Writer's Block

My 16th play. Join Pete Langsley as he attempts to write a play that quickly turns into a sharp lesson in reevaluating his past and its unfortunate effects on his future.

“Writer’s Block”

an experience in 5 short acts by

Trystin S. Bailey

CHARACTERS

Pete

Man/Jacob

Homeless Man/Henry

Girl/Reilly

Mother/Artist

Officer/Tourist/Dobs

Sleaze/Derick

 

ACT ONE

 

Scene 1: Outside. Winter. There is a bench center-left. On it sits PETE LANGSLEY, a thin, moderately dressed man, 28, scribbling diligently into a notepad. He wears a coat, glasses, sweater vest and dress shirt. HENRY, a homeless man, in his 30s but looks far older, stands down center, dressed as one would expect a homeless man to be.

 

Henry: (to the audience) Hey there, sorry to bother you. I was wondering if someone here might be able to spare me a little change. Nothing much. Just enough to get a bite to eat. I haven't eaten since yesterday. Something to eat and a ride on the subway. My legs're tired. Just a little change. Something to eat. A ride on the subway. A couple dollars. A couple dollars and I'm on my way. I have a place, ya see. A bench off of 81^st in Central Park. Across from the Museum of Natural History. (gestures to a bench on the stage where a man sits) It's kind of like this one, but... I'm sorry to bother you, I am. I just that I don't have a family, like you fine people. I got nobody to love me. To tuck me in at night. Something to eat, is all I'm asking for. And a ride home. You have to know, you have to know that I don't like doing this. That I didn't imagine myself doing this when I was a little boy, I-I was a little boy and the summers lasted forever. I didn't ask for this! I didn't- (pauses) (to the man on the bench) Sorry to bother you...

 

Pete Langsley: (He barely regards the Homeless Man, but drops a coin in his cup) Here ya go.

 

Henry: God bless you, sir. God bless you. Merry Christmas. (exits)

 

Pete: (takes a seat at the bench. He is obviously struggling with whatever he is writing in his notepad) D****t. (frustrated, he buries his head in his hands)'

 

Henry: (enters) (noticing Pete, he places a comforting hand on his shoulder) Hey, brother. You alright there?

 

Pete: What? Yeah. I'm fine.

 

Henry: Fine, eh?

 

Pete: Yeah. Fine. I'm just...I'm a little stuck. That's all.

 

Henry: Heh. Ain't we all?

 

Pete: Heh. Yeah...I guess...

 

Henry: You writing an article or...

 

Pete: No. Nothing. I'm... A play. Eventually. I don't know what it is. I just, I can't seem to be able to come up with an idea for a story.

 

Henry: Heh. This is New York City, brother. Take a look around you. Nothing but stories here. Each one'll make a millionaire out of you. (pause) You're not from around here, are you?

 

Pete: That obvious?

 

Henry: You still got that wonder in your eyes, is all. Mine went out a long time ago. (pause) Where're you from?

 

Pete: Oh. Pennsylvania.

 

Henry: Ah. Whereabouts?

 

Pete: The capital, actually.

 

Henry: That's Philadelphia, right?

 

Pete: Heh. No, Harrisburg.

 

Henry: Ah. (pause) The name's Henry. (extends his hand)

 

Pete: (shakes Henry's hand) Peter...Langsley.

 

Henry: Peter Langsley. Nice to meet you. Nice to meet you. (pause) Hey, Pete.

 

Pete: Yeah?

 

Henry: You think you can spare a man a couple dollars to get home tonight?

 

Pete: (pause) Yeah. Sure. (hands Henry a couple dollars)

 

Henry: God bless you, sir. God bless. And a merry Christmas to you. (starts to exit) Good luck on that story of yours. It'll come. Just don't lose the wonder, kid. (exits)

 

Pete: Wha? Oh. Thanks. M-merry Christmas! (he returns his attention to the notepad) D****t. That guy was right. This is New York City. A million stories. I just have to... (a Man enters in a long black trench coat carrying a briefcase. He is in his mid-twenties, energetic, and moves fast, with a purpose. The Man exits as quickly as her arrives) Hm. I wonder where he was off to on a Saturday afternoon. Probably late for work. Or... (the Man emerges upstage, stopping motionless) Maybe he was running late for a very important meeting. (as Pete makes these suggestions, the Man acts them out) Maybe the contents of that briefcase was...was some confidential document...from the government. Maybe he was a secret agent being followed. Followed by... (a Girl enters down stage. She seems to be about 20, a tomboy in elite New Yorker's clothing.)

 

Girl: Hey, mom, can we grab a corn dog from this guy?

 

Mother: (A confident-looking woman in her forties enters, with an air of wealth about her.) We're doing brunch with the Manderlies in an hour, honey. You can wait. And pick up your feet when you walk. (Mother and Girl exit)

 

Pete: Hm. (Mother and Girl emerge upstage. They pause for a while and then Pete starts writing and they burst to life- this will be a convention used throughout)

 

Girl: Mom, I wrecked the car!

 

Mother: Oh!

 

Pete: Nah. (Erases whatever he was writing and they freeze- another convention also to be used when a character is removed from the stage)

 

Girl: Mom, I'm pregnant!

 

Mother: Oh!

 

Pete: Nope.

 

Girl: Mom, I slept with your boyfriend!

 

Mother: OH! (slaps Girl)

 

Pete: Hmph. (thinks to himself) Maybe if she were a little younger. (Girl drops to her knees and puts her hair in pigtails. She places a pair of sneakers in front of her knees to give the comical illusion of being naturally that short.) And the mother... Hm. You have the mother, one of those disparaging types, a mid-west woman with dreams of stardom gone sorrow only to be rekindled with a fiery zest onto her poor, unknowing offspring.

 

(Girl removes her coat to reveal a pretty Spring dress. Mother leans in close, studying every inch of her daughter)

 

Mother: (to Girl) Now, darling, destiny awaits you on the other side of this door. These agents are some very powerful people and I've worked far too hard for you to screw this up for me, understand?

 

Girl: Y-yes, mother.

 

Mother: Good. Ah, look at you. Look what you've done. The bow's crooked now, do you see that? Do you? How many times do I have to tell you to keep your hands away from that bow? (pause) You're not purposely trying to make me look stupid, are you? Because between that bow and your terrible posture- stand up straight -I'm beginning to think you're trying to sabotage me. My own daughter, for whom I gave up my life in the spotlight.

 

Girl: No, mother, never.

 

Mother: Then go in there and get that commercial spot. And, for God's sake, smile.

 

Pete: No. That's been done. (Mother and Girl are whisked off the stage) Agh! (Violently taps his pencil against his notepad. Officer enters downstage, a thin man in his 40's with a hard look etched upon his face. He is wearing a police officer's uniform. His hair is blond, cut in an almost military style. He takes broad steps, actively looking for trouble)

 

Officer: (to unseen person) Hey, you! Cut that out! (exits)

 

Pete: (starts writing and Officer appears upstage. Pete begins writing intently. The officer moves as if creeping along a wall, then peering around the corner to release a few rounds from his revolver. Pete scratches his head and Mother enters) Huh?

 

Mother: (to Officer) Oh, Officer! Officer! You must help me!

 

Officer: (no longer concerned with his former mission) What seems to be the problem, ma'am?

 

Mother: It's my daughter! She had just failed her audition and she ran away distraught. All I did was give her a few tips for the next time...

 

Pete: Heh.

 

Officer: What does your daughter look like?

 

Mother: Well, she's eleven years old, about this tall, and wearing a dress that I personally designed after the dress Shirley Temple wore in-

 

Man: (enters in a fury) Hold it right there, Miss. This man isn't who he says he is! (Man tears a piece of fabric from Officer's sleeve, revealing a Swastika) Intelligence was right...Nazis! (Mother exits)

 

Officer: (donning the rigidness and fierceness of one of Hitler's men as well as a thick German accent) Vell done, Agent. But I am afraid you have arrived too late. The nuclear missiles are already careening toward the Outback.

 

Man: (now a 'Crocodile Hunter' knock-off. He sniffs the air) Ah, the Outback, home to hundreds of the most fascinating animals on this great planet earth. (Officer takes off his jacket revealing a Hawaiian shirt underneath) Now if you'll all take a look over here, you'll see a pack of wallabies grazing in the valley.

 

Officer: (a chipper tourist with a mid-western accent) Well, willya lookee there! Diane! Diane! Ya gotta take a look at these here wallabies!

