kjplays - Tumblr blog

[kjplays]

Dear Harry: Day 3

She sits, setting down her axe and bow.

I wasn't expecting this. This many people, I mean. I thought I would be alone for this part - not that I don't mind being surrounded. In fact, there is nothing I love more than a bunch of white people staring at me. Made a whole career out of it. They're just all staring at me like this:

  She stares, as an owl might.

  Eyes glued to me like macaroni on a preschooler. Thousands of years, just sitting here, on the mountainside, and another white guy comes around the corner.

  She inhabits the role of white guy.

  Some White Guy on his million dollar skis, just going zhjoop, zhjoop, zhjoop down the mountain like somebody's chasing him, zhjoop, zhjoop, but nobody is. No one's chasing them. They're just doing it for...for I don't know why white guys do what they do. I don't why anyone does anything anymore. I just know you're all looking at me like:

  The owl stare.

When all this first happened, it was not like that. It was a beautiful day. B - E - A - Utiful daya for Ötzi. I turned to Cheryl in the cave and I said, Cheryl - let's do some shrooms. And she said, Ötzi, baby, I haven't got any. You'll have to go UP the hill to find some. I said, I just went down the hill yesterday, came back up the hill with some elk meat for you. Some ibex, some einhorn, a little chamois, because I like my lady love. And she says, if you wanna get high, keep climbing higher. I said, I can't. My hand.

  She lifts her right hand.

  Nasty, right? You should see the other guy. We were fighting, hand to hand, like the good gods said, and suddenly this bitch pulls out a knife. Goes straight through, right between my pointer finger and thumb. What's that part called? I know you use it to tell how well done your goat is. You know what I'm talking about? It's like this - take your thumb and your forefinger, touch 'em together.

  She waits for the audience to try it.

  Now touch it with your other hand - it should feel soft to the touch. Bouncy. Like a rare piece of ibex. And then you do it for your other fingers if you want it more well done, but I'm Ötzi. I don't pussyfoot around with my goat meat.

Anyway, well, my hand was hurt, as you can see. Fleshy, bleeding. And well, Cheryl, she says to me, "Your hand got anything to do with your feet?" And so off I went. Don't need to tell me twice.

Like I said, it was beautiful. Beautiful summer day. So much had melted away. No white men skiing back then, just good old fashioned icemen and women and goats. Back then, we didn't need skiis to get around. Just some nice boots from a nice girl. I started up the mountain, and my hand's still healing, and despite what Cheryl says, you kind of need both hands when you're climbing the alps. I know people do it all the time now with contraptions and doodads, but I didn't have it. I had my axe. And I had my bow. And I had my -

  She reaches for the arrow in her back. It's painfully stuck.

[kjplays]

Dear Harry: Day 2

A public bathroom stall. SHITHEAD hurries in, locking the door and pulling down her pants. She looks at the time on her phone.

SHITHEAD Shit, shit, shit, come ON.

  She waits. She strains. She takes out her phone to write an email. 

SHITHEAD Dear Elizabeth,

I am currently experiencing a sudden episode of severe somatic distress and will be unable to work in person this afternoon. I am extremely sorry for the last minute notice. The onset was unexpected. Thank you so much for your understanding.

Warm regards. A trickle. Particularly warm regards. Fuck me.

  She texts her best friend to say, "MY ASSHOLE IS BURNING." Her best friend replies, "#hotgirltummyproblems" She texts back, "I'm supposed to be giving my presentation in an hour" Her best friend replies, "Shit" "Literally" "Lol" "Do you think you'll empty out by then?" She texts back, "I don't know." Locks her phone. For the first time, SHITHEAD really notices the audience. It is like the shows she has given every day in heard for decades. To the imaginary friends who watch her poop.

My first memory of pulling down my pants at the preschool bathroom. I pull them down like I normally do, but it’s not just underwear — no, I was still wearing my pajamas underneath. Winnie the Pooh. My mom had just started working again, which meant my dad for the very first time had to get me dressed and out the door to preschool without her guidaance. This meant, of course, he told me to put on the clothes he laid out for me. He failed to tell me I was supposed to take off my pajamas first. It wasn't until I went to the bathroom before snack, and I realized it was all wrong. I was wearing more clothes than I needed to. I was wearing double clothes.

