Donna: twenty-four, mousy, a therapy patient
Comic
After much anguish, Donna, a shy and unhappy young woman, goes to see a psychologist. However, when she enters the waiting room, she is accosted by Hettie, a flaky patient, who pretends to be Dr. Gold and wants to help Donna get started immediately on her therapy. Despite Hettie’s odd behavior, she actually manages to help Donna through one of her phobias, before her trick is revealed.
DONNA: Call it quits? I’m just getting started. I have things to talk about, sister. I’ve got a backlog of pain and sorrow and anger that I’ve been itching to get out. Roar! This thing with Howard is nothin’. I’ve got issues, Dr. Gold. Do you hear me — is-sues! My parents died when I was an infant, and I was raised by an aunt and uncle. And sure they meant well, but they were busy running a large roadside farm stand and didn’t have time for me. And then ever since that huge storm back in, I don’t know, ’92 when I was about twelve — nothing’s ever been quite right. I mean I have these dreams all the time — midgets, and witches, flying monkeys, for God’s sake! And sometimes I feel so empty inside. That’s why I think nobody loves me. I mean, sometimes I think, I think my head is full of stuffing, and you already saw how timid I am. I’m a coward. I know it. But could it be that something’s really missing (She bangs on her chest.) in here? Am I heartless? Do I literally, lack a heart? Is that why no one loves me? You tell me, doctor. You have to help me! I can’t go on like this!
The Dead Deportee
By Dan O’Brien
Meg: twenties
Comic
Meg, a Ph.D. candidate in women’s studies, explains to her roommates just how her identical twin sister Mug became brain-damaged, and why she’s kept Mug’s existence a secret for so long.
MEG: Well, you see, it went like this: I was the first one out of my mother’s womb by at least ten seconds or so. You know how I like to get places early. Anyway — all this is according to my mother, by the way, who was an eyewitness, naturally — I came out of my mother’s womb and seemed pretty happy with the world. Pretty content. But when I saw that there was this other baby coming out right after me — my sister, Mug — I got really very jealous. And I reached in with my baby fists and I grabbed hold of that umbilical cord — hers, not mine — and I … well, I began to yank. To twist. To squeeze … And the doctor and the nurses couldn’t disentangle me, my grip was so ferocious. I yanked and pulled and twisted that cord around my little sister’s little neck, and by the time they’d thought to use a very low-voltage electric shock to stop my heart for a second or two to loosen my grip, my twin sister Mug had suffered severe oxygen deprivation to the brain. (Beat.)
I gave my twin sister brain damage …
At least that’s what they tell me.
TROUBLED/ROUGH LIFE
La Llorona and Other Tales of the American Southwest
By Elise Forier
Monica: twenties, a Latina single mother, with a one-year-old child; she has just learned she is pregnant again.
Dramatic
Southwestern Arizona. The present. Monica’s welfare benefits are going to be cut. Her Aunt Tia is dying of cancer, and if Monica gets a job, there will be no one to care for the sick woman. She is speaking to her younger cousin Esmeralda, who has been taking advanced placement classes at night and has been unable to help Monica or their aunt.
MONICA: You fucking bitch! What is this crap about summer school? You think I don’t know what you’re up to? Go to school so you don’t have to deal with the shit around here? A little extra special school for extra special Esmeralda. Vendida bitch! I’m losing the government checks. Two months, no benefits, where am I gonna work, eh? I got to take care of Tia, I got to take care of the baby; am I gonna work the graveyard shift, maybe? And how do I get there? Walk? All the jobs I qualify for are jobs for assholes. Sweep this. Count that. Fit this little plastic part into that little plastic part. And can I ask you to be here for me? For Tia? No. You are la flora blanca, la chica perfecta — leave her alone, she’s got to do Calculus. Not everyone can be perfect like you. Do you think I wanted this? I just wanted to feel safe. You see a whore when you look at me, but let me tell you Esme — a man making love to you is yours. In the world, he goes out in cars, he’s got a job, he’s got shit to do. But if he’s inside you, he ain’t going nowhere, as long as it lasts. That’s what I want. That’s what I want. I just want him to stay. Every time they do me, I think “maybe this time he’ll stay.” Esme. Tia is dying and I am all alone in this house with it. Help me. Can you help me, please?