 

Mother: (enters, a mid-western tourist as well) Well, I'll be! Wallabies!

 

Officer: Wallabies!

 

Man: Now, cuddly as these little buggers may be, you don't want to get too close because...

 

Mother: OWEE!

 

Man: They bite. (He exits. Mother collapses to the ground. He enters pushing in a long block [about six feet by two and a half]. He walks with a limp and has a hunched back...Igor-like. As this goes on, Officer dons the lab coat and a pair of goggles of a Mad Scientist) I-is it time, Master?

 

Officer: (as he and Man place the limp body of Mother on the bed) Yes, my faithful assistant. After years of preparation, I have at last mastered the science of...raising the dead! (lightning strikes) BWAHAHAHAAAAA!!!

 

Mother: (pops up in the bed, hissing like a cat) Brainssss.... (Man and Officer exit screaming. She stands for a while, lights a cigarette, and paces back and forth in front of the block. She puts on a long black coat and red boa. Takes a drag. Sits on the block. Man enters with a smaller block and sits at the other end of the larger block/desk in a brown trench coat and bowler hat)

 

Man: You gonna just stand there lookin' pretty all night or start flappin' your gums like ya came here for?

 

Mother: Pardon?

 

Man: What's the problem, toots? Unless you got a purse full o' green and a crime needs solvin' then do us both a favor and smoke that stick outside.

 

Mother: You must help me, Detective.

 

Man: Must I, now?

 

Mother: It's my husband. He's up to something, I know it. I'm afraid.

 

Man: Well, I-

 

Mother: First I thought it was the mafia- (her mood changes complete, becoming distant and fierce) tough, but fair in his way.

 

(Pete shakes his head, but keeps writing)

 

Man: Pardon me?

 

Mother: (back to normal) I started smellin' the perfume of some floozy on- (becomes distant again) never really proud of his son.

 

(Pete cringes)

 

Man: Um...

 

Mother: Probably Lola or Bernice or- (distant and fierce) saw him as a disappointment. We both did.

 

(Pete is visibly bothered by what he is producing, and it only escalates)

 

Man: Your son, you mean? Or your husband?

 

Mother: (she becomes more frantic as she speaks) Detective you have to- disappointment -to look out for- ran away -for my husband- glad to see him go -husband's a dangerous- what a failure -dangerous man- we knew it all along.

 

Man: Are you alright? J-just give me the facts and-

 

Mother: The facts? The facts! What's the point? You're a failure just like he is. Just. Like. He is. Why do I even bother?!

 

Man: Your husband...

 

Mother: ...Is a great man! A great, great man! (glares at Man) You're no detective. No, I see it now. I know what you are. (Man looks suddenly frightened, a magnified mirror of Pete's apprehensive expression. Man stands up and removes his coat, revealing a sweater vest and dress shirt very similar to Pete's. He removes his hat as well, his hair also not unlike the other's.) (shouting offstage) Hey, Henry, get in here! You'll never guess what I found! Ha! (Mother throws her boa offstage. Officer/Henry enters, dressed in a business suit, looking particularly displeased upon noticing Man) He came crawling back, just like we said he would. How pathetic! Ha! Ha!

 

Man: Wait, I-

 

Mother: SHUT UP! Sit down! (Man sits) (Mother exits, leaving Man and Officer to share an awkward stare. Mother returns with plates, silverware and a pair of small blocks/chairs that she sets around the block/table as she speaks) Dinner time. Remember dinner-time? Family time. This is where it all started, according to you. Well, here we are. Back at the beginning. (She and Henry/Officer take a seat) Let's start this then, shall we?

 

ACT TWO

 

Scene 1: The center-left bench remains from the last Act. The blocks from the upstage scene have been replaced with a actual tables and chairs. Man sits at one of them, dressed as before, coming off a little younger, 19-ish. He is frozen, hovering over a notebook, pen in hand. There is a new bench down-right. It looks a bit newer than the first. Henry stands in front of it. He and the second bench are all that are fully lit.

 

Henry: (to the audience) Look at this place. Nice, isn't it? My own personal slice of heaven, it is. And, see that across the street? The Museum of Natural History, just like I said. Teddy Roosevelt there on his horse. If you've never been to that museum, I highly recommend it. All kinds of animals and things from all over the world. They got this full-sized blue whale- size of three school buses it is -just hanging from the ceiling. Amazing. Amazing. (pause) Do ya wanna know a secret? Do ya? Well if you ever find yourself in my position, pretending you're a war vet usually gives you a seven to ten percent increase in revenue. Mentioning “God” is about fourteen. Blindness pulls in sixteen percent more. Saying you have AIDS or HIV, eighteen. If you've got yourself a humorous sign, something like “I Need Money to Get Wasted” or “Make Fun of Me for a Dollar”, can pull up to a twenty-three percent increase in the right areas. Pedro taught me that. Buddy of mine. Same line of work. Well then, I guess I'd better start making my rounds. (he leaves his bench and the lights go down over it. After a bit of wandering, he ends up at Pete's bench, where Pete is diligently scribbling into his notepad) Still at it, I see.

 

Pete: Wha-? Oh. Yeah. Still at it, uh...

 

Henry: Henry.

 

Pete: Henry. That's it. Yeah. You...you're still at it, too?

 

Henry: Man's gotta make a living.

 

Pete: That he does.

 

Henry: So...Pete, was it? (Pete nods) Pete. What is it you do for a living?

 

Pete: Me? Well, I'm... (clears throat) ...I'm between jobs right now. The economy and all that.

 

Henry: It's taking a toll out on us all. Generosity's at an all-time low.

 

Pete: (reaches into his pocket and put and hands a few coins to Henry) Here's to karma.

 

Henry: Heh. So, the play...what's it about again?

 

Pete: About? Oh. A lot of things, I guess. Maybe. But mostly it's... (laughs in spite of himself) Autobiographical. At least, it's seeming that way.

 

Henry: Correct me if I'm wrong but it seems to me that every piece of literature's autobiographical in some form or another.

 

Pete: In a way, yes. I guess so. Hm.

 

Henry: Hm. (pause) Well, don't let me keep you. I've got a busy day ahead of me. Meeting with the President. Dinner with Bono. That sort of thing. Just make sure you change all the names in this autobiography of yours. Don't want your loved ones hating ya when it makes it big. Heh. (exits)

 

Pete: Heh. (starts writing. The scene behind him comes to life. Man begins writing.)

 

Mother: Jacob. (emerges from the shadows upstage, holding a piece of paper. The sound of her voice causes both Man/Jacob and Pete to jump, startled. Jacob decides to ignore her as best he can, and continues to write. Pete does the same) Jacob. Jacob! Do you hear your mother talking to you? Of course you do, you little cretin. Of course you do. Jacob, I was doing your laundry when I came across this. Do you know what this is, Jacob? I'll tell you. It's your report card. And do you know what's on this report card? I'll give you a hint. It's the reason we're having this conversation right now. Still haven't got it yet? Very well. According to this you received a D in Biology. A D. Your father and I raised you better than to be a failure, but according to this, this piece of paper I found proves that a failure is what you are.

 

Jacob: A D isn't failing.

 

Mother: Don't get smart with me, Jacob. Don't you dare. What are we going to do with you? You have no respect for your parents. No respect for the law. You're an embarrassment.

 

Jacob: So I'm an embarrassment.

 

Mother: What else do you call it when you do the things you do? When your father and I get a phone call from the police at three in the morning about our boy, arrested for driving under the influence of alcohol and God knows what. Your father went to college with some of those officers. They were friends. He's a respected man, your father. All those eyes on us, blaming us for your failures. Embarrassment. (a door opens and closes offstage) Your father's home. (shouts) Gregory! Greg! We're in the kitchen! Jacob has failed us again!

 

Father slowly and without expression, like a walking stone. He stops at the table and bores into Jacob with his eyes in eerie silence.

 

Mother: A D in Biology. A D!

 

Father: Why?

 

Mother: I'll tell you why. Those hoodlums he calls friends. He's too stupid to know they're not what he needs right now.

 

Father: Why?

 

Mother: You hear your father asking you a question, don't you? Answer! Answer!

 

Jacob: Because Biology is hard for me. Because I just broke up with Madison and it fucked-

 

Mother: Language.

 

Jacob: And it screwed up with my head around midterms so...

 

Mother: Enough.

 

Jacob: I got a B in Algebra!

 

Mother: Enough.

 

Jacob: An A in World Literature!

