it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. But all you had to do was look across the yard and you’d see the death camp, smell the ovens. Home, sweet home.

PILAR: Did your parents meet there?

DINAH: (nods) My mother and Uncle Jake were living there. They’d been reunited somehow. It was a miracle to find any family in those days. Daddy was making the rounds to try to find his.

PILAR: Rounds?

DINAH: Going to all the camps to see if there was anyone. That’s what survivors did after they were liberated. They’d go from place to place looking for parents, siblings, children...there were lists they exchanged of who had lived and who hadn’t. That’s the only way most of them knew what had happened to their families. Daddy never found anyone. His family had all been murdered. But I guess he heard there were some pretty girls at Bergen Belson so he hitched a ride on one of the Army trucks and that’s where he met my mother. She was dancing. Mom loved to dance. So daddy being daddy...my father didn’t have a whole lot of finesse...walked right up to her and asked her to teach him. She spent the next fifty-five years trying but he never really learned.

PILAR: Did they have a long courtship?

DINAH: God, no! There was no time for that. In those days you met, you liked each other well enough and then you got married and started a family. I came along a year later. I was something of a celebrity, too...the first child born in the DP camp. I’ve been trying to live up to it ever since.

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PILAR: How long were you there?

DINAH: Three years.

PILAR: (surprised)Three years?!

DINAH: You had to be sponsored to go anywhere else. You needed family or friends to vouch that you weren’t a criminal or a Nazi...and there were some of those, too, by the way. It finally came down to a choice: Israel or New York. Daddy wanted Israel. But my mother convinced him to choose New York and God how he hated it.

PILAR: How come?

DINAH: No trees, no gardens. Daddy worked on a farm before the war and he loved to grow things. Israel, of course, would have been perfect for that but by then it wasn’t an option anymore. So we ended up in Omaha, Nebraska...a place where there were fewer Jews than just about anywhere else in the world...and the ones who were there absolutely hated us.

PILAR: They hated you? Why? DINAH: We were an embarrassment to them, I suppose. A symbol of impotence and defeat.

The Nazis tried to exterminate us and we just stood by and let them...or so they imagined. They called us “greenas.” Kids used to tease me and tell me I smelled funny. Parents wouldn’t let their children play with me. I hated it there. I wanted to go back and live at the relocation camp.

That was my real home. But there was no more going back. We were going to become Americans if it killed us. We would look like them, act like them, be like them so no one would ever know where we came from. My mother eventually made friends with some of the American Jews who used to ridicule her. Daddy became a football fan. Go Big Red! And we all went to school and blended in as best we could because my mother insisted on it. We would never be greenas again. We would never be less than...anyone. But I don’t think I ever lost that feeling of otherness. I was the European child named for a little girl who died in the camps. I was their hope and their disappointment because, as it turned out, I wasn’t perfect, I didn’t shine brightly enough to make up for all those terrible, terrible losses.

All are listening raptly as Dinah relives this. Then, trying to lighten the mood: DINAH (CONT’D) Well, that’s a drag, isn’t it. I actually had a pretty good time in school. I was popular. Boys liked me. I was smart.

PILAR: But you were sad.

DINAH: Yes. I was. I’ve always been sad.

Dinah takes a beat, composing herself.

DINAH (CONT’D) Could we stop please?

PILAR: Of course.

DINAH: I don’t mean forever, just...I could use a glass of water.

Jack moves to the pitcher and pours as Dinah takes a deep breath and shakes her head.

DINAH (CONT’D) MeMeMeMeMe... (on her look) What I sound like to myself. My parents went through the holocaust but I had a lonely, barren childhood. Poor, poor Dinah. What a crock.

Jack arrives, hands her the water.

DINAH (CONT’D) Thanks.

JACK: Why are judging yourself?

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DINAH: Because everything I say sounds so goddamn...ordinary.

JACK: It isn’t. It wasn’t.

DINAH: Thanks for that, honey, but somehow my small slice of misery pales in comparison to theirs.

JACK: They survived, Dinah.

DINAH: I know...

JACK: They came to this country with nothing in the world and created new families. More Jews. It was a massive fuck you, Hitler!

DINAH: (smiles)That’s right...fuck him!

JACK: So celebrate that.

DINAH: I do...

JACK: And stop feeling diminished because you weren’t able to spend six years in a concentration camp along with them. They wouldn’t want any part of that. Especially your dad.

DINAH: Well you would know better than anyone. He talked to you.

JACK: Yes, he certainly did.

DINAH: (to Pilar)It was a Thanksgiving tradition. The guys would watch football and my dad would corner Jack in the den and tell him Nazi stories.

JASON: We all felt bad for him.

PILAR: Well yes...with all your grandfather had gone through.

JASON: I meant...we felt sorry for Jack.

PILAR: Jason, that’s terrible!

JASON: It’s true. We did.

DINAH: My father tended to repeat himself. He also spoke with his mouth full which meant the conversation would be punctuated by chunks of flying matza.

JACK: I didn’t mind.

DINAH: No, you were very sweet with him...which was nice of you considering he wouldn’t acknowledge your existence for the first ten years of our marriage.

PILAR: Because you weren’t Jewish?

JACK: (nods) I was the first goy. We pioneers always have it the roughest.

DINAH: I finally told them we wouldn’t be going back for Thanksgiving anymore unless they treated my husband like a member of the family.

JASON: (asides to Pilar) Gee, I wonder what that’s like?

DINAH: I heard that.

JASON: A joke, mom.

DINAH: Why are your jokes so seldom funny? And usually at my expense?

JASON: I’m sorry. It just slipped out.

DINAH: Okay. Well this isn’t a joke.

Dinah turns to Pilar.

DINAH (CONT’D) I’m officially acknowledging you, Pilar. You are married to my son. You are my daughter-in-law. If or when you have children, they will be my grandchildren. I will love them unconditionally and you will all be welcome in my house. Is that satisfactory to you?

