Megan Luebberman, The Function of Family

CODY. I don’t think they meant to leave you. They probably wanted you to come with them. No one wanted you to be trapped here.

PRIMROSE. Alright, say that what you’ve said is true. What’s Daddy gonna say? He’s worked to keep this farm so bad for so long; I can’t be the reason he loses it.

CODY. You wouldn’t be. And anyway, I think he’d rather give up the farm than see you be unhappy -- don’t you? Chances are, he’ll follow you like you follow your sisters, and no one will get left behind.

PRIMROSE. ...I dunno. I don’t even know what I’d do, even if I did know where to go. All I know how to do is work the farm.

CODY. Well, I have plenty of books for inspiration! Do you want to flip through some of them?

PRIMROSE. Eh...

CODY. Come on, maybe something will interest you.

PRIMROSE. ...Oh, alright. Maybe just a few. But only for a look.

CODY. How about this one? Government and politics?

PRIMROSE. Hmm… nah. Too many dumb people.

CODY. Okay. What about this one -- are you interested in science or medicine at all?

PRIMROSE. Nah. Too many smart people.

CODY. English? Business? Acting? Architecture? Health? Or maybe--

PRIMROSE. Nah. Nah. Nah. Wait, wait, that big, long one there! The book with all the houses in it. Lemme see it again

CODY. Hm? Architecture? Sure, here.

PRIMROSE. You know, I was just lookin’ through it this mornin’, n’ I said to myself: Primrose Doggett, you could make plenty better houses than this! I

mean, look here. This one would need more support beams right here. Otherwise, it’ll come crashing down on your tractor in the night. And this one’s built out of the wrong stuff. The cows’d get so cold they’d never let you hear the end of it!

CODY. You can have this book, if you want. I think you’d get a lot out of it.

PRIMROSE. ...Thanks, Cody.

CODY. Of course! I tried reading it, but it got a little confusing. Especially the part--

PRIMROSE. No, I meant thanks like… thanks.

CODY. ...Oh. You’re welcome.

PRIMROSE. Kind of a shame I stopped breakfast; the table’s all set and everything. Well, almost all set. You know, really looking at ‘em now, these weeds might actually be flowers after all.

CODY. You think?

PRIMROSE. …Yeah, I do.

PRIMROSE puts the flowers in a vase and sets them in the middle of the set table -- a final centerpiece. PRIMROSE and CODY look at it proudly, putting their arms around each other’s shoulders as they stand side-by-side. Slowly, the lights go down.

THE END

The Function of Family

MEGAN LUEBBERMAN

CHARACTERS: FATHER: 50 years old, tall man, layback, relaxed, at ease- average placating husband. MOTHER: mid 40s woman, anxious, paranoid, frantic- average demanding wife. DAUGHTER: 17 year old, tall and lanky- wearing all black with a classic rock shirt- average angsty teen.

SCENE ONE: In a shabby living room with furniture scattered around, perhaps a couch on its side, a few boxes and suitcases half-packed, a single antique lamp sitting in the middle of the room on a coffee table. The Deerings are in the process of moving out of their house due to a flood.

(FATHER talks on the phone while MOTHER and DAUGHTER pack boxes and then FATHER gets off the phone and speaks to them.)

FATHER . Hello, ladies, we need to move out as quickly as possible to the hotel so the plumber can fix the issue. He is on his way to inspect the property but from what I described to him, he said it sounds like a burst pipe. We could begin to experience a lot of flooding in the house, more than the hot spots and dampness on the floor that we noticed this morning.

MOTHER. We’re trying to pack some things to take with us, but it’s not like I want any of this stuff to be ruined by water damage!

DAUGHTER. We can’t take everything with us, a lot of it will have to stay. Maybe even drown, who knows.

(FATHER and picks up a box.)

MOTHER. No! They have to go in order as numbered. If we get the boxes mixed up then we will never find our stuff again once we get to the hotel and everything will be messed up!

FATHER. Okay, I will try to do my best for you. Just direct me to where everything goes. There are so many different sections of boxes you’ve made that it’s near impossible to differentiate them all.

DAUGHTER. I don’t see why it even matters. Just throw it all together in the car. They’re just things. If you take too long the boxes will soak up the water on the ground and be ruined anyway. The living room floods more every minute, can’t you feel your shoes getting wet? Soon we’ll be swimming.

MOTHER. Oh, don’t be ridiculous. The water isn’t rising from the broken pipe that fast. Is it? (FATHER moves to lift up another box.) Be very careful with that box! It has all the fragile ceramics from the bookshelf! Nearly everything is glass and extremely breakable.

DAUGHTER. You’re taking ceramics to the hotel? What’s the point of having all that stuff anyway?

MOTHER. So I can remember everything. (FATHER continues to gradually move a few boxes and suitcases to the car/offstage to the right.)

DAUGHTER. Human memory is far from perfect. Everything fades into oblivion eventually.

FATHER. Which section does this box belong to dear?