 

Mother: Enough, enough, enough. We've heard enough, Jacob. Enough excuses. Madison was a s**t. A tramp. A failure. We're disappointed in you, your father and I. What do you have to say? Well? Speak up? What do you have to say to us? Maybe...you'll try harder next time? You failed us? Something like that?

 

Jacob: I'm running away.

 

Mother: Excuse me.

 

Jacob: I can't live like this anymore. I'm running away.

 

Mother: And where exactly are you running to?

 

Jacob: A city. Chicago. New York, maybe.

 

Mother: You're seventeen years old. You don't have any money.

 

Jacob: I've been saving up.

 

Mother: So...you're running away?

 

Jacob: Unless you start treating me like a person. Unless you promise to let me be happy...to pretend that you love me at all. Then I'll stay.

 

Mother: If we do all of that, you'll stay.

 

Jacob: That's right, so...what's it going to be?

 

There is a pause. From the silence a large brightly-colored rubber snake is thrown onto the table and Father steps backwards until he is off-stage. Jacob jumps out of his seat and dons the hat and personality of the 'Croc Hunter' guise.

 

Jacob/Croc Hunter: Well, what have we here, mates? She's a beaut, no doubt, but this gal's one of the most deadly snakes in the world. One bite from her and you'll be dead in-

 

Mother: No. You. Don't. (she takes the snake from the table and hurls it off-stage. She then does the same with the Croc Hunter's hat, returning him, frozen, to the Jacob persona. Father enters, returning to his place, frozen as well. (to Pete) What was that? (Pete realizes she's speaking to him and stops writing) Yes, I'm talking to you. Peter, is it? You're supposed to be writing a coherent story, are you not? An examination of your past. A feeble attempt at self-healing artistic expression. Perhaps trying to find out where it all went wrong. Ha. You probably even fail at that. Now be a man and plow forward. This isn't going to write itself, Peter. (Pete starts writing again. Father and Jacob unfreeze. Jacob sits down)

 

Jacob: That's right, so...what's it going to be?

 

Mother: Go.

 

Jacob: Just like that.

 

Mother: Just like that.

 

Jacob: Hm.

 

Mother: You don't have the guts.

 

Jacob: Hm.

 

Mother: (sniffs the air) Now, look what you've done. All that time you spent going on about running away and dinner's burning. I hope you're happy. (exits)

 

Father stares down Jacob as WOMAN, 30, a plainly dressed lady carrying and a book, enters downstage of Pete's bench, unnoticed. It's not until she clears her throat that Pete sees her there.

 

Pete: Reilly! (when he says this surprised exclamation, Girl hurriedly enters the upstage scene, dressed up like a punk rocker. Jacob jumps to his feet in excited confusion)

 

Woman: Excuse me?

 

Pete: Oh! I-I'm sorry. I thought you were...someone else. (Girl backs away from Jacob, who appears to be stuck as he tries to reach for her. Mother enters, pushing past Girl as she exits, holding a trio of full plates. She places plates at the table, then exits and returns with cups and silverware she places as well, while speaking to Pete) Who in God's earth was that?

 

Pete: A girl.

 

Woman: What's that?

 

Pete: Nothing.

 

Mother: A girl?

 

Pete: From later. After you.

 

Woman: Huh.

 

Pete: Nothing.

 

Mother: Did you love this girl?

 

Pete: It doesn't matter. She shouldn't be here yet. This lady here reminded me of her and (Woman gathers her things and exits) ...she just popped into my head.

 

Mother: Ha. Talking to yourself is one of the first signs of madness, you know. As for that despicable girl, keep her out of here, until it's her turn. Go on. Keep writing. (Jacob, Mother, and Father eat)

 

Father: Good steak.

 

Mother: Thank you, Greg. What do you think about the steak, Jacob?

 

Jacob: Fine, I guess.

 

Mother: Fine, you guess. Five hours I spent over the searing oven and “fine, I guess” is the best you can come up with.

 

Father: Bernice...

 

Mother: I know. I know. Settle down, Bernice. Where did we go wrong? Where did we go wrong?

 

Father: Tell your mother how you feel about her steak, son.

 

Jacob: It's good. Delicious.

 

Father: There, you see, Bernice. Delicious.

 

Mother: He lies. LIES!He doesn't appreciate a thing. Not a thing! Ungrateful ingrate! Worthless cretin! Worthless... (she is suddenly short of breath) worthless...(grasps her chest) I-I... (Pete puts his pencil down and Mother and Father freeze)

 

Jacob: What the-? What's going on? (to Pete) What's going on?

 

Pete: I don't. I can't...do this anymore. This play, this story, it's all...it's all messed up.

 

Jacob: You can't just end it here! Like this! Wh-what's happening to my mom? What's going on here? You have to finish.

 

Pete: No. I don't. It's all wrong anyway. I started too fast. The dialogue is off. My- your dad doesn't have nearly enough lines. This autobiography thing was a dumb idea.

 

Jacob: (approaches Jacob's bench) You have to finish.

 

Pete: No. I don't. (He closes his notepad. Mother and Father quietly exit, each taking a chair and remaining as frozen as possible) Why do you care anyway?

 

Jacob: I care because I don't want to become another statistic. Another character in another failed attempt at a story. Sure you may have gone through the life I'm about to in some way, shape or form, but I haven't. Twenty-four hours ago I didn't exist, but I do now. Fictional as I might be, in this world, in your head, I'm a living, breathing human being and you know what? It's good to be alive. But of course the great catch to being a figment of imagination is that my lifeline travels only as far as you think it with that pencil of yours. Come on, Pete. Keep going. For the both of us.

 

(Officer enters, keeping an out for trouble)

 

Pete: I can keep you alive in another way in a different play. You can be the spy, or the detective, or that crazy Australian Croc Hunter guy.

 

Jacob: I guess, but...it doesn't feel right, you know? Heh. Of course you know. I'm a part of you. But, hey, just for kicks. Tell me. About mom? Was she really that...overwhelming?

 

Pete: In ways. Not as much, but...close, in different ways. It wasn't always her words, but she always succeeded in making me feel...

 

Jacob: Worthless.

 

Pete: Yeah. Beside I wanted to make it obvious as it why what happened next happened next.

 

Jacob: What happens next?

 

Pete: I ran away.

 

Officer: (to Pete) You alright there, partner?

 

Pete: Me? Oh. Yeah. I'm fine.

 

Officer: Ya don't seem fine. You were talking to yourself.

 

Pete: Oh. Heh. That. Sorry, I'm- (opens his notepad. Jacob returns upstage. Girl appears as before and helps him carry the table offstage. ) I'm writing a play and sometimes it helps to say things out loud to...get the ideas going.

 

Officer: Hm. I've got my eyes on you. (exits)

 

Jacob: That girl. You were thinking about her again. And now I can't stop thinking about her. Who is she?

 

Pete: Someone I met in New York.

 

Jacob: New York. Is that where we run away to?

 

Pete: Yup.

 

Jacob: Wow. I would never have the guts to do that.

 

Pete: With the right motivation, you'd be amazed.

 

Jacob: So. What now? You gonna turn me into Igor again? That was weird, by the way.

 

Pete: Heh. Agreed. You sure you wanna keep going? Keep being Jacob?

 

Jacob: It's not my choice, but...yeah. I would.

 

Pete: Fine. (Pete continues writing. Tourist enters,carrying a chair and places it on the stage. He sits)

 

Jacob: Um...

 

Tourist: Hey there, Kiddo. Got an empty space right here by me. Take a seat. (Jacob takes his chair from the dinner scene and pulls it beside Tourist.) So...where ya headed?

 

Jacob: I...New York.

 

Tourist: I'm on my way to Boston myself. You a Sox fan?

 

Jacob: I'm not really sure what that is.

 

Tourist: Sox. Red Sox! Boston. Greatest baseball team there is. Boy, oh, boy, what are they teachin' you kids out here?

 

Jacob: Not Biology.

 

Tourist: What's that?

 

Jacob: Nothing.

 

Tourist: So...The Big Apple, huh? Ya got family there or something?

 

Jacob: Nope.

 

Tourist: Pen pal?

 

Jacob: No.

 

Tourist: You ever been?

 

Jacob: No.

 

Tourist: Then, not to be nosy but, what are ya gonna do?

 

Jacob: Not sure.

 

Tourist: Hm. Boy, oh, boy. Boy, oh, boy. Why would a kid like you hop onto a bus all willy nilly?

 

Jacob: Running away.

