2.28.2007: Drowning Leander

“Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.' But these are all lies: men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.”
- William Shakespeare, As You Like It

The Guy and Leander – you know, the mythic boy who swam the Hellespont every night to see his love, Hero, until one night her lamp goes out, causing him to lose direction and drown… or so goes the myth.

Leander is in a wet suit, face mask, and flippers.

LEANDER
This is ridiculous.

THE GUY
Clearly.

LEANDER
No seriously. The amount of trouble a guy has to go through to get out of a relationship. I mean, come on –

THE GUY
I’m sorry?

Leander starts to strip down through this, flippers off, face mask off, wet suit down to his waist.

LEANDER
Every night. The same damn thing.
“Swim the Hellespont for me, Leander.
It’s a gesture of love.
A gesture worthy of the Gods!”

Well do you have any idea how cold the water gets at night?
And it’s not like she picked a stream or something for me to cross
No ---

the HELLESPONT!

It’s a major waterway!

And you know, she tells me all the time,
“Our love, Leander, is like myth.
(she likes that sort of thing, you know,
the fact that we’re these mythic lovers,
we’re…
whatever…
the progenitors of lovers to come.)

“Our love will be written down in books.
Songs will be sung of our sacrifices to each other.”

But I’m the one who has to freeze my ass off in the water
and she’s up in that stupid tower
(no one actually lives there, mind you,
it’s completely vacant, has been for years,
her parents live three blocks away from my parents,
this whole river-crossing thing her big idea)

And I can’t take it!

So you know what I did?

THE GUY
What?

LEANDER
Tonight,
when her lamp went out
(because it always does, every night,
the wind up there in that tower, it’s ferocious,
and it’s February, the wind’s still bitter for a few more months)

instead of just getting to the other side,
like I always do
ALWAYS

I changed course.
I swam north a while
until I couldn’t see her lamp
and I couldn’t see her tower
and I could even see the life I was leaving behind.

And I came ashore here.

THE GUY
She’ll think you drowned.

LEANDER
Yeah.

THE GUY
That’s not very nice.

LEANDER
Neither is love.

THE GUY
But she’s… your Hero.

LEANDER
Look.

Let me tell you something about love.

That girl was never in love with me.
She was in love with the myth of me.
The myth of us.

Hence all the damn lamps
and towers
and crossing rivers in the middle of the night,

but when I got there…

she had nothing to say.
Nothing interesting anyway.
We’d just sort of sit there, starting at each other,
waiting for the sun to come up.

Don’t fall in love with the idea of someone, buddy.

Unless you’re a damn good swimmer.

Leander marches off.

The Guy, realizing he’s not a very good swimmer, takes Leander’s words to heart.

In the distance, a woman is heard. It’s a wail of great sadness.

The lights go down.

2.28.2007: The Pull of Gravity (Icarus at Ebb Tide)

The sounds of the sea.

The Guy and Icarus, wings not melted, boy not drowned.

ICARUS
Ebb tide.

THE GUY
Yeah.

ICARUS
It comes back, you know.

THE GUY
It?

ICARUS
The tide.

THE GUY
(smiles)
Yeah. I know.

ICARUS
Well I didn’t.

At the birth of me, we didn’t know anything about tides. Well, we knew they existed, we could see them, but we didn’t know what made them happen, what force of the world compelled the water to ebb and flow.

We only knew… it was.

Then you exist a few thousand years and suddenly there’s knowledge! Science!

Amazing thing, isn’t it? The mechanics of the universe. Forces beyond our sight pulling things together, pushing things apart.

THE GUY
True.

ICARUS
I wonder sometimes what our myths would have been like had we known the names of things, the reasons behind the business of the world. If I’d have really known what a miracle it was to take wax and feathers and resist the pull of gravity…

I might have been less ambitious. Flown farther from the sun.

THE GUY
I’d hope not.

ICARUS
I still can’t get over the fact that something unseen, something without a body, compels the ocean to swell and recede. I mean, really, that’s… amazing. Something invisible compels the OCEAN! The pull of gravity… astonishing.

THE GUY
You’d think if it could compel the ocean, it could handle people.

ICARUS
No, people are tricky. We might need wings to fly into the air, but nothing (and I mean NOTHING) stops us from ramming headlong into anything we want to ram into. No force in the world can compel us.

Other than desire, I guess.

I guess that’s what’s stronger than gravity. Desire. Wanting…

THE GUY
Guess so.

ICARUS
Desire.

THE GUY
I want…

ICARUS
… and so you fly.

THE GUY
Do you fly soon?

ICARUS
Sure. As soon as the tide comes in.

THE GUY
You mind if I wait with you?

ICARUS
Not at all.

They sit.

The sound of the ocean.

Icarus looks toward the sky, the pull of his desire ramming headlong against the pull of gravity, making the sound of the lapping waves sound more like the friction of gears moving the world along.

The lights go down.

2.27.2007: The Saddest Place (Night Call)

The Guy is here. As he always seems to be.

The Redneck Intellectual is here, too.

We are in the saddest place, the same place The Guy was in on 1.24.2007.

The Redneck Intellectual is trying to repair from someone who came before -- before The Guy knew him, before he appeared in this play, but recently, not so long ago and far away.

And while The Guy is pretty sure this means that The Redneck Intellectual will never be his boyfriend, and that all the emotional bells and whistles and fireworks from 2.20.2007 were merely only temporary pinpoints of light, and that The Redneck Intellectual will probably be here for a good time to come and The Guy’s presence will either be needed for friendly comfort or not needed at all, The Guy does something a little unexpected.

He sits next to the Redneck Intellectual, and waits with him. Until the thing that ties him to the saddest place decides to let him go.

Because despite this failure, there is still feeling. And while it may be easier to just say, “Fuck it. Fuck him. Let him go,” it certainly isn’t the right thing to say.

And a part of The Guy is just glad to have heard his voice.

They sit there -- tentative, uncertain, but together.

For this moment, it’s enough.

The lights go down.

2.26.2007: Undiminished Returns Reconsidered

The Guy and his Uncertain Future.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Not so undiminished, huh?

THE GUY
No.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Ah well.

THE GUY
Yes. Ah well.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Maybe you should stop writing these guys into your plays.

THE GUY
Yeah, no kidding. Maybe writing is more powerful than I thought.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
How do you figure that?

THE GUY
Well, it seems the second a guy finds out he’s here… he gets kinda nervous.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Well…

THE GUY
I know.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
I don’t blame ‘em.

THE GUY
Yeah.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Imagine if you found out that something sort of private you said to a person ended up blogged on the internet in a play in which you are cute-ishly personified.

THE GUY
Good point.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
The pen is, I guess, mightier than the sword.

THE GUY
Then men need to be stronger than pens.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
You got that right.

A sound of trumpets. Heraldic. Like for the entrance of a royal.

The Uncertain Future looks off left. (Or right, stage it how you will.)

A few of the actors in the play emerge, in messenger finery – feathers and tunics and those big long horn things with banners hanging down.

LEAD FOPPISH HERALDIC MESSENGER
Announcing the arrival of –

THE GUY
Whoa whoa whoa WHOA!!

The heraldic messengers halt.

THE GUY (cont.)
No entrances. Okay? Not yet. This one’s just mine for a while.

Everyone looks off left (or right) at the person in the wings.

The Guy smiles.

The lights go down.

2.25.2007: Ebb Tide

The Guy is here.

He’s sitting on the stage floor. Nothing really sad about this. Just…sitting.

And he’s thinking about the last few days. About how after a week of everything suddenly rushing forward like a river flowing out of control through rapids, thing have suddenly seemed to pull away, like ebb tide.

None of the other fellows are here today. At least not yet. And the phone hasn’t rung since yesterday afternoon. Not even a text message. And there’s nothing really wrong with that.

In another version of himself, The Guy realizes he’d have completely freaked out at this point, figured all the world hates him, figured everything was going horribly wrong, that nothing will ever work itself out again, that he must return, return to what’s safe, what’s comfortable, what’s unchangeable – whatever is not like tides.

But this version of himself is smarter. This version knows that life, like the tide, is controlled by something bigger than just The Guy. Even in a play of his own making, he can’t control the pulling away of things. And that's okay.

Because the pulling away of things is necessary, essential to life being liveable. And it's always nice to see things come back to you after they've been gone a while. And a boy needs his space every now and again. To just be himself.