PILAR: Yes. It is.

DINAH: Now can we please move on?

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JASON: I appreciate it, too, mom. Thank you. It means a lot.

The warm look that passes between mother and son makes Dinah emotional. She steels herself: DINAH: So where were we?

PILAR: Your family. You and your parents.

DINAH: Well you can see how it is with my mother and me. We’re...what’s the word? There are too many words. We don’t like each other.

PILAR: Has it always been that way?

DINAH: As far back as I can remember. My mother and I just never connected in any real way. I had a mouth on me, surprise, surprise, and she regularly smacked it whenever I said something to displease her...which was most of the time, I guess. So I finally learned to lay low, duck under the shrapnel and keep out of her way.

PILAR: That must have been difficult.

DINAH: I counted the days until I was eighteen and could leave. My mother did everything she could to make me stay. Bribery. Threats. Everything in her vast arsenal of guilt. But I was determined to leave. And I never went back.

PILAR: How did your father react to that?

DINAH: Silently. We never had much to say to each other. Well, that’s not entirely true. When I was little I was a bonafide daddy’s girl.

PILAR: Yes? DINAH: Every Sunday daddy used to take me out for pepperment bon bon ice cream and a movie. It was our tradition. Just the two of us. I remember ”There’s No Business Like Show Business” with Ethel Merman because she was so loud. That was the last one, I think. And then it stopped. I was five-years-old.

PILAR: What happened?

DINAH: My brother Steven was born. Or, as we call him in our family: The Messiah.

PILAR: (nods) The first son.

DINAH: And oh how they adored him, especially my mother. To this day if Steven calls or spends any time with her she glows. I think he’s the love of her life.

PILAR: I have one of those, too. Leonel. Or, as my mother says to her friends: My Son Leonel The Doctor.

DINAH: (smiles) Long name.

PILAR: And like you I became...mais antigo. The oldest. The groyser.

DINAH: So you know.

PILAR: (nods) It was hard having your parents all to yourself and then suddenly there’s this little rival.

DINAH: With a penis.

PILAR: Exactly.

DINAH: And no matter what you did they weren’t really looking at you anymore. Couldn’t really...see you.

PILAR: I wouldn’t say it was like that for me.

DINAH: Well you were probably a lot easier to get along with than I was.

PILAR: So you felt disconnected from both your parents?

DINAH: More or less.

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PILAR: Were any of your friends children of holocaust survivors?

DINAH: There were a few. We knew most of the Jews in Omaha on a first-name basis. My best friend Francie Cohen’s parents were survivors.

PILAR: And her experience was similar to yours?

DINAH: God no. Not even close. Mrs. Cohen thought Francie was the smartest, most beautiful girl in the whole world.

PILAR: Was she?

DINAH: Francie had an unfortunate nose. And an ass the size of a spaceship. Nice girl. Terrific friend. But no, not someone anybody but a mother would call attractive. Which always made me wonder...how come my mom never went on and on like that with me? I was prettier than Francie. I got better grades. So I asked her.

PILAR: What did she say?

DINAH: (mimics) “That’s for other people to say, Dinah! Not for me!” And I wanted to scream at her. No, mom, it is for you to say. It would mean so much to me if you would say it. But she never did. I was the girl. The daughter. The groyser. Never the pretty girl. Never the smart daughter. Never her.

There’s silence at this. The harshness of Bess’ words and Dinah’s tearful response resonating with Pilar and Jason.

JASON: That’s awful, mom. I never knew any of that.

DINAH: I didn’t want you to think badly of your grandmother. I imagine I was trying to protect you just like she thought she was protecting me. Funny how that works, isn’t it?

Turns to Pilar.

DINAH (CONT’D) My mother compliments me now, of course. Tells me how good I look. But I don’t need it now. I needed it then.

Dinah is fighting tears, shaking her head.

DINAH (CONT’D) God...don’t you think there should be a statute of limitations on childhood pain?

PILAR: Only if it’s resolved.

DINAH: Well, my mother and I are probably never going to get there. I did make peace with my dad, though.

PILAR: Yes? DINAH: He had Alzheimers, I think I told you that. And it was horrible. All he could remember were the Nazis coming after him, chasing him, haunting him. So cruel. The aneuryism that finally killed him was a gift because it could have gone on that way for years. Anyway, After it happened my sister calls and tells me daddy is dying...to get home as quickly as I could.

Nobody thought I’d make it in time. But when I got to the hospital daddy was still there...barely conscious but still there. I took his hand and he squeezed it and said: “Devorrah...you came...”

And in that moment, seeing him so vulnerable...seeing the life literally leaving his body...I forgave him... for everything. We spent his last night on earth together, just the two of us...like it was when I was little.

PILAR: And I would imagine when Bess passed out it brought everything back?

DINAH: (nods) I’m so used to her being strong and indomitable it still doesn’t seem real to me she’s almost 80-years-old. I’ll be a complete mess when she goes. I’ll cry all the tears we could Spring 2016 Proscenium 109

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never cry together.

Dinah looks up to see Bess standing there, Dinah’s sweater around her shoulders.

DINAH (CONT’D) Mom, what are you doing up?

BESS: I heard voices.

DINAH: You need to go back to bed.

BESS: I feel fine.

DINAH: You have congestive heart failure, mom! You are not fine!

Bess moves to sit down.

BESS: I want to go home now.

Dinah looks up at Jack who nods. Then at Jason and Pilar. Jason has turned off the camera and taken Pilar’s hand.

BESS (CONT’D) Please.

LIGHTS DIM. ACT TWO: SCENE THREE LIGHTS UP on suitcases near the front door. Jason and Pilar are with Dinah and Jack has just gotten off the phone.

JACK: I got us the red eye.

