 Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome to the Kennedy Center. My name is Allison Curran. I'm the incoming chair for the National Playwriting Program Region II, but I'm also a playwright and I'm very proud to consider myself a member of this wonderful, generous, thriving theater community here in Washington, D.C. Representing the work of four honored playwrights this afternoon, each a finalist for KCA CTF's short play awards. These plays are being brought to life by our extraordinary DC actors and directors who've rallied behind these new works with wonderfully predictable zeal and commitment. We're so happy to share these new works with you, with our guests here in the room and with those watching across the country and the world with New Play TV. First up, we have Down by the Highway Side by Lupe Flores, Texas State University San Marco, directed by Jason King-Jones with John C. Bailey, Mitchell LaBear, John Stewart, and Michael Willis. A one act play by Lupe Flores. The center room of a three room suite at the Gunter Hotel in San Antonio, Texas, circa 1936. It is near 1 a.m. and the room is dimly lit. What like there is reflects off of the bodies of instruments and recording equipment, gleaming dully with the vaporous glow of the neon dripping through the windows. A clock ticks loudly in the carpeted silence of the hotel room. After a few moments, a phone rings. Yeah, no, I can't. Well, tough shit, we got a problem here that we gotta fix. No, to hell with that, we gotta fix this problem first. Then we worry about that, yeah, bye. There's a moment of silence, then a match is struck. Ernie is illuminated by the sulfurous flame, garage and wand, dressed in boxer shorts and a t-shirt covered by a terry cloth bathrobe that slumps over the arms of one of two cushioned chairs around a table with the phone in the center. There's a couch against the opposite wall. He brings the match up to a well-chewed cigar perched in the corner of his mouth and pups. God damn that, boy. Fucking color, it's more trouble than they're worth. The door slams open and Robert enters. He is dressed in dungarees and a work shirt, both muddy and torn. His face is swollen and bloodied and his manner is angry and brust. He stalks to the middle of the room, looking around wildly and sees Ernie. Any more debt? Ernie reaches over to the bottle of whiskey at the table next to his chair, holding it up, offering it to Robert. Nah, need a full bottle unopened, you know that. Good boy, over there. Robert swings around, then steps to a cabinet on the opposite wall. He opens it, looks for a moment, then pulls out a full bottle of whiskey. God damn it, Robert, you're gonna kill yourself with that shit, take it easy. Waco, I need to live longer so some other cracker police man can beat the shit out of me. I don't think so. Throws the bottle, it shatters. Oh, God damn it, Robert, what the fuck are you doing, huh? I'm getting out of here, Mr. Ernie, while I still can. Well, look, see here. No, you see, it's here, it's my life and them damn police there broke them. Blood, Mr. Ernie. God damn it, I'm sorry, Robert, I truly am. These are Texas lawmakers, some real bastards. I know, but I reckon we all knew that when we came on down here. Vagrancy, that's what they pulled you in for, huh? What the hell did you do to get their eye? What are all those does, playing and singing? Yeah, well, don't throw this one against the wall, you hear me like whiskey's cheap, even the cheap stuff costs some. Don enters and slams the door behind you. Oh, God damn, Don, you wanna wake up the whole damn hotel? I took care of this right now. Change of my mind, Mr. Don. Robert, I said I ain't changing my mind. What's going on here? Don moves to the other chair and picks up the bottle. God damn, Don, I never saw you take a drink of liquor with that ice and water. Robert wants to leave town tonight. Well, what the hell, son, we still got a lot of stuff with that. They broke him. Who, her who? Stella, they smashed his guitar. Oh. Blood cops. Oh, we'll just get you another one, son. I mean, them Stella's ain't too expensive. You ain't, you ain't grasping my feelings on tonight, Mr. Ernie. Them police, they did it in tension. They held my arms down on a table and took the first whack at my hands with Stella. I screamed so loud, but they just laughed. They would have done it again if it weren't my girlfriend falling to bits after the first hit. Now I think I can't stay in town no more because if I get picked up again, I'll probably get killed proper. Dead and buried in a popper's grave. Ain't having none of that, no sir. What are those other marks on you? Well, they figured the guitar was gross so they start with a fist. God damn. Listen to me. I talked to the police chief. I made clear some things and he's not going to press any vacancy charges. The matter is over. Now tomorrow. No, sir. Don't get what he told you. This is Texas and I'm colored. I may as well carry a noose with me. It also turns out that the chief is a fan of W. Lee and his band. Promised him a signed recording of W. Lee and the Hillbilly Moys after tomorrow if we had no further incidents. What exactly started all this, huh? What'd you do, son? Robert ignores him and begins to pat. Cops said he was loitering around downtown playing his guitar panhandling. They told him to move along and he did. But he set up down the block on another corner and this time they took him in. No, no, no, hold on. You mean to tell me that cops beat the boy because he was playing a guitar on the street corner? What the hell, Don? You're not helping things, are you? Robert, wait. You can't stop me, Mr. Don. I don't want to stop you, Robert. I want to convince you to stay on your own accord. Well, ain't nothing you can say convince me otherwise. Sorry, Mr. Don. And why won't you call me Don? I've asked you to stop using them, Mr. That'd be a real bad mistake, sir. Why? Last thing I needed is to call you Don and put on some white folks here. And I get to beating for being uppity. I don't think I'll take that chance, Mr. Don. Son, how about the money we were gonna pay you, huh? You leave now, all we can do is give you the amount for the one day session here. You gonna miss out on that? Yes, sir. I can get you another guitar if that's the problem. It's okay now as soon as y'all plays before my word. The foam rings and Ernie goes to answer it. Look, I can get you a better guitar, better than what you'd be able to get with what I pay. Why are you going to do that? Son, I'm going to be honest with you. Why don't you sit? Rather stand. Fine. You may be the most extraordinary musician I have ever come across. Maybe not the best at the guitar, but in the way that people like the guitar playing. But seeing what you did today, just you, it was, it was, but it was so different. So new. Look, I guess what I'm saying is something like that kind of talent. Well, I need to be a part of it. Recording it is part of it. But all the other songs that you have in you, we need to get them down too. So if I have to buy you a