by Eric Lane
You did just ask me that, didn’t you?
Is he?
Erm. (Pause.) Yes. Yes he is, Marta.
It is good news, isn’t it?
We wouldn’t want to have to have a christening at a time like this.
I suppose there is plenty of water around for it and all, but still.
Listen, Marta, getting back to this I’m-stuck-in-the-middle-of-the-Atlantic bit.
You see, I must get to this meeting. Are you connected to the Internet?
Fantastic. Would you navigate to a Web address for me?
Certainly.
W-w-w-dot-l-e-m-p-s-h-i-r-e-dot-co. Oh, dot-u-k.
No, no, not “o-u-k.” Just, Lempshire, dot-co, dot-u-k.
Yes, “uck.”
Well, that’s the Web address.
What is “uck”?
That would be “yoo-kay.”
For “United Kingdom.”
What is the United Kingdom?
It’s bloody England, you stupid bird!
What is it United with? Scotland and Wales, I suppose. A bit of Ireland.
You yourself, in fact, used to be united with the British Empire.
Well, not you specifically. Your country.
Unless—you’re not in Quebec, are you?
Then yes, you were a part of the Empire. In fact, Quebec, too, now that I think about it.
We got that from the French, tall lot of good Quebec ever did us.
What do you mean, you don’t believe me? You don’t know this? You’re in university, for God’s sakes!
Yes, Marta, I apologize for taking the Lord’s name in vain.
Have you got the site yet?
Fantastic.
Click on “Management.”
Look for “Balthazar Kent.”
Oh, God, don’t they even teach spelling in Canada? Kent starts with a “K.”
I’m starting to wish I had gotten some bloodyAmerican.
Good, scroll down.
Executive-level vice presidents.
There I am! Fantastic. What does it say? (Long pause.) You’re joking.
They must have pronounced me dead before the authorities did.
What?
Replaced?
Carolyn Williams?
That fat bitch!
I’m not in the cold ground three hours, and she’s already got my bloody job!
Oh my God the meeting.
She’s probably there.
Go to log-in!
Log-in, woman, for the life of you!
Username k-e-n-t-b password x-t-three-capital-k-four-eight!
Enter!
Click “Meeting Schedule”!
Does it say rescheduled?
No?
Meeting lead Carolyn Williams?
NO!
Take dictation, Marta!
In the post reply box!
This is VP Kent! Am not dead! Am in fact alive! Meeting to NOT proceed. Request postponement until further notice! Enter!
What?
What do you mean closed?
Wait!
Look at the bottom right!
Does it say CLOSED?
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
(Silence. BALTHAZAR leans back.)
Yes, Marta, I’m still here. Shut it down.
Yes it’s bad.
It means that the meeting was held without me.
It means that I will not meet the client, and Carolyn already has.
Which in turn means that I’m likely already out of a job.
It’s over.
(Silence.)
My life no longer has any purpose. I am floating in the middle of the ocean. I no longer need to meet my appointment. My entire schedule is meaningless. I am as if one dead.
You may as well leave me out here. I have nowhere to be.
What possible bright side, Marta?
No, I don’t have any family.
Well, my wife.
And son.
They hate me.
Why? I suppose because I hate them.
Well you don’t notice how sad it is, actually, when you have a sufficient number of meetings.
Meetings are what hold modern society together, from playdates to funeral arrangements.
Human beings are simply aggregates of quantum particles colliding at random. Meetings provide structure to the human experience. Without meetings, we are in chaos.
I feel so empty.
I could just float here. In the ocean. Watch the sharks and the jellyfish.
I could live here, possibly. Like a hermit. Fashion a harpoon from my seat belt. Eat raw fish. Harvest rain and dew for drinking water. Day becomes night. The sting of the cold air will become familiar. This will be all I know.
But for now, Marta, I’ll just talk to you, if you don’t mind, until my battery dies. You will be the last human being I ever speak to.
And then I will be alone. In the middle of the ocean. A monk adrift in the endless surf.
(Silence.)
What do you mean, I’m not in the middle of the ocean?
Lake Superior?
How the hell do you know that?
They’ve triangulated my position?
So I’m saved?
I’m saved!
How big is Lake Superior? (Pause.) Well, that’s not much better, now, is it?
Yes, I understand why it’s called “Superior.”
What is the matter with you, Marta?
I’d just come to terms with my situation, and you raise my spirits only to dash them again on the broken steps of Fate!
Well, what would Jesus do, Marta?
You know what I think he’d do? He’d—
(HOOOOOONK. An earsplitting horn.)
It’s a ship. It’s a ship, Marta! It’s coming right for me! Hey! HEY! Ah. Turn! Turn port, or starboard, or whatever the hell way you turn, just turn! You’re coming right at me! Hey! HEY—
(Black.
BALTHAZAR’s screams are drowned in a deafening rush of wate.
The sound of clanking chains.
Lights up.