 

Tourist: Ya know, Kiddo. New York isn't some place you can just go to on a whim. It's not like the fancy shmancy town you see on the TV. It's a dangerous place. What happened? Parents get you upset? That's no reason to run away. Parents annoying kids, kids annoying parents. That's nature. That's life. Now get off this bus n' go home.

 

Bus Driver: (offstage, over speaker) Gooood morning, everyone. Thank you for choosing B-Line Buses making all stops to Boston, Massachusetts. There will be no smoking or drinking of alcoholic beverages and no using of illegal substances while on the bus. All music must be listened to via headphones and turned down so as not to disturb the other passengers. Cell phones must be on silent or vibrate. Conversations should be kept quiet and short. Again, thank you for choosing B-Line and enjoy your trip.

 

Tourist: Last chance. (Jacob makes himself comfortable) Suit yourself.

 

Pete continues to jot things down in his notepad. Jacob does the same and produces an MP3 Player from his pocket and begins listening to music. This goes on for an uncomfortable amount of time before Jacob removes his ear buds and rises.

 

Jacob: Hey, Pete!

 

Pete: Huh?

 

Jacob: I may not be as seasoned in this whole writing thing as you, but I'm pretty sure an eighteen hour bus ride isn't the most entertaining thing for an audience to watch.

 

Pete: Oh. Yeah. (continues writing)

 

Tourist: (rises and picks up both chairs) Best of luck, Kiddo. Use your head. (exits)

 

The sounds of the city rise from the silence. Traffic, young voices chatting and laughing, honking car horns few and far between. It is clear through physicality and reaction, that Jacob has landed in a new place.

 

Jacob: Where am I?

 

Pete: Union Square. It's kind of a social hub for young people in the Summer months. You arrived in New York the day before. All the lights and sounds were so mentally mesmerizing to you that you wandered around for hours, until the sun went down. You let it all take you in, anything to keep you from thinking about what you were doing there or what you would do next. Night fell and you had nowhere to sleep so...you didn't. You tried catching a few Z's inside Port Authority, but the night crowd scared the s**t out of you. Anyway, morning came and you found your way here. Union Square. Where the Fates step in and give your half-assed plans some substance.

 

Jacob: Okay. (gets into character) So I'm confused. A little afraid. Hungry, I bet. Starving. Gotcha.

 

Pete: Jacob.

 

Jacob: Yeah?

 

Pete: Are you sure you want to do this? Keep going, I mean? It's not going to be pretty at times, just to warn you.

 

Jacob: (thinks) Shut up and keep writing. You seem fine now so it can't be that bad, right?

 

Pete: (sighs) Good luck. (continues writing. Girl enters upstage with a low block [about the height of a step] and sits on it)

 

Jacob: Ok- (notices Girl) Hey. It's her! It's that girl! Here. Now. (approaches her)

 

(Woman enters and continues across the stage downstage of Pete)

 

Pete: Stop. (Jacob stops) That's not how it happened.

 

(Woman is about to exit when Sleaze, a corrupt-looking man in his mid-twenties, enters with backpack. He is a squirrelly, fidgety sort. He blocks off Woman's path)

 

Sleaze: Hey, baby, where you goin so fast? Huh, beautiful?

 

Woman: Ugh, get away from me. (pushes past, exits)

 

Sleaze: (he examines his surroundings a bit then approaches Pete) Yo. Guy on bench. You need somethin'? I got- what do I got here -Oh, oh. I got some coke here, man. Some meth. Some pot. What do you need, man? What do you need?

 

Pete: Nothing. Nothing.

 

Sleaze: Come on, man. Come on! You know you want somethin'. Come on! (Officer enters) COME ON, F****r, or I swear to God I'll-

 

Officer: Hey! You!

 

Sleaze: F****n' mother f****r! (exits)

 

Officer: Stop right there! (runs off after Sleaze. Pete writes)

 

Jacob: (sits on the floor, distraught. Girl is watching him, mildly interested. After a while a Woman enters upstage, crossing in front of him. He climbs to his feet) Hey! E-excuse me. (Woman turns to him) D-do you have a dollar or...something so I can get something to eat?

 

Woman: Ugh, get away from me. (exits)

 

Girl: (approaches Jacob and hands him a dollar) Here you go.

 

Jacob: (examines the money, as if deciding whether it's real or not) Thank you.

 

Girl: Yeah, no problem. Anything to help a fellow struggling artist right? (Jacob shrugs. Girl giggles and returns to her step)

 

Jacob: (time passes and he goes to Girl, on the verge of tears) I don't know what to do.

 

Girl: Who does?

 

Jacob: I- I don't know...what I'm doing here.

 

Girl: Me either. Take a seat, kid. (Jacob sits beside her) What's your name?

 

Jacob: Jacob.

 

Girl: Jacob. You're not from around here, are you, Jacob?

 

Jacob: (mystified) No.

 

Girl: I'm (there is a slight pause as Pete thinks up a name) Reilly. So...what brings you to the Big Rotting Apple?

 

Jacob: I...ran away from home.

 

Girl/Reilly: That's pretty dumb. Where you from?

 

Jacob: Minnesota.

 

Reilly: Ha. Well then. Jeez. You got balls, I'll give you that. Damn. Minnesota. So just just though you'd come here and, what, wing it? (Jacob shrugs) Jesus Christ, kid. This is New f****n' York!

 

Jacob: Yeah, I-

 

Voice From Offstage: Yo, b***h! (Sleaze enters, dressed up in the same black punk-look as Reilly. He takes Reilly in his arms and kisses her, feels her up, then lets go)

 

Reilly: Derick, what's up, sexness?

 

Sleaze/Derick: Shut down the shop. Thought I'd come by for some afternoon delight, right?

 

Reilly: (jokingly) F****r.

 

Derick: Mm...yeah. (leans in to kiss her, but notices Jacob standing there) Who's this little s**t?

 

Reilly: This...is Jacob. He ran away from home...in Minnesota.

 

Derick: No s**t.

 

Reilly: Yeah. Can we keep him?

 

Derick: -the f**k...?

 

Reilly: Come on, Derick. We can throw him up in the attic. Give him a few shifts at the store, whatev, whatev?

 

Derick: F**k, man. Minnesota. Dude's got balls.

 

Reilly: Ha! That's what I said!

 

Derick: (thinks) What the f**k? Let's go, kid. (exits)

 

Reilly: (starts off, too, but notices Jacob isn't moving) Come on! Come on! (Jacob wearily follows and exits with her)

 

(Pete closes his book. He looks around and sighs then exits. Lights down)

 

ACT THREE

 

Scene 1. Benches are both in place. The upstage area is empty. Woman sits at Pete's bench. All the lights are down except for just above Henry's bench, where Henry stands like a haunting statue, head hanging low. His right hand is behind his back.

 

Henry: (he is obviously upset and obviously drunk. His first motion is one where he reveals the bagged bottle of whiskey in his right hand and takes a deep swig) What're lookin' at, huh? Don't think I don't see you lookin' at me like...like you're better than me! Well, guess what? You're not, okay? You're not! I was- I used to be...I was just like you, ya know. Sometimes it's so easy to see something...and just focus right in on the differences. Look for reasons why this thing, whatever it is, isn't worth your time. I know. I been there. But it wasn't always like this. I remember when I was a little boy a million years ago. I used to play with little plastic dinosaurs. When I grew up I wanted to be a secret agent and a zoologist and a mad scientist. Heh heh. I even remember when I had by first beer. It was at Timmy Reardon's house. His parents went out to pick up a pizza- left us all in the basement -he had a real nice foozeball table, Timmy did- and Timmy told us that his dad kept all the alcohol in a refrigerator in the storage room. So me n' Timmy and Michael Daninski went in there, popped open a can of Bud and, woo, was it the nastiest s**t we ever tasted. We swore never to try that stuff again, (takes a profound swig) Ah! F**k. I wasn't always like this. I had friends, a family. I know what you're asking yourself. How did this happen to me? You wanna know? I'll tell ya. Same thing that brings every man to his knees. A pair of pretty eyes. Smooth skin. Soft lips. You think you're better than me?! Well, you know what? I agree. Carry on with yourself. (exits)

 

Pete enters and sits down beside Woman, obviously exhausted, his look slightly disheveled. Woman recognizes him from before and leaves. Pete opens his notepad. Jacob and Reilly enter upstage, bring in a counter with a cash register.

 

Reilly: So you're gonna type the price in here. The price is on the CD or whatever. Press this and...that's about it. How do you feel about your new career as cash register guy at the Indie-Go Spin Shack? Derick started this s**t up all by himself.