whole new instrument to keep you going, well, then I will do it. I reckon I appreciate that compliment, Mr. Don. I really do. Means a lot to me, I really do. But I don't want to take no debts, tie me down, know what I mean? Do my work on the road, make my living. I'm gonna wash up, Mr. Don. There's some color folks on the east side of town I can stay with you. You ain't got a word about me. Robert exits to an adjoining room as Ernie puts the phone down in his cradle. What happened? Well, he still wants to go. And we can't stop him. I mean, he's got talent, old son. There's no doubt about it. And I'd surely like him to stay and finish with us. But the way I see it, he's been given a right beaten by these pecker woods here. I don't see why we gotta beat up one of them anymore, even if it's just words. You didn't hear what he did today. Wait. Don turns to the equipment in the corner of the room, pulling out an acetate disc. He holds it up to the light. What? He recorded this today. He called it terra plain blues. All right. I have never heard anything like it, Ernie. And if he has more of that in him, I need to get that recorded, no matter what. Okay, we'll do what you need to. I'll back your play. Don puts the disc back, then looks around the room until he spots the ice bucket. He goes to it and looks to see if it is filled, then sets it on the table. Sorry, I'm tired. Who is that on the phone? Oh, the lobby. W. Lee had some of his boys' equipment sent over earlier today. And I had the porter bring it up to the room. He's about to head on home and I promised to tip Mexter good before he left. Didn't have any cash on me. Brought it out of the lobby, cashed a check, paid a little greaser ass off. Make the check over enough to pay Robert for one day of recording. What the hell? I thought you were trying to get him to stay. Ernie. Okay, okay, whatever you say. Thank you. Ernie exits. Robert enters seconds later, the blood clean from his face, wiping his hands dry with a hotel towel. Robert moves to retrieve his bottle by the couch then joins Don at the table. All right, would you, Mr. Don, if I sit down? Go ahead, Robert. Hand me the towel, will you? Robert holds the towel out and watches Don use it to make an ice pack. Hold your hands up, palms down. Don sits, leaving the ice pack on Robert's hands. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one and holding it out. That's nice. What is it? New. They're called menthols. I like them. Now it's like, like mints all in my chest, nice. Yes, sir. You shouldn't do that, Mr. Don. What's that? Use words like that talking to me. I don't get you. Sir, you shouldn't do that. There's no one here but us. But if I want to call you, sir, I can damn well call you with that. Works both ways, Mr. Don. If I forget to call you, sir, and you forget to call me, boy, either way I get some trouble. And I can get enough trouble done to serve. Well, that's true, that's very well. Your hand's done with that back. Yeah, the old girl broke easy, you know she would. I was treated a real gentle life. She was a sweet girl, but her bones was brittle, like. Like ice running on stream. Easy to break. You'll be able to play that. Yes, sir. But not here. Ernie slaps a stack of bills down. There. I'm not too old for this shit. I need to find a proper job. If it's all right, I'll take my money and go. Wait, wait, wait. I would like to make you an offer. Sir? This is the offer. No pressure to take it. If you want to leave, you are free to go. But hear me out first. Mr. Don, you and Mr. Ernie been good to me. I guess the least I can do is listen. Now, I know that you like to gamble. Robert, am I wrong? No, sir. I like my dad's and college most any time. Yeah, right, right. Well then. Now, I have $200 here. We play a game of poker. It's called Texas Hold'em. New game. Have you heard of it? Perhaps it's an interesting game. Played it whilst passing through Houston, did I? Good, good. Now, you win all my money. You go home 200 richer. I win all your money. You stay and finish your quarter. I'll find you a guitar to play while you're here. And you'll still get paid as we agreed upon. Why? Why what? Why you doing this, Mr. Don? What you getting out of this? Do you believe in God? Robert? I know, sir. Don't believe no half. You sing about him enough? Also sing about the devil, Mr. Ernie. Don't believe in him, none either. Not a believer myself, Robert. So for me, there is no heaven. No living forever in the bosom of the Lord. That means there's only one way that I can live forever. Sir? You? I don't understand, Mr. Don. The music you make, Robert. I can't do what you do, but I can record it. Make sure that the rest of the world hears what you have created. So every time someone picks up and plays one of your records, my name will always be there as the man who... So either way you choose, you win. You take all my money and you go home like you want or you stay here and you live forever. Okay, Mr. Don, I'll take your money. Ernie, we need a deal for us. Yeah, sure thing. To keep things on the up and up, we should have Ernie stay out of the game and just deal for us. Yeah, I'll start with that. That's right, Mr. Ernie. Thank you, sir. I appreciate that. Robert and Don get set up at the table, moving ashtrays and their drinks to their respective spots. You need me to explain this game to you, Ernie. Don't insult me. All right. What's your blinds, gentlemen? What do you want as the minimum? Ah, 10 dollars. Is that all right? All right, Mr. Don, I'll respond with that. Your shoulders are crazy. I have no one to argue, Mr. Ernie, and if truth be told, you and Mr. Don is my kind of crazy anyways. I know, I know. I knew there was a reason I liked you, Robert. Mm, mm, mm, mm. Robert, so... I would like to ask you something. Yes, sir, go ahead. You're a young man in your 20s, Bob. Yes, sir, about 26, and I'm not too sure, to be honest. Don? Oh, 10. Call. Your songs. Now, there's something about them. Sir? But I can't help thinking it's not just the words or the music or both together, something else. Not sure what you mean, Mr. Don. Ernie deals out the flop. You ever married, Robert? Why you ask, Mr. Don? Well, my father, sir? My mother died when I was young. Barely remember her. What I do remember was that she was beautiful. Yes, sir. Now, my father, he was a good man. He was a decent man. But he always had this sadness. Oh, yes, sorry, sorry, sorry. Anyway, the rest of my family would tell me once in a while about what my father was like before my mother died. The kind of man he was before then. Yes, sir. He was happy. He laughed a lot. Always telling jokes. He loved my mother. It's you again, Don. Oh, sorry, 15. Go. There's something about you, Robert, that reminds me of my father. That same sadness. Not sure what you mean, Mr. Don. Well, I suppose it comes down to the answer to my question, Robert. Were you ever married? I was. What was her name? Virginia. Beautiful name? She was a beautiful little girl. I was pretty young myself. You was right, Mr. Don. How so? There's something wrong about