My teacher asked what was taking so long - though it wasn't unusual for me to be taking a while. Throughout my early childhood, my parents were told by more than one teacher that I would take an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom - not by necessity - but because I was singing.

It was the only place I could be alone and do what I wanted. Most teachers didn't really care - I got my work done, I was above my reading level, I excelled in every subject. If I wanted to leave class to sing to myself in the bathroom, who were they to criticize?

I don't sing as often anymore. Maybe because the bathroom holds more than a safe haven for me now. For a long time, it was the Wardrobe containing my Narnia where I could imagine wildly and sing loudly and be fully and completely alone. But now I have to be there. I'm forced to. A sanctuary disappears out of necessity. Sanctuary, actually, has multiple meanings - I guess I'm using it here to describe a holy place - a temple, my throne. That is the first meaning of sanctuary. But the second is a place to hide.

When I was 12, a contractor murdered two of his clients about half a mile from our middle school. We went into lockdown. It was maybe six months after the Virginia Tech shooting, and our teacher made us all hide in the corner, as he pushed desks around us and hid in the closet with a hammer. Why did this man have a hammer? Was it an axe? Has my brain distorted this memory? I can see his face. He had gotten in trouble for mirroring a girl's legs. Which sounds like a weird thing, but it went like this - she would cross her legs, he would cross his. She would uncross her legs, he would uncross his. Like this.

She demonstrates.

  And it wasn't just one time. It was multiple times. Like, he was signaling with his body that he was adeptly following the movements of hers. It was something in his smile, the way he smiled holding that hammer, or that axe, or maybe nothing at all, that made every young girl feel unsafe in his classroom. And, a lot of times, we couldn't explain it. Like the mirroring thing. Explaining it to adults felt like trying to convince them of a Santa Claus or some other nefarious magic only other kids could see.

It was that day that I first felt the full extent of the unknown. Of what my anxiety was capable of. I sat in that corner for three hours, not sure if I would live or die. When the lockdown ended, and we finally got to leave the cramped corner where 20 undeodorized pre-teens sat, I went to the bathroom and shat my brains out.

[kjplays]

Dear Harry: Day 1

The purpose of the Dear Harry project is to get something, anything, down on the page. 

Alpine crested hills, just before dawn. A gutteral scream. WANDA enters through the peaks, singing. 

WANDA NAAAAAANTS ingonyama bagithi baba, sithi uhhmm ingonyama - do you know what that means? It means "here comes a lion, oh yes, it's a lion" - which is totally inappropriate for these cirucmstances. This ain't a lion - this is an iceman. (She swings her copper axe with vigor, only to stop short from a pain in her left shoulder.)

They call me an iceman, but most folks call me Ötzi. OOOOOO TS EEEEE. Like bootsie. Like a little bootsie. Look at my little bootsie covering my wee little footsie!

(She shows her foot.)

Got me some grass socks in my bearskin shoes. Some bootsies for my footsies, I'm just a guy named Ötziiiiii.

You ever kill a bear? It is not easy when you're this tiny. Look at me, I could be a cub. You see some of these other Austrian dudes walking around the Alps and they're GIANT. They're the bears, I'm the cub. But my old shoes were getting worn out, I didn't really have a choice.

You like that stitching? My woman did it. She's got a whole set up. Bone needles all over the place - I said to her, I said, Cheryl, why we gotta have needles all over my clean dirt floor? And she says to me, Ötzi - take your lily white ass down the hill and get me some elk meat, or I swear to gods that bear rug's gonna have a new face that looks a hell of a lot like yours.

So I went. Just like any other day. Down the hill to find an elk or a deer or - y'all got chamois where you're from? Oh. Oh shit, that meat slaps. Cheryl marinates it in these berries and it is to die for. Which, you know....

(She sits, setting down her axe and bow.)

I wasn't expecting this. This many people, I mean. I thought I would be alone for this part.

[kjplays]

Day 1: June 1.