DINAH: Did you use miles? (on his look) Forget I said that. It doesn’t matter. Thank you, Jack.

JASON: You sure baubie’s okay to travel?

DINAH: She’ll feel better once she gets home. But I’m afraid baubie’s traveling days are over.

JASON: This all turned into a big, fucking mess. I’m sorry, mom.

DINAH: Could we please start a new family tradition, beginning right now?

JASON: What’s that?

DINAH: No more apologies. I think we’ve all had enough of those to last several lifetimes.

JASON: Works for me.

DINAH: And while we’re at let’s also try and minimize the use of the work “fuck” in casual conversation. We were both raised better than that.

JASON: (smiles) Yes, we were.

DINAH: (to Pilar) Did you call Flo? PILAR: This morning. Thank you, Dinah.

JASON: Flo? DINAH: One of my many old shrinks. She runs a group for children of holocaust survivors and I gave her permission to talk about me to her heart’s content.

JASON: So you’re still on board with the movie?

DINAH: I have an investment now. (to Pilar) I’ll finish the rest of my part when you come to Omaha for Thanksgiving.

JASON: Wait a minute...Thanksgiving?

DINAH: Auntie Rae will be inviting you...unless you have other plans.

JASON: Well, we were kind of-110 Proscenium Spring 2016

PILAR: (over)We’ll be there. (to Jason) Right, baby?

JASON: Right.

He embraces Dinah.

JASON (CONT’D) Thanks, mom.

DINAH: I’m not a quick learner, but I do learn.

JASON: When I went in to say goodbye Baubie gave me a thousand bucks.

DINAH: I know. Her CD matured.

JASON: She didn’t have to.

DINAH: Baubie feels bad she couldn’t help more with the movie. This is her way of repaying you. So do something frivolous. Take a trip. Buy something stupid.

PILAR: We need a new couch.

Dinah smiles, shoots a look to Pilar.

DINAH: You’re growing on me, Pilar. I’m glad that bus missed you.

JASON: What bus?

DINAH: A private joke. Pilar will explain.

Jack picks up a suitcase.

JACK: Let me help you with those bags, kid.

JASON: Sure, Jack, thanks.

Jason nods, grabs a suitcase and the two exit. Pilar holds back. A beat, then: DINAH: So, I’m curious about something, Pilar. And you don’t have to admit this if you don’t want to, but...

PILAR: What?

DINAH: Were you really doing to give up that grant?

Pilar pauses, then: PILAR: No. I would have figured out a way to do it without you. But I’m glad I didn’t have to.

DINAH: So am I, as it turns out.

PILAR: It was Carlos, by the way.

DINAH: Carlos?

PILAR: He’s the one who called Immigration.

DINAH: How did you find out?

PILAR: His mother told my mother. And then I called him and he admitted it.

DINAH: That must have been an interesting conversation.

PILAR: I don’t think he’ll be missing me so much after what I told him. And I’m very sorry, Dinah. For suspecting you.

DINAH: I would have suspected me, too.

PILAR: It’s still no excuse.

DINAH: Does Jason know?

PILAR: I was planning to tell him this morning. But I wanted to tell you first.

DINAH: Tell him on the plane.

PILAR: How come?

DINAH: It’ll give him an excuse to call me when you get to San Francisco.

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Pilar smiles. Then extends her hand: PILAR: You’re a very interesting woman, Dinah.

DINAH: So are you, Pilar.

Jack and Jason return. Jason to Pilar: JASON: Ready, baby?

PILAR: Yes. Jason embraces his mom.

JASON: I love you, mom.

DINAH: I love you, too, honey. And please just for me get a haircut one day?

JASON: Okay, just for you...one day.

Another embrace. And then they’re out the door, Jack hangs back.

JACK: You going to be okay while I drive them to the airport?

DINAH: I think mom and I can be alone for a little while longer.

JACK: You look-DINAH: Happy?

JACK: Better.

DINAH: That’s a start, I suppose. And I’ve noticed, by the way.

JACK: Noticed what?

DINAH: There hasn’t been your usual bee-line to the bar lately.

JACK: (shrugs) Haven’t felt like it.

DINAH: (smiles) Then maybe we’re both making some progress.

JACK: Maybe.

A sweet kiss at the door and then Jack exits. Then she closes the door and turns to see Bess standing there, fully dressed with her suitcase on the floor.

DINAH: We’re not leaving yet, mom.

BESS: I wanted to be ready.

DINAH: Sit down. Let me make you some tea.

BESS: No, tea gives me-DINAH: Gas...I forgot.

Bess sits down. She seems a little agitated.

BESS: Did Jason and...

DINAH: Pilar.

BESS: Did they leave?

DINAH: A few minutes ago. Jack’s diving them to the airport. And that was very nice of you to give them the money.

BESS: I have enough money. Are they mad at me?

DINAH: No, mom. Nobody’s mad. They understand. We all understand.

BESS: Good. I don’t like it when people are mad.

A brief silence, then: BESS (CONT’D) Your father did know how to dance.

DINAH: What?

BESS: When you were telling them how we met you said he couldn’t dance. He could dance.

DINAH: How long were you listening?

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BESS: Long enough.

DINAH: So you heard everything.

BESS: Dad counted the steps out loud which was irritating, but he had...what would you call it?

DINAH: Rhythym.

BESS: That was it. Rhythym.

DINAH: (smiles)You are one of a kind, Basia.

BESS: Why do you call me that?

DINAH: I always thought it was a pretty name. And you were pretty, too, mom. I still have the old pictures.

BESS: I wasn’t so bad looking.

DINAH: Better than that.

BESS: We were a good-looking family.

DINAH: That’s something, isn’t it?

BESS: I wanted to remember more for Jason’s movie, but-DINAH: You don’t have to explain anything, mom. Okay? Thank you for telling me as much as you did. And please forgive me asking for more.