losing a woman. A woman young and pretty. Ain't right. So I don't believe in God, I guess. Don't see no proof of it when a girl like that gets taken away from me. More like the devil running things than anything else. Ernie deals the turn. Don throws 50 into the pot. Show you wanna do that, Mr. Don. Yep. Robert calls. They turn their cards. And the pot goes to Robert. Robert slides the pot to his side of the table while Don pours himself another drink. Ernie gathers the cards and proceeds to shuffle them again. Don, I'm not one to tell another man how to play cards, but if this is your idea of a winning strategy, I reckon as your friend, I should mention, it's the worst I've ever seen. Well, thank you, Robert. I will take that into consideration. Don't mention it, Robert. Don. Hmm. Ray's. Mr. Don, you know I think he was a good man, but I have to say you were Lazy Poker Boyer. You sure you wanna do that? Yeah. How'd you die? Mr. Don, I don't reckon that's none of your business. You're right, it isn't, but I'd like to know. And I reckon I don't wanna speak of it. You're not a father, are you, Robert? It's to you, Robert. 100. Seems that I am not able to meet that bet. I suppose I would have to go all in. Bet everything. Was it a boy? I ain't gonna discuss this, Mr. Don. Did he have a name? Good! Oh, easy, son. Back off, leave off, huh? She died giving birth to him. He didn't make a daughter, did he? It wasn't fair. She was like water, dark and cool, and she had this walk. Like, but she rocked and rolled. It's so soft to look at, and when I put my hands on it, she was firm. War, what happened? She was young, too young. I should've waited, waited until she was older, maybe. The belly couldn't handle it, I guess. But I love this, oh, Mr. Don, I really did. I believe you, Robert. Took it to the midwife. She had her in a bed made special for birthing. No good. The baby was all tangled up inside her. Got choked, coming out. Figured, because my genie was so young, too small inside. Cramped my little man up. I'm sorry, Robert. Yeah, yes, sir, so am I. That's where it's from. Yes, sir. What is the music? She's all this dead. In eyes like, like, flint in the creek beds. You don't forget her eyes as long as I live. I see them, Mr. Don. Who would've been a strong boy? A man-ish boy, handsome and strong and dark. Wait here. Don exits. He returns after a few seconds with a guitar case in his handkerchief. That's the law, Mr. Don. That is a Gibson L1. And I'm adding it to the pot. But a four, no guitar like this in here? Oh, she's pretty, Robert. God damn it, Don. You can't just take an instrument from one musician and give it to another. Here's the deal, Robert. You beat my hand, you go home, you take the money and the guitar. I beat yours, you keep the guitar. Get your share of the money back, I get mine. And you record as many songs as you can in the next couple of days. But you also commit to another session in the future. Your words of honor on that. I lied to you, Mr. Don. You too, Mr. Ernie, I apologize, truly. How's that, son? I said I don't believe in God, and that's true. But I do believe in the devil. You know what he looked like, huh? Red, horns, horns in a forked tail, I learned that in sunny school. No, sir, the devil looked like a white gentleman. He a handsome man, clean, well-dressed, talking fine, he tell you what you want to hear, but more importantly, he'll tell you the things you don't want to hear, that you crave them words, the ones you can't bear to hear, because you've been wanting to say them out loud, only you don't be afraid to crack your heart. Clean, open, kill you, get you buried down on the highway side. Where's the flop, Ernie? I fold. God damn it, son, are you sure? Yes, sir. You're warned, Don. No need, Mr. Don, no need. Well, then I won't. I was going to give her a name. I think that is a good idea. Robert puts the guitar in its case, snaps it shut, and picks up his whiskey bottle. He heads for the door. Hold up, huh? Yes, sir. What you gonna name her? God damn it, what the hell was that about? Virginia. What? That's what he's going to call the guitar. Virginia. Ernie reaches for Robert's cards. Ernie. It's killing me, Don, I gotta see. It's not important. Hell yes it is. No, it isn't. What's important is that he stays to record his music, no matter what the reason. Okay, okay, you're the boss. We are going to live forever, Ernie. Next up, we have The Lost Slipper by Amanda Newman, University of Missouri, directed by Jessica Burgess. With Lauren Culpepper, Raina Kaye, Tom Koch, Anastasia M. Wilson, Jason McIntosh, Tweefaam, and Julia Proctor. The Lost Slipper by Amanda Newman. Scene one, make it a boy, lights up on all of them. One child. There can only be one child. One per family. Only one. They can only have one. It's the law. They had too many babies for too long. China is too crowded. Make fewer babies. If you have more than one baby, they may make you pay money. Money that you do not have. Money that you never get back. Money that your husband will not give you. So only have one baby, never two or three. One child. Do not ever. Have a girl. Girls will grow up, up, up, and get married. And leave you in your old age when your face runs with wrinkles and your bones are brittle and your joints freeze up like stone. Oh, but a boy is good. A boy carries on the family name. They can only be one. One child. Make it a boy. Everyone wants a boy. A boy will stay and work. A boy will bring honor to your family. You can work, Hoya, and you're coming. Only one. So only make boy babies. When you lie in bed with your husband, think of boys. When you clean your house, think of boys. When you cook or walk outside or tie your shoes, think of boys. From the minute you marry, go to sleep and dream of boys. Not just any boys. One boy. One baby boy that you will carry in your heart and weave into your mind. You must will that one little boy into the world. Or the boy will not come. There will be more than the one. And the first will be a girl. Scene two. Well, shoot. I want a girl. The country for the first time. Connect to China. People buzzing like flies into a blue chair next to kids with their smudgy faces smashed against the window, looking at the airplanes, screaming, spilling juice, waiting to board, buckle, and are you sure we have the flight time right? Positive. What if you miss it? Well, they would just wait for us. We have our picture. Nobody else has our picture. We won't miss the flight. I need to pee again. Well, go on, then. I'll watch the stuff. Watch as Lauren scuttles across to the bathroom. He sits on the toilet and is surrounded by the girl chorus. They print their hair in the bathroom mirror and reapply their makeup. We're going to China. I have bum ovaries. And what happens? We've been trying for two years before I talked to her and you're going to see a doctor about it. The doctor says. No babies. Because I have these things called ovarian cysts. They're like little bubbles of liquid that sit on your ovaries and make you imagine that your ovaries are trying to