I want to write again. Belly full, bursting with words. A friend reminded me tonight how I feel, deeply, in depth, like the ocean feels the moon despite the distance. Her waters shift and change with the pull of planets. So why can’t mine?

[kjplays]

Day 25: “Bath House”

24 February 2019. 

In the round. 1956. There is a gentle bass tapping out low notes, like the heartbeat of a rugby player during a game, or the drip of an old faucet. Long, short, long. Long, short, short, long. Long, short, long. Long, short, short, long.

ROXIE sits in the bear claw bathtub. Pink bubbles. Strawberry smells.

ROXIE: There’s nothing like a cold bath under warm lights.

The bassist and bass emerge from the shadows.

ROXIE: It’s like Mama always said - you never know who your friends are until you’re naked in the river. Once you’re in the altogether, well….it gets easier to take advantage. Being vulnerable makes the weak weaker and the stupid stupider. I feel safe here, though.

Jimmy?

BASSIST: Yes ma’am?

ROXIE: Would you call Miss Valerie back here?

BASSIST: Do you want me to stop playing?

ROXIE: Not really. I like its gentleness. Maybe I can hold the beat down while you go get her. Give it here.

BASSIST: Yes ma’am. I just don’t want to get the bass wet.

ROXIE: Oh good point. Continue then, just yell for Miss Val.

BASSIST: MISS VALERIE!

She emerges. The bassist continues with the beat.

MISS VALERIE: Ma’am, I was just finishing up the salmon.

ROXIE: Delightful. Mister Wright will be damned delighted with the salmon. Can you fetch my towel?

MISS VALERIE: Yes ma’am. There’s some fresh ones right out in the sun. I’ll go grab one for you. I’d ask you again to reconsider, Roxie. This can’t be the way you want to go.

ROXIE: Fetch me my towel, please, Miss Valerie.

Miss Valerie exits.

Just the Bassist and Roxie. Roxie sings a little to the bass until Miss Valerie returns.

Miss Valerie throws the towel at the Bassist’s head.

He hits a wrong note for the first time.

He removes the towel from his head and gently places it at the foot of the bathtub. Then he goes back to the bass.

Roxie rises from the bubble bath. He turns himself and the bass to give her privacy, as she wraps herself in the towel, gazing at the bassist with eyes of softening but lustful admiration.

ROXIE: You think you can teach me the progression?

BASSIST: I reckon you can learn anything you want. I’ll let you get dressed.

ROXIE: No, wait. Teach me here.

A car door slams. The bass beats on.  

MISS VALERIE: (From offstage) MR. WRIGHT IS HOME! JIMMY, COME DOWN!

ROXIE: Please.

BASSIST: I don’t know, ma’am. Your husband’s home.

A front door opens.

MISS VALERIE: GOOD EVENING, MR. WRIGHT! MRS. WRIGHT IS JUST FINISHING A BATH. SHE WILL BE DOWN SHORTLY FOR SUPPER. YES. SALMON TONIGHT, SIR.

Roxie sings the bass notes with his playing, approaching him.

ROXIE: It’s a hot day, Jimmy.

BASSIST: Yes ma’am.

ROXIE: Don’t you want a bath?

BASSIST: Yes ma’am.

Roxie drops the towel. Blackout. A wrong note.

END OF PLAY.

[kjplays]

Day 24: “Quake”

23 February 2019. 

The whole theatre quakes in darkness. ONE emerges from behind the red velvet curtains with a glass of milk full of Oreos. 

ONE pulls a golden tassel and a light loudly swings to focus on her. 

ONE: I can’t stop shaking. 

Another quake, followed by low rumbles. 

ONE: It happens once in a blue moon. I wouldn’t want you to worry about it. It goes away if you close your eyes. But there’s a sweetness in leaving the light on, in case anyone comes by. I don’t mean to frighten. I’m sorry, I didn’t bring enough for everyone - 

She gestures to her Oreos. 

But I haven’t eaten in a while, so I can’t feel too bad for not sharing. 

One Oreo. Two Oreos. Three. Quickly. 

The sugar helps some! But not always. I don’t know. Sometimes, if I just ignore it, it goes away.

Another quake. 