So he’s gonna sit here. For a while. And wait. Wait for the water to come back in and lap around his feet.

We don’t have to watch for long. Don’t worry.

So the lights go down.

2.24.2007: Static

“No human thing is of serious importance.” - Plato

The actors in the play are assembled, configured facing the audience, each in their own little world.

They speak to us – well, rant to us more appropriately – about whatever is bugging them. They can talk about the personal stuff they just can’t get out of their head, the thing that bothers them about tonight’s performance, the war in Iraq, the way the shirt they’re wearing fits on them, the relationship they’re in that just isn’t working out, the relationship from five years ago that always feels like it slipped through their fingers, their job, their dog, their weight… anything and everything, from details to the largest philosophical idea.

They rant about it. All at once, all at full volume, all desperately trying to get our attention.

The Guy appears, perplexed by the tumult. He is joined by his Uncertain Future.

THE GUY
They’re loud.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
What?!

THE GUY
THEY’RE LOUD!

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
I KNOW!

THE GUY
Can you turn them down a little?

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
What?!

THE GUY
TURN. THEM. DOWN!

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
OH! SURE!

He snaps his fingers. They all freeze mid-rant.

You’d expect there to be silence. But there isn’t.

There’s a sound. Music, really. A gentle rush of notes that sits somewhere between a melody and wind. It moves through the space gently.

THE GUY
What’s that?

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
The hum of the world.

THE GUY
It’s nice. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Few do.

They listen for a little while. The rest are still frozen.

THE GUY
Guess you can’t keep them quiet forever, huh?

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Nope.

THE GUY
Well. It was a nice thought.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
We always think we are what keeps the world spinning forward.
We’re not.
We’re just… static.

He snaps his fingers. The actors snap back into motion. The hum of the world disappears beneath the voices.

But having heard the hum of the world, The Guy moves through the last few moments of this play (and probably the rest of his life) trying to remember that no human thing is really of serious consequence.

The lights go down.

2.24.2007: Newton, Oprah, and Undiminished Returns

The Guy and his Uncertain Future.

THE GUY
I’m happy.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
I’ve noticed that.

THE GUY
You know… I had tea with a friend the other day, and he said something I liked.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
What’s that?

THE GUY
He said he saw this episode of Oprah (don’t roll your eyes) where this person, I don’t remember what they were exactly, but some person whose experience made them an expert on relationships and how we find them or build them or whatever… and this person said basically that whatever you put out into the world – like good vibes, good feelings, whatever – those things come back to you.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
That’s certainly not revelatory.

THE GUY
I know.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
More conventional wisdom, really.

THE GUY
True. However. There are those moments when conventional wisdom runs headlong into your current pile of experience and seems… well… revelatory.

This was one of those moments.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
I see.

THE GUY
It reminds me of Newton’s First Law of Thermodynamics.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Does it, now?

THE GUY
Nothing is lost forever. Whatever goodness you send out into the world finds its way back to you – just in a different shape.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
The Redneck Intellectual called again, didn’t he?

THE GUY
Yes.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Good for you.

THE GUY
He’s fun to talk to.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
You’re gonna marry him, aren’t you?

THE GUY
No no no. We don’t project this time.

He’s just… right now… undiminished returns.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Ah.

THE GUY
Yeah.

And The Guy and his Uncertain Future sit in silence for a moment, both thinking about Newton and Oprah and undiminished returns. And their air around them seems suddenly alive with good energy (which can never be destroyed) working itself into new shapes, new opportunities.

2.23.2007: Icarus (A Precipitous Fall to Earth)

“In Greek mythology, Icarus was the son of Daedalus, famous for his death by falling into the sea when he flew too close to the sun, melting the wax holding his artificial wings together.” – Wikipedia entry

The Guy and Icarus, wings not melted, boy not drowned.

ICARUS
Looks like a good day for flying.

THE GUY
You sure about that?

ICARUS
Absolutely. The sun’s out. Gonna be a beautiful day.

A pause.

THE GUY
You do know what happens, don’t you?

ICARUS
When?

THE GUY
When you fly.

ICARUS
Oh. You mean the…

And Icarus makes a gesture that indicates a boy falling to earth.

THE GUY
Exactly.

ICARUS
Oh, of course I know about that. It happens all the time.

THE GUY
All the time?

ICARUS
I fly every day. I wake up, take one look at a clear blue sky, strap on my wings and head straight for the sun.

It’s just part of the territory, being myth. Being doomed to repeat your defining mistake for the sake of history.

But you know, there’s always a moment – right before I take the leap into the air – that I think to myself, “Not today, Icarus. Don’t do it today. You know what happens, nothing will be changed, the wind will sting your face and the water will feel like blades against your skin and the sight of the earth rushing towards you….

“It isn’t worth it today.”

But I’ll always look up at the sun. And I’ll see how magnificent it is. How… unashamed it is to shine. To radiate. To illuminate…

And I know I’ll be there, too. For that second before I turn to my right wing and see the first feathers drop below me, I’ll be a piece of that illumination. I will be one spark of radiance among millions.

It’s enough.

So I fly.

THE GUY
The wind’s picking up.

ICARUS
Perfect day to fly.

Icarus moves offstage, eyes toward the sky.

The Guy watches him go, and we hear from everywhere, suddenly, the flapping of wings. The Guy watches Icarus (unseen by us) lift off the ground and into the sky, flying up up up towards to sun.

Then, from far away, we hear a laugh. Joyful. Complete. Fulfilled.

Then, slowly, feathers begin to trickle to the ground from above, around the Guy, falling at his feet.

The lights go down.

2.22.2007: Slow News Day (Kevlar for Bobo)

“Two clowns were shot and killed by an unidentified gunman during their performance at a traveling circus in the eastern Colombian town of Cucuta, police said Wednesday. The gunman burst into the Circo del Sol de Cali on Monday night and shot the clowns in front of an audience of 20 to 50 people, local police chief Jose Humberto Henao told Reuters. One of the clowns was killed instantly, and the second died the next day in hospital.
"The killings had nothing to do with the show the victims were performing at the time of the incident," Henao said in a telephone interview. "We are investigating the motive."
"The clowns came out to give their show, and then this guy came out shooting them," one audience member told local television. "It was terrible."
– CNN.com, Feb 21, 2007

The Guy is here, with CNN.com, physicalized.

THE GUY
Hey, mind if I ask you something?

CNN.com
Sure. Go ahead.

THE GUY
This clown thing…

CNN.com
Yeah?

THE GUY
Is this news?

And a handful of news enthusiasts enter, all a-twitter.

NEWS ENTHUSIAST ONE
Did you hear about the clown thing?

NEWS ENTHUSIAST TWO
What clown thing?

NEWS ENTHUSIAST THREE
The clown thing. The CLOWN THING.

NEWS ENTHUSIAST ONE
Yeah. Two clowns.

NEWS ENTHUSIAST THREE
One gunman.

NEWS ENTHUSIAST ONE
(as clowns, honking clown horn, silly face)
Honk! Honk!

NEWS ENTHUSIAST THREE
(as crazed gunman)
Bang! Bang!

One and Three laugh.

NEWS ENTHUSIAST TWO
No way!

NEWS ENTHUSIAST THREE
Way. I read it on CNN.com.

Which seems to lend gravity to the conversation.

CNN.com
It’s not news, no.

THE GUY
Then why do you print it?

CNN.com
Well… Slow News Day.

NEWS ENTHUSIAST TWO
Anything new about Iraq?

NEWS ENTHUSIAST ONE
Huh?

NEWS ENTHUSIAST TWO
What about Iran?

NEWS ENTHUSIAST THREE
Who’s that?

NEWS ENTHUSIAST TWO
Anything at all?

NEWS ENTHUSIAST ONE
They’ve got the updates on Anna Nicole Smith’s body…

NEWS ENTHUSIAST THREE
… and Britney Spears’ baldness…

NEWS ENTHUSIAST ONE
… and the guy who busted in on his upstairs neighbor with a sword because he thought his porno was a rape…

And News Enthusiasts One and Three blather on with any number of useless headlines as they group walks away.

THE GUY
You should be ashamed.

CNN.com hangs its head in shame.

The lights go down.

2.21.2007: A Moment That Rocks Your Socks

The Guy and the Redneck Intellectual. We hear guitar playing off in the background.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL
You miss me?

THE GUY
Huh?

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL
You miss me? Cause I miss you.

THE GUY
Yeah. I miss you too.

And socks are rocked.