dig themselves out of your body with little knives. Special case. And Lauren was just devastated. She's one of those women that's just cut out to be a mom. So we decided to adopt. I saw this show, OK? Like two years ago, a National Geographic about these Chinese babies who are being abandoned or aborted or killed because they were girls. And I thought to myself, shoot, I want a baby girl. A little Miss National Geographic over there got the bright idea that we should adopt from China. Lauren flushes the toilet, washing her hands. They sent us a picture of her baby, see? We're going to name her Rebecca Joy. Two, eight, four, seven, five. Now boarding flight two, eight, four, seven, five. Connect flight to China. We're going to China to buy a baby. We're having a baby. We almost have our baby. Are you sure we have the tickets and the passports and the, well, at least we have our picture. We can prove it. We can prove she's ours. They'll know. We just can't miss the flight. You won't miss the flight. They can't leave without us. After all, you're about to have a baby. Have your tickets ready as you approach the gate. Now boarding flight two, eight, four, seven, five. Connect flight to China. Scene three, babies all around. When I married Jean, my mother told me to govern a family like you would cook a small fish. With great gentleness. My mother was a simple woman, but she ran her house with wisdom. I have tried for many years to try, to follow her advice. When you arrive home from the field, it's food is always prepared and the house is always clean. I do not keep him waiting. Some wives in my village do not respect their husbands. It's gold because... You do not work hard enough. We never have enough money. I am too tired to make your dinner. The fire is hot and my day... My Jean is a very hard worker. With him I can have no complaints. And so I clean the house And when he is crossed, I do my best to remember that he doesn't really mean it. And when he is very tired of working the land, I hold him closely and run my fingers through his dark hair until he falls asleep. It is then that I love him most. When he is very much like a child lost to dreaming, his dirt smudge face the dead weight upon my shoulder and his breath low and steady. In this way, I have lived with him for five years. But we have been praying for a baby. And today is the day. Daomingue! Daomingue, where are you? Where is dinner? Is it ready? Are you well? Daomingue, where are you? I have a surprise for you. There you are. I was worried when I... Is this surprise of your food related? I've never been so hungry. Today, Angois decided that he was too tired to come to work. This is the third time this month that he's... Let's sit down. Time this month. He has had a wife and a baby to feed. The foolish good for nothing is going to sweep his life away. And the safety of his... Yes. I'm sorry. What is it? What's the surprise you have to tell me? You tell me. And I'll listen very well. Well... Well, I went to see Feiyun this morning How's the little one? Very handsome. He's finally figured out his hands. Very grabby. And Feiyun became absolutely convinced that I should go see Mother Dick. You went to see Mother? Are you all right? Why didn't you come to get me if you were so ill? How much did she charge you? She said she does not charge for good news. Good news? But you just said it. We're expecting. Such a blessing. And you will be a good man and strong and wise and you will bring honor to your family. Now, what should we name? We decided on the name Rebecca Joy. Rebecca after Robert's mother and Joy... Well, I just thought it sounded nice. Rebecca Joy. We thought for a while that we might try to pick a more traditional name something truly Chinese. Honey, what about... In the school districts, everyone knew who she was. Really, a girl. Third in our class. She wore a sari to the prom. Gorgeous. We had American girls who had just made more sense. Scene four. I dream of painting. All sit in a circle center stage playing a game of Duff Duff Goose. Girl? Three. There can only be one and it must be a boy. A boy is broken. One is a boy. A boy is black hair. And all the guys who will care for you when you run with wrinkles. One. One. Downming is now very pregnant. Dreams. At first they were mere flickers of the taste of a memory upon waking. Then I began to keep images holding a half a photograph of my mind's eye several minutes past. Yet these dream pitches melted away once I crawled from my bedside. They left me with a heart heavy but unexplained. Only a feeling stayed behind. But now? But now they're there every night. They follow me in waking hours and hover before me in my eyes like phantoms. Baby girls. Baby girls crawling and crying and laughing in these shoes. Little girls calming hair and their little girls calling my name. Baby girls who know me and kick me within me with passion. They do not seek me out. They have found me and they refuse to leave. I have sought advice from women wiser than myself but they all shake their heads and mutter. It is a bad omen. A sure sign you will have a girl. Don't you remember value? More daughters one right after the other. She had the dreams too. Scene five. Letter to Becky. Mid-flight. Plus to voices. Other passengers are sleeping. Lauren fumbles with guidebooks and information packets. The town is so small it's not even on the map. Yes, but we'll have a guidebook. We're going to sleep. We'll see her in a few days. Robert. Bobby. You know I hate it when you call me for love. Lauren pulls out a small notebook from her purse and opens it lovingly. Dear Rebecca. Becky. Well, I'm going to call you Becky but don't tell Dad. He likes full names. It'll just be our little secret for now I guess. I can't wait to meet you but I'm also very nervous to meet you. I hope you like us. We already love you so much. I've been waiting for you for a very long time and I cannot wait to snuggle with you and watch your first steps and teach you to love books the way your Grammy did with me and your Aunt Sarah. Grammy and all the cousins are very excited to meet you too. Let's see. There's Caleb and Johnny and Sarah and Tommy and Jessica who give you lots of pretty little pink dresses. I tried to tell them that maybe you don't like pink. Maybe your favorite color is purple or green or blue but don't worry about it though. We'll get it all sorted out. We have to meet you first. The adoption people say that we'll finally meet you in three days. Anyhow, Becky, I just wanted to keep this journal so that we can give it to you when you're older. I want you to know that from the minute we saw your picture you were our baby. We knew. I love you, Becky. We both do. Love, Mom. A TV studio. What's your name, sweetheart? My name is Becky Rebecca on the show about the adoption baby. It sure is. Unless you decide that you don't want it to, okay? We'll let you and your mom and dad watch it before you have to decide, okay? Okay. I'm an orphanage in China. They said that my mom couldn't keep me so she left me in a shoebox in the