MOTHER. That holds the first set of my snowglobes. Just set it here at my feet, I’m still packing that section right now.

DAUGHTER. All we’re gonna have to do is unpack everything again. The more you wrap stuff up, the more work we’re going to have later. All of this won’t fit in the hotel room, let alone the car. Just throw everything in and wish it luck. (DAUGHTER throws something in the box with a clatter/crash)

MOTHER No! You have to be more careful than that.

DAUGHTER. Do I? (DAUGHTER throws something else in with a shattering sound.)

FATHER. Now dear, listen to your mother, and continue packing. My socks are completely soaked already. (FATHER takes off his shoes momentarily and wrings out his socks.)

DAUGHTER. We need to throw out more anyway- what a hoarder you are mother.

(DAUGHTER walks over to the lamp) Like this antique lamp- it doesn’t even light up anymore. It’s trash.

MOTHER. Don't you dare throw that out! I got that lamp on my eighteenth birthday. It has special memories. I’m sure it was worth so much back in its day.

DAUGHTER. It’s useless now though- a lamp that doesn’t light up is useless. It belongs in the garbage.

(DAUGHTER picks it up and tries to make away with it but MOTHER tries taking it from her- they wrestle with it back and forth, each trying to take it from the other.)

MOTHER. You are not getting rid of that-- honey, tell her!

FATHER. Let your mother have the lamp. We don’t have time for this nonsense.

DAUGHTER. I will not, she needs to learn to let go of things. Material possessions are meaningless, just like life. (Phone rings and FATHER answers it, listens, and then hangs up.) (MOTHER gets the lamp from the DAUGHTER and definitively sets it back on the table.)

FATHER. Bad news everyone, the plumber has looked at the grounds around and thinks that several pipes have burst, with more possibly on the way - as a sort of chain reaction. The more time that passes, the more pipes that are likely to burst from the pressure. You both really need to hurry with the packing! This is not good, not good at all...

DAUGHTER. Well if she wasn’t so meticulous with everything we might be done already. (DAUGHTER exits- going to stage left (the rest of the house) and then comes back a moment later.) There’s a waterfall in the bathroom now. Water just spilling from the ceiling.

FATHER Are you serious? A waterfall? That sounds very bad- maybe I should go look at that(FATHER pats his forehead with a handkerchief, wearing a worried expression.)

DAUGHTER. It’s nothing, the entire house is becoming more and more flooded. (FATHER decides not to go check and reaches for another box).

MOTHER. That’s not nothing! Please be careful, I don’t want anything to break!

DAUGHTER. It won’t be the end of the world if something breaks. You keep useless junk, for no reason. We don’t have a lot of time- pack what’s important. You can’t take any of this with you to the grave.

MOTHER. It’s all important! And it could be buried with me! The most precious things could go with me-

FATHER. Now both of you stop speaking like that and continue packing. You’re right that we must pack what’s important. The water is now up to my ankles and rising quickly! But we must try to remain calm and finish this as fast as possible. (FATHER rolls up his pant legs, and then rolls up MOTHER’s as she continues to pack)

DAUGHTER. All this water- I think it’s fitting. A watery death for our house.

MOTHER. We don’t want this house to die. Imagine the cost!

FATHER. Right now I’m just worried about getting out of here ourselves, not saving the house. Do you see how much water there is now? It’s rising very quickly! (FATHER takes out a ruler and measures the height of the water)

MOTHER. This was the place I’ve lived my entire life. My mother lived here and my grandmother and-

DAUGHTER. It’s old. It was bound to have issues eventually. Nothing lasts forever.

FATHER. The ceiling is beginning to drip!

MOTHER . WHAT! (FATHER whips out an umbrella and holds it above MOTHER. There is the sound of water dripping.)

FATHER. Are you two going to be finished soon? The ceiling is literally raining! How much longer can this all last?

DAUGHTER. No, I doubt it. She’s too busy wrapping her collectibles in a thousand layers of bubble wraps. Like you can protect against true destruction and the inevitability of time… (Sound of a rupture- and the spraying of water) MOTHER. Now the sink has burst as well! Water is just filling the kitchen.

DAUGHTER. I don’t think there’s any hope for the kitchen- or this house.

FATHER. Please, both of you, hurry! The house will soon be crumbling on top of us at this rate! Just pack the essentials.

MOTHER. I am packing them! But I must be careful not to damage anything. You know how much this antique perfume bottle costs?

DAUGHTER. I’m sure more than this house. But I wouldn’t say it's a necessity. (MOTHER scoffs looking upset, before stuffing it in the box.)

MOTHER. Antiques are special. They have the aura of others’ lives.

DAUGHTER. An aura of the dead you mean. You bought some dead lady’s perfume bottle.

MOTHER. It was a rare item!

FATHER. (a little too harshly) Continue to pack! Can’t you see that our house is falling apart? How could you be arguing about something so stupid right now? (Silence from MOTHER And DAUGHTER, who are stunned.)