The chair is askew, perhaps upside down. BALTHAZAR sits on top, still on his BlackBerry.)
Yes, Michael, I’m aware that—
(The chair rocks.)
Excuse me.
(He looks up.)
Could you wonderful gentlemen be a bit more careful?
You’re very right. I don’t know how a crane works. Never mind! I’ll try to relax!
(He returns to his phone conversation.)
Sorry, Michael, where was I?
Thank you.
So everyone can hear me right now? The connection isn’t spotty?
That’s fine. I just want them to know that what I have to say is very important.
Perhaps the most important thing I’ve ever said.
Tell me when. (Pause.) Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Please excuse the connection, I am in fact thirteen miles offshore.
Thank you. Yes, thank you, Carolyn.
And I’m glad that you were ready to step in, Carolyn. When I hit the water I thought I was dead. In a way I was. Powerless, cold, cut off, alone. At the mercy of God’s universe. And when I found out I’d been given up for dead, well. That was a hard hit. I began to realize that the only real difference between my life in the ocean and my life at home was the speed and number of events. In neither place did I feel anything but indignant rage. In neither place did I have any control over the course of my life. In neither place did I have any meaningful human relationship, with you, my coworkers, or with my wife and son. Might I not be better off floating in the ocean than visiting pain upon my friends and family, for all my absence, my austerity, my blind drive to serve only myself? (He coughs.) Excuse me. I believe I may be having some hypothermia, I’ll try to be more brief. I’m not entirely sure if my right leg can be saved.
So I asked you here today, ladies and gentlemen, not to ask for reinstatement, but to confer on you the truth of my spiritual journey. Carolyn
, I know you have family. Have you seen them lately? Daniel, you have brothers. Call them and tell them you love them. Do not float in your own icy ocean waters. Life is not about meetings. Life is about the people in the meetings.
Thank you.
Yes Carolyn?
Oh, I don’t know, what with everything that’s happened—
Well I’ll think about it. If I’m needed, then certainly I’ll step back into the role. I’ll call the client tomorrow and explain.
Yes, thank you, Carolyn. Please don’t cry, my dear.
I know. Why don’t you sign off and call them right now?
Certainly, dear. (Pause.) Is she gone?
Thank God.
SHE TOOK MY FUCKING JOB?
And none of you questioned that?
Yes, I’d say you’d better not if you don’t want a lawsuit in the future. “Dead man wants job back”—that’ll be in all the tabloids.
Hopefully she’s writing her resignation in tears right now.
Well then. What lesson have we learned here?
That’s right, Michael! Don’t rush into things.
Good.
What time is it in London, now?
Nine o’clock Saturday morning. Fine. Let’s meet this afternoon, two o’clock, conference call.
You’ve what, Ronald?
Oh, you’ll have to cancel cricket practice? How terrible I’ve got a GANGRENOUS LEG. Tell your cricket pals to shove it.
See you all at two o’clock, sharp.
Michael!
Repopulate my schedule, please. It must have been erased somehow.
Let me check.
(He toggles through the BlackBerry’s menus. He smiles.)
Ahhh.
Thank you, Michael.
Enjoy your weekend. Keep your phone on! I’ll see you Monday. Bright and early.
(He hangs up and pockets the BlackBerry. Clang from the chain.)
Watch it, you hives of sexually transmitted disease! Slowly!
(Black.)
END OF PLAY
NORM-ANON
Warren Leight
CHARACTERS
JUDY RODGERS
BOB ALLEN, JR.
ANNIE ROSS
Onstage, three happy, well-adjusted people.
JUDY: Hi, my name is Judy Rodgers.
BOB: Hi, I’m Bob Allen, Junior.
ANNIE: And I’m Annie Ross. And though we may look different …
BOB: All three of us have something in common: a secret about our past.
JUDY: A secret that, as we grew older, kept us isolated from others. You see, all three of us are:
ALL: Adult Children of Normal Parents.
JUDY: For years I denied it. When my friends talked about their dysfunctional homes, and codependent parents, I tried to mix in. I pretended that my childhood had also been one of constant instability and emotional trauma. The truth was, I was living a lie. The truth is, my parents were normal. And so was I.
ANNIE: In college, my roommate—Sylvia, was having a hard time of it. She stayed inside our dorm room, on the floor, for two weeks, listening to Aimee Mann CDs. One day I asked her to come out for a walk with me.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’m depressed.”
“Depressed,” I asked. “What’s that?”
You see, I had never heard the word, and I had no idea what she was talking about. I felt so embarrassed.
BOB: I can relate to what Annie … Ross, is saying. At work I used to wonder, am I the only one here not subject to mood swings, or obsessive-compulsive behavior. I didn’t feel guilty about it, or superior—I mean, guilt or shame or grandiosity never really solve anything. And we all have to do the best we can with what we’ve been given, but sometimes I did wonder, just for a little while … AM I the only one? I enjoyed life, and still do. But sometimes not so often, not for any length of time, I felt a little … alone.