park. Mom says that's why I like trees so much. Like last week when me and Johnny were playing in the backyard and he bet me two bucks I couldn't climb the super tall tree in the corner by the shed where you can't lean over the fence because the Johnson's dog would try to bite you like he did one time here. See on my nose? Yeah? He made me like real good. Daddy says I probably tasted good. But yeah, Johnny bet me I couldn't climb the tree and I didn't even have two bucks to lose even if I lost so I was like, yeah, I can. And so I climbed up onto the shed but didn't get bit by barley and I climbed right up onto that tree. Not even Johnny could get up into that tree and that's because I'm from China and I was supposed to be somewhere else. I was supposed to be some person totally different like if my birth mom hadn't put me in that shoebox we don't know where I'd be and that's weird. Kind of like being two people but not because you only know how to be one of them. Do you wish that you weren't adopted? Hey, you want to see my loose tooth? Sue's the only lost one but I've lost like three. I'm going to lose this one really soon and then it'll be four. That's great, Rebecca. Now, I just have a few more questions and then we'll be done, okay? Okay, Rebecca, do you like being adopted? Thank you so much for talking to me today. Scene six. What is it? Downming lies on the floor. Her head and G's loud. Well, it can't be too much longer now. No, not more than a week or two. But I'm ready. Babies are heavy. Heavy babies are healthy, strong babies. I hope so. I just hope it doesn't hurt too much. Fayon's baby took three days to come and she said it must stop. Such worries. It's bad luck and it will hurt more the more you think about it. I just hope you're here when it starts. I will be. I just hope it would come out now. I feel like an elephant stomping around all day. All the better, love. I want a nice, plump baby, a boy that comes into the world looking serious as a grown man. And as he grows up, I'll teach him all sorts of things that you teach little boys to do. And then he will come to work with me and you will have two dirty faces coming home to you each day instead of just my one. G? Yes, love. What if the baby was a girl? A girl? What? What if the baby was a girl? Oozing over G, hissing like snakes. It can't be a girl. Make it a boy. It will be a boy. A boy. A boy. It will be. It must be a boy. What will everyone say when your wife holds a baby girl in her arms? Better work harder, G, if you want to afford a boy now. Poor G. Your name will end with you. You will work all your days. Maybe your daughter's husband will care for you. Maybe he will let you sit in a corner of his kitchen with the women. Only if you're lucky. It's just all might be nice, don't you think? She could help me in the kitchen and maybe someday she could marry someone well off. Someone outside of the village and then we could all... We can't afford to. But it will be a boy. But what if? Then we will make arrangements and try again. Arrangements? Surely you're not saying that. The woman down the street left hers in a box on the steps of the orphanage. You could do that. That might be nice. Or you could leave it by the market. People will find it there for sure. Babies always cry. But what if someone sees you? Oh dear. They might try to bring it back. What then? Well, I drown mine in the river. Oh, I love the river. I will do it for you. Arrangements can be made. No, no, no. We've already made arrangements. My daughter is in this village. Points wildly to a crippled man. This is our daughter. Wave's photograph. Chinese airport. A tiny airport splattered with signs that are not in English. Everyone is in a hurry to go to the orphanage to pick up our babies. You're trying to b- Yum, no. I'd like to speak with your supervisor. He won't sell you a baby either. We do not need you to take our babies. We can take care of our own and do not need you. Is there a problem? Yes, yes. We are trying to get here, but your employee has been extremely rude. I am terribly sorry about that Miss, uh, Lauren, Robert and Lauren South. Mr. and Mrs. South, if you follow me to my office, I'm sure we can sort out the situation. Thank you for your help. We just... Robert? Robert is fumbling the waves back with the luggage. Lauren takes a bag and tugs them along behind her. We just want to go get our baby. Our baby. Well, we'll see what we can do. Which orphanage is it? One moment, please. She places a call and speaks in hushed tones. Do we have all the paperwork? We have all of it. The passports, the papers, honey, everything's going to be fine. We'll get it sorted out. I'm terribly sorry. They say there must have been a misunderstanding. Your names are not on their lists. Call them again. That's all wrong. We have her picture. See, we have it right here. I'm sorry to be the bear of bad news, Mrs. South, but there's nothing I can do. At desk three, however, we will be happy to assist you in the purchase of your tickets for a flight. Call the number again. We don't need your tickets. We need our baby. This is our baby. Team seven, new generation. The chorus girls sit evenly spaced along the edge of the stage, speaking to the audience. All are teenagers, girls, bored, hippie-ish, smoking something that is probably not a cigarette. One child loss? Yeah. I mean, I'm not only child. We all are. Who wants a cigarette? We all are. We all are. We all are. We all are. We all are. Who wants a bunch of babies crawling around all over the place? Every late child, unless you're loaded, like those people down the street, they have like four kids, kept all of them, but paid out the ass to the government. Why not use the money on one kid and spoil them rotten? Did my bearer problem, mostly out in the country, you know, where people need more help at the work? Be 3% sure that we're in a van that's going to the right place. We're 93% sure. Earlier it was 93%. We'll be fine. You ready, mama? I don't swerve. Maybe, I think you're just going to have to wait. I don't think the driver even speaks English. Oh, they never do. South in a nice restaurant. I can't wait. I'm sorry. I just, baby, you know how I get, you know that I need to go now. I swear, Lauren, you're worse than a child. Can we stop to use the restroom? Yes. Yes, I understand. Robert. See, my wife really needs to use the restroom. Now. Now? Now as soon as possible. I will stop in the next village. He's there. Then what are, what is there to? A police system that involves, I can't pee in a hole. We're having a baby. You can pee in a hole. I don't see how I did. We're getting a baby in China. You're going to have to pee in a hole. The van swerves again. Village people are just not very friendly. Swear to them. We have a baby and so she was left in the care of her stepmother. But the stepmother did not like Ye-Shin because Ye-Shin was much sweeter and prettier than her own daughters. She made Ye-Shin do all of the most horrible household. This is just a Chinese version of Cinderella. What's in the box? Cinderella, this