Soldier Poet

'Soldier Poet' is a one-act play, short and simple. This is my first Stage Play.

‘Soldier Poet’ by Michael Joseph Fernandez

CHARACTERS

HE: A veteran to the ‘War on Terror’, he is constantly haunted by his experiences in the Kandahar province. After his two tours of duty he returns to the States, avoiding former friends and family, instead resorting to the sick and sin. He is stubborn, but not enough to continue a fight, arguments are easily lost. His voice is less clear, not always projected. He is in his mid-twenties, and despite retired military, he continues the style; explaining his buzz-cut, olive drab jacket (which covers an old, dirty gray workshirt which hides his dogtags), and a thick pair of worn steel-toe boots (which a pair of torn blue jeans attempts to hide.)

SHE: She is the only thing holding him back from the edges of death - Suicide. She acts as his caretaker and girlfriend, as a veteran who fears society, he doesn’t work - instead receiving pay from the government. After his sister dies, she urges him to take in his thirteen-year-old nephew. She is as stubborn as he is, even a bit more, she won’t stop the argument until she gets what she wants; but she is nicer than she appears at times. Her voice is harsh and clear, as she wants to be understood. She is also in her early-twenties, only slightly younger than him. She is a brunette, her hair is long, but tied in a bun. Her style of clothing is contemporary; khaki pants, a blue tank-top (which isn’t revealing, but is blanketed by a tan leather jacket), her lightly tanned skin is exposed as she always wears a small pair of black ballet flats.  

THE SCENE:

A fairly large restroom, worn down by the decades of use and ill-maintenance. The row of mirrors is parallel to an equal row of urinals, any reflection is a product of grime and dirt, and simply that. While the array of sinks underneath them are blanketed by stains of spit and blood. [The aging door swings open, HE walks into view - slowly - as HE shifts through a torn, olive drab military jacket, revealing a pack of cigarettes. As HE stops in front of the 5th mirror, SHE enters aswell. Though much more aggressive than HE did.]

SHE. [Her voice is soft, pleading, but hints of anger.] Can’t we talk about this?

HE.  [HE continues to look in the mirror, pulling out a cigarette and lighter.] There ain’t nothin’ to talk about - now, get out of here...this is the men’s room.

SHE. [Her soft voice now reveals her stubbornness.] I’m not leaving until you give me an answer.

HE. Look. I don’t gotta answer to anyone, honey - that includes you.

SHE. [SHE watches as HE places the cigarette between his lips and lights up, SHE sighs, her voice returns to a pleading tone.] Why do you always have to smoke everytime you’re with me?

HE. [HE looks over from the mirror, pulls the cigarette from his mouth, and gives away a puff of smoke coupled with a small chuckle.] It ain’t just you, baby - it’s everybody.

SHE. [Another soft sigh, SHE returns to a slightly harsher, questioning tone.] Really? Everyone? Bullshit. That’s pure bullshit - and we both know it.

HE. [He turns his head to view the reflection in the mirror, continuing to take a hit, his tone is more annoyed.] And?

SHE. [Her face turns to disguise.] And? And what? What do you have to say -

HE. [His tone continues to grow in annoyance as HE interrupts her.] What I’m sayin’ babe is that -

SHE. Don’t call me babe - not now - you know I don’t like that when I’m pissed.

HE. [He turns away from the mirror for a quick glance at her face.] You know, that’s the problem, you’re always pissed. Always.

SHE. [Her voice hints that she is now annoyed, but easily reveals at her anger.] Always? I am not always pissed, I’m just surrounded by things that get me -

HE. Pissed. [HE thens turns his view permanently towards her, leaning upon the rusted sink.]

SHE. [Her tone is softer.] Yeah.

HE. Now. Whatcha you wanna talk about?

SHE. [Her tone changes once more, hinting towards another topic.] You know.

HE. Him?

SHE. Uh-huh. Who else would I be talking about?

HE. Look, he’s got family up north.

SHE. [Her tone is now sharp and rude.] So?

HE. So...he don’t need me.

SHE. No, no, no - honey, you got that all wrong. I don’t need you. [Beat.] But, he does.

HE. Well. [HE draws closer towards her, cigarette dangling from his mouth.] I need you.

SHE. Alright. [SHE backs always from his slow advance, turning her view towards a mirror.] Quit the smoke.

HE. [HE nods slowly, then places the cigarette inside the sink.] Alright. Shoot.

SHE. Look, you’re the closest family he’s got. [SHE turns towards him once again.] And, you’re in a semi-familiar area - Close to home.

HE. [Instead of the usual softer tone, HE displays a harsh one.] He ain’t got a home anymore -

SHE. Yeah - thanks to you.