The lights go down.

2.21.2007: That Kind of Relationship (Anniversary!)

The Guy is here. And also Life/Play, physicalized.

The Guy has flowers, candy, a card.

THE GUY
Happy Anniversary.

LIFE/PLAY
Huh?

THE GUY
It’s our anniversary. Come on, you remember. Our one-month anniversary.

LIFE/PLAY
Oh.

THE GUY
We met a month ago. And I’ve been having a great time. Really. So I bought you some candy, these flowers (I hope you like roses) and a card. Read the card. Go ahead. Read it.

LIFE/PLAY
“Thank you for a lovely month. Here’s to many more. Yours. The Guy.”

THE GUY
Do you like it?

LIFE/PLAY
Sure.

THE GUY
You seem… underwhelmed.

LIFE/PLAY
Well…

THE GUY
Come on. You can tell me anything. We have that kind of relationship, you and I.

LIFE/PLAY
I don’t want to dampen your otherwise festive mood for today’s play.

THE GUY
It’s okay. There’ll be more than one for today. The Redneck Intellectual called me twice last night. So I’ll stay festive.

LIFE/PLAY
One… I’m a play. YOUR play as a matter of fact, so it’s really not like we’re in a “relationship” because “relationships” are generally mutual arrangements between people, and I’m not really a person, and this isn’t really mutual (because I’m a figment of your imagination) so this is really more like a sex slave / master kind of thing, which wouldn’t need flowers and candy and a card to mark the passage of time.

And while we’re on that subject, one month anniversaries are so… lame. I’m sorry, they are. I’m mean, who celebrates lasting a MONTH? What kind of marker is that? Who cares? So you make it a month… great. You’ve made it a month. Get back to me when you’ve added eleven others to that. Because that’s an accomplishment. That’s a thing worth marking with candy and flowers and a card. Because that shows survival. That shows the struggle to make something work. That shows that you’ve really made something.

And oh, let’s not forget the other men. Seriously. There’s a parade of handsome men traipsing through this play on a daily basis and you’re here telling me you’re committed to ME? Pshaw. Yes, I say Pshaw. Because that is how I feel.

THE GUY
You can be cranky.

LIFE/PLAY
How often does a playwright let his play speak for itself?

THE GUY
I should have just bought you carnations.

LIFE/PLAY
Maybe so.

An awkward pause.

LIFE/PLAY (cont.)
What?

THE GUY
There’s more.

LIFE/PLAY
Huh?

THE GUY
Fellas, you can come in now!

The other fellas in the play: The Curiosity, The Fella, J, The Brother, The Brother’s Boyfriend, ect. , appear, dressed as mariachis.

LIFE/PLAY
Oh my God.

THE GUY
I thought this would be funny and endearing.

LIFE/PLAY
You’re troubled, you know that?

THE GUY
Nah. I just enjoy… well… joy. Hit it!

The mariachis begin their song, a mariachi version of some sweet wedding standard, maybe “Color My World” or something like that.

Life/Play looks pissed. The Guy looks happy.

The one-month anniversary, no matter how ridiculous, has been marked.

2.20.2007: What I'm Thinking About (Why It's Good To Answer Your Phone Late at Night)

The Guy and a new friend, The Redneck Intellectual.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL
What are you thinking about?

THE GUY
You, actually.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL
Cool.

A pause.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL (cont.)
What are you thinking about, now?

THE GUY
Whether or not I’ll get to hang out with you again. Because I’d like to. It’d be fun to get to know you better.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL
Cool.

A pause, again.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL (cont.)
What are you thinking about?

THE GUY
You ask that a lot.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL
Well. I’m curious.

THE GUY
I was thinking that I had a really fun time with you. It felt… honest. I liked that.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL
Cool.

A new pause.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL (cont.)
I’ve noticed you’re not really putting too many ideas into my mouth.

THE GUY
Because I don’t feel that I can.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL
Oh.

THE GUY
I’m not making assumptions of you.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL
I see.

THE GUY
I have this problem, this tendency, to dive right into someone. See the whole story played out in the first five minutes. Not because I’m desperate for someone to be in my life. I just really embrace and enjoy possibilities. They excite me. They get me pumped.

And you… well, you feel…

Possible.

But I’m not going push it. I’m not going to rush headlong into battle and smother you with my overzealousness.

I just wanna let you unfold, in your own time, in your own way, if that’s what’s supposed to happen.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL
Cool.

A pause, again.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL (cont.)
What are you thinking about?

THE GUY
Still you.

THE REDNECK INTELLECTUAL
Cool.

And the lights go down, but the thinking doesn’t.

Once the lights fade, The Guy has to figure out when to give The Redneck Intellectual a call without sounding too eager and scaring him off.

That’s what I’m thinking about.

2.19.2007: June Moon Spoon Swoon (In Your Face, Blake Castille)

The Guy stands alone. He speaks to us.

THE GUY
Today I met a fellow who declared
that writing once a day, for him, impaired
the process to create, because for him,
to rhyme was something more than just a whim.

He crafted songs, and so he justified
his resolute refusal to be tied
to writing once a day a song anew
to rhyming being difficult to do.

“But no!” I told him, “This cannot be so!
For even playwrights know the way to go!
A playwright who invests a bit of time
can come up with a healthy dose of rhyme!”

And so this play (if “play” it can be called)
upon this page is dutifully scrawled
in rhyming lines and verses neatly built
to give the songster great creative guilt.

For even those who write to fit the stage
can conjure rhymes that hopefully engage
without restoring to the clichéd tune
of rhymes like june and moon and spoon and swoon.

So take this as a lesson for the day:
That every writer should write day to day.
And let not rhyming hinder what you feel.
So… in your face, my friend, dear Blake Castille.

The roar of an unseen audience erupts, filling the space with a joyful noise. The Guy basks in his accomplishment. Roses fall at his feet.

The lights go down, thank god, to shield us from The Guy’s smug smile.

2.19.2007: Good Company

The Guy and The Guy Back When.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
Can I ask you something?

THE GUY
Sure.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
Do you ever regret being me?

THE GUY
No.

Well…

Not really.

I mean I do sort of regret all the time you spent being an asshole to people because you were too insecure to just be yourself.

And you probably should have screwed around less.

And I’m not criticizing, but you should really drink less at cast parties. Because I know every time you think that this cast party will be different, and you can hold your liquor this time, but the truth is you ALWAYS end up making out with someone, saying something really mean that you don’t remember later, or throwing up in someone’s toilet.

But no. I don’t regret being you.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
Good.

You know, ten, fifteen years from now, there’s gonna be another version of you that’s gonna be looking back at you the way you’re looking at me.

THE GUY
I know.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
I wonder what he’s gonna say about you?

THE GUY
Hopefully the same things I said about you.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
You don’t mind that I’m taking this trip with you, do you?

THE GUY
Nah. Not at all. You’re good company.

The lights go down.

2.18.2007: Sad Songs on the Radio (A Memory)

The Guy and his Uncertain Future, who has quickly become his fastest friend here, are watching (slightly removed) The Guy Back When and The Sad Song Friend.

The Guy Back When and The Sad Song Friend are listening to Tracy Chapman’s song, “The Promise” and looking really bummed out.

The Guy chuckles.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
What’s so funny?

THE GUY
Those two.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
They look sort of bummed out.

THE GUY
They are. Well. They think they are.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
God I love this song.

THE SAD SONG FRIEND
I know.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
This song is exactly what I want to say to him.

THE SAD SONG FRIEND
I know.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
I mean, he’s never gonna love me.

THE SAD SONG FRIEND
He’d love you before he’d love me.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
Whatever. He’s not gay. At least you’re a woman. He’d love you before he’d ever fall in love with me.

THE SAD SONG FRIEND
Please. He doesn’t even know I’m alive. At least he hangs out with you. At least he cares about you. He’d totally fall in love with you before he’d ever fall in love with me.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
Whatever.

THE SAD SONG FRIEND
This song…

THE GUY BACK WHEN
I know…

THE SAD SONG FRIEND
This freakin’ song…

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Are they serious?

THE GUY
When I was in college, Sarah and I would listen to this song every time we got together, because we were both madly in love with our friend, Brian. Who was in love with neither of us.

We’d sit there, on the verge of tears almost, arguing over which one of us Brian was gonna fall in love with before the other.

We thought our hearts were breaking. We thought we’d never experience anything as deeply profound as the pain of him not loving us.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Were you right?