version of the story is much older. Likely story. Go on then. Anyhow, Ye-Shin's only friend in the world was a huge fish with big golden eyes. Every day, Ye-Shin would carefully walk down to the edge of the river with food for her huge fish friend and it would leap out of the water to greet her. One day however, her stepmother found out about the fish. She tricked the fish out of the water by dressing up like Ye-Shin and then when it came out of the water looking for its friend, she stabbed it and cooked it right there up for dinner. Well, this upset Ye-Shin very much and she cried for hours at the edge of the water hoping that somehow the fish friend would come back. Eventually though, she was startled to hear her voice calling her name from across the river. Ye-Shin. Ye-Shin, don't be sad. And looking across the river she could see a strange old man. Someone she had never seen before sitting on the other bank. He had a very long silver beard. It was so long in fact that the last little tip of it trailed into the river. Ye-Shin, go and fetch the bones of your friend the fish from the trash. His bones hold great magic. Whenever you are in great need you must vow before the bones and tell them of your deepest wishes. Ye-Shin turned to go and do as she had been told but she stopped for one last command. Do not waste this gift. Use it carefully. And with that, the old man vanished and Ye-Shin ran home to hide the bones in a place where her stepmother and her half-sisters would not find them. Some time passed and suddenly all the town was buzzing with the news about the Spring Festival. The Spring Festival was a time, you see, when young people gathered in town to find husbands and wives. Yet Ye-Shin's stepmother forbade her from going on at the off chance that Ye-Shin would be chosen over one of her own daughters. From her bedroom window Ye-Shin could hear the festivities taking place and she realized she never wanted anything more in the world so much as she wanted to go to the Spring Festival. Carefully pulling fishbones out of hiding she knelt before them and asked for clothes to wear to the festival. All at once she was wearing a lovely blue gown and slippers patterned to look like fish scales. She immediately ran out the door and down the road to the festival. Everyone noticed how beautiful she looked but she was so dressed up and recognized her. They said nothing but there was a hint of recognition in her stepmother's eyes. In a panic, Ye-Shin fled the festival accidentally leaving a golden slipper behind her. By the time she arrived back to her house she was again dressed in her usual old shabby clothes. Only the other gold slipper remained. She went to sleep. The next day the merchant found a slipper in the town. He gave the lost slipper to the king. Now the king saw how beautiful the shoe was but he was not so impressed by this. After all, kings had nice things. He was impressed though by the size of the slipper. Never had he seen a shoe so small and delicate. The king decided that he wanted to find the owner of the shoe so he sent his men out into the village to look for the owner. But he found no one with feet so small enough to fit inside the shoe. That is, until they knocked on the door of Ye-Shin's stepmother's house. The king's men were just about to leave the house when Ye-Shin suddenly stepped past her stepmother and her stepsisters and declared with a glimmer in her eye and a shimmery quiver in her tiny voice that the delicate golden slipper belonged to her. The king and his men were at first convinced that no one as raggedy as Ye-Shin could own such a stunning slipper. Looking closer however they saw peeking from beneath her scope tiny, tiny feet. She led them to a room where she revealed the other slipper. Placing them both on her feet she was suddenly again wearing the beautiful blue dress she had worn at the spring festival. The king was blown away by her beauty and her tiny feet and decided that they should be married at once. They married that very day but Ye-Shin's stepmother and stepsisters were not allowed to see Ye-Shin ever again. Never ever. And Ye-Shin and her king lived happily ever after. That was a nice story. I've heard it before and it has absolutely nothing to do with the play. Just look out there everybody's confused. But it is a lovely story. Lovely is not the same as relevant. I don't know why you two always have to argue. I named my daughter Ye-Shin. You had a girl and I left her in a box by a tree on the outskirts of the village. I left her as the slipper to be found. I walked the last night down the path through the market. Ye-Shin tightly against me and she coughed a tiny baby cough that burst upon my neck in a tiny cloud of baby warmth and I thought about running away to another place where we could stay together. But the problem with running away is that you have to have somewhere to go and so I kept walking down the path. When I finally reached the market it was still silent. The newness of the day hadn't been found yet and so I sat on the corner for a while thinking about Ye-Shin and slippers and how quiet the world is sometimes before it decides to wake up. And I was struck by the idea that well that I needed to keep the other slipper. I had to. So I took off one of her shoes and slipped it into my pocket and if she ever comes home I'll have proof I'll have proof that she's mine I'll have the other slipper and then it was time time to meet my baby. Time to reach the point where you cannot turn back. You have a picture? I think we might have taken the wrong van. But if they give us the wrong baby I can't do that can they? I mean we already signed all the papers and everything too and we have a picture. Here she is and you belong to us. Just like that the woman placed you in my arms and that was all it took. First time parents. I wanted to hold you there forever. Lauren hands the baby to Roger. But you had to meet daddy. But the sun was rising. I could see it through the trees. But it was time to take you home. And I left you there under a very tall tree. But I did leave a note. It read? In the countryside where I live. The idea that a man is more important than a woman is very popular. I alone do not have the strength to overthrow it. Please watch after my nation. She is more than just a lost slipper. You cried the whole way on the plane ride home. I was convinced that you hated us. Everyone on the plane did hate us. You absolutely hated your room. You started crying the minute we opened the door. I tried to tell them that you might not like pink. I was right. Mother's intuition. We thank God for you every day, Becky. Rebecca. Love. C-11. One child. There can only be one child. One per family. Only one. They had too many babies for too long. When I die and return to this earth I would like to return as an heiress. Make fewer babies. If you have more than one baby they make you pay money. I will never marry. I will never have babies. I will just be very, very rich. Money that you never get back. Money that your husband will not give you. So