It hasn’t today, though. I don’t know how to stop it. I would if I could. I would stop my heart right here and now if it meant none of you’d feel it ever again. 

Except I probably wouldn’t. We have this stupid self-preservation mechanism because of evolution or something. 

Still. 

I live in constant fear. 

Even though the worst that could happen to me is not that bad. The worst thing that could happen is....

I shouldn’t eat these. These Oreos. One is not that bad. But I keep going on like this. That’s pretty bad. That’s bad. It’s not bad like murder bad, but it’s not good, like building a homeless shelter good. It’s just sort of bad. 

And I don’t know if there is a middle. 

She twists the Oreo, licks the creme. 

The problem with milk is that makes it all soggy. Then the cookie crumbles. And I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. Because it feels so awful, this. 

A rumble, quake, rumble, quake. 

What’s the worst thing that could happen? This all falls apart? The theatre collapses? 

That’s not so bad. I’ve feared it the whole time. Might be a relief if it finally happened. 

She finishes the milk. A gentle rumbling. She pulls the tassel again. Lights out. Rumbling stops. The rest is silence. 

END OF PLAY.

[kjplays]

Day 23: “Locker Room Talk”

19 February 2019. 

A locker room at Yates Recreation Center, the gym at Georgetown University. Just two bros changing in silence. A breath, and then:

GRAHAM Do you follow the @gtownASSailants account? On Snapchat?

SETH The one Cassidy runs?

GRAHAM Yeah.

SETH Yeah, why?

GRAHAM You’re on there.

SETH What?

GRAHAM Your name. It’s on there.

SETH Let me see that.

GRAHAM Jesus. Lay off. I’ll send it to you. He screenshots it. A ding on SETH’s phone. SETH reads the screenshot.

SETH This. isn’t.

GRAHAM Isn’t what?

SETH This isn’t! This isn’t true! It never happened.

GRAHAM Okay.

SETH You don’t believe me?

GRAHAM I didn’t say that.

SETH You believe some anonymous Snapchat over me?

GRAHAM I didn’t say that. I just - I wanted to let you know you’re on there. A breath. 

Did it happen?

SETH What?

GRAHAM Did it happen?

SETH What the fuck kind of question is that

GRAHAM I’m just

SETH Of course it didn’t happen.

GRAHAM Okay well. It’s there, though.

SETH Jesus.

GRAHAM A breath. Are you sure

SETH What do you mean

GRAHAM It could be a misunderstanding. Do you remember this girl?

SETH What Yes fuck Yes I do but I didn’t do that to her

GRAHAM Okay

SETH Yeah so I’m going to head out

GRAHAM Yeah, cool

SETH I’ll see you at home. Slams the locker door closed. Graham sits. Then looks at his phone. 

END OF PLAY.

[kjplays]

Day 22: “Some Mythical Version of 2009″

18 February 2019. 

It’s 2009. Or some mythical version of 2009. At an all girls’ Catholic school - a fairly liberal one Just Outside of Boston.

Room 112, 3:30 pm. Where the sun hits in such a way that the fleeting moments between the last bell and locking of the cafeteria doors at 6 o’clock are scattered across the desks like stardust. Golden, twinkling. Tickling your nose through strained sermons on Hillary and Ruth and the Virgin Mary.

MIA buttons her top button. And she wears khaki pants while everyone else wears khaki skirts. She’s been out, whether she knows it or not, s

KC’s more of a Mary Magdalene. She cuts her a V into her blue school polo to create a bit of cleavage.

MIA is in period dress in the role of Orlando from As You Like It. She drums her fingers impatiently on the desk before KC rushes in. 

KC: I’m sorry, I’m sorry-

MIA: You’re late. 

KC: I know, I know, I was in the library and lost track of time. 

MIA: What were you reading this time? 

KC: Emma. 

MIA: Ew. 

KC: Excuse me? 

MIA: It’s just, Emma? Really? It’s fine, but it’s just not “get so caught up that i forgot the world” fine. 

KC: What’s that fine? Shakespeare?

MIA: I mean, yeah. Have you read Merchant of Venice?

KC: Is that the one about the...........Duke? 

MIA: They’re all about a duke. 