THE GUY
No.

In truth, this is probably the happiest time of my entire life so far.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
This?

THE GUY
Yeah.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
Why doesn’t he love me?

THE SAD SONG FRIEND
He just can’t see what’s in front of him.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
If he only could see how much love I have in my heart for him.

THE SAD SONG FRIEND
If he could just hear this song…

THE GUY BACK WHEN
You know, if he ever picked you, I’d be happy for you.

THE SAD SONG FRIEND
If he picked you, I’d be happy for you.

THE GUY BACK WHEN
Why doesn’t he love either one of us?

The Guy Back When and The Sad Song Friend shake their heads and are miserable as the song plays on.

The Guy smiles a broad smile. This was happiness. The limitless world where the only thing you have to worry about is not having a straight guy love you back.

It was good. And so was this song.

The Guy listens as the lights go down.

2.17.2007: The Smell of the Kill

The Guy and his Uncertain Future are together. They are surrounded by the rest of the men in the play, who slink about the stage like tigers hunting their prey. Their prey, it seems, is The Guy.

THE GUY
What the hell is going on?

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
You don’t know?

THE GUY
No.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
They’re after you.

THE GUY
After me?

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Yeah. They’re after you.

THE GUY
I’ve been noticing an unusual increase in the amount of male attention I’ve been getting the last few weeks.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
You know why, don’t you?

THE GUY
No. I have been curious about it, of course. But I haven’t really come to any firm conclusions on the matter.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
I know what it is.

THE GUY
Oh yeah?

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
They can smell the single all over you.

The Guy laughs. The prowling men that slink across the stage all bristle at the sound of it.

The Guy sort of freaks out.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE (cont.)
No sudden movements. The minute you let your guard down… POUNCE!

The Guy remains unnerved. His Uncertain Future, merely a metaphor so irrelevant to the prowling men, smiles contentedly.

The lights go down.

2.17.2007: Bilingual

The Guy. He’s got a Spanish to English dictionary in his hand.

THE GUY
Now I guess I’m gonna have to learn Spanish.

He smiles, starts to flip the pages, trying to fund the word “lucky” in Spanish.

The lights go down.

2.16.2007: Blank (In Which the Playwright Finds He Has Nothing to Say)

The Guy.

Empty space.

The Guy has nothing to say. He’s been sitting at the computer for over an hour and hasn’t come up with a single thing to write about.

He was sort of freaked out about it at first, because aren’t you supposed to have something to say if you’re arrogant enough to write a play a day about your life and blog it?

But here he is. A man who’s not speaking alone on a blank stage.

But there’s something about a blank stage being occupied by a man who’s not speaking that feels… right.

And The Guy thinks, “Maybe today is just a celebration of the blank page. The clean slate. The white nothing in which anything can happen.

“Maybe today is the day that clears the page for something wonderful tomorrow.”

…

Or maybe he just can’t think of anything to say.

Either way, here he is. On a blank stage. Not speaking.

And he stands here for a while, taking it all in, feeling perfectly at home in the blank.

2.15.2007: Either End of a Busy World

The Guy is here. He’s finished a day of teaching. He’s exhausted.

Another person enters. The Student – eighteen, energetic, a fun kid to be around. The Student looks busy.

THE GUY
Hey. How’s it going?

THE STUDENT
Good. But busy. As always. You?

THE GUY
Busy. Still a little sick. But not enough to call in a Playwright Temp.

THE STUDENT
That’s cool.

I gotta go.

THE GUY
Of course. Have a good rehearsal.

THE STUDENT
Thanks.

And the Student goes.

This is pretty much how it’s been lately between them. Mostly just conversation in passing.

But as The Student goes and The Guy turns to follow him off, The Guy has one of those moments – the kind of moment that passes when there’s something you wanna say but you’re sort of too embarrassed to say it out loud, something you’d never admit to even thinking later, not even admit to writing down and blogging on the internet (if someone were so inclined to do so).

But since The Student is off in his own busy world, and this is a play that can always be accused of being fiction, The Guy says what’s on his mind.

THE GUY
If I ever have a kid of my own, I hope he’s a lot like you.

The Guy smiles as the lights go down.

2.15.2007: Exit, Pursued by a Bear (or, The Play in Which the Brother’s Boyfriend Survives)

The Guy and the Brother’s Boyfriend.

THE BROTHER’S BOYFRIEND
Hey.

THE GUY
Hello.

THE BROTHER’S BOYFRIEND
Am I gonna get eaten again?

THE GUY
Nope. I don’t think so.

THE BROTHER’S BOYFRIEND
Good. Because I was starting to wonder.

THE GUY
Sorry. I like running jokes. It was just meant to be funny.

THE BROTHER’S BOYFRIEND
Well, have you ever been eaten by a Giant Bear?

The Guy grins a smartass grin.

THE BROTHER’S BOYFRIEND (cont.)
You know what I mean. Actually eaten. It’s terrible. And I haven’t been on stage in a long time, and what do I get? Devoured by a seventy-foot-tall bear.

THE GUY
It’s not that I don’t like you. I do. A lot, actually. You’re the best boyfriend my brother’s ever had, as far as I’m concerned.

THE BROTHER’S BOYFRIEND
Thanks.

THE GUY
Anytime.

The Giant Bear appears, growling, ferocious.

THE GUY (cont.)
Um, hey. Sorry. Not this play.

THE GIANT BEAR
Oh. Ok. Sorry.

The Brother appears, with a green tea latte.

THE BROTHER
Hey you two. What’s up?

THE BROTHER’S BOYFRIEND
Sic ‘em!

The Giant Bear roars. The Brother screams. Green tea latte goes everywhere.

The Brother exits, pursued by a bear.

2.15.2007: If a Tree Falls in a Forest (or Why We Bother With This at All)

The Guy is here, with his Uncertain Future.

THE GUY
I’ve been wondering something.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Yeah?

THE GUY
I’ve been wondering… who’s reading this?

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
People.

THE GUY
You sure?

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Yeah. Pretty sure.

THE GUY
But you’re not certain?

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
I am your Uncertain Future. By design, I am… uncertain.

THE GUY
See. I wonder about this. Because if no one’s actually reading this, then is it a play?

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Oh, I see. If a tree falls in the forest… that kind of thing.

THE GUY
Exactly.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
I think people are reading it.

THE GUY
You think. But you do not KNOW…

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Nothing is completely knowable.

THE GUY
I know that. I do. But…

Why do we write things down in the first place? So they can be read. So we can connect to someone. Share some part of us with someone else. And this is theatre… it should be a dialogue, a conversation…

Just think of it. All of those voices – the readers and the writer – passing words back and forth, exchanging ourselves… these little pieces getting woven together by whoever’s out there and willing to share their little pieces…


UNCERTAIN FUTURE
You just want more responses on your blog, don’t you?

A silence.

THE GUY
Maybe.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Jeez.

THE GUY
I like getting email. So sue me.

And the Uncertain Future laughs a little, but not mockingly.

Then, the sound of a tree falling in a forest.

The Guy and the Uncertain Future hear it.

And the tree, wherever it has fallen, is glad to know it has been acknowledged.

2.14.2007: Freakshow! (Affectionately, Of Course)

The guy. And a new person. We’ll call him Freakshow.

Affectionately, of course.

THE GUY
Hey Freakshow.

FREAKSHOW
I’m in the plays now?

THE GUY
Yup.

FREAKSHOW
Nice. I like what you’ve done with the place.

THE GUY
Thank you.

FREAKSHOW
So, I can’t believe you’re actually gonna call me Freakshow. What are the people who read this going to think?

THE GUY
It’s meant affectionately, of course.

FREAKSHOW
I figured. But what are people who read this gonna think of me?

Suddenly something terribly random happens. Two actors dressed as huge dragonflies, armed with guns and with pantyhose masks covering their faces, run onstage, yelling.

HEAD DRAGONFLY BANK ROBBER
Okay! Hands up! Put your goddamned hands up and give me everything you’ve got in the safe! And I mean now!

The Guy and Freakshow are being held at gunpoint by dragonfly bank robbers. They put their hands in the air.

THE GUY
This is all your fault, you know. Let someone into these plays, and their influence spreads like wildfire.

FREAKSHOW
Sorry.

THE GUY
This is why I’m calling you Freakshow.

The secondary dragonfly bank robber gets nervous. He starts patting down Freakshow.