A Good Solid Home
By Barbara Lhota and Janet B. Milstein
Angie: young adult, a New Jersey girl
Dramatic
Angie gave up her baby a few months back. Suddenly, she gets the urge to know that her son, Ricky, is in good hands. She takes a trip across several states to check out her son’s new home. In this piece, Angie begs for the opportunity to just take one last look around before she says good-bye for good.
ANGIE: I’m not asking you to engage in anything! I just want to talk. I just want to talk about things, ya know. And I don’t care if it’s a good time. I just drove from Jersey City for God’s sake. Twenty-four hours in a beat-up Sedan with a chain-smoker and no air. So I don’t care if it’s the perfect timin’, I need to talk today. And I’m not doin’ any maneuverin’ or I woulda brought a lawyer myself. Right? Right?! (Beat.) I’d be pretty stupid — totally stupid to drive all the way here and start tryin’ to maneuver with you guys. You’re college educated and all. I don’t even have a high school diploma. I guess I’ve just been real sad. Like there’s a hole in the middle of my gut since I gave him away that day. I always had sort of a hole in me, but it’s bigger now and more noticeable. Even my boyfriend noticed it first thing when he came home. I told him I was pregnant and gave the baby away. He was like, “That’s so strange cause I could see there was a hole in you. It’s so obvious.” I know you don’t think I’ve done anything in my life. I haven’t. I guess, havin’ Ricky made me feel like I did somethin’ so good, I wanted to hold onto it. (Pause.) A kid makes you feel like ya did somethin’. Like you accomplished somethin’. I know I ain’t got a lot to give him like you do. I mean, you live so close to Disney World for one. And you’re both real smart and nice. Even when you use big words. I just kinda wanted to see the place. Ya know? Check it out. Make sure it looked right. I get afraid some times. I get afraid that I won’t have another chance. (Beat.) Anyway, (Looking out the window.) I gotta go get Tommy, my boyfriend. He’s sleepin’. He told me he’d whip my butt if I didn’t get him outta the sun, so he don’t burn up like a lobster. (Pause.) So I ain’t ever gonna see my son again, am I?
IceSPEAK
By Jeanette D. Farr
Bee-Bee: twenties to thirties, a tough broad who wants to be a rock star, not afraid to speak her mind, but vulnerable
Dramatic
Bee-Bee will do anything to be a rock star. After one of her sets in a local dive bar, she brings home Charlie, a local man who asks her to play one of her songs for him. She shares that being smart generally comes with a cost.
BEE-BEE: Before my daddy passed on, he looked me in the eye and told me the only man I would get to love me would be just like him. (Pause.) I think that really fucked me up, you know? He wasn’t all that bad — didn’t touch me or nothin’, but liked to pick my brain a little too much. He wanted me to be smarter than him for whatever the reason. When he would start in with the lessons, I would make up songs in my head. It was the only way I knew to … to really tell him what I felt … those songs in my head. He would get so pissed ’cause he always thought I was daydreaming. But in fact … I was trying to speak to him. “Rebecca!” He’d say, “WAKE UP!” with some gesture that would get my attention. He started off as Dr. Seuss then turned into Nietzsche. A little fucking hard to handle at five, you know? (With incredible urgency.) You promise me something, Charlie. Promise me you won’t pick my brain too much. I’m not g
onna let that happen to me — not again, got it? You want something from me and me from you — that’s all. But you’re not going to teach me anything I don’t already know. Nothing against you. But the music I play — It’s for me. Nobody else. And I’m gonna play that song for you — but only ’cause I want to. That clear? You gotta promise me that. Will ya? Will ya, Charlie? (Pause.) I’ve left you speechless. It’s your turn. What’s your story, Charlie? You have a father you’re ashamed of?