HE. [HE has grown annoyed, his response is sharp and questioning.] What I’d do? Huh? What have I done wrong?

SHE. Nothing. [SHE turns away towards the audience.] You haven’t done s**t.

HE. [His face displays a slightly shocked look.] And just what have you done for the boy? [SHE turns to face him, her face exposes a fragile shock.] You done just as much as I have. Which ain’t nothin’.

SHE. So. [SHE sighs softly.] We’re equals then?

HE. [HE nods, then lets off a small smile.] Beyond.

SHE. I’d like to think you could do something.

HE. [Vaguely.] And I have.

SHE. [Puzzled.] How so?

HE. He don’t need a bad influence. Now does he?

SHE. And what about up north? Are they good influences? Huh? They role models?

HE. [His tone is softer now.] Well, nah, guess -

SHE. [Her tone easily sharpens once again.] Guess not? Yeah, you guess not. Hell, rapists and alcoholics - ha, ha; role models, huh?

HE. [His tone joins the harmony of anger.] And? Just what am I? A f****n’ role model? Yeah - that was years ago. [His tone returns to a softer range.] Before Kandahar.

SHE. [SHE lets go of a small chuckle.] Kandahar? Really? Hell, I know your track record - you did s**t before Kandahar. Right underneath his goddamn nose.

HE. [His tone is near silent.] Kandahar made it worse.

SHE. Yeah - made you a social reject. Afraid to leave that s**t of an apartment you got - [HE begins to interrupt.] Well, unless you got a narcotic under your throat.

HE. And? You see my point? I ain’t ever did anything too bad back then -

SHE. Just ketamine, painkillers, and what else? Oh, yes, can’t forget about pot and alcohol, right?

HE. [His tone is sharp to correct her.] I quit that s**t long before I started -

SHE. Yeah, sure, whatever. Try to bullshit me forever. [Beat.] I remember how you fell right back into vicodin and bump - [Softer, almost regretful.] You ain’t ever quit.

HE. Look, he’s thirteen - he’ll fall straight into the same s**t I did. Only faster. He’s impressible.

SHE. [Sharp.] We all are.

HE. And what the hell does that mean?

SHE. [Her face is lit with disguise at his stupidity.] You think I like watching you dive into another line? Huh? I can barely hold back myself - While you continue to get high and fucked up...what am I suppose to do?

HE. [His face equals his stupidity in this matter - shocked.] I never knew you -

SHE. Yeah, you never know...never know. [SHE glances towards the mirror then back towards him as a small tear begins to fall.] You know what I did last night?

HE. [His face and tone are puzzled.] Yeah, hung with Merissa - Right?

SHE. At first. You pissed me off - so I met with Cody.

HE. [Shocked.] My guy?

SHE. [Soft.] Our guy.

HE. What you say?

SHE. [Louder.] I said our guy, he ain’t just your dealer.

HE. Oh, yes he is. I don’t want you doin’ ‘Purple’ - you know it’s side effects -

SHE. [Sharp.] And so do you. Don’t worry - I didn’t do much - no K-hole.

HE. [Rough, but remaining soft, while slightly commanding.] That don’t matter - you shouldn’t have done it all.

SHE. And neither should you! You think you got an excuse to snort - to pop - all that good s**t? I can understand blazing up, hell, even drinking. But, really? Ketamine? Pills? You think that s**t’s good for you? Huh?

HE. Nah, I know it ain’t worth it. But - But, I just want -

SHE. [Softer, almost tired.] An escape?

HE. Yeah - An escape.

SHE. [Even softer - near silent.] Don’t we all?

HE. I guess.

SHE. Imagine what he feels - after losing his mama. [SHE turns towards the mirror one final time.] You know he wants an escape. Wants someone who cares - like you use to.

HE. I still do -

SHE. Then do something about it - prove it. We’re making enough to support him - at least for a short while.

HE. Alright, how long?

SHE. Don’t matter...if you care. [Beat.] We’ll be fine - if you quit with the damn bump and pills. You can keep the plant - just don’t do it in front of him. [SHE turns towards him, her face - like his - displays a tired, worn-out soul.]

HE. Alright - but I haven’t been an uncle in years -

SHE. You’ve been an uncle, you just haven’t been there to realize it. [HE nods, reveals the pack of cigarettes again, then pulls out a single cancer stick - lighting it up as he pushes aside the restroom’s exit. SHE sighs once again, then turns towards the sink, looking into a clogged pool of water, the remains of his cigarette still floating. SHE cups her hands then scoops up a portion of ‘clean’ water to cleanse her face, afterwards she exits through the door. The stage goes dark.]

THE END.