THE SECONDARY DRAGONFLY BANK ROBBER
The handsome one’s got something, Hoss! I think the handsome one’s got something!

FREAKSHOW
Suck up.

THE GUY
Sorry. You are. Handsome.

FREAKSHOW
(in a hushed tone)
Call the police. The dragonflies suspect that I have a weapon.

THE GUY
You make me smile, you know that?

FREAKSHOW
Yeah.

THE GUY
You aren’t scared that we’re being held at gunpoint by dragonfly bank robbers?

FREAKSHOW
Nah. They’re dragonflies. They’ll probably be dead in a matter of minutes.

As if on cue, the Dragonfly bank robbers drop dead. Since dragonflies don’t live very long at all.

THE GUY
My hero!

FREAKSHOW
You wanna grab dinner?

THE GUY
Sure. You freakshow.

Off they go, leaving the dragonflies on the ground.

2.14.2007 The Play about Valentine’s Day (It Must be Addressed)

“We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.” ~Author Unknown

The Guy is here.

The other characters in the play – The One Before, The Fella, J, The Curiosity, The Brother, The Brother’s Boyfriend, and on and on – are also gathered.

For a bit, they just stand around.

Then:

THE GUY
I know what you’re all thinking.

General hubbub from the group: “no, not at all, don’t know what you’re talking about, ect.”

THE GUY (cont.)
It’s the Valentine’s Day play. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Oh no! He’s either gonna get sweetly sentimental and plunge us all into a diabetic coma or he’s gonna go for the sad and lonely and make us all wanna shoot ourselves.”

More denial hubbub.

THE GUY (cont.)
You’re thinking it. I know you’re thinking it.

THE BROTHER
Okay. Maybe a little.

THE FELLA
I was. Definitely.

THE BROTHER’S BOYFRIEND
I just didn’t wanna get eaten by the Giant Bear again.

THE GUY
Well, you all have nothing to worry about. I’m not gonna make this too sentimental or too sad and lonely. Because I don’t feel either way today.

General relief from the group.

THE GUY (cont.)
However, I do feel obliged to address Valentine’s Day, since it is an important holiday, and you all have shown up for today’s play. So, I have invited a very special guest.

Excited hubbub from the group.

THE GUY (cont.)
Special Guest! Come on out!

In walks Cupid.

But not the one we might expect. He’s got the wings and the archery stuff and all, but instead of being a chubby little cherub, Cupid is a blind blues harmonica player who’s got some serious strut.

CUPID AS A BLIND BLUES HARMONICA PLAYER
Peace, my brothers.

THE BROTHER
Okay. That’s weird.

THE GUY
I know. But so is love. You never know what’s gonna come walking out of the wings once the lights come up. On stage and in life.

Hit it, Cupid.

CUPID AS A BLIND BLUES HARMONICA PLAYER
You got it.

Cupid takes out his harmonica. And he starts to improvise a blues song, the call and response kind, that all of the characters in the play can join in on.

The song talks about love, of course.

Everybody sings like their lives depend on it.

Then a Giant Bear appears and eats the Brother’s Boyfriend.

Just kidding.

2.13.2007: The Door of Opportunity

The Guy and a Door.

It’s a rather impressive door. Tall, carved with intricate detail, the kind of door that obviously guards something very very important.

And the door has a face. Which, at the moment, is immobile.

The Guy considers the door.

The Brother enters.

THE GUY
Hey.

THE BROTHER
Oh, hey. What are you doing?

THE GUY
Checking out this door. I haven’t seen it here before.

THE BROTHER
This door?

THE GUY
Yes. This door.

THE BROTHER
Oh. It’s the Door of Opportunity.

THE GUY
Really?

THE BROTHER
Yeah. The Door of Opportunity. You open it, and there… inside…

THE GUY
… is Opportunity.

THE BROTHER
You got it.

A silence.

THE GUY
That’s a heavy-handed metaphor.

THE BROTHER
Look. I’m not writing this play. You are. And let’s be honest here. Don’t you want Opportunity to be this freakin’ obvious? Don’t you? Doesn’t everyone? I mean wouldn’t it be nice if you were just walking through your life, wondering what the hell you were going to do with the next forty years of it and WHAM! suddenly in the middle of everything there’s this. This DOOR! I mean, it would make life so much easier, don’t you think?

THE GUY
Good point.

THE BROTHER
So are you gonna open it?

THE GUY
I don’t know. I haven’t decided.

They stand there a minute, contemplating the Door.

Finally:

THE DOOR OF OPPORTUNITY
I’M THE FUCKING DOOR OF OPPORTUNITY, YOU DUMB SHIT! OPEN ME!

The two of them are startled.

THE BROTHER
The Door of Opportunity isn’t very nice.

THE DOOR OF OPPORUNITY
I don’t have time for nice. I have things to do.

THE GUY
Sorry.

THE DOOR OF OPPORTUNITY
Whatever. So are you going to open me or not?

THE BROTHER
I think you should do it.

THE GUY
Yeah?

THE BROTHER
I did. I had a wonderful time. I got to do more things that I ever thought I would. I did what I wanted to do. Now… it’s your turn.

THE DOOR OF OPPORTUNITY
Come on. Open me.

The Guy goes to the Door of Opportunity. He opens it.

The lights go down.

2.13.2007: J (or, Correspondence Like in the Old Days)

The Guy and J, someone new, someone the Guy is clearly surprised to see.

THE GUY
Holy shit.

J
Surprised to see me here, huh?

THE GUY
Yeah. Very. I had the biggest crush on you in middle school.

J
I know.

THE GUY
And now here you are.

J
Here I am.

There’s a bit of a pause.

THE GUY
You don’t say a whole lot, do you?

J
Not really.

THE GUY
You know, I think it’s very cool that you’re in my life again. Not that you ever knew who I was, and not that we’re actually in the same place, and I’ve never actually spoken to you in person, but you know…

J
Yeah.

I have something for you.

THE GUY
For me?

J hands The Guy a few pages – a play. Brief. But a beginning.

J
It’s a play.

THE GUY
I see.

J
I’ve never written one before. It probably isn’t any good.

THE GUY
You never know. And anyway, I can always teach ya. It’s what I do.

J
Cool. Then read it. And let me know what you think, teach.

The Guy starts to read J’s play.

And it’s funny, but sort of poetic, that these two men – who have really never met each other – have now shared something personal. Through the written word.

Because the only reason J knows anything about the Guy is through a play The Guy wrote a while back. And now, there’s this new play. And there have been emails and instant messages, and everything that has passed between them has been written down.

Correspondence. Like the old days.

And The Guy thinks he’s just found a new friend.

2.12.2007: The Angel of History (from Walter Benjamin)

While the debris piles toward the heavens before his eyes, the storm drives him incessantly into the Future that he has turned his back upon.
What we call Progress is this storm." – Walter Benjamin

The Guy stands at the post office. In his hand is an envelope. Inside the envelope are this play and an application to the New York International Fringe Festival.

Around him, the actors from the other pieces create a swirl of voices, overlapping, some ringing out more loudly than others:

VOICES
- You should just go to school here. It doesn’t make sense going all the way to New York. Nobody will be there if something happens to you.
- You’re not going to be good enough.
- You can always do this later.
- But you’re good at what you do. Why do you need to go to New York? Because you can still write plays here.
- Relationships matter. Is it worth giving up a relationship that works to go out there and fail?
- How many people actually make it out there? Really? Your chances aren’t going to be good at all.
- You had your chance. You blew it. It’s too late.

And many variations on these ideas, invented ones, all on the same theme – the voice in the back of your head that stops you from doing what you wanna do – overlapping, a storm of voices.

The Guy is clearly immobilized by the storm of voices.

The Angel of History appears – a handsome man, probably played by the actor playing The Curiosity. Have fun with him. He makes a gesture, and the storm subsides.

The Voices continue, only silently. We see their mouths open, but no sounds.

THE GUY
I can’t do this.

THE ANGEL OF HISTORY
Of course you can.

THE GUY
I can’t. This is stupid. Why on earth do I think this will work? Why even bother?

When I was 22, I decided I was done with Louisiana, and I was going to move to New York and win a slew of Tonys before I turned 30.

I was there four days.

That’s it. Four days. And then I was back home.

I couldn’t even handle it for an entire week.