 

Jacob: Hm.

 

Reilly: If you have any questions speak now or forever etc., because you start tomorrow morning.

 

Jacob: Thanks.

 

Reilly: Whatever. Dobs'll bring you some blankets and junk before night time.

 

Jacob: Cool.

 

Reilly: You're a man of few words, aren't ya?

 

Jacob: I guess. Yeah.

 

Reilly: Ah. Well. Derick'll be back from the guitar shop in a little bit so I better put the Ramen on at home. Later. Get yourself acquainted with stuff. See ya. (exits)

 

Jacob: See ya. (There is a long spell of silence where Jacob examines the cash register and begins to write in his notebook as Pete's attention drifts away from his notepad. Lights begin to dim as Pete starts to fall asleep. Jacob is terrified by the world that is shutting down around him) What- what's going on? Reilly. The lights. The lights! Reilly. (notices Pete falling asleep) Pete. PETE!

 

Pete: (wakes up) Huh? Wha? (lights go up)

 

Jacob: You were falling asleep.

 

Pete: Oh. Sorry about that.

 

Jacob: Are you okay, man?

 

Pete: I'm fine. Just had a long day and a lot on my mind.

 

Jacob: Oh. You wanna talk about it or anything?

 

Pete: No. No. (smiles) Besides, if I did I'd ruin your happy ending.

 

Jacob: (intrigued) Happy, eh? I like the sound of that. It's Reilly, right? We get together don't we? (waits) We do! I know we do!

 

Pete: Nope. I'm not saying a thing. You have to figure it out just like I did.

 

Jacob: We totally fall in love. Get married. Make babies... I can feel it. Jacob...uh...

 

Pete: Whitney.

 

Jacob: Jacob Whitney, a dashingly handsome man, aged (examines Pete) twenty-eight, a renowned freelance writer in the city of New York with monthly articles in the Times, the Post, and a number of online venues, but to discover the true treasures of his life look no further than that hauntingly alluring woman on his arm, the bewitching Reilly...

 

Pete: Whitney.

 

Jacob: Whitney and Ace and Randy, their newborn twin boys. (to Pete) How warm am I?

 

Pete: I wouldn't say you're too far off.

 

Jacob: Heck yeah, I'm not! So...back to the story?

 

Pete: Back to the story... (Jacob's portion of the stage is cleared, the lights return to full brightness and the sound of a crowded park on a warm afternoon rise with the lights. An old plaid blanket is placed on the floor and a small cooler covered in band stickers on top of it) A nice late summer's day at Prospect Park, Brooklyn. You set up a special lunch with a special someone. (Reilly enters and takes a seat)

 

Jacob: Heck yeah, I did! (goes to Reilly and is instantly awkward and subdued) Um...hey.

 

Reilly: What's up, Jake? Sorry, I'm late. Carson tried to get me to pay f*****g two hundred dollars for a box of Morbid Angel on cassette. I mean, the Angels kicked respectable a*s in their day, but...no.

 

Jacob: That b*****d.

 

Reilly: Tell me about it. So, what'd you pack, kid?

 

Jacob: Let's see... (opens the cooler) I've got some ham sandwiches, a pair of Snapples...and a bunch of grapes.

 

Reilly: Cool. Lay a Snapple on me. (he does) Nice day. Sucks that I have to be back at the shop in an hour. I could get back a little late, but Derick's a f*****g lunatic about that s**t, you know? You know. (Jacon nods and takes a bite out of his sandwich). How are you liking this new life so far? I mean, you've been here for a month now, right?

 

Jacob: Month and a half.

 

Reilly: S**t. You like it?

 

Jacob: I do. Better than the alternative.

 

Reilly: I know what you mean. My mom was one of those stage b*****s, you know, ex-theater drop-outs who shove their torched dreams and aspirations onto their kids. From the day I was born she put me in these big frilly dresses and a dragged me all over the country to auditions and pageants and s**t. I was never what she wanted. My eyes were too big or my chest was too flat or my delivery was wrong. Messes you up in the head. I was home-schooled because of all the traveling, which messed me up even more. We moved to New York so I could start my treacherous quest for Broadway when I met Derick. He was smoking a joint outside of the theater and I needed some air after bombing yet another audition. My mom was shouting at the casting people, begging for them to give me another chance. Derick and I hit it off right away, he was all tortured and s**t, too. We started seeing each other after that. My mom would b***h so eventually I just packed my things and moved in with him. Best thing I ever did. (starts smoking) What about you? You never did tell me why you ran away?

 

Jacob: Yeah, um...my mom sucked, too. I was never good enough. What about your dad?

 

Reilly: My mom was just his f**k-and-run.

 

Jacob: Oh.

 

Reilly: Nice f*****g day. What do you do, by the way? When you're not working the shop. Just sit up in the attic?

 

Jacob: I walk around a little. Hop on the subway and explore parks and cemeteries and stuff. Write.

 

Reilly: That's cool, I guess. I should hook you up with some people I know. Me and Derick and Dobs are always so busy with band s**t that we forget about you all locked away up in the attic. You're cute. This picnic. Real cute. I should find you a nice girl. All kinds of people come see us play. The next time we have a show, I'm finding you a girl. You'll thank me. (pause) You a virgin?

 

Jacob: Um...what?

 

Reilly: A virgin! A virgin! Have you ever fucked a girl? You know, did the nasty, plowed the garden, clogged the hog?

 

Jacob: Oh...that. Um, yeah.

 

Reilly: (laughs) Nope! No you didn't!

 

Jacob: Yes, I...

 

Reilly: You ever fucked a boy?

 

Jacob: No!

 

Reilly: (laughs harder) You virgins crack me up. You never did a chick, huh?

 

Jacob: (thinks) No.

 

Reilly: I knew it. You're cute. We need to get your cherry popped, kid.

 

Jacob: You should eat your sandwich before the lettuce turns brown. (offers her the sandwich)

 

Reilly: (she takes it) Right. (while eating) What kind of stuff do you write?

 

Jacob: Anything, really. Short stories, mostly. Non-fiction. Poems.

 

Reilly: What about songs? Have you ever written a song?

 

Jacob: Yeah. I mean, they start off as poems usually, but then I start hearing music in my head so they change...I can't sing or anything so...

 

Reilly: Can I see?

 

Jacob: See...

 

Reilly: Your songs. I know you have that book with you. It's always with you.

 

Jacob: It's kind of private.

 

Reilly: Come on. We just swapped sucky childhood stories and I know you're still a card-carrying member of the V-Club. Privacy's over.

 

Jacob: (removes his book from his pocket and flips to a specific page) Here. I did this a couple weeks ago.

 

Reilly: (snatches the book) Hm. Wow. This isn't bad, kid. I was not expecting this out of you. Wow. Keep it up, man. We could use some s**t like this in the band. No lie. “Especially tempestuously regurgitated waste, A silvery moon allied monsoons in radiated haste. While motorized he exercised prohibitory doubt, Hawaiian costumed nihilists spat upon unweathered- (she freezes and the lights dim as Pete drifts to sleep as he did before)

 

Jacob: Pete? Pete! You're sleeping again! (Reilly stands up and walks offstage) Pete, come on! (picnic set is removed) Wake up! Wake up! PETE LANGSLEY!

 

Pete: Huh? Where...? (lights return to normal)

 

Jacob: What's going on, man? Are you sure you're alright?

 

Pete: I'm fine. Just...sleepy.

 

Jacob: Long night?

 

Pete: Couldn't sleep. Nightmares.

 

Jacob: Nightmares? What kind of nightmares?

 

Pete: Hopeless. Alone. Nothing. It's nothing.

 

Jacob: Okay, well, if you could just stay away long enough to get to the end of the picnic that would be great. Absolutely great, because... (Pete sleepily starts to write and Dobs, a large man dressed in torn jeans and a flannel shirt, enters with a bass guitar) Wait, wait, what happened to the park? (Derick enters, carrying a bright red guitar) Pete? The park? Things were really getting good! (Reilly pushes in a drum set and then a stool. She grabs a pair of drumsticks and sits down)

 

Pete: (lost in thought) I remember the first time I heard it. My song. My song. I'll never forget...

 

Jacob: Your...

 

Derick: (the music starts, the concert lights go up, and he sings simultaneously. They can either really play the instruments or the music can be pre-recorded. Derick is drunk but his voice is real and amazing. The song is more or less a punk ballad, slow and powerful)

 

Especially tempestuously regurgitated waste,

A silvery moon allied monsoons in radiated haste.