KC: My point exactly. Do you mind if I get into costume?

MIA: Yeah, sure-

KC whips off her shirt.

MIA: Uh, so the scene. 

KC: The scene! 

MIA: I was thinking - whoa. 

KC is wearing a shirt that says I LIKE GIRLS. 

KC: What?

MIA:  I just - nothing. Your shirt. 

KC: Oh? Yeah. Listen - Carol’s expecting flash and pizzazz. Let’s give it to her.

MIA: Mrs. Brown, not Carol, is expecting period costumes. And, and realistic readings of the text. Is that what you’re wearing for our scene?

KC: You don’t like it?

MIA: It’s not that, but I - I think you should look more like a boy. Or like a girl trying to look like a boy. You’re trying not to let Orlando know you’re Rosalind. You’re trying to pass as a dude.

KC: My shirt says I Like Girls. There’s nothing clearer than that.

MIA: Yeah um where did you get it?

KC: If I’m dressed as a dude, right, and I’m trying to prove to you I’m a dude, then of course I’m going to overcompensate and try to convince you that I, too, like girls. Like you.

MIA: Like me?

KC: Like Orlando. 

MIA: Oh. Yes. Like him, yes.

KC: I think we go modern adaptation. Make a statement. Cause a ruckus. Kiss in class. 

MIA: KC!

KC: What? It’s a realistic reading of the text that Orlando and Rosalind would suck faces. 

MIA: We can’t....do....THAT. Because, first of all, that’d be wrong! Not wrong, but like, you know, they totally don’t suck faces in this scene! Orlando thinks she’s his dude friend!

KC: I knoooow, that’s what makes it hotter-

MIA: SECOND of all, that’d be inappropriate! Our parents spend good money for us to be here, getting educated, and frankly, that’d be our parents paying for us to kiss. 

KC: I’m on full scholarship. So technically it’d just be your parents paying. But it’s not like that, not really. It’s like, Shakespeare is telling us to do it, ya know? And Carol totally wants us to listen to his writing and like, take risks with our motivations or whatever. She said we should feel free to make it modern. This is modern, Mia. 

MIA: Okay, say there was dialogue in the script telling us to kiss - don’t you think Shakespeare would’ve clarified that? Wouldn’t a gay kiss kind of be in there? There’s nothing - I don’t think I read anything that screamed we should kiss. 

KC: All right, how about this -- we read the scene as written, and if we feel a kiss, we can....ya know. 

MIA: Kiss?

KC: Yeah. Okay, ready?

MIA: Um sure. 

KC sits on the teacher’s desk, thrusting her boobs into the air, and vampishly acting it up. 

KC: COMMMMMMME! WOO ME, WOOOOOO ME!  FOR NOW -

MIA: KC, stop! You’re not taking this seriously. This isn’t even our blocking. 

KC: I was letting the muses speak to me. 

MIA: Dude, do you want an A or not?

KC: An A isn’t everything if we don’t get the spirit of the thing. 

MIA: That’s not - no. We need to do well. From the top. 

KC, now seriously, truly. MIA is a little struck by this playing of the text.

KC: Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?

MIA: I would kiss before I spoke. 

KC: Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.

MIA’s face inches closer to KC’s. 

MIA: How if the kiss be denied?

KC: Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.

MIA: Was the kiss...denied?

KC: That’s not your line. 

MIA: Sorry, I lost - track of it. 

KC: From the top. 

Come, 

She grabs MIA’s hand and pulls her closer to her. 

woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. 

She guides MIA’s hand to her waist. 

What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?

MIA: I would kiss before I spoke. 

KC: Nay -- 

KC kisses MIA. 

You were better speak first. 

MIA: HOWIFTHEKISSBEDENIED

KC: Shhhh. That’s not your line. From the top. 

They kiss. 

MIA: I want to - I didn’t know you were - but we gotta practice, and anyone could walk in here! At any moment! But I mean, are you--? Or was that just the scene or did you? did you want to? but it’s for a grade, so we can’t, but we could if you want to again, I mean, I don’t know, was that okay? Do you want to, uh, practice? Some more?   

KC: Come, woo me, woo me. 

She pulls MIA close again. 