BESS: You want me to forgive you?

DINAH: (nods) It was your story and your right to tell as much or as little of it as you wanted without me hounding you. I was just so excited to finally hear it. Anyway, please forgive me for that...and for so many other things.

BESS: What...other things?

DINAH: For making fun of you for not throwing away rotten food...as if I had to right to judge someone who saw people starve to death. For rolling my eyes when you mispronounced a word or didn’t understand something right away. All I’ve ever done with you is to look for all the ways you’re not who I wanted you to be...instead of appreciating who you are. You worked like a dog for us. We always had a home-cooked meal, even after you spent all day in the shop with dad. I got my intelligence from you. I got my work ethic, my strength. And if I’ve never thanked you properly for that I’m thanking you now. This isn’t me being a smart ass for once.

This is your daughter being grateful. So thanks, mom.

A long look passes between them and a smile forms on Bess’s face.

BESS: You’re welcome.

DINAH: (smiles) Of course you’d say that.

BESS: What?

DINAH: Nothing, mom. It’s all okay.

Bess pauses for a beat. Then: BESS: When we first went to the camps and understood what the Germans were doing to us there was very little hope that any of us would make it out of there alive...But still we prayed: Please, God, let me have a loaf of bread in front of me so I could have as much as I wanted. So I could live. All our best years, our young years were taken away from us...and all we had left was to work and dream of some day having a life, a family...and we were lucky...

DINAH: You call yourself lucky?

BESS: Yes! Because we made it. We were still alive when so many weren’t. And I made a promise to God that my children were going to college because I couldn’t... that they would be treatSpring 2016 Proscenium 113

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ed with respect not like something less than human...

When you were born and dad and I held you for the first time there were so many tears of joy.

We had teken all the tragedy, the death, the humiliation...and we’d beaten them. We were still here. You, Devorrah, named for my sister. Your brother, Steven, Hebrew name Shmuel...after my father. Your sister Rachel...Raikel...named for dad’s mother...No children were more loved than you. We maybe didn’t say the words to you the way you would have liked. But in our hearts we felt it to be true.

Dinah moves over to Bess and embraces her.

DINAH: Thank you, mom. Thank you for that.

Bess just looks at her, fighting emotions, almost willing the tears not to flow. She suddenly, spontaneously reaches out and touches Dinah’s face.

DINAH (CONT’D) What, mom? What is it?

BESS: My shayna maidela...my sweet miracle child.

DINAH: Not always so sweet.

BESS: Sweet enough.

And at this Bess allows herself to be pulled close in Dinah’s embrace as the LIGHTS DIM. CURTAIN CLOSES.

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M Interview y with Dan O’Brien Birthday Party

Fall 2015 Proscenium 115

A Conversation With Dan O’Brien in co-production with Royal & Derngate in Northampton, England, gave the play an outstanding second incarnation (with a script a good half-hour shorter). The Wilma Theater produced the play last winter; this winter it’s set to run off-Broadway at the Cherry Lane Theatre, following an opening in Hartford, in a co-production between Primary Stages and It’s been a twisty road, as is often (usually?)

Hartford Stage, directed by Jo Bonney. Sepathe case. I was researching and corresponding rate productions are planned for Theatre J in in a pretty formless way with Paul Watson (the Washington DC, and Stage Left in Chicago, Pulitzer Prize-winning war reporter who is both in the spring of 2016. the subject of The Body of an American) for almost two years before I received the McKThroughout this same period, I wrote two colnight National Residency & Commission from lections of poems about Watson, War Reporter the Playwrights’ Center in Minneapolis, which (2013) and New Life (2015), both of which provided some money and the opportunity for found publishers in the US and the UK. I also workshops. In-process drafts received grants adapted The Body of an American into a onefrom Sundance Theatre Lab as well as Theact chamber opera with Stanford composer atre Communications Group, both of which Jonathan Berger, entitled The War Reporter, allowed me to finally meet Paul Watson in part of a longer opera called Visitations that person in Ulukhaktok, in the Canadian High premiered at Stanford University, played at the Arctic, in February 2010, where he was covPrototype Festival in New York City in 2014, ering the “Arctic and aboriginal beat” for the and will come to Chicago’s Harris Theater in a Toronto Star. new production in 2017.

Your recent play, The Body of an American, has achieved enormous success. After premiering at Portland Center Stage, the play went on to win the Horton Foote Prize, the Edward M. Kennedy Prize, and the PEN Center USA Award for Drama. Can you tell us more about the journey of this play?

As a completed draft, the play entered the phase of readings and workshops at places like the New Harmony Project, Pioneer Theatre in Salt Lake City, and, most importantly, the JAW Festival at Portland Center Stage — important because Portland premiered the play the following season, in 2012, and we were incredibly lucky to find a first-rate director for that first production in Bill Rauch, artistic director of Oregon Shakespeare Festival.

Despite the production’s strongly positive reception, and some of the above-mentioned awards, the keenest interest for a second production came from the UK. The Gate Theatre, 116 Proscenium Spring 2016

I’m also writing a new play about Watson this year as part of a Guggenheim Fellowship, about his time in Syria and our concurrent, mostly tragicomic attempts to transmute those experiences into Hollywood gold.

Perhaps it’s best to say that I’ve come to accept over many years of writing that you cannot control who likes what you write, if anyone does, and that it usually takes time, often a lot of time, to find those people, or for those people to find you and your work. With The Body of an American I’ve been lucky: Paul’s story seems to have moved a lot of people, as

it did—and still does—move and inspire me.

What inspires you?

Writing inspires me, this gift of a life in which I can endeavor to live an examined life (it’s not often easy), to write about that which is challenging and changing me most. This has always been my goal. I don’t write well for others—that’s mostly why I don’t write TV or screenplays—and, perhaps as a consequence, a lot of what I’ve written remains unproduced and unpublished. But I lose my inspiration quickly if I’m thinking too much about a socalled audience or, heavens forbid, producers.

