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Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Oops, I did it again.

Apologies for the roughness... wrote this in a few mins and tweaked it....

Oops, I did it again.

Lights up on:

[Messy apartment; loft bedroom in medium-sized city, bustle of street outside the window. Clothes strewn haphazardly over the chair in the corner; two people, man and a woman lay in bed, both asleep] Queen - sized bed

[Woman stirs, groggy, clutches at head giving the impression she is hungover, doesn’t even look at man]

Woman – What time is it?

[Alarm Clock reads early afternoon]

Woman – Oh my God! How didn’t I hear my alarm? Shit… Rick is going to kill me. I am so fired, so fired…

[Lunges out of bed, causing the man to moan in sleep]

[Woman stifles scream]

Woman – Who the fuck are you?
[No response from the man other than snores; grabs her robe off the chair to cover herself (she’s in bra and underwear)]

Woman - Not again. I swore never again. I knew I shouldn’t have gone out with Tif last night. It’s always one more drink, one more drink with her. God forgive my sins; I’m so going to Hell. How at any point in my life was I Catholic? At least I don’t have to explain to my mother like last time.

[Lifts the covers to see the man’s face]

Woman - At least your cute…the last one was a bit lacking…

[Lifting the covers further to look underneath]

Woman - My God!

[crosses herself]

Woman - And well endowed… Of course I wouldn’t remember it. This is karma.

[Sighs, bites her lip]

Woman - But you gotta go. I have to get ready for work! I’m already twenty minutes late. Hello? You have to go… Tristan? No, that’s not right. Troy? Tanner? Does it even start with a T?

[Seeing his clothes, she starts rummaging through them]

Woman - Ah, drivers license. Perfect… Oh… Gregory Rantor. Hell, what did I drink last night? Greg! Gregggg! You gotta leave! I’ve already been late to work once this week; Rick will totally fire me.

[sees his unresponsive face] Woman - What did YOU drink last night?

[Leans over him, places fingers on neck: Checking for Pulse. Look of worry]

Woman - Thank God. That’s good, pulse is good.

[Looks at door, then back to bed: repeats]

Woman - You can’t stay here, Greg. Harley always says, “The bigger the dick, the bigger the prick.” I’m not leaving this apartment with you still here. I’ll come back and all of my shit will be gone.

[Goes to bed, kneels on side, pondering him.]


[Man begins to stir, his eyes fluttering, then opening slowly; he looks at her. She remains on the bed in kneeling position.] [He reaches out to her; she smiles, and begins to crawl under the blankets, her head disappearing.]

Woman – I know what you need. [Giggle] You just need some good morning…

[Man rolls over, throws up]

[From under the covers]

Woman - OUT!



LaVonne Mueller, an international playwright came to Elizabethtown for a week. During her stay, I attended a play writing session she held. I had never even attempted writing a play, so needless to say, I was panicking. This was our prompt: Write a story where only one person talks, and their monologue is an attempt to remove a person/object from something. I had a fair amount of ideas...this was my somber one. I'll post my humorous one later today.



[Couple at a rest stop; woman is in the phone booth, not visible to the audience through the swirled glass; husband is pacing outside; he is middle-aged]

Man - Grace? Grace, come on, honey. How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?

[he approaches the phone booth, gazing into it through the marbled, swirled glass; speaks to the glass]

Man - Grace, just listen to me. I’ve tried telling you this before, but you just don’t get it. Work has been terrible. I don’t know how much more I can take it. The administration…they hire people, and I have no idea why. They are complete idiots; the way they stare at me when I ask them to do something, I can tell they have no brain. I’m just so stressed, Grace. I know it’s not an excuse. I’ve been a shitty husband for the past few months and I know that I don’t give you the attention you deserve. I know we have to work this out; it’s just when you say you want to go to counseling, I don’t have time, not with all the overtime they shove on me. I have to do my work plus all of the work the screw offs don’t get done. Grace, come out of the phone booth.

[no answer]

Man - Grace, come out of the phone booth. Please.

[Man leans his head exasperatedly against the glass.]

Man - Grace, I swear if you come out of this phone booth, I’ll talk civilly. I won’t yell this time. Hell, I shouldn’t have yelled in the first place. I shouldn’t have snapped like that back at the hotel when you told me we’d be late to pick up the kids. But with work… It’s like I can’t separate my life.

[shuffles his feet in the dirt.]

Man - You know, we should probably get some ice for your cheek… It’s probably going to swell. I have some aspirin in the car if you want some, too. That would probably help with the swelling, but you have to come out of the phone booth, Grace.

[glances back at the three people conversing behind him; leans in close to the phone booth and whispers audibly through the crack]

Man - Grace, I promise I’ll never hit you again. I know I’ve said it before, but this time I mean it. We’ll get through this just like we always have. Maybe I will go to counseling like you’ve asked. You just have to realize I’m stressed at work; you can’t expect so much of me, Grace.