END OF PLAY. 

[kjplays]

Day 21: “THE FLAGS ON 36TH STREET”

29 January 2019. 

CHARACTERS

Stage Directions [All should be read aloud, unless encompassed by brackets, such as this one.]

She

Her

The flags

You

Streets

A cobblestoned street. It shouldn’t be cobblestoned. Why should anything be cobblestoned outside of Colonial Williamsburg? Why did we even use cobblestones back then? Was it easier on the horses’ hooves? Why must we continue cobblestoning streets where we now drive? It hurts like hell.

Anyway. There are TWO HOUSES on 36TH STREET.

They stand across from one another, and have since 1826, when the younger of the two was built by Silas Booker, across from his brother’s older wooden structure, already dilapidated at the beginning of the 19th century. They are fated now, just as Silas and Josiah were fated then, to watch as termites eat every sliver and splinter of wood in the frame, until not an original bit remains. Like two old lady friends who misuse Botox.

Anyway. These TWO HOUSES on 36TH STREET have seen many residents.

Many students. Many professors. Many women and men of the world have dwelled between them these many years. They have stopped getting close to their inhabitants - it’s easier that way when they leave, every May, for the softer summers of New England or the research grant in Dubai.

But. Today is different.

It is August. The first resident comes popping down the cobblestoned street, just a girl and her duffel bag. She has grabbed the key from the ResLife office, and she’s on her way to the right side of 36TH STREET. In a blue house. With the windows painted a lovely buttercream.

[SHE enters the house. SHE starts setting up her room.]

And across the way, in the slightly older yellow house with the plain white trim, we see Her, putting a flag in the window.

[HER enters the house. HER room is significantly less bare than the one across the street.]

Her flag is a simple one. A six-pronged star, a royal blue to match the house across from Her, on a white sky with a blue heaven and a blue hell.

[SHE turns and sees.] She sees. And from the duffel bag, another flag emerges. Red and black and green and white. SHE hangs it from the window. It annoys HER.

And She knows it annoys Her. But She cannot help it. This is where the flag can fly.

And still. It annoys Her. So, in the carefully constructed room Silas once inhabited, Her steps take Her to the bureau where, lo and behold, another flag. This one, still six-pronged starred, but on a rainbow sky. It’s hung in the window by Her. 

And the people go by and look to these flags and they nod their heads yes and they shake their heads no, 

for Silas and Josiah. for rainbow flags and flags that can’t fly anywhere else. And they know so little, She and Her, all of us do. 

But these TWO HOUSES on 36TH STREET know it all. If only they’d whisper it to us in between the creaky stairs and cobblestones. 

END OF PLAY.

[kjplays]

Day 20: “Deppy Comes Back”

28 January 2019. 

DEB enters in a towel, having just taken a shower. DEPPY is waiting for her.

DEB: Fuck! Hi.

DEPPY: Heeeeeey!

DEB: What are you doing here?

DEPPY: Just thought it was time to check in. Come here. DEPPY beckons DEB to the bed.

DEB: Uh, I’d rather not.

DEPPY: Come on. Please?

DEB: NO. I have four job applications due today. And three classes.

DEPPY: Yeah, but…...bed.

DEB: No.

DEPPY: Get in the bed.

DEB: No. I won’t. She goes to the closet. To find something to wear.

DEPPY: I don’t think you’re ready for class today.

DEB: No?

DEPPY: No. You’ll look like a fool.

DEB: Class is for looking like a fool. You go to class to become less foolish.

DEPPY: You think everyone else in your class feels that way about class? Or do you think they spent all weekend doing the readings, practicing problem sets, taking copious notes on the Easter Rising and multivariable calculus?

DEB: I have to go to class.

DEPPY: Fine. Suit yourself. Look stupid.

DEB: It’s fine to look stupid. It’s stupid to be afraid of failure. Failure would be not showing up.

DEPPY: You don’t believe that. Take the day off. Catch up.

DEB: NO. DEB still can’t figure out what to wear. She sits on the bed.

DEPPY: Fall asleep. Get your strength back. A mental health day is okay.

DEB: No. She lies down.

DEPPY: You’ll never get it all done. Why do it all?