While motorized he exercised prohibitory doubt,

Hawaiian costumed nihilists spat forth in silent shouts

 

Festering with destination, heroes' feathers turn to gold

Sparkling on a ghastly wing instinct distinct from sinking stones

Qualifying adolescents dressed repressed condolences

To seek miraculous invention quantified in angels' senses

 

Feel her

Feel you

Touch her

Souls ablaze

 

Live her

Love her

Taste her

Kingdom's razed

 

Emerald her chemicals defying hesitation

Flesh erotic blood hypnotic seething copulation

Scale towering edifice to catch a glimpse of Cerses' Hell

A heart beguiled, a scar defiled by sorceress' unholy spell

 

THE DRAGON guards the tower and the tower's underwater

THE TREASURE is a mermaid and the salty sea has caught her

In a WHIRPOOL of transition as tradition never could

And the maiden is no maiden but was made into my BREATHLESS WORLD

 

Feel me

Feel you

Touch me

Souls ablaze

 

Live me

Love me

Taste me

Kingdom's razed

 

(The song ends and the crowd goes even wild than before, then dies away. The lights go up and Dobs, Derick and Reilly relax. Jacob enters the scene)

 

Jacob: Wow, that was great. You guys were great.

 

Reilly: Couldn't've done it without your lyrics, kid. We rocked tonight! (she and Dobs high-five)

 

Derick: (to Jacob) Write some more songs for me, you little s**t, and if they're worth anything I'll use them.

 

Reilly: F**k you, Derick! His lyrics awesome.

 

Dob: (shrugs, agreeing) They're not bad.

 

Derick: Shut up, b***h. You too, Dobs. A*****e. (to Jacobs) You're a little s**t. Help us pack some of this up before I- (Pete falls asleep and everyone but Jacob freezes. The lights flicker as if short-circuiting)

 

Jacob: Again? Pete. Yo, Peter! PETEY!

 

Mother: (enters in a flowing gown of jet black. She seems to embody the terrifying beauty of the night) He's not waking up any time soon.

 

Jacob: (startled) Mom?

 

Mother: That's right. Here I am.

 

Jacob: Did this, I mean, is this supposed to happen?

 

Mother: Oh, no. No, no, no. You never see me again. And, no, that was not a complaint. Your father and I got on fabulously without you. We had another child. A boy. He's something to be proud of, that one. Everything a parent could ask for. An honor student. An aspiring businessman like his father. Funny we should meet like this because Daniel, that's the name of the brother you'll never know, Daniel was rooting through some boxes in the basement the other day and he came across a picture of you. He raced to your father and I, eager to ask who this boy was, smiling in our stored waste. Do you know what I said? I said, “Daniel, my sweet, dear, beloved son, that...is no one. No one at all.” He shrugged, threw the photo on the table, and continued about his business. I threw the picture away and cooked dinner. Roast beef, broccoli and those cinnamon rolls you adored so much. Daniel loves them even more. What a gift, that boy.

 

Jacob: What are you doing here?

 

Mother: I haven't the slightest idea. (gestures to Pete) Ask him. This is his mind. I imagine I left quite the mark on his subconscious. Hm. (notices Derick, Reilly and Dobs) So this is your life now. Scrambling amongst the urchins of society. I should have expected as much. Sickening. And this girl... (notices a shift in Jacob's posture and mood) Ah, you have feelings for the little harlot, do you?

 

Jacob: Her name is Reilly.

 

Mother: I don't recall asking her name, you idiot. These feelings of yours? Are they reciprocated? (silence) No, of course not. How could anyone love something like you? Ah...yes. There it is. She's in love with this man (gestures to Derick). Ha, she chooses this over you. Take note of that.

 

Jacob: You don't belong here. Get the hell out.

 

Mother: Well, look at you. Standing up to me. Your counterpart could take a few pointers from you. He would just cower and cry, cower and cry, the fool. Trust me, this is the last place I want to be. But me, my memory, is trapped in this cesspool of failure. I'm as much of a prisoner as you are.

 

Jacob: I'm not a prisoner.

 

Mother: Then what do you call this? Reliving the hurt and regret of another man, walking the path of another with no real decisions of your own. Prisoner. One more thing. You don't get the girl.

 

Jacob: You're wrong. You're wrong! Pete told me. You don't know. Why should I believe you?

 

Mother: Because, unlike you, I have full access to every crevice and valley of Peter's mind. He never could say “no” to me.

 

Jacob: Until he ran away.

 

Mother: Yes, that.

 

Jacob: He was sick of your s**t so he took action in the biggest, bravest way possible.

 

Mother: Oh, this is going to be far too enjoyable. Do you know why Pete ran away from home? Why, heh, you ran away from home?

 

Jacob: Because we had enough of you!

 

Mother: Interesting theory. Interesting indeed. What if I were to tell you that I had been suffering from heart problems then? Ventricular tachycardia. Characterized by a rapid heart rate and its tendency to lead to ventricular fibrillation or...cardiac death. To bring this tale to a swift close so that I may continue to roam these morbid halls for the rest of eternity, that final bout between Peter and I was more than my heart could take. By the time the ambulance arrived I was already dead. My poor, weak son did the only thing he ever could...ran away from his problems, leaving his father to grieve on his own.

 

Jacob: No. You're lying. You're lying! What about Daniel?You said you had another son.

 

Mother: Oh. That. I was just having a little fun with you. I'm a memory. How on earth could I even have known if I had a son? Which I didn't. Because I died. It gets a little lonely in here with no one to sink my claws into. If you were really Peter, that tale of a new favorite son would have reduced you to a puddle of tears. Pity you're made of stronger stuff. So you see, Jacob, it was guilt that drove him, not courage. He's no hero. Just a failure as I've always said. Until we meet again. (she exits, slapping Pete on her way out, waking him up)

 

Pete: Wha-? (lights go up) Aw, man. I fell asleep again.

 

Jacob: Pete...

 

Pete: No, I'm fine. I'm fine. (flips through his notepad) Okay. Store...

 

Jacob: No, Pete...

 

Pete: The store. (Reilly, Derick and Dobs exit. Instruments are removed and replaced with the counter and cash register. It's nighttime)

 

Jacob: Does Reilly ever love me?

 

Pete: This is important.

 

Jacob: I have to know, Pete!

 

Pete: Can't forget this part. No.

 

Jacob: I need- (Reilly enters with a big binder, cursing under her breath) Reilly.

 

Pete: Go to your place.

 

Jacob: But-

 

Pete: Come on. It's the store. She's going to need you in a few seconds and you have to be-

 

Officer: (enters) Sir.

 

Pete: What? Oh. H-hello, Officer.

 

Officer: Were who just talking to someone?

 

Pete: Um...no. I mean, myself. I'm a writer. It helps.

 

Officer: Yes, well, Mr. Writer, the sun's going down and this isn't the safest place to be at night so you may want to call it a day.

 

Pete: Maybe you're right.

 

Jacob: No. No, he's not!

 

Pete: I have been a little tired.

 

Jacob: I have to know, Pete!

 

Pete: (packs up his things) Didn't get much sleep last night.

 

Jacob: Does Reilly ever love me?!

 

Officer: Good night to you, then.

 

Pete: (rises) Goodnight, sir. (starts for the exit)

 

Jacob: (shouting after him) Because if she doesn't then none of this is worth it! (Pete exits. Lights go out)

 

ACT FOUR

 

Scene 1. Same as the end of Act Three. Henry's standing in front of his bench, ready to address the audience. Mother as Artist is sitting at Pete's bench, dressed as an eccentric artsy type.

 

Henry: (considerably more approachable than before, but a bit off) Ugh. Hangovers. Wouldn't wish one o' these things on my worst enemy. No way. No how. Ol' Henry had a few too many last night. Thank you, by the way, for buying. Sometimes you just gotta drown your sorrows and, friends, I had a lot of sorrows. Memories are some tricky b******s, aren't they? Creeping up on you when you least expect 'em. Hurting just as much as they did way back when. Sometimes worse. Doesn't seem right, does it? How something that's good and done can still pull a number on you like that? I need some water. Some Advil. Maybe I'll find a square of cardboard and write “Hungover: Need Advil”. Sit around some college, some area with a lot of kids with a lot of money and a sense of humor. Yeah. Just another trick o' the trade. Just like all o' these ain'ts and shouldna's, bad grammar and sentence fragments. Heck, would you believe me if I told you that bad grammar and a stunted vocabulary brings in about forty percent more than well-spokenness. “Can I get a dollar, partner?” versus “Pardon me, my good man, might I bother you for a moment to ask for a dollar or two?” Took me a while to catch on to that one. Pedro beat it into me, though. Passersby think you're faking poverty if ya got good speakin' skills. I kid you not. So...having said that, Can I get a dollar, partner? (shrugs and exits as Pete races onto the stage near his bench, short of breath and panicking, looking around for something)

 

Pete: Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. (notices Mother/Artist) Hey! How long have you been sitting here?