Not Everyone Sees It
By Barbara Lhota and Ira Brodsky
Margo: young adult
Dramatic
Margo’s parents have been concerned about her mental health since she attempted suicide and they had her temporarily committed. When Margo was released, she felt angrier than ever and decided to run away to Chicago. Before she leaves, she goes to visit an old friend to explain what has been going on in her life.
MARGO: I got on the Web, and I just happened on this encyclopedia of suicides. I mean, that someone would bother to look up all the dates of the important people who committed suicide and type them up and make a Web page. I wondered who that person was. A lot of people have done it — killed themselves. Anyway, I started reading my Nietzsche book, that same quote, “That which does not kill me makes me stronger.” Usually it makes me feel better, but it didn’t this time. And then I started thinking of all those sappy quotes people put on inspirational posters. Those posters with whales flying out of the water and people climbing huge mountain cliffs: “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step” and “No man is an Island.” And in my head, the sayings just kept filling my brain and they started attacking one another like a bunch of wild tigers ripping to shreds the other quotes. Words were flying all over the place and poking into each other. (Laughs sadly.) And then I thought of this old quote. I think it’s Aristotle or Confucius. “Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.” It made me sad. Because I don’t think I see beauty in anything anymore.
Sueño
By Scott McMorrow
G-Girl: twenty, a latina gang leader in San Francisco’s Mission District
Dramatic
G-Girl rules her world as a gang leader in San Francisco’s Mission District. This hard-core female gangster learns that being more ruthless than her male counterparts isn’t the only thing that will keep her on top. In this scene, G-Girl is talking to her homeless, long-estranged mother (Lorna), explaining that life in the gangs is good, and that life on the streets is better due to G-Girl’s gang leadership.
G-GIRL: Shit is better with me in charge. You see me now? I ain’t the little girl you walked out on. My juice is the stuff keepin’ it rollin’. Remember what it was like before? Seemed every day one of us was getting popped in the street by them fucks. Daddy went down that way. Now I know he was good. Hard, but fair. And look where that shit got him. Dead. That’s what. I don’t give a fuck who think they badder than me. No. I can deal with them. What shakes me is the one’s that don’t know no better. Go around with they heads in the sky thinking they gonna be something like me. Hell no. I say, thems the ones gotta go, and fast. See, the bad asses you can control, give ’em work, put ’em on your payroll and keep ’em close. Them others, they causin’ trouble by stepping too close to you without letting on. They sneaky like that, little rats. Sneaky like you, jumpin’ up after all these years with your momma bullshit. Where the fuck you been? A little girl need her momma’s love. You ain’t give me that. You ain’t give me jack. But I can hang. You wanna call me daughter, fine. But I tell you something. I don’t give a fuck who you be. I ain’t callin’ you mother, ’cause she dead. You might be her, but what the fuck that mean? Everybody got a mother. Nothing special there.
A Story About a Girl
By Jacquelyn Reingold
Denise: twenties, tough and loud
Seriocomic
Denise gets fired from her fast-food restaurant job for standing up for Jessica, a co- worker who doesn’t talk. They both walk out, and head across the street for Chinese food. Here Denise tells Jessica about herself, which launches a friendship.
DENISE: I don’t mind, I hated working there. I was kind of primed to lose that job. Did you read Fast Food Nation? (Jessica shakes her head no.) I got it yesterday and I was reading it before I went to sleep, well, you will not believe what goes into those restaurants. The history, the implications, the politics, the cows. The guy who wrote that book, he knows how to use his words. No offense, OK? Do you talk? What is it with you and talking or not talking anyway? You want to write it down or something? (Jessica writes something on the place mat. Denise reads it:) Delicate. OK. Whatever. You ever see The Miracle Worker? With Patty Duke? (Jessica shakes her head no.) Anyway, I can talk enough for two. You should come see me perform. I’m a performance artist actress poet writer singer standup and generally opinionated loud-mouthed kind of big girl. I been thru it all, you know. I been abused, beat up, addicted, I was born with ADD ADHD dyslexic synthetic rejected inspected you name it I got it. My stepfathers abused me in ways I don’t need to go into. I have concluded the only way for me to get through this here life with this body and these emotions is to keep my mouth open and say what I’m thinking. Cause I aim to make things righter. That’s how I see why I’m on this earth. I think we make a good pair. Don’t you? I could use a friend that knows how to listen and not trying all the time to shut me up. Cause I won’t be shut up. You all hear that?? You can’t shut me up. You can lock me up beat me up mess me up or fuck me up, but you can’t shut Denise Johnson up.