DEB: I will do it. DEB buries herself in blankets.

DEPPY: Why do it at all? DEB grabs her phone.

DEB: Siri, wake me up in 5 minutes.

DEPPY: Why?

DEB: I will do it. DEB buries herself deeper. DEPPY sits beside her, content.

END OF PLAY.

[kjplays]

Day 19: “Call Me But Love”

22 January 2019.

-- There’s 14 minutes left.

-- You can finish in that time. 

-- I know I can. But....

-- But what?

-- There’s this way you have when you stare at my across the table as I try to focus. And I can’t look away. 

-- It’s due in 13 minutes now! Get to work. 

-- But....

-- But?

-- My writing has dwindled since I fell for you. It’s all gushy and saccharine and sweet and personal. I’m trying to fight it a little. But it’d be nice to be a happy writer. Most of us are so depressed. Is that what makes good writing?

-- I don’t think so. I think you can be happy and write well. Eleven minutes. Focus on what’s due at midnight.

-- But there’s no due date on this, is there? 

-- No, so you can look at me whenever you want. But not for these next ten minutes. 

-- Just one minute. 

-- I can’t even talk to you right now, because you NEED TO FINISH YOUR MATH!

-- But my play a day! But your eyes!

-- Do your math, do your math, do your math!

-- But!

END OF PLAY. 

[kjplays]

Day 18: “Gal Pals”

21 January 2019. 

The Saddest Girl in the World sits among brass statues in the garden of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. The Happy Gal emerges from a vase, trumpeting merrily. The Saddest Girl in The World smiles, sadly. 

HAPPY GAL: Did it work?

SGITW: Not really. 

HAPPY GAL: Okay. Give me a second to think.

[Rest] 

SGITW: It’s fine, really, I’m fine. 

HAPPY GAL: No, wait! I got it.

She disappears back into the vase.  

SGITW: I don’t think anything is going to work. It’s not you, it’s me. 

From the vase. As Happy Gal speaks, millions of trinkets come a-flying out - doodads and tchotckes galore. Trumpets, flowers, playbills, headbands, figurines.  

HAPPY GAL: I’ve heard that before, and it’s never true. 

SGITW: It’s true this time.

More trinkets. Sunsets, and sugar cookies, and sand.

SGITW: I promise. 

Cookie tins, Coca-Cola bottles, candies. 

SGITW: Hon? 

HAPPY GAL: Just a second!

SGITW: There’s nothing tangible that could solve it. It’s just, like, intangible as it is. 

Happy Gal emerges, wearing roller skates and suspenders. She climbs out of the vase. The Saddest Girl in the World can’t help but laugh. 

She laughs.

And laughs.

And laughs. 

Sadly. 

HAPPY GAL: Did it work? 

Happy Gal skates over to the Saddest Girl in the World, knocking statues over. The Saddest Girl in the World catches her, spinning her about in an embrace. 

SGITW: Yes. So much. 

END OF PLAY. 

[kjplays]

Day 17: “Blip 2″

21 January 2019. 

i miss a day so then i delay a day until i can finish the play from that first day and the second one goes unwritten the third one goes unwritten

until five are waiting today because i want to finish my plays in the order of the days as if i feel the days as they come it doesn’t make sense i feel days all over the place i feel april 13th every day i feel november 20th each morning i don’t particularly feel in the order of the days so why should I write in that order?

in that spirit. this is day 17, on the 21 of january.

fuck rules. celebrate the structure of when i write one play a day.

END OF PLAY. is a dumb rule to follow. 

plays never end. until they do. until we stop reading them. 

and then it is

END OF  PLAY.

[kjplays]

Day 16: “It Is”

16 January 2019. 

-- I don’t know why it feels so empty.

-- It feels empty because it’s empty. Sometimes, that’s all it is. It is what you feel it to be.

-- I’m tired.

-- You’re tired because you’re tired.

-- But I sleep.

-- There isn’t as much cause and effect as you think. Things just are.

-- I don’t know how to stop making mistakes.

-- You’ll never stop.

-- I’ll never stop.

-- You’ll never stop making mistakes. They are continuous and constant and neverending.