When I began, writing was as much an escape from life as a wrestling with it. This was certainly true in childhood. I wrote almost unconsciously and was often delighted and terrified by what seemed to arrive on the page. This self-therapy was basically the point. But about ten years ago I began to feel the immense solitude of this endeavor. Perhaps I was also disappointed with the “product” of writing literature, and literary drama, and I began to value even more the opportunity that art can allow for connection with other artists—other people in general who happen to be searching creatively. So I’ve been inspired lately by collaborations, with musicians, composers, painters, and of course with all of the artists whose talents must come to bear in bringing a play to life.

What kind of theatre excites you?

I try to write the kind of play I think I want to see. I doubt I’ve ever achieved that. But I enjoy plays that make me feel confused, provoked, delighted, dealt with honestly, provided with many moments of earned beauty. I want a play to wake me up. I’m thinking mostly about

the writing here, but these qualities apply to everything involved in a theatrical experience.

My God it’s complicated if not ineffable when it happens. And it’s all hopelessly subjective.

I often seem to like theatre that many other people seem to dislike, and I dislike theatre that many people seem to adore. So perhaps I have bad taste.

You are currently working on a commission with Center Theatre Group, in addition to a joint commission with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and the Public Theater about the history of guns in America. Can you tell us more about these two commissions?

The commission for Center Theatre Group is also that Guggenheim Fellowship play I mentioned: about Paul Watson, Syria, the rise of ISIS, the demise of journalism, and “selling war” in Hollywood. While Paul was covering Syria, he and I were developing a cable TV pitch about Western journalists covering Syria, and this play is derived from both Paul’s experiences as well as our fictional ideas. Oregon Shakespeare Festival’s American Revolutions Cycle and the Public Theater recently co-commissioned me to write a play about the history of guns in the US, and I’m still in the research phase of things. It couldn’t be a more timely yet timeless topic right now, obviously.

I’m also writing something new for Portland Center Stage about Sasquatch, UFOs, and cancer, with my old friend Kid Millions (aka John Colpitts) of the band Oneida, that’s shaping up to be a “percussion-based experimental chamber rock opera.” Or at least that’s what I’ve been calling it.

Spring 2016 Proscenium 117

What advice do you have for playwrights starting out?

It’s kind of cheeky but I mean it: don’t take advice. Or don’t take much. Art is so much more subjective than we want to believe, and artists can have their hearts broken, or just confused, by everybody’s heartfelt opinion.

Most dangerous are the opinions of people you like, love, admire. Try to stay close to that aspect of your art that’s least conscious, to write about that which is most meaningful to you, which is often what you find most frightens you. I don’t know if I believe this entirely, but maybe read less, see less, while writing more.

Or read and “see” that which truly instigates a meaningful creative response in you, and avoid all the rest.

What is something most people do not know about you?

ed by my recent collaborations with composers like Jonathan Berger and artists like Tom De Freston, who is a Brit creating paintings in response to my new poetry collection, New Life. The plan is then to see how his paintings will influence the composition of my play about Syria and Hollywood.

I’m a fairly obsessive sort: my subjects tend to get worked out over various projects, in various genres, with the boundaries between these genres inevitably, purposefully blurred. I’ve been told I write poems like a playwright, and plays like a poet, and that’s mostly okay with me.

You have taught playwriting at Princeton University and a number of other places.

How does your work as a teacher influence your work as an artist?

I have loved teaching—the ambition and optiThat I used to be funny. My two-year-old mism of new writers can be a kind of stimulant daughter thinks I still am. I met my wife, for a teacher. I’ve always tried to find a balactor and writer Jessica St. Clair, doing imance, however, between my own time to write prov comedy in our much younger days. My and my time to teach. I’ve been selfish this plays are often perceived as heavy or serious, way, and luckily I haven’t felt forced, economand they are, but you can’t tell a human story ically speaking, into teaching any more than without humor. Life is tragic and profound and I’ve wanted to. For the past eight years I’ve beautiful and boring, and it’s also absurd and only taught for twelve days at the Sewanee hilarious and silly—I hope my plays convey Writers’ Conference in Sewanee, Tennessee. some of that.

And Sewanee in and of itself has been an enormous influence for me, personally and arYou also write poetry and have written a tistically. Spending time with gifted poets and libretto for an Opera. How does your exfiction writers (in addition to playwrights) has perience working with other forms of art only enriched my sense of myself as a writer influence your work as a playwright? first and a genre-specific writer second.

I’m most inspired by work outside the genres in which I’m writing. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s simply reaching one’s forties and feeling jaded about one’s own forms, looking outside for inspiration, but I’ve felt rejuvenat118 Proscenium Spring 2016

It’s obvious, but the writing life can be quite lonely if not at times dispiriting, and, while usually I enjoy the solitude, teaching can balance things out a bit. It’s nice to see other human beings once in a while, other than the

Trader Joe’s clerk, the check-in folks at my gym, or my neighbors as they’re walking their dogs, too.

That said, I feel I’ve written better while teaching less. Against my better intentions, over a decade of teaching in the early aughts, I started to feel hemmed in creatively by my own ideas about what a play should or shouldn’t be. I now feel freer to write strangely, idiosyncratically, to take greater risks in style and subject.

Leaving New York City in late 2007 coincided with my departure from full-time teaching, and I’ve enjoyed this remove from NYC theatre as well. I love returning for visits, don’t get me wrong, but the distance, the isolation, has been a good thing for me.

What does the future look like for you?

I’ll be busy trying to write the commissions I mentioned, and traveling to take part, as much as I can, with the various productions of The Body of an American.

And I continue to write poems, as well as a prose memoir of my childhood that maybe in a year, or ten, will feel something close to finished.