 

Mother/Artist: Twenty minutes, give or take.

 

Pete: Have you seen anybody? A girl? Looking for someone?

 

Artist: Sorry, I can't say that I have. Nope. Only an officer and some homeless man.

 

Pete: Ah, good. Good. Thank you. (gestures toward the bench) Do you...mind?

 

Artist: No, not at all.

 

Pete: Thank you. (sits and takes out his notepad and pen)

 

Artist: A writer, are you?

 

Pete: Sort of. Yes.

 

Artist: What it is you are writing, may I ask?

 

Pete: A play. An autobiography.

 

Artist: Ah, I love the theater. And an autobiography, you say? A work filled with tragedy, surprise and of course love, I suppose?

 

Pete: Yes. Kind of a work-in-progress.

 

Artist: Ah, aren't they all. Aren't they all. (rises) Well, I've been staring off into space here for far too long. I shall leave you to your devices, young man. May you find in your art what it is you are so desperately seeking in your life.

 

Pete: Thanks. (Woman exits. He opens the notepad and the scene lights up behind him. Reilly, obviously irritated, enters and is at the counter, jotting things down into the binder)

 

Jacob: (Jacob enters, wiping his eyes as if just waking up) Hey.

 

Reilly: Oh, hey.

 

Jacob: I heard some noises coming from down here so I...What's up?

 

Reilly: Nothing. Derick has to have these sales added up by tomorrow for some guy trying to go co-owner and while his sorry a*s is out at f**k knows where I gotta do this s**t. It's fucked up, man.

 

Jacob: Sorry. Can I help?

 

Reilly: Nah. Sorry I woke you up.

 

Jacob: No, it's fine. I thought I was going to have to ninja some robber or something.

 

Reilly: (laughs) Yeah. I would pay money to see your skinny a*s ninja anyone.

 

Jacob: Ha. Yeah, I'd probably die.

 

Reilly: That's more like it.

 

Jacob: You want tea or something? From the break room?

 

Reilly: Actually, yeah, sure. Coffee. Black.

 

Jacob: Right. (starts to exit)

 

Reilly: How does he just go out to some bar or whatever and just leave me to clean up after him. Typical Derick. Typical f*****g Derick. God d****t! I mean, who does that? I have a life, too. I guess this is what you f*****g get when you're a runaway, huh? This is what you have to deal with? The price you have to pay.

 

Jacob: I'll be right back, with that coffee. (exits)

 

Reilly continues to work. There is a loud knocking sound and Derick's moans are heard. Derick, seriously drunk, enters, supported by Dobs

 

Dobs: Your boyfriend is a mess. I wasn't risking taking him on the subway like this.

 

Derick: - the f**k am I?

 

Reilly: D****t.

 

Jacob: (rushes in) Are you- (notices Derick and Dobs)...alright?

 

Dobs: Derick had a few too many at a party down the street.

 

Reilly: Yeah. I'm sure that's all he had. (to Jacob) Go pour him a couple cups of water and see if you can find some Advil or something. (Jacob exits)

 

Derick: That you, b***h?

 

Reilly: Yeah, it's me.

 

Derick: (to Dobs) Get yer f****n' hands off me, you f*g! (breaks free of Dobs' grip and can barely stand) (to Reilly) Hey, baby, you get them numbers all worked out for me. Huh? You do that for daddy?

 

Reilly: F**k off.

 

Derick: ...the f**k'd you jus' say t'me? F****n' b***h. I should knock you out right here. Right now...

 

Dobs: Derick...

 

Derick: Stay the f**k out of this, f****t!

 

Reilly: You weren't just drinkin', were you, Derick?

 

Derick: Shut the f**k up...

 

Reilly: We talked about this.

 

Derick: I swear to God, if you say one more word...

 

Reilly: You promised you wouldn't, Derick.

 

Derick: Hey, b***h. You just, you just shut your mouth and you come home so we can...(makes a digustingly sexual gesture then laughs). Come on, baby. Come on, take your clothes off.

 

Reilly: F**k you.

 

Derick: Take 'em off or I'll do it for you. (lunges for her and grabs her) That's right, baby. That's right.

 

Reilly: (tries to break free) Derick! Let go! (frees one of her arms and smacks him in the face)

 

Derick: (punches her hard in the face and she drops to the floor) Don't ever touch me like that! Ever! Now get up so we can go home. (He stumbles and Dobs catches him before he falls) Get up, I said! Come on! (Reilly climbs to her feet)

 

Jacob: (enters with two cups of water) What's going on?

 

Derick: We're leaving, you little f**k.

 

Dobs: I don't know if that's such a-

 

Derick: WE'RE LEAVING! Come on, s**t! (Derick and Dobs exit. Reilly reluctantly follows)

 

Jacob: Reilly...wh-what about the sales?

 

Reilly: (defeated) I'll do them in the morning. (exits)

 

Jacob: (seems to snap out of a trance and directs his attention immediately to Pete) You. What did I just miss?

 

Pete: (lost in his thoughts) He hit her.

 

Jacob: He what?!

 

Pete: He punched her...right in the face.

 

Jacob and Pete: And I just let her go.

 

Jacob: I didn't know. If I did I would have...

 

Pete: I knew. Deep down I knew. I was just so...

 

Jacob: (unamused) Afraid, right? You were afraid. Afraid to stand up for the girl you loved.

 

Pete: Love? Look at my life. How was I supposed to know what love was?

 

Jacob: I'm going to go after her.

 

Pete: You can't.

 

Jacob: Why not?

 

Pete: Because that's not how it happened. (the store scene is removed and replaced with a few stray cardboard boxes and a dirty old mattress covered in two blankets and a pillow)

 

Jacob: My room. In the attic. What's this?

 

Pete: Two nights later.

 

Jacob: You shouldn't have been afraid, Pete. After all she did for you you just let him come in and...God, I can't even say it. I can't.

 

Pete: Go to sleep.

 

Jacob: I'm not sleep- (he seems to lose all control over himself and walks, zombie-like, to the bed where he proceeds to fall asleep)

 

Reilly: (enters quietly, then kneels down beside Jacob. She has a back eye and bruises on her arms) Jake. Jake, wake up. Wake-up, Jake.

 

Jacob: Wha...Reilly? (notices the black eye) Reilly. What happened to you? Are you...

 

Reilly: (on the verge of tears) I'm fine. Derick and I got into a fight. He lost his temper. It happens. I just needed some space from him and you...you're like my only friend so...unless you want me to leave...

 

Jacob: No. No, stay!

 

Reilly: (crying) I'm sorry, Jacob. I'm so sorry! (she collapses into his arms)

 

Jacob: Sorry? (he puts his arms around her) You don't have anything to be sorry about.

 

Reilly: For bringing you into this world. I-I should've just sent you home. Sent you away. Nothing's worse than this. Nothing!

 

Jacob: No. No. I'm glad you let me stay with you. I like it. It's nice. You're here.

 

Reilly: Jacob.

 

Jacob: Yeah?

 

Reilly: (kisses him) I like you.

 

Jacob: I like you, too. (they kiss again, more passionately this time) A lot.

 

Reilly: Can I sleep here?

 

Jacob: Sure.

 

Reilly: Can you hold me?

 

Jacob: Yeah. Of course. (they lie in bed) Wow.

 

Reilly: What?

 

Jacob: Nothing. (they fall asleep. Time passes and day breaks. Derick enters, furious upon noticing Reilly in Jacob's arms. He lands a swift kick to Jacob's side and Jacob lets out a sharp scream that wakes Reilly)

 

Reilly: Derick!

 

Derick: What the f**k is this?! (kicks Jacob again)

 

Reilly: Derick, stop!

 

Derick: Shut the f**k up! (kicks him again)

 

Reilly: Nothing happened.

 

Derick: Carson calls me up, asking why the store's not open yet (kicks Jacob again). So I come over here (kicks him) and what do I find? My f*****g girlfriend in bed with this (kick) little (kick) s**t

(kick)!