-- Neverending.

END OF PLAY.

[kjplays]

Day 15: “Writing, or May 21 Revisited”

15 January 2019.

WRITER: Kissing you goodbye is the worst. DRAMATURG: Yeah? Why’s that? WRITER: Because I only ever want to kiss you hello. DRAMATURG: (Teasing) Are you a writer? WRITER: Staaaaaaahp. DRAMATURG: I mean, that was really sweet, but are you a writer or something? WRITER: Are you going to say that whenever I say something poetic? DRAMATURG: Yes. WRITER: Sometimes, I feel so overwhelmed that in the whole span of human history, language was completely separated from writing for so long, and it has only been in the last millisecond of it all that we’ve been trying desperately to write down, to preserve, everything that we have felt for the past two hundred thousand years. And that’s a lot to ask of words on a page, of little black lines connected to other black lines. Poetry doesn’t live on the page - it lives in our bodies, every time we kiss and grieve and jump and run, that’s our bodies making poetry, and writing is this completely absurd task to trap the body’s memory into words for others to read or act or say, and for that reason, there is nothing more aimless than writing. DRAMATURG: And still you write. WRITER: And still we write. My Lyft’s here. DRAMATURG: Text me when you get home. Don’t forget your play a day.

END OF PLAY.

[kjplays]

Day 14: “Sledding”

14 January 2019. (15 January 2019).

a text series. 

CHARLIE it’s a motherfucking winter wonderland can we go sledding down a hill please please please please

MADDY um. DUH.

KJ yes.

uhh.

how do we sled

without a sled?

CHARLIE this. is a reasonable question. i have a sheet of plastic that is the top of a laundry bin could that work? i’ve never sled before

KJ maybe. come over for cookies and homework?

MADDY I’ll be over in a second

KJ ugh wait y’all i have a headache idk about tonight

CHARLIE this is on my bucket list so it’s HAPPENING Maddy, can we do the hill at the observatory in 15?

MADDY i’m already at kj’s, but I will come to this Hill. I will WITNESS YOU

KJ wait have you never sled before?

CHARLIE i have not sled before ever never ever

KJ & MADDY WHAT?

KJ forget the headache, come over now we’ll go to the hill i’ll bring the dog, you bring the laundry bin sled

MADDY can you bring toilet paper we forgot to buy some

The Hill. In person. 

CHARLIE wait how do i do it? on my stomach?

MADDY not your first time

KJ that’s how my first time went hey o

CHARLIE how do I get on?

KJ you go like this: \ / and then you go between my legs

CHARLIE are you sure that’s safe?

MADDY yes, Charlie! this is how parents do it with their kids

KJ okay we have to steer that way, so we don’t hit those things

CHARLIE the steel tables?

KJ yeah, you don’t want to hit them

CHARLIE oh god

KJ ready?

MADDY this is not going to work

CHARLIE no wait where do i put my legs

MADDY put them out like this: \ /

KJ keep your legs out ready ready?

MADDY they’re so cute

CHARLIE how do i keep my legs out?!

KJ you have to activate your core

CHARLIE oh okay

KJ ready ready ready 5, 6

MADDY you got this, buddy

KJ 7, 8

Push off. Pure joy ensues as Charlie soars through the audience on a sled of dreams.

CHARLIE aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

END OF PLAY.

[kjplays]

Day 13: “Zombies”

13 January 2019. (15 January 2019).  Two nerdy dudes sit among a collection of dusted junk, watching their past selves on Roanoke Island.

NERD 1: We will never know what happened here, and even if we spend 23 minutes and 14 seconds talking about it, that’s just a brief blip in the number of people who have spent entire lives thinking about this case and this mystery and those people who disappeared and poor John White had to live out his days not knowing what happened to his entire family and all we have is this one word, this one word on a tree, and even if we discover something - find some bodies or definitive evidence or whatever - he’ll never know what happened, and all the historians and archaeologists since 1590 who have lived and studied and died will never know what happened, and I don’t know if I’m willing to be the one who finds out when they can’t.

NERD 2: Yeah. 

But what if it was zombies?

NERD 1: Nerd. 

END OF PLAY.