Fall 2015 Proscenium 119

My Birthday Party Wei He

NIGHT VISITS

by

Simon Fill 120 Proscenium Fall 2015

A Conversation With the Playwright About the Playwright “Night Visits” won the Heideman Award from Actors Theatre of Louisville, where the play premiered in the Wintermezzo Festival. “Night Visits” received its New York premiere at HERE Arts Center, produced by Circle East Theatre Company. Simon was originally a member of the Playwrights Project, a small group of young playwrights nurtured by Circle Repertory Theatre. His plays have been produced in New York City, regionally, and internationally. “The Gift” was recently published

by Vintage Books in the anthology Plays For Two. He was an A.S.K. American exchange playwright at the Royal Court Theatre, and his full-length play Post Punk Life received a month-long developmental production by Lincoln Center Theatre Directors Lab. He was awarded a playwriting residency and fellowship by Yaddo, where he began his full-length play Burning Cities. Burning Cities won an international competition, the BETC Generations Award, in 2015, and Boulder Ensemble Theatre Company (BETC) workshopped the play at the Denver Center.

Simon has an MFA in Theatre from Sarah Lawrence, and taught playwriting Off-Broadway for years at the Women’s Project Theater, then at The New American Theatre School and the Boulder International Fringe Festival. He is a playwright member of Circle East Theatre Company, and a member of the Dramatists Guild.

What was your inspiration for the play?

I completed a year of medical school, then left to become a playwright—I had to make a choice between the two careers because my

full-length play Post Punk Life was offered a month long developmental production by Lincoln Center Theatre Directors Lab, and there would have been no way for me to participate while in medical school. The doctor in “Night Visits,” Tom, was inspired by doctors and doctors-in-training I knew and admired, and the grief I experienced losing family members, something that started to happen at the time I wrote the play.

What do you want the audience to come away with?

I want the audience and readers to come away from “Night Visits” with an honest sense of hope in the midst of tragedy. The hope doesn’t erase the tragedy, but gives a way to go on.

The character of Emily embodies that hope.

What projects are you working on now?

My agent Susan Schulman and I are beginning to market my new full-length play Burning Cities, which recently won an international competition, the BETC Generations Award, was workshopped by Boulder Ensemble Theatre Company (BETC) at the Denver Center, and is ready for its world premiere. The workshop with BETC was enormously helpful in developing the play. I cannot praise them and the actors enough. Their public staged reading of Burning Cities received a tremendous, wonderful audience response—it couldn’t have been better. I sat in the last row studying the reactions of the large audience at every moment of the staged reading, and afterwards I did a half hour audience talkback along with the director and head of the company, Stephen Weitz. I’ll always be grateful to BETC. It was Fall 2015 Proscenium 121

Night Visits Simon Fill

a privilege to see the play come to life.

Waiting for Godot, and Plenty.

I’m writing the second draft of another fulllength, Visitations, which just had an illuminating reading with terrific actors. Experienced actors can be so giving, and are essential to the development process of my plays.

What advice do you have for playwrights starting out?

What playwrights inspire you?

Those who take risks, show artistic and emotional courage, playwrights who push the art form forward, like Caryl Churchill, Tony Kushner, Martin Crimp, Sarah Ruhl, Will Eno. Among earlier playwrights, O’Neill, Williams, Beckett. The list could go on and on.

Why did you start writing plays?

I began writing as a poet, while an undergraduate at Cornell University, studying with wonderful poets there, who taught me a great deal.

Then I wrote a novel. When I went to Sarah Lawrence for graduate school in fiction writing, I was required to take two electives and chose playwriting and theatre directing. Those electives changed my life. I realized I had the ability to write dialogue, as well as, from being a poet, heightened language. I could hear characters speaking as I wrote, and I came to understand my storytelling has a dramatic sensibility. I switched in my second semester to a Master of Fine Arts in Theatre.

Write, write, write. Be honest in your writing. Read and reread Kenneth Thorpe Rowe’s book, Write That Play, and devour Aristotle’s Poetics. Break or bend dramatic principles only for good reason, and after you know how to use them. Kenneth Thorpe Rowe taught Arthur Miller and Milan Stitt, among others.

Is there anything else you would like to add?

In O’Neill’s time his plays were national bestsellers. I believe good plays deserve to be widely read as well as produced. Thank you, Proscenium Journal, for continuing this tradition.

What kind of theatre excites you?

Theatre that is honest, unsentimental, and breaks new ground. All great plays do this, and a part of it is the playwright’s original voice.

A directing teacher from graduate school, Paul Austin, told me any groundbreaking play will get mixed reviews initially. This is true for plays as different as The Glass Menagerie, 122 Proscenium Spring 2016

Night Visits is copyright © 2015 by Simon Fill. All inquiries regarding rights shall be sent to Susan Schulman (Schulman@aol. com). Performances of Night Visits are subject to royalty, and are fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America and all countries covered by the International Copyright Union. All rights, including professional and amateur productions, staged readings, television, motion picture, radio, translations, photocopies, and all other reproductions of this play are strictly reserved.

Night Visits Simon Fill

CHARACTERS TOM, a second-year resident in medicine, twenty-eight LIZ, a nurse, twenty-seven EMILY, gentle, looks about twenty-three Please feel free to cast this play with diverse actors.

The present An examination room in a hospital

TIME LOCATION

(A hospital examination room. White. Patient gowns hang all over. We hear wind outside. TOM lies on the examining table, asleep. Twenty-eight. In a doctor’s outfit. LIZ enters. Twenty-seven.

Nurse’s uniform. Quiet moment to herself, then notices the gowns and Tom.) TOM: (Eyes closed.) I’m not seeing patients anymore, Liz. (Quickly, lightly, sounding upbeat and energetic.) It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. Do you have a problem with it being over? You better not. Is it not really over? I don’t think so.