 

Reilly: Stop it! Leave him alone! (grabs Derick)

 

Derick: I swear if you don't get off me right now I'll break your f*****g arms. (pushes Reilly away and watches Jacob as he climbs to his feet) Get your a*s out of my shop. If I ever see you again I'll kill you. Go. (Jacob opens his mouth to speak) Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! (Derick chases him away while shouting his “go's”. Jacob exits. Derick and Reilly freeze. Lights go down over scene. Pete cups his head in his hands, distraught. Jacob enters, approaching Pete)

 

Jacob: (darkly, after composing himself) What happens next, Pete? (silence) Answer me, Pete. What happens next? I deserve to know.

 

Pete: (with tears in his eyes) I ran away.

 

Jacob: Of course you did. (thinks) You're pathetic. But you know what? I'm not going to run. (moves toward the scene)

 

Pete: No. You can't. You're me.

 

Jacob: No, Pete. I'm not you. I was never you. I know that now. Because I'm strong. I wouldn't run from the girl I loved. I wouldn't abandon my whole life, my father, everyone that meant something to me, because I blame myself for something that wasn't even my fault. (Pete raises his head) That's right. You're mother gave me a visit and told me the truth. Now, if you'll excuse me...

 

Pete: This is all wrong!

 

Jacob: I'm going back for her.

 

Pete: No!

 

Jacob: You almost had me believing you, that everything would work out your way. Ha.

 

Pete: But it does! It will! I ran into her!

 

Jacob: What?

 

Pete: A few months ago, I-I ran into her at a grocery store in Brooklyn. She was still with Derick but I told her, I finally told her how I felt those ten years ago...and she told me she felt the same way! I asked her to come with me, but she refused. B-but I told her that I knew she would change her mind and that...that I would be at this bench every day at six to wait for her. So here I am! Here I am. She'll come. I know she will. I know it. Any day now.

 

Jacob: You're mother was right. You really are a failure.

 

Mother: (sung) Oh, Jacob! Jacob! (Mother enters in a bright sun dress, smiling wide) Oh, there's my wonderful son. (gives Jacob a kiss on the cheek) I've been looking all over for you. (notices Pete and her mood drops to one of sickening disappointment) You're here.

 

Pete: Mother...

 

Jacob: What's going on here?

 

Mother: Nothing you need to concern yourself with. You have other things to do if I am not mistaken.

 

Jacob: Yes, Mother. I do. (notices Pete) Mother?

 

Mother: Yes, Jacob?

 

Jacob: Who's that old man on the bench over there?

 

Mother: Jacob, my sweet, dear, beloved son, that...is no one. No one at all. (Pete collapses on the bench)

 

Jacob: (shrugs and goes to the frozen scene) Five hours later. The store. (Derick exits. The boxes and bed are removed and the counter and cash register are brought on stage. Reilly works behind the counter. Jacob enters the scene) Hey.

 

Reilly: Jacob! You have to get out of here. Derick's out for lunch-

 

Jacob: I know. I saw him go. I have something I need you to do.

 

Reilly: Jacob...

 

Jacob: Come with me.

 

Reilly: Jacob...

 

Jacob: Run with me. Take the money out of the register and let's go. You and I.

 

Reilly: I can't...

 

Jacob: Why not?

 

Reilly: I...I...

 

Jacob: I'm not going anywhere unless you come with me. We can go to Minnesota. I know people there who can help us. My dad, maybe. Maybe your mom...

 

Reilly: Jacob...

 

Jacob: Reilly. This life isn't what either of us deserve. There's something better out there. So, come on, take the money or don't take the money, it doesn't matter just...come on.

 

Reilly: I...you...I'm scared.

 

Jacob: I love you, Reilly. I want to be near you. I want to be with you. I...I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise.

 

Reilly: (after much contemplating, opens the register and pockets the money. She looks at Jacob. He takes her hand and both exit)

 

Mother: (to Pete) I didn't know you had it in you. I don't think you did either. Well, I'll leave you to finish your story. Until I resurface, farewell, boy. (exits)

 

ACT FIVE

Scene 1. Pete is sitting asleep on the bench.

 

The lights gradually fade to nighttime. Sleaze enters, notices Pete, and approaches him. He reaches into Pete's coat pocket.

 

Pete: (wakes up with a start) What...

 

Sleaze: Get up, man! Get up!

 

Pete: What's going on?

 

Sleaze: No talking! Stand up! (Sleaze pulls a switchblade from his jacket pocket) No talking! (Pete, noticing the weapon, stands up, notepad in hand) Alright then. Alright. (Sleaze reaches into Pete's pockets, pocketing whatever he finds) (his eyes lock on the notepad) And what's that?

 

Pete: Nothing.

 

Sleaze: No talking. (reaches for the notepad)

 

Pete: No! (Pete pushes Sleaze away, but Sleaze bounces back, and after a minor struggle, stabs Pete and steals the notepad. Henry wakes up, as if from a nightmare the second Pete is stabbed. Sleaze exits. Pete grabs hold of his injured side and lowers himself onto the bench. Henry looks back at Pete, taking in his agony. He then looks out at the audience and rises up from the bench)

 

Henry: (to the audience) Good thing the officer came when he did.

 

Officer: (enters. Sees Jacob) Oh my God.

 

Henry: Things would've been different if he hadn't.

 

Officer: Can you hear me, kid? Damn. (scoops Pete into his arms and carries him offstage)

 

Henry: He didn't have any insurance or very much money at the time, so the hospital was quick to stitch him up and kick him out... (Pete enters with Mad Scientist. Mad Scientist spins him around and shoves him towards center stage, then exits laughing) After leaving Reilly and Derick's music shop, life became increasingly hard for Pete. He would hover from fast food establishment to family owned restaurant to the meat-packing district, begging for something, anything to do.

 

Woman: (enters) (She is dressed in black business attire. As she barks her orders, Pete desperately tries to do them, miming the actions as he grows more and more exasperated) Clean the gutters. Wash the dishes. Hang up that coat. Throw that away. Sweep the floor. Add up all of these numbers and if they don't match up then try it again. Dust the counter. Refill the straw dispenser. Bring me more paper! Call the super. Put them in the dryer. Seal those boxes. Hand me my scissors. Chop up some carrots. Walk the dog. Fold the blouses. Not that way! That way! Take out the trash. Make a mistake. Cry yourself to sleep! Wish you were dead! Wish you were dead! Now GET OUT! (Woman marches offstage) (Pete cries)

 

Henry: Eventually an old couple who ran a bed and breakfast in Queens gave him work and offered him a place to stay for a year. When he turned eighteen he got a warehouse job, moved into his own place. And then...ten years later, he sees her at the grocery store. (Reilly enters. Their eyes meet.) He tells her that he never stopped thinking about her. That she should meet him at the bench, one he passed on the way home every day. (Reilly exits) He suddenly feels hope again. Feels his life has meaning. (Pete sits on the bench) So he goes to that bench and every day and every day convinces himself she will come. That she was lost as he was and needed him as much as he did her. She never came. The attack was a rude awakening and Pete never went to that bench again. The medical bills were more than he could handle. He couldn't pay his rent and was forced to the streets once again. (enter Woman) His will broken, Pete tried once or twice to job a job (Pete approaches her but is immediately turned away) but that didn't go so well. He had given up and given in. (Pete sits on the floor, shivering. He cups his hands as if begging for money) He was a coward, a waste, a pathetic failure not worth the life he had been given. So he damned himself for the rest of eternity, to live amongst the forgotten. Pete was gone. A failed experiment in human progress. He changed his name, as was standard among the homeless. He chose Henry, after the father he'd abandoned from the life he'd escaped. (Lights go down except for a single spot on Henry) So that's my story. How I came to be in this city with this life. It was fear that did it. Fear to stand up for what I believe in. Fear to stick around when the going got tough. Fear to love. (Reilly enters, looking ravishing, very New York. She walks to Henry and kisses him on the cheek. Lights go up over Pete as she kneels down beside him and does the same. Then lights rise upstage where Jacob waits for her, dressed equally well. Henry and Pete watch as Jacob catches her in a powerful embrace. They kiss)

 

Jacob: Hey there, beautiful.

 

Reilly: Hey.

 

Henry: The end.

 

~PLAY END~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[CompellingComposer]

This is amazing. I kept wanting to read more! You did a great job, this is really good!

[mirui]

This is an entharlling stage play,
I like the begginings when the guy talks to the audience and then heads over to pete and the scenes start coming to life. Good job this is truly amazing... keep up the excellent work.