Until I found NORM-ANON.
JUDY: Yes, all three of us are grateful members of Norm-Anon. Norm-Anon: a support group for happy people. Healthy people, who grew up in clean, well-lit homes.
There aren’t many of us.
ANNIE: And sometimes it helps to get together.
BOB: To talk about … what it was like, coming from those homes. How great the holidays were.
JUDY: How much we miss Mom ’n’ Dad.
ANNIE: And Gran’pa.
BOB: And the girl, or fella, next door.
JUDY: Once a week or so, we get together, to talk about feelings. Of course, we know feelings aren’t facts. And feelings, good or bad, pass. And we all know, without question, really, that everything always works out for the best. Still, on those days when everything isn’t coming up roses, it’s good to get together with people who understand.
BOB: Right now, you may be asking, how do I know if I’m an adult child of normal parents?
ANNIE: Well, if you have to ask, you’re probably not. But, we do have a short handy checklist, that can help you decide: Ask yourself the following questions:
JUDY: Do you find yourself genuinely happy for the success of family or friends?
BOB: Do anniversaries and holidays fill you with a sense of joy?
ANNIE: Do you have twenty/twenty vision? A perfect dental history? And good skin?
JUDY: Do you often find yourself telling the truth, when a lie would do just as well?
BOB: If you answered yes to any or one of these questions, it’s a good bet—not that any of us likes to bet—that you’re one of us. An adult child of normal parents—
If you’re tired of being with people who act out, or feel sorry for themselves, or need to learn things you knew when you were four, maybe it’s time you tried Norm-Anon.
JUDY: Call us.
ANNIE: We’re all in the book.
BOB: Thanks.
JUDY: C’mon guys, let’s go get some sodas.
ALL: Bye for now.
END OF PLAY
NOTHING
Philip Dawkins
Nothing received its premiere at the Cell Theatre in Albuquerque, New Mexico, with the Fusion Theatre Company’s short play festival, The Seven: That One Thing, June 18–June 21, 2009. It was directed by Bruce Holmes, and was performed by Morse Bicknell and Kelsey Montoya.
CHARACTERS
ADULTS
DAD
MR. TELLER
PA SYSTEM (MRS. MALBY)
KIDS (12–14)
SON
DAN TOLLISON
AMBER CARLSON
JENN GROUT
ALIENS
ALIEN FACE ON TV
ALIEN WARRIORS
DAD and SON at the dinner table. A big bowl of spaghetti on the table, a covered meat dish, a television set next to the table. SON poking at his food, disinterested. DAD, trying, nervous. Some time and then.
DAD: How was your day today?
SON: Fine.
DAD: Just fine?
SON: Yeah, fine, whatever.
DAD: What did you do?
SON: Nothing.
DAD: Nothing?
SON: Yeah.
DAD: All day at school, and you did nothing?
SON: Yeah.
DAD: (Beat.) Well I had a pretty good day. I made that sale that Carl and I had been working on. You remember I told you about that really big account? (Beat.) So, that was pretty exciting. (Pause.) Look, we both know you’d rather be at Mom’s right now, I get that, but—could you at least pretend like you’re not completely miserable?
SON: I didn’t say anything.
DAD: No, you’re right, you didn’t say anything.
SON: What do you want me to say? You asked me how my day was, I said fine.
DAD: You said, “Fine, whatever.”
SON: It was fine, whatever.
DAD: Could you help me out a little, here? I’m making an effort. I’m trying.
SON: So am I!
DAD: Okay, I’m sorry, yes, you are trying, I’m sure, but—
SON: My day was totally boring, okay? What
do you want? You want me to make something up?!
DAD: Yes! Make something up! (Ooo, that came out a little harsher than intended. Damn. Beat.) I’m … never mind.
(Beat.)
SON: There was this one thing. In homeroom today. You know those televisions that hang from the ceiling in the corners of the classrooms? Well, right in the middle of attendance, the TV just turns on. All by itself. (At this point, the television beside the kitchen table turns on loudly. Static. Both SON and DAD look at the TV. What’s that about? They don’t know. Continuing hesitantly.) And … all of a sudden, this face appears on the screen, a face of something alien almost. Something unhuman.
DAD: Something inhuman.
SON: Whatever. (An alien face materializes on the TV screen.) Oh my God.
DAD: Then what?
SON: Then, um, I don’t know … um … it starts talking? I guess. It says—
FACE ON TV (ALIEN): Greetings, classlings. Do not attempt to leave your desks. Your school has been taken over by the perilous members of the Cobalt 4 Battle Fleet.
DAD: No way.
SON: It’s totally true. And suddenly, Dan Tollison, who always sits in the back of class and sleeps through first period anyway, wakes up! (He pulls the silver dome off of the tray, and DAN TOLLISON’s head is there, waking up startled.) And Dan’s like—
DAN: What the heck is going on?
SON: And the alien on TV is like—
ALIEN: Silence, sleepy one!