LIZ: Tom. One more. That’s all.

TOM: Seeing one patient in your thirty-fifth hour of being awake is the equivalent of seeing fifteen hundred in your first.

LIZ: You can’t refuse to see patients. You’re a resident.

TOM: Shit.

(He gets up.)

TOM: You look…nice.

LIZ: Got a date.

TOM: Doctor?

LIZ: No. TOM: Yes. Yes. YES! Good for you.

LIZ: You are such a freak. (Looks out window.) Windy outside.

TOM: It’s a bad night.

LIZ: I know. We all do.

TOM: …What? Oh. I’m…fine.

LIZ: We all loved Katie, Tom. TOM: Yeah. Thanks. No, I mean it.

LIZ: She was a great nurse. I wish I’d known her more.

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Night Visits Simon Fill

TOM: You’re okay, Liz. I hate to admit it.

(He hits her lightly on the arm.)

LIZ: You are such a freak. (Beat.) This patient—Doug gave her a shot of methicillin, he’s busy now. Watch her ten minutes, see if she’s allergic. She was…in a car…

TOM: Look. Katie’s accident was a year ago.

LIZ: To the day.

TOM: I’m not really doing anything to this patient anyhow.

LIZ: You mean that?

TOM: (Very dramatic.) Have I ever lied to you before?

LIZ: Yeah.

TOM: No, ‘bout something serious.

LIZ: Yeah.

TOM: You’re—you’re—you’re— (Jokingly, he grabs a tiny knee hammer.)

LIZ: You gonna test my reflexes? You are such a…!

TOM: What!

LIZ: (Beat. Softly, with great fondness.) Little boy. This patient. The accident involved only her.

After it, she disappeared. They found her in a church. Sitting on the floor. Surrounded herself with lit wish candles. Hundreds. She’d been there hours. When they asked her why, she said, “I’m cold.”

(She gives him a chart. He stares at her.)

LIZ: Emily. I know, I know. She’s odd, this one. Another sweet nobody. Passed a psych consult, but otherwise, she won’t talk. Here twenty-one hours. Won’t leave ‘til she feels she’s “okay.”

She’s a little banged up, but fine. She could go now. She won’t. Bring her upstairs when you’re done. (Beat. Studies Tom with suspicion.) No. TOM: I’m good at this. She’ll feel better. She’ll leave.

LIZ: Won’t work. We tried everything. Social services was called. They’ll be here soon. (Looks at robes.) I wish we had another free room.

TOM: You didn’t carry those up from a broken dryer at three in the morning.

LIZ: Dr. Pitnick, that was nice. Someday you’ll make a good nurse.

TOM: I’ll get her to go.

LIZ: Won’t happen. (Looks him up and down.) You need a compliment. Badly. (Beat.) Serious now. You okay?

TOM: Funny. When Katie died, I prayed every night for a month.

LIZ: What about?

TOM: If I told anyone, Liz, I’d tell you. (Lightly.) It was very self-involved. (Beat.) I’m fine.

Thanks. Have a good date. You’re not as cute as you think you are.

LIZ: (Smiles.) I’ll send her down. See you tomorrow.

(She exits. Pause. The sound of wind. He looks out the window. He is overcome and starting to break down. A knock. He recovers himself.)

TOM: (Cheerful.) Dr. Pitnick’s house of optimism and laundry!

(EMILY enters. She looks about twenty-three.

124 Proscenium Spring 2016

Gentle. Bruised face and arms.)

TOM: (Grins. A quick patter. His “routine.”) Just kidding. There’s no optimism here. Don’t mean to be unprofessional. I expect you to stay silent. (Looks at chart, then her arm, checking where the shot was given.) Hope that didn’t hurt too much. I hate shots. We’re gonna get you to feel okay. I usually do this by showing patients how impressive they are in comparison to me. Some patients protest. For good reason. I expect you to stay silent. They call me the funny doctor. (To self.) This is like one of my dates in high school. (Looks at her.) Did I detect a glint of humanity?

(She smiles a little.)

TOM: I bet no one upstairs tried to crack you up. Their mistake. Do you feel sorry for yourself?

(She shakes her head.)

TOM: You ought to. You gotta listen to me. But if you talk to me, you get to listen to me less.

‘Round here, I’m considered aversion therapy for introverts. (Whispers.) Of course, being the funniest doctor ‘round here is a weak claim. (Beat. Back to normal.) Look. I know what you went through was serious. I know. I do. But sometimes when you think you’re alone, when you most think that, you…aren’t. (Beat.) Sorry. I’m expecting a lot here. I mean, it’s not like you’re God or anything. No offense.

(Silence. He raises his hands in surrender, looks out the window. Pause.)

EMILY: Why would I be offended you don’t think I’m God? That’s pretty queer.

TOM: I’m not the one who surrounded myself with wish candles in a church.

EMILY: Does that unnerve you? Dr. Tom? TOM: How did you know my name was Tom? EMILY: (Mock mystical.) Woo woo.

(Beat. She points at his name tag.)

TOM: Oh. Wow. I need some sleep. Sorry. I shouldn’t say that.

EMILY: (Lightly teasing.) C’mon. This is all about you. (Beat. Sincere.) You look tired. You okay?

TOM: Great. My patient’s asking me if I’m okay. Are you?

EMILY: You want me to leave, don’t you?

TOM: I…(Looks at her face and arms. Gentle.) These bruises’ll disappear on their own in a few days. They hurt?

EMILY: No, they feel great. Sorry. Not that bad. Thanks. You’re nice.

TOM: I’m only nice when I’m tired.

EMILY: How often you tired?

TOM: Always. You’re gonna be fine.

EMILY: I’m not important. What?

TOM: Nothing.

EMILY: What?