Four Glasses
By Marki Shalloe
France: twenties
Dramatic
France lives with her mother, a schizophrenic who is increasingly unable to live a normal life; the mother’s situation has become even more precarious as France’s father has gone off with another woman. France needs her mother to understand that France cannot take care of her. She can’t bear to witness the increasing mental illness in her mother that she fears she has inherited. France has begun to believe that her only escape lies in drinking.
FRANCE: YOU went out trying to find a job, Mama; YOU got us on public assistance.
YOU learned how to drive and bought the groceries and cooked them, which — even if you were lousy at it — is better than Daddy ever did.
But you never complained, did you?
You never let him in on the little secret that you’re not addled because of his mean mouth and his inability to keep his dick in his pants,
you’re not “eccentric,”
you’re SCHIZOPHRENIC and pieces of your mind are tearing off on a daily basis and
you can no longer take care of yourself.
No, you just cried.
Don’t look at me like it’s my job to take care of you.
It was your job to ask him, not weep and pack him a damn lunch as he ran away.
You have no savior, Mama, but I do. I have whiskey.
My Redeemer is secure … it doesn’t have a breakdown because it has to do something normal, like make fruitcakes for Christmas; it doesn’t see things that aren’t there.
It doesn’t remind me with every look what I’m gonna turn into.
A while with My Savior Jim Beam and I don’t care if adults commit adultery and I don’t covet other daughters who have no worries because their parents are normal and they are too.
There it is, Mama. The first and most important glass.
The first drink taken in pain and sorrow and self-hatred and with the deep sip of realization that I am damaged.
That the tiny flaw you have passed down through your DNA will get bigger and bigger until I’m crushing fruitcakes with Sylvester the Cat tumblers and shitting in a container I hand to other people.
So now do you understand?
The ONLY thing that will kill it is alcohol.
Threnody
By David-Matthew Barnes
Dana: early twenties
Dramatic
D
ana is trapped in a volatile relationship. She is also heavily addicted to speed. After being up for three days, she confronts her boyfriend about a night when his love for her turned brutal and violent.
DANA: The orchard, Jake. Do you remember that night? I just remember the dirt. I was laying there in the dirt … you were on me and you kept pushing against me. Your fingers felt like razors, tearing at me. I could smell the booze on your breath and it was so sour and it made me gag. I wanted to vomit, but I was choking on the dirt. The fucking dirt was in my mouth. And I couldn’t breathe. I was fighting you. I was begging you to stop. But you wanted to come. (Beat.) And I let you have your way. (Beat.) Then you left me there, in the orchard, in the dark … so I followed you, back inside. Back to that graduation party where you told all of your friends to be polite to me. I wanted to claw my way out of that place. I would have dug a tunnel with my bare hands just to get away from you and those people. I was standing in the corner and I was staring at the wall and the music was pounding in my ear. I wanted to reach up and grab this baby blue streamer and tie it around my neck. And choke. Their eyes and their red plastic cups filled with beer and strawberry wine and ice cubes. I just stood there. And I was freezing, and all of their eyes were on me. My dress was ripped. And I looked down, to try and fix it. And I saw the blood, Jake. It was running down my legs … like my soul was crying. They knew what you had done to me. Even though I told you no. Do you realize that, Jake? I kept saying no! But you couldn’t hear me, because I was full of dirt. You were so messed up that night. I had to drive us home … and I was still bleeding. From your scratches and scars. I brought us back here so you could pass out and so that I could wash the dirt out of my hair. And that smell … that awful, awful smell of you and their judgment. I can still smell it sometimes.
Audition Arsenal for Women in their 20's Page 3