only have one baby. Never two or three. One child. Do not ever. Girls will grow up, up, up and get married. And leave you in your old age when your face runs with wrinkles and your bones are brittle and your joints freeze up like stone. Oh, but a boy is good. I will not worry about boys or girls in this future life of mine. I will eat fine foods and read books all day long in a giant house where no husbands are allowed. There can only be one. One child. Make it a boy. Everyone wants a boy. A boy will stay and work. A boy will bring honor to your family. You can walk proudly down the street with a baby boy in your tummy. Only one. Because husbands are no good when they make you give away your babies. Hoping for a boy will not bring a boy. Now when I lie in my bed at night I dream only of my lost slipper. My husband comes home from working and I have his dinner waiting. I am not a nagging wife like some. But there is no more love. I used it all up. His smudge sleeping face is nothing to me now. He can never again be my favorite person in this world. And I want no more babies. And I do not dream of boys. Without the dreams the boy will not come. There will be more than the one. And the first will be a girl. Only one. End of play. Starfucker. Western Michigan University directed by Michael Dove with Joe Brack, James Flanagan and Jenna Sokolasky. An enormous Hollywood mansion. Boy enters in his in and out burger uniform holding a box and singing the chorus of Star Star by the Rolling Stones. You're a Starfucker. Starfucker. Starfucker. Boy sets the box down taking in the mansion. Oh Well it's no Sherman Oaks but the door cracks open and girl peeks her head out. Oh my god! Oh my god! Okay I get it, chill. No way. I'm gonna blog about this all day tomorrow. Easy, it's a blog, not a blah blah blah. Mansion? It's like the mother-load. My first score above sunset. It's not that big a deal. Are you kidding? You are talking to a girl whose most high-profile hookup to date has been Mario Lopez in a Starbucks bathroom. This is a fucking milestone of lacing the hills and the carpet next to yours in our crappy complex in the valley. This could be the last time we ever see each other. Honest, maybe my producer. Hey, don't patronize me. I came to L.A. to be a famous screenwriter and it will happen. I mean, I don't know how seriously I can take someone who uses famous and screenwriter in the same sentence. Alright, fine, but still, I'll be rich. I'm late so I can screw your brains out. Maybe you can join us. No, thanks. I only engage in orgies with actors whose aggregate film score on Rotten Tomatoes is above 20%. I mean, seriously, him? I mean, he's only done like one good movie in his life. That indie pseudo-romance where at the end he goes to the girl's place and delivers that huge speech to the door about how he realizes that he loves her. But you don't even know if she hears because they don't show you if she's behind the door or not. And while he stands there waiting, they just fade to black and you never find out. I've never seen him. So do you think that she's behind the door or not? I think it's irrelevant. I think that even if she does hear his confession, she stays inside with her new rich boyfriend and her guaranteed security because that's how life works. It makes me sad that you think that. Why? I thought you hated romance. Not on screen. So where is he now? Taking a shower. You didn't? No! I mean, not yet. I said, if he got clean enough, I'd make him dirty again after. See, he listed his quirks in Maxim last month and he said he couldn't take a shower for less than an hour. So I knew I had time to call you and for you to get here with the item. And you should see this shower. It's got like 15 different nozzles. It'll be a while. She drapes herself overboard. I might even have time for a little pregame, in fact. Except that burr in your in and out burger uniform. I'm almost tempted. What do you think? You couldn't blog about it. Girl peels off of him. True. Too bad. Oh well, back to plan A then. She points at the box. Is that it? Boy nods. Girl smiles and turns away, tying her shirt at the waist. So, um, how did you end up at Plan A's place again? Oh my God! How did I not tell you on the— Okay, so, I was at that launch party for, I don't even remember, New Movie Review Website X and I was trying to wrangle a three-way with Ellen DeGeneres and Portia de Rossi. Ballsy. Ironically. She pulls her hair into pigtails. Anyway, it was going pretty well. But Portia de Rossi looked like Anaheitian. It was all downhill from here. So, I'm all dejected and I got a little teeny and some guy bumps into me and spills his drink all over my Jimmy Chews, which are on rental, by the way, and I'm about to go find shades of ballistic and I turn around and it's him. Like him. Like him, who I passed five new billboards for on the cab ride over. I only counted three. Girl begins to take off her pants. And he's just so sweet and so apologetic and can he get my name and number so he can pay the bill? And then we get to talking and I tell him how much I loved his last film. I did it. I totally said film. And the next thing I know, we're here and I tell him to shower and then call you for my favor and now here we are. Girl is in her underwear from the waist down. Simple. Are you going to give it to me? What? Boy picks up the box and gives it to her. Girl sets the box on the step and pulls out a plaid schoolgirl skirt. She puts it on. Yeah, so explain the rationale to me again. Oh, maximum article is the shower quote. They ask him his biggest turn on and he says any girl in a Catholic schoolgirl uniform. I can't believe you don't think it's pseudo sleazy and cliche to have a schoolgirl fetish. It is sleazy and cliche. Have you met me? That's the point. I'm just glad I actually had one of these from that Halloween party I went to last year in Venice Beach. What did you go as? Old school Britney Spears? Senators Wet Dream. So, how do I look? Wet Dreamy. Sweet talker. I knew there was a reason I trusted you with the keys to my place. Who else could I call who would leave straight from work, grab some random chotchky from my bureau and drive all the way out to Beverly Hills just to drop it off for me? You're the nicest person I know. Look, don't act like we have some special bond or something. I'm probably listed as boy on your phone. You only gave me your keys because I'm your one neighbor who's so low on the social totem that you can ask me with like relative impunity to stop in and feed your goldfish while you spend the weekend boning some D-lister. You should be careful. What if I sneak into your place at night and do something weird like put little stuffed animals in your bed to help you sleep? You could call it cute pee. Maybe I do. They continue to talk without breaking apart. As the scene continues, they unconsciously begin to sway and finally dance. So, what are you writing these days? Just some studio specs. Boy gets girl, that kind of thing. Something that'll sell. I hear writers lift scenes from their lives. Would