I came home, completely humiliated, and everyone around me, everyone who had cheered me on and waved me off at the bus station (I took a bus, I’m terrified of planes, another story for another time) – when I saw those people once I’d come back, they would just look at me, and you could just see, when they looked at me, they were filled with disappointment and pity and… the look you give someone when they finally realize their limitations.

You carry that around with you.

I’m thirty years old. I should have done this already. I should have done this then… that time…

THE ANGEL OF HISTORY
This is not that time, repeated.

THE GUY
It might be.

THE ANGEL OF HISTORY
It might. And it might not.

The Guy indicates the Voices, still clamoring silently.

THE GUY
When do they stop?

THE ANGEL OF HISTORY
They don’t.

THE GUY
They’re loud.

THE ANGEL OF HISTORY
They have to be.

We’re always staring
at the ruin of the past
because if we ever looked at our future head-on,

its light would blind us,
its noise would deafen us,
its fabulousness would shake us so
that our molecules would break apart
and we’d become just a shimmer
a gleam of light with irreconcilable edges
that once seemed to be us.

The future is more wonderful than we can ever comprehend.

The Voices return, their noise and clamor as fervent as before.

The Guy takes this all in.

There are moments when you just have to go for it. Right? Because not even the Angel of History can turn from the past to see what lies ahead.

The Guy mails the packet.

The Angel of History turns to watch the Voices.

The lights go down.

2.11.2007: In Passing

The Guy is here. And, surprisingly, so is The Fella.

THE FELLA
What am I doing here?

THE GUY
I don’t know. I kinda missed you.

THE FELLA
I thought you wrote me out of this.

THE GUY
I did. But you were on my mind.

A silence. Not a heavy one.

THE FELLA
That all?

THE GUY
Yeah. Pretty much.

They sit there, and while it feels that there will be something else… there isn’t.

The lights go down.

2.11.2007: Lifetime Movie (For Casey, Bonnie, Jonathan, and Lauren)

A table reading for a major motion picture to premiere on Lifetime Television. A bevy of ladies sit around the table – familiar ladies, as we will see shortly. They chatter and laugh and are filled with anticipation.

A harried production manager scurries in.

THE HARRIED PRODUCTION MANAGER
He’s arrived! The director has arrived!

A hush. The Director arrives, a plump ego-bloated man with a comb-over. The ladies all applaud. His name, coincidentally, is Hack.

HACK
Ladies! Welcome to the table read of my new Lifetime movie: Blind Stranger in My Heart: The Deceit of Deception.

The ladies all applaud vigorously. As each actress is named, they stand or raise their hand, and the other actresses applaud her.

HACK (cont.)
As you know, the story concerns a middle-aged divorced woman, played by Lisa Rinna, who is concealing the fact that her sister, played by Judith Light, has been abusing her husband, played by Harry Hamlin.

THE HARRIED STAGE MANAGER
Mr. Hamlin couldn’t make it, sir.

HACK
Ah. Then Morgan Fairchild will play Harry Hamlin playing Judith Light’s husband.

The actresses applaud. Morgan Fairchild appears out of nowhere and joins the table read.

HACK (cont.)
The abuse is overheard by a neighbor, played by Valerie Bertinelli, who is the mother of conjoined twin daughters Tracey Gold and Kellie Martin (who are both anorexic and bulimic). In an attempt to stop the abuse, Bertinelli enlists her mother, played by Victoria Principal, to seduce Rinna (because lesbians are hot these days.) Principal, unfortunately, is blind, and therefore mistakes Light for Rinna and seduces the wrong woman. Light, upon discovering the deception, beats the crap out of Principal, and Rinna enlists the conjoined twins to kill Light. The twins, who can’t even agree on their own eating disorder, cannot go through with the murder, and report Rinna to a detective, played by Markie Post. Post hunts down Rinna, only to discover that Rinna is actually the long lost daughter of a woman played by Meredith Baxter-Birney, who is the only surgeon-psychiatrist in the country who can cure the conjoined twins. Secrets are revealed, hearts are mended, and rifts are finally healed.

The actresses all stand and cheer. It’s the best Lifetime movie ever!

THE HARRIED PRODUCTION MANAGER
But that doesn’t make any sense.

A hush falls over the actresses.

THE HARRIED PRODUCTION MANAGER (cont.)
It doesn’t. That’s the most ridiculous plot of a movie I’ve ever heard.

HACK
True. Because you see, my harried production manager, there is a twist!

Hack produces a detonator from his pocket. The actresses gasp in horror. Hack pushes a button. The actresses all explode into a million little pieces of B-level acting talent.

The harried production manager is aghast.

Hack pulls back a mask to reveal he is none other than Dame Judi Dench.

DAME JUDI DENCH
There’s only so much bad acting a Dame can take.

Dame Judi Dench walks away.

The harried production manager realizes in that instant that while she’s glad that we’ll never have to be subjected to another Lifetime movie, Jennifer Love Hewitt is still out there somewhere.

2.10.2007: “His Work is Gonna Be Famous” (or, How To take a Compliment)

The Guy (no longer sick, just a little hoarse) and The Curiosity.

THE CURIOSITY
Glad you’re back.

THE GUY
Me, too.

THE CURIOSITY
Read what I wrote?

THE GUY
Yeah.

THE CURIOSITY
And?

THE GUY
Well. Whatever. You know, I think you’re just trying to flatter me.

The Curiosity smiles. The Guy smiles. It’s that kind of moment.

The Compliment Fairy (probably played by the guy who played Cute in the play from 1.23.2007) appears. Resplendent in drag, wand, fairy dust, fabulous wig, whatever. Serious attitude.

THE COMPLIMENT FAIRY
Jesus, girl, your ass better learn how to take a compliment!

THE GUY
I’m sorry. Who are you?

THE COMPLIMENT FAIRY
The Compliment Fairy.

THE GUY
Oh.

THE COMPLIMENT FAIRY
You must still be a little high on those cold medications, baby, cause I don’t understand why the fuck I’m here either.

THE GUY
I’ll go with it.

THE COMPLIMENT FAIRY
Look, this handsome piece of man (and you are, baby, a handsome piece of man) has given your sorry ass a compliment.

THE CURIOSITY
Several, actually.

THE COMPLIMENT FAIRY
Several. You hear that, boy? Several. And what do you do? What do you do?

THE GUY
I don’t know.

THE COMPLIMENT FAIRY
You play it off like this man don’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Now ain’t that some shit?

THE GUY
But do you know what he said? Do you?

THE COMPLIMENT FAIRY
No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.

THE GUY
“His work’s gonna be famous.” I mean. Jesus. You can’t say that. You can’t just say “You’re gonna be famous.” He says things like, “He’s got an incredible talent” and that my writing’s really good, and that I’m gonna be a Broadway playwright someday, and I mean, you can’t just say those things, you know…

THE CURIOSITY
Why?

THE GUY
Because.

THE CURIOSITY
Because why?

THE COMPLIMENT FAIRY
Yeah, baby, because why?

THE GUY
Because… because you’re not supposed to say those things to people.

THE COMPLIMENT FAIRY
This bitch is crazy.

THE CURIOSITY
A compliment is just a way to let someone know they have value. To you.

THE COMPLIMENT FAIRY
That’s good, baby. I’m gonna have to write that down.

THE CURIOSITY
I just want you to know you’re thought of.

The Guy considers this. And it feels nice being thought of. And he knows what to say now. So he gives it a go.

THE GUY
Hey.

THE CURIOSITY
Yeah?

THE GUY
I read what you wrote in your blog.

THE CURIOSITY
You did? What did you think?

THE GUY
It was very nice. Thank you.

The Curiosity smiles a smile that says, “Now that’s all I wanted to hear.”

The Compliment Fairy, upon hearing a compliment being taken well, waves her wand.

Magic happens.

The lights go down.

2.9.2007: Sick Day

The lights come up on a Playwright Temp. He’s a little frazzled. He’s scrambling through a stack of pages.

The Curiosity enters. Checks this guy out.

THE CURIOSITY
Um. Hey.

THE PLAYWRIGHT TEMP
Yes?

THE CURIOSITY
Um. Have you seen…

THE PLAYWRIGHT TEMP
He’s out sick today. Sorry. He’s got a cold or something. Or coming down with a cold. I don’t know. They don’t really give you enough backstory when you take one of these jobs. So I’m kind of winging it.

THE CURIOSITY
Oh.

THE PLAYWRIGHT TEMP
Who are you again? You the Fella?

THE CURIOSITY
No. He wrote him out a couple weeks ago. I’m the Curiosity.