Man - You know, I remember when we first met. I saw you across the room at McManus Gallery in town. We were both there for our friends who were doing a co-showing together. You reached out to touch one of Milly’s ceramic pieces, and your hands: God, they were beautiful. I knew at that moment I had to have you, had to feel your milky skin and hold those beautiful hands.

[pauses again, waiting for a response]

Man - Grace, are you even listening? Open the damn door. Come on, this is childish. We have to get home to pick up the kids from your Mom’s house. We told her we’d be there at noon, and it’s already half past. Come out of the phone booth.

[no answer]

Man - Christ, Grace! All you ever tell me is that you want attention; here I am, wanting to talk to you, you’re too busy hiding in some stupid phone booth at a rest stop! I just took you on the day trip you’ve been begging me for months to take you on. I even took off of work for you! And you pull this over some petty argument, ask me to find a bathroom, and then I have to go searching for you all over because I have no idea where you went. For God’s sake you could have been kidnapped! You’re so stupid! You never think about the repercussions of anything; you just go ahead and do whatever you want, you selfish bitch.

[he’s become unconscious of how loud his voice has become; strangers start to stare]

Man - Grace! Come out of the phone booth! Now!

[the small section of clear class on the door becomes fogged with the woman’s breath; she writes backwards so the audience can see clearly: NO]

[whir of approaching sirens in the background]


Poem: Untitled.

I wrote this the other day in a few minutes...It's rough, and will need some work. But I thought I'd post it for now....

No covers to be found, a body of white

Lying beside me with dew-dampened skin

Reflecting moonlight. No sound to be heard but your breaths.

Radiant breaths that dampen your lips, and I long to kiss,

But I hesitate for want of not waking you.

You sigh in your wonderland, rhythm of two loves:

Yours and mine, mingling in the dark;

What I wouldn’t give to freeze us in this moment.

As your mind drifts off into dreams unknown to me,

I watch your fluttering eyelashes:

Crows on the tinted horizon, silhouetted in motion,

Sliver of white, the moon breaking through the dark

Like God’s eternal thumbnail gracing the sky.

I know when you open those eyes in the morning,

I will see the green of the grass in which we have lain,

The tint of the water of the lake we’ve swam,

The cool blue night in your ocean-eyes…

But for now, now it’s time to fade out like stars,

Our flames burning to their extinction

Into sleep, into eternity, forever.

Monday, June 6, 2011

She stood staring at his doorknocker, debating what would happen if she left. She remembered her neighbor, who left from work early to buy flowers for his wife just because; he ended up being crushed in his vehicle by an eighteen-wheeler whose driver had fallen asleep. She was pretty sure his wife would have preferred him staying late.
Figuring fate had a reason for placing her at 452 North Brook Apartments on that fall night when the air was still crisp, she raised her hand to knock: the first hit to the door was barely audible even to her ears, so she steadied her trembling hand, lifted the heavy knocker to it's full height, and let it drop. She should have been terrified, the unknown lying behind the thick door, but she wasn't. She knew who would answer.
She heard a low growl behind the door, but she didn't bat an eye; she'd grown up with dogs, been bitten by dogs, slept curled up around dogs. Tonight wouldn't be any different, she supposed. She could feel her heart beating madly in her throat, giving her the sensation she would throw up all over the "Welcome" mat which sat bristly against her bare feet. She could not remember where her shoes were. When no head appeared at the window and the door did not open, she sat down on the cement block outside of the apartment, her back against the chill steel door. Sobs racked her lungs, begging to be spilled, and yet she maintained composure. Feeling pain in her mouth and metallic taste on her tongue, she put a hand to her lip. Only then did she realize she had punctured her lip through and through with her cuspid. Even though it was late fall, she did not shiver in her sundress. She couldn't remember why she had worn it, but she knew there was a reason.
The door pulled away from her back, even it not wanting to touch her as she sat curled over herself.
"Eva?" His voice washed over her, and she could feel her groin muscles tense. Feeling her mouth filling with blood, she spit onto the ground and wiped away the trail of spittle resting on her chin.
"I don't know why I'm here," she said, her back still facing away from the door as she rocked herself into a false calm: it was the best hello she could muster.
"Come on," he said, and she heard his sigh softly hit her ear drums, mingled with the jingle of his keys: his apartment key, his car key, his gym membership id, the fleur-de-lis he had purchased, her car key... Her car key glinted in the moonlight. She saw the backward glance he cast into the dark room, the longing look up the stairs, and she knew, she knew in that moment how the twilight sparkled in his eyes without even seeing, and she saw the deadness in them when his eyes met hers. The twilight was his everything. She was his nothing.