TOM: (Warmly ironic.) I WISH someone’d said that in your chart!

(She smiles.)

EMILY: You’re weird.

TOM: I know.

Spring 2016 Proscenium 125

Night Visits Simon Fill

EMILY: When the accident happened, I hit a divider, everything stopped. I didn’t know where I was. For some reason, I thoughta my dad. He died four years ago. Nothing to do with cars. I… loved him. After he was gone, I never felt his loss. I…Something happened.

(Pause.)

TOM: You tell anyone this?

EMILY: Do you count? (Beat.) I got out of the car, looked around to make sure no one was hurt.

Then I ran.

(Silence.)

EMILY: You all right?

TOM: Yeah. Sure. I’m gonna get you outta here. In good shape.

EMILY: I’m a nobody. And I dress poorly.

TOM: What’s the one thing you could do to give your life meaning?

EMILY: Accessorize?

(Beat. He smiles. She looks off.)

EMILY: You can’t see wind.

TOM: What?

EMILY: You can’t see it, but it’s there.

TOM: (Beat.) Is it? When the accident happened, who were you with?

EMILY: That’s an odd question.

TOM: Who were you with?

EMILY: Why? TOM: Answer it!

EMILY: No one! (Beat.) I was hurt, and for the first time I felt, knew, I’m with no one. My father, he’s really…gone…

(Pause.)

EMILY: You understand what I’m saying?

TOM: (Thinks with care, then nods slowly.) I’m sorry. (Beat.) You okay?

EMILY: (Upset. Snippy.) With doctors like you, who needs accidents!

TOM: Sorry.

EMILY: I…No, don’t feel bad for me. I don’t. My father…I loved him.

TOM: Did he love you?

EMILY: Yes, but that’s not as important.

TOM: You okay?

EMILY: Keep asking that, and you won’t be.

TOM: (Softly.) Sorry.

EMILY: Stop apologizing, you didn’t kill him. (Beat.) When I left the accident, a few blocks away I passed a homeless woman. I asked her for the nearest good church. One that was honest, that wasn’t about exclusion. She said nothing. I asked again, and she goes, “Here.”

(She points to her heart.)

TOM: (Softly.) Oh. EMILY: You enjoy helping this nobody?

TOM: Who? You? EMILY: You know a lot about this. (Beat.) Who was it?

126 Proscenium Spring 2016

TOM: You’re my patient.

EMILY: So. There’s doctor-patient privilege. I won’t tell anyone.

TOM: I’m trying to make you all right.

EMILY: You’re almost there. This’ll help. Or don’t you open up to nobodies?

TOM: Is this a trick?

EMILY: Yes. You got me to like you.

TOM: (Beat.) My wife Katherine. She was a nurse here in pediatrics. We grew up together in Brooklyn, but in high school I was too shy to ask her out. We ran into each other when she’d graduated from college, at a reading of James Joyce by an Irish actor. Joyce was her favorite writer. She and I dated. At that point, I was well on my way to becoming the “funny doctor.”

She was quiet and funnier, in that good way the most serious people are. After two months, I proposed. Now that was funny. She didn’t answer. We kept dating. Every day for two months after that I proposed. Silence. I thought, “This woman either likes me or is totally insensate.” At the end of that time she gave me a copy of Finnegans Wake, her favorite book. At college I’d read it and almost finished. The first page, that is. But I loved her so much I slogged through the book. Boy, did I love her. On page fifty, at the bottom, in pencil, someone’d written something.

I looked closely. It said, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

(Pause.)

I called her up and told her Joyce had accepted my proposal of marriage.

(Pause.)

She was driving to Riverdale, a favor, to pick up a friend’s kid at school. I know she was starting to think about children herself. She said she wanted them to have “my looks and her sense of humor.” Another car, an old lady who shouldn’t have been driving, who had a history of epilepsy…and…you know the rest. The other woman lived. (Beat.) I asked Katie once why she wrote “yes” to me on page fifty. She said, “I knew you loved me, but I wasn’t sure how much.”

(Pause.)

Don’t look so serious.

EMILY: (Gently.) The line you draw between yourself and other people, it doesn’t exist. Not how you think. You know that, you’ll let her inside of you, even if she’s gone.

TOM: (Softly.) Hey. Thanks.

EMILY: (With affection.) You gonna believe that? Or are you just another punk doctor?

(Long pause.)

TOM: Yeah, I do. (Beat.) Yeah. (Beat.) What do you charge? I don’t know if my insurance covers this.

EMILY: This was good.

TOM: I can’t treat you for premature nostalgia. It isn’t my specialty. You gonna stay or go?

EMILY: Quiet in here.

TOM: (Light. Gentle.) That tough being a nobody?

(She smiles.)

TOM: Funny. When Katie died, I prayed every night for a month. It was very self-involved.

EMILY: No, it was just about her. You asked that she be okay. You never worried about yourself.

That’s incredibly rare, even for people who love each other. And you’re a non-believer.

TOM: (Beat.) How’d you know that?

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Night Visits Simon Fill

EMILY: Who listens to prayers?

TOM: I don’t get it.

EMILY: Who listens to prayers?

TOM: Nobody! (Beat. A slow realization.) Nobody. You could leave the hospital now.

EMILY: Thanks for the permission.

(She gathers her things.)

EMILY: Oh, and Tom? TOM: Yeah?

EMILY: Your insurance doesn’t cover it.

(She leaves. Pause. The sound of wind. He looks out the window. He opens it. When the wind enters the room, the robes fill with air, as if inhabited by ghosts. They sway beautifully. Tableau. Blackout.)

END OF PLAY

128 Proscenium Spring 2016

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Spring 2015 Proscenium  129

Mai Dang Lao David Jacobi

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Supporting playwrights. Encouraging discovery. Making theatre accessible.

130 Proscenium Spring 2015

Photos by David Kinder

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