THE PLAYWRIGHT TEMP
Oh. Ok. I have notes on you here somewhere…

The Playwright Temp flips through note cards, while The Curiosity waits.

THE CURIOSITY
Listen…

THE PLAYWRIGHT TEMP
Wait!

The Playwright Temp holds up a single finger – the “just one second you’re bothering me” finger – and continues to flip through cards. When he finds the one he’s looking for:

THE PLAYWRIGHT TEMP (cont.)
Ah! Yes. You’re not in today’s play.

THE CURIOSITY
I’m not.

THE PLAYWRIGHT TEMP
No.

A moment, as the Curiosity considers the irony of that.

THE CURIOSITY
Well, can you let him know I stopped by?

THE PLAYWRIGHT TEMP
Sure.

The Curiosity starts off.

THE PLAYWRIGHT TEMP
Hey! What do you think about today’s play being about the death of Anna Nicole Smith?

THE CURIOSITY
I think I’m glad I’m not in today’s play.

The Curiosity goes, as the Playwright Temp starts to write his play (which we will never see because when the Guy returns from being sick, he’s so outraged that anyone would think to write a play about the death of Anna Nicole Smith, that he clubs the Playwright Temp on the head and sends him back to graduate school.)

The lights fade.

2.8.2007: Peggy Sawyer Redux

The stage is filled with the bustle and noise of Times Square.

People come and go, briefcase, umbrellas, dogs being walked – it all feels very much like a scene out of a movie musical.

Which it is.

And suddenly, a brassy overture fills the theatre, and the bustle becomes choreographed movement. It looks like a big production number in a movie starring Gene Kelly. Only there’s no Gene Kelly.

Yet.

In runs The Guy, full-on musical comedy mode, with a suitcase and a dream. His face beams with excitement.

THE GUY
I’ve made it!

THE CAST OF THE MUSICAL IN MY MIND
He made it!

And the musical number begins. Everyone's dancing, everyone's singing, everyone's in perfect harmoy the way are in a musical number like this.

A musical number wherein The Guy hatches a plan to become a big Broadway star (of the playwright variety) because musical numbers always express the most optimistic of hopes, and The Guy’s always known that if you can get the people on the streets of New York to get their shit together long enough to do the choreography for a musical number (even if only in your mind) then you’ve got a shot at getting whatever you’ve dreamed of.

He’s a good dancer, too. In this dream musical.

Just thought I’d throw that in.

The lights go down.

2.7.2007: The Story Can't Be Changed (But We Try, How We Try)

The Guy is here with another guy – around eighteen, sort of looks like The Guy, but smaller, a little cockier, less grey hair – we’ll call this young guy The Guy Back When.

The Guy Back When looks discouraged.

THE GUY
Listen.

Right now. This thing you feel right now.
It passes.
It isn’t forever.

Listen to them. Let them talk you out of it.
Stay here. Go to school here.
Do what they pressure you to do,

and it’s going to feel like such a compromise
but trust me…
because the things you do instead…

I know right now you just want to get out,
venture out into the world and take it over,
but you’re not ready. Not yet.

Trust me.

You’re going to think you’ve lost it.
That ambition.
And for a long time it’s going to sit quietly inside you,
waiting it’s turn,
and it’s going to feel like it’s gone.

But it’s not. It’s waiting.

And when it resurfaces –
your life just opens up,
it flowers,
it comes at just the right time
when you’re exactly the person you need to be,
exactly the person you want to be…

It’s not going to matter that you miss an opportunity right now.
Because others are coming.

Life is never a closed door.

The Guy tries to think of other things to say. But what’s the point, right? Because you don’t really get to tell your younger self that the mistakes you think you made were really the best things you could have done. You don’t get to comfort the person you were with the person you become.

You only get to look back and wish that your life could be more like this play.

Ah well.

The Guy Back When will learn all this soon enough, right?

And when he does, he’ll sit at his computer and write a play on February 7, 2007 that begins with him talking to himself and ends with the lights going down.

2.6.2007: A Boy and His Wand

The Guy sits with The Best Friend. They are looking at pictures – the promotional pictures for the London production of Equus starring Daniel Radcliffe a.k.a Harry Potter.

They sit for a moment, staring at them, a little awestruck.

THE GUY
I feel…kind of…

THE BEST FRIEND
I know.

THE GUY
…but at the same time…

THE BEST FRIEND
Exactly.

THE GUY
I mean…

THE BEST FRIEND
Oh, yeah.

THE GUY
Right?

THE BEST FRIEND
No, you’re totally right.

THE GUY
I thought so. It’s not just because…

THE BEST FRIEND
No... Not at all.

THE GUY
I thought so.

THE BEST FRIEND
Oh... hell yeah.

It’s clear they’re avoiding saying what they’re thinking. Otherwise, there would be fewer ellipses.

They continue to look at the pictures.

THE GUY
I’m just gonna come out and say it.

THE BEST FRIEND
I don’t know if you should.

THE GUY
I can’t help it.

THE BEST FRIEND
Okay. If you must.

THE GUY
I kinda wanna fuck Harry Potter.

The Best Friend nods. She knows exactly what The Guy means.

They go back to the pictures.

Lights go down.

2.5.2007: Good Thing (or When It Rains, It Pours)

The Guy appears.

Across the space, another fellow appears: The Good Thing.

They are far apart – on stage and in life. But here, they can talk, across a distance, as if they were side by side.

THE GUY
Hey.

THE GOOD THING
Hey.

THE GUY
You know, this keeps happening to me.

THE GOOD THING
Really?

THE GUY
Yeah. Good things keep coming my way. But why are you all so damn far away?

THE GOOD THING
Part of the fun, I guess.

THE GUY
I want to mark this.

THE GOOD THING
What?

THE GUY
I want to mark this moment.
This place.

I want to put down something that forever reminds me that we were here.
Right now.
In this moment.
In case, later…

THE GOOD THING
In case later, what?

THE GUY
In case, later,
this turns out to be just a
ripple in an otherwise ordered life.

In case this is the only time
we’re ever right here.

In case what we feel could be…

isn’t.

THE GOOD THING
Okay. What do you want to do?

The Guy thinks a second. There’s so much he wants to do, so much he’d like to say or explain, but in a moment like this, there really isn’t anything one can do or say that really encompasses it all.

So he does something unexpected.

The Guy, unfettered by the reality of space and time, crosses the stage and kisses The Good Thing deeply, the kind of kiss that makes everything matter, the kind of kiss that sets things in motion, and in that kiss, The Guy has set something in motion, hopefully something good, and he does it with an unabashed joy.

When it’s over:

THE GUY
It’s the best I could do.

The Guy crosses back to his spot.

Something has begun.

The lights go down.

2.5.2007: Awake and Sing! (Not After Odets)

We’re in two places at once. Louisiana and Indianapolis.

The Guy is at his computer desk in Louisiana. The Curiosity is rejoicing in the streets of Indianapolis, head painted blue.

THE GUY
Hey.

THE CURIOSITY
Oh hey. What are you doing here?

THE GUY
You were on my mind.

THE CURIOSITY
Oh yeah?

THE GUY
Yeah. Congratulations. Your team won.

THE CURIOSITY
That they did. You wanna come celebrate?

THE GUY
Nah. I’m not much into football. I can’t tell a Bear from a Colt.

THE CURIOSITY
That’s fine. Why were you even paying attention to who won the game?

THE GUY
Because you were.

There’s a nice moment between them.

THE CURIOSITY
Sure you don’t want to dance and sing in the streets with me?

THE GUY
Nah. I’m good where I am. Just wanted you to know you were thought of.

The Curiosity smiles. And then he goes off to sing and dance in the streets to celebrate victory.

The Guy watches him go, a little surprised that the happiness of someone he’s never met makes his Monday morning just a little less dreary.

2.4.2007: Kites

The Guy and his Uncertain Future are outdoors on a very windy day.

They’re flying beautiful kites, which float and dip and dance around above their heads.

The wind is a little strong.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
Good day for kites.

THE GUY
I know.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
The wind’s reliable today.

THE GUY
Yeah.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
May I make an observation?

THE GUY
Sure.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
The last few years I’ve known you, I’ve noticed something about the way we fly kites. Because it’s what we do, you and I. Fly kites.