I’m sorry. I’m concerned about the water. Our entire house is full of it and soon the living room will be as bad as the rest of the house. (Phone rings- FATHER answers it, while propping the umbrella up against the wall to partially cover MOTHER, listens, and hangs up.)

The plumber now says that there is a potential sinkhole forming below our house that is causing all the pipe bursts and leaks. He is advising us to get off the property as soon as possible, and I, for one, agree with that advice. This place has become too dangerous. Let’s go. (FATHER gestures them out the door, half pushing and pulling them both)

MOTHER. Not yet! Just one more minute! (MOTHER begins to pack more rapidly, in a rush)

DAUGHTER. Someone really hates this house. Perhaps it's haunted with all

MOTHER. Don’t be ridiculous… Ghosts aren’t malicious- are they? (Loud crumbling and rumbling noises come from below them. MOTHER jumps back from where she was standing.)

Oh my heavens! The sinkhole has begun to form right in the middle of the floor! I nearly fell in!

(EVERYONE stares at the center of the stage in awe.)

DAUGHTER. It’s come to swallow us whole, just like time consumes endlessly with malicious intent.

FATHER. We’re leaving- NOW! (More rumbling- EVERYONE staring at the middle of the floor. FATHER ushers everyone out the door (stage right)) (THEY all exit. Stage goes dark.)

SCENE TWO: The Deerings stand outside. The sound of crickets fills the air and the lights are dimmer on stage, with everyone standing in the middle- the spotlight only on them.

MOTHER. We’ve barely gotten a few boxes into the car. I just can’t leave all this behind. The vinyl sofas- the set of dishes commemorating 1985 music concert-- oh the lamp!

FATHER. You don’t need any of it- your daughter is right. In the end, they are all just things.

DAUGHTER. Death comes to all.

FATHER. Well I wouldn’t say exactly that but - we all got out safely, that’s what matters.

MOTHER. (gasps) Just one thing- I swear. There’s one thing I must save still! Everyone, stay here! (MOTHER breaks away from them and runs into the house (into the dark and off stage.)

FATHER. No! What are you thinking? (More rumbling, and sounds of the house collapsing.) 138

DAUGHTER . Oh my God-

FATHER. I’m going in after her. DAUGHTER. You can’t! The house is collapsing into the sinkhole! Why - did - she - do - that.

FATHER. I don’t know. I really don’t know.

DAUGHTER. (upset/crying) I tried to tell her that it didn’t matter, that they were just things. I didn’t mean it- I didn’t want death - not to all, not to us.

FATHER. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault, or anyone’s. The house was old and it was time to let it go…

DAUGHTER. The house. Not mom.

FATHER. No, no… That’s not what I meant. Of course not, and she’s probably-

DAUGHTER. I just wanted her to realize that I’m more important.

FATHER. What do you mean?

DAUGHTER. I’m more important than all those collections, antiques, and random stuff that she owns. Growing up, she always loved the things around her but not me. What would she show off? The rare ship clock that was on our wall, or the books she got signed by some famous author. Never me- I was never a thing to show off or appreciate. Not something to be proud of and speak about to everyone. It was never me.

FATHER. Oh honey, I’m sure that-

(Enter MOTHER from the dark, holding a large photo album)

MOTHER. I’m here. I made it. I got it.

DAUGHTER. Mom!

(All three hug desperately.)

FATHER. Don’t ever do something like that again.

MOTHER. Alright, I promise I won’t.

DAUGHTER. You made it out. I was sure when the house seemed to collapse that…

MOTHER. No, and I’m sorry to make you worry. I just thought I needed to get this- if anything- from the house.

DAUGHTER. What is it- what is the one thing that you risked your life for?

MOTHER. It’s this- a photo album of all of us. These are the photos of our summer trip when you were little. See there- that’s you in the polka dot bathing suit. And your father’s over there just laying on the sand. I took the photo as the water lapped onto my feet. I was partially standing in the ocean to get this angle.

DAUGHTER. I’ve never seen these before.

MOTHER. Well- to tell you the truth- before I had taken everything off the bookshelf I had forgotten that this was even there- behind all the collectibles. This was the only time I ever made a photo album- I figured it was too much work afterwards to repeat.

FATHER. I remember that you two had so much ice cream later that day that both of you were sick to your stomachs the rest of the trip

MOTHER. Not true! Only for a few days were we sick-- besides, it was hot! We had to have ice cream.

DAUGHTER. I remember now. He warned us not to eat so much, but we didn’t listen.

FATHER. You were both ever so stubborn- and still are. I’ll have to try harder to get a word in edgewise.

DAUGHTER. I suppose this was worth saving. Though at some point you have to realize that we’re right here.

MOTHER. What do you mean?

DAUGHTER. You hold onto a lot of stuff-- but they’re just things.

MOTHER. I know that now….

MOTHER. It helped get rid of some things though; I did have way too many things.

FATHER. The antique lamp didn’t even light up.

MOTHER. No, I suppose it didn’t.

Stage slowly fades out- grows darker- with the family silently admiring the album.

THE END