THE GUY
Even when we’re doing something completely unrelated…

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
… we’ve got our kites up in the air, side by side, just like now. And I’ve noticed that they’re always over there –

He points in the direction of the kites.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE (cont.)
-- and nowhere else in the sky. Which surprises me, because it seems to me, in your life, the wind only ever blows in one direction.

THE GUY
You’re right. It does. I hadn’t noticed that.

They stand for a while, looking up at their kites.

The Guy considers this. The wind has only ever blown in one direction. And he thinks that maybe it’s because so much of his life so far has been lived in one direction – the safe one – that even the wind has lost the ability to explore other options.

The Guy isn’t happy about this.

And something in him shifts, something buried in him from years of thinking he wasn’t capable of anything other than this, something he hasn’t felt stir in him since he was a college kid watching an audience applaud at the end of the opening night of his first produced play, and the air around him changes, the atoms reconfigure, and something unusual happens.

His Uncertain Future looks up.

UNCERTAIN FUTURE
That’s funny. I think the wind’s about to change.

And above their heads, the kites start to move, across the stage space, and are now flying in the opposite direction.

The Guy smiles as the lights fade.

2.3.2007: Bears (or, Things That Go Woof in The Night)

The Guy stands in a forest, lit only by the full moon that lingers overhead.

With him are two others – The Brother and The Brother’s Boyfriend. Both wear hoodies from American Eagle. They’re cute.

THE BROTHER
You see him yet?

THE GUY
Nope.

THE BROTHER’S BOYFRIEND
What does he look like again?

THE BROTHER
Like a porn star from the 70s.

THE BROTHER’S BOYFRIEND
Oh yeah. That’s right. He’s a bear.

The Brother and the Brother’s Boyfriend laugh and start “woof”ing at each other. They’re sort of funny.

But it’s isn’t really funny when a Giant Bear appears – seventy feet tall, broad shouldered, little bit of a belly, fair bit of hair on him, and ferocious.

The Brother and the Brother’s Boyfriend scream in terror. The Giant Bear eats them like Giant Bears tend to do when screamed at.

The Guy looks up at the Giant Bear.

THE GUY
You ready for dinner?

THE GIANT BEAR
Sure.

The Giant Bear unzips the front of him to reveal, underneath the Giant Bear façade, a regular sized guy – six feet tall, broad shouldered, little bit of a belly, fair bit of hair on him, and a nice full beard. The Guy finds this pretty attractive in a fella.

They go to dinner.

Now of course, the Brother and the Brother’s Boyfriend didn’t really get eaten, they’re probably off someplace being terrific people, but it’s a gentle reminder to them that it’s always smart to be careful who you “woof” at.

2.2.2007: Virginia Guy (A Reconsideration)

The Guy, again, surrounded by the chunks of Virginia Guy from 1.30.2007.

Virginia Guy appears, but not the one we saw last time.

This time, he’s just a regular guy. Nice, unassuming, and clearly with a very healthy sense of humor.

VIRGINIA GUY
Hey. What are you doing?

THE GUY
Huh?

VIRGINIA GUY
You’ve got pieces of me all over the place.

THE GUY
Yeah. Um… sorry about that.

VIRGINIA GUY
I’m not really an asshole.

THE GUY
I know.

VIRGINIA GUY
I’m not even really that fat.

THE GUY
I know. I’m sorry.

VIRGINIA GUY
You know, you’re sort of an asshole for jumping to the conclusion that I’m an asshole.

THE GUY
Good point.

A weird moment.

VIRGINIA GUY
You can put the umbrella down now.

The Guy puts the umbrella down, slowly.

THE GUY
It’s not really you, you know. Like… you in particular. It’s more… people like that… people I represented in the guise of you.

VIRGINIA GUY
I got it.

THE GUY
I’m glad you have a sense of humor.

Virginia Guy picks up a piece of himself on the stage floor and chunks it at The Guy. It gets goop all over the Guy’s shirt.

THE GUY
Gross.

VIRGINIA GUY
Who’s the asshole now?

The Guy decides he deserves to have a little goop on his shirt.

The lights go down, but what we don’t see (because time is short and one shouldn’t assume too much, even in a play) is The Guy and Virginia Guy go out for coffee and find they have more in common than maybe The Guy first thought, which is a good thing to learn.

2.2.2007: In Celebration of Groundhog Day

The Guy appears, dressed a groundhog.

Photographers, onlookers, goofy tourists with Groundhog Day T-shirts assemble around him.

The Master Of Ceremonies appears – a rotund fellow – who’s here to get things underway.

MASTER OF CEREMONIES
Ladies and gentlemen! If we could all gather around, we can get things underway.

People gather.

MASTER OF CEREMONIES
We’ve been waiting all winter to find out whether or not our friend, the Groundhog, is going to see his shadow or not.

The Guy pulls The Master of Ceremonies aside.

THE GUY
Hey. I’m not actually a groundhog.

MASTER OF CEREMONIES
We know that.

THE GUY
I look stupid.

MASTER OF CEREMONIES
Well, you are a groundhog.

THE GUY
What am I doing here? This isn’t a play about me. These are supposed to be about me.

MASTER OF CEREMONIES
It is about you. You’re the Groundhog. This is Groundhog Day.

THE GUY
It’s not even a real holiday! It’s one of those pseudo-holidays that are really just excuses for dumb news filler and treacly Hallmark Cards.I’m nto doing this. Find yourself another Groundhog.

MASTER OF CEREMONIES
Wait!

The Guy pauses. The Master of Ceremonies gets suddenly philosophic.

MASTER OF CEREMONIES
(to the Guy)
Look. It’s all just a ritual of comfort. People want to think we live in a world where a groundhog can come out of the ground on a rainy February morning and make the seasons change faster. It’s just the kind of people we are.

THE GUY
Right.

MASTER OF CEREMONIES
See those two?

He points to a young couple – a typical cute young couple obviously very much in love – wearing Groundhog T-shirts.

THE GUY
What about them?

MASTER OF CEREMONIES
They’ve been seeing each other for three years. He met her in college, they’re both English majors. She’s in grad school now. He’s teaching high school. His parents adore her, and they’re planning to take a trip to Nebraska to meet her parents in March.

He’s got an engagement ring in his pocket. She thinks they’re just here to watch some goofy little superstition that’s got too much media attention.

If you see your shadow, the ring stays in his pocket. You say spring’s coming, he pops the question.

People need to believe in a world where small things matter. Winter’s gonna last as long as it lasts no matter what you say you see. But life might change for them because it’s Groundhog Day.

A silence.

THE GUY
I still look stupid in this suit.

MASTER OF CEREMONIES
Hey, we’re a small holiday. Money’s tight. And just be glad it isn’t Arbor Day.

A drum roll. There’s a stir in the crowd.

MASTER OF CEREMONIES
(to the crowd)
Now let’s find out whether or not spring is on the way!

Everyone is suddenly held in rapt attention.

The Guy looks down at the ground.

THE GUY
No shadow! Spring is on the way!

The young man from the cute young couple smiles a broad smile.

Everything is suddenly possible.

2.1.2007: In Which The Hardest Thing to Do Is Done

The Guy and someone we haven’t seen but who’s been lurking here all along – The One Before.

They sit.

THE ONE BEFORE
I’m lonely.

THE GUY
I know.

THE ONE BEFORE
I never see you.

THE GUY
I know.

Silence.

You know they both have things to say. They have many things to say. But they don’t.

Because it’s hard to say the things that need to be said. They’re even hard to insinuate in a stage direction.

And it’s so impossible for these two people to articulate the fact that things have gone wrong, and it’s painful, painful because they so wanted this thing to work out, and it could have, it SHOULD have, but it hasn’t, and now here they are, in two separate lives, and they don’t really know how to deal with that, so they sit here, not saying anything, or saying hardly anything, leaving gulfs between them, wanting something back that can never be gotten back, and so maybe if there’s a rambling ridiculous unstageable stage direction without an end then maybe they never really have to get to the next line, and nothing ever has to be spoken, not ever again, and they can just sit like this, forever, waiting it out, keeping whatever is painful at bay.

But you can’t wait forever in a play. There are cues to get to. Entrances to be made.

And exits.

THE GUY
I’m sorry.

THE ONE BEFORE
I know.

THE GUY
This is not how I wanted this to end.

THE ONE BEFORE
I know.

THE GUY
I could have written this better. I tried. I really did.

THE ONE BEFORE
I know.

THE GUY
So…

THE ONE BEFORE
I know.

And the hardest thing to do is done.

The lights go down.