you use this one in your movie? No, this wouldn't make a good scene. No conflict. The characters don't seem to want to get anything from each other. All they do is spew cutesy banter back and forth. Right. That's how you know they belong together. What's so great about trying to get something from somebody? How's that artistic? That's just like real life. There's nothing I find more fascinating than watching two people just... co-exist. My grandparents were like that. We'd go to their house for Easter and the aunts would take all the kids out for ice cream, but I'd stay behind and just watch them together. He had this disease. What's it called? Emphysema. He had to use this breathing apparatus thing and couldn't do for much for himself. So, she'd shuffle over with his dinner and say, I don't know what I ever did to end up with a wheezy old fool like you and he'd say, maybe that's all a dried up husk like you deserve. And the whole time, just these big grins on their faces. Them against the world. So different from my parents. So, can I ask you a question? Sure. Why do you sleep with these people? Who? Famous people. I mean, sort of famous people. I mean, is the sex better as it like famous sex? It's not about the sex. What's it about? It's about that look. I don't know. You know, some girls moved to L.A. to be actresses. I came so I would never have to see that look again. And that is... It's just a look I always saw on boys' faces back home. I'd meet someone interesting and we'd hang out and talk and pass the time and then one day I'd turn and they'd have that look on their faces and it just it killed me because I knew I couldn't... It wasn't fair to... You ran away because you think everyone was in love with you? How terminally narcissistic. You could totally be an actress. People are emotionally equipped to hurt people. I'm not. I was built to be hurt. It's clean. And I figured where can a person who winds up systematically destroying anyone who makes a mistake of caring about them go to fit in? Los Angeles. So what do you want him to do? I want him not to call. I'm looking forward to crying myself to sleep because I know he's not thinking of me. And somewhere down the line it would be nice to see him at an event or something and know by his expression that not only does he not remember my name he doesn't even know he's supposed to remember my name because he has no idea that we've even met. It meant so little to him that I don't even exist. But I was a complete ghost fuck. You would like that? You would relish. You're weird. I didn't claim I was going to win any normal C contest. P.S., what was that you were singing when we walked up? Starfucker? Well, you like listening at the door? Yeah, I was. It's the Stones. It's classic. Only it's not called Starfucker. It's called Star Star. Because good old Mick Jagger knew it and never get any play if it was called Starfucker. So now we've got like a pornographic song But you're kind of like that but reversed. Like if you were a song you'd be called Starfucker but the words would be all innocent indeed. Thank God nobody listens to lyrics anymore. Yeah, then you might have to give up your hard-earned cynicism. Doesn't believe that love exists. I'm not like the Catholic Church with a heliocentric model of the universe. I am susceptible to empirical evidence and I've seen love. But I believe in the lottery too. It doesn't mean I think I'm going to win. We're dancing. We are. That's so old Hollywood. Oh, careful. Careful. You might fall in love with me. Never. So then why dance with me? Because you are the most beautiful man I know who doesn't try to kiss me. What if I said I wanted to sleep with you? I'd take you home with me this second. And what if I said I wanted to maybe sleep with you someday but right now I just wanted to hold you and tell you how beautiful I think you are. I never talk to you again. She looks at the boy. He has that look. I should get back inside. Wasn't my two left feet? Call me up. Freda Scare, right? Do you want to grab some coffee tomorrow and tell me all about it? Busy day. I don't know. Maybe. We'll see. Yeah. Sure. Good night. Good night. Girl opens the door. Hey, Doug. Yeah, Kelly. Thanks for feeding the fish. Kelly gently shuts the door. I lied to you about the end of that movie. What I think happens. I lied. I think she is standing behind the door listening. I think that while the credits are rolling she runs out and kisses them and tells them that she never wants them to be apart again. Because when people fall in love they make exceptions for each other. And I think they end up happily ever after. I've never been more certain of anything in my whole life. Doug stands facing the door. Very slowly the lights fade to black. End of play. And our final reading this afternoon. Honest to God. By J.C. Pankratz. The Hall University. Directed by Lee McKessker Gardner with Melissa Flame and Nancy Robinette. Honest to God. A one-act play. Setting. The back porch of a small home located in the boonies of Artuna, Iowa. Time of the present day. Scene one. Lights fade up on the back porch The yard is grassy and overgrown. The charred remains of a bush poke up near the edge of the porch. Nina sits on the porch. It is a dusky evening in late spring. Late one night. About three weeks after I moved back to the house I woke up. Because the lights flickered outside our window. I thought somebody was creeping around or some shit. I lived so far out of town limits it takes the cops 20 minutes to get here. So I got my shotgun out of the coat closet. I stepped onto the porch. But there wasn't nobody there. Just a brush fire blazing away next to the house. The fire was real small. Not big at all. Just a little spark from the AC caught on a mausoleum overgrown boxwood bushes. The skeleton of the bush catches fire blazes. I went back in. I got a wet blanket. I threw it over the bush. It was big enough to cover the whole damn thing. I took a step back. Sat on the porch. Waited a couple of minutes. I figured that had done the trick. Real careful life. I grabbed the blanket and I almost fell over. The fire was still burning. But no smoke. No heat. It was just quite content to burn the shit out of this little boxwood bush. To be honest, at this point I thought I was just sleep walking. So I went back to bed. I figured if it burned the house down I deserved it for being such a piss poor fireman. But the next morning I woke up and I'm still there. Glowing orange and red and yellow. Cheerfully. It's fucking burning bush. I never had so much trouble killing a plant before. My mother used to say that everything I touched died. She thought this was the funniest thing. The seeds of bell pepper plants that my little five-year-old fingers pushed into the ground never made it out of the dirt alive. Then Moss started putting all the flowers and the house high up on shelves that I couldn't reach even if I stood on a chair. The first time I mowed the grass we had the longest drought Cote County had seen in 35 years. Front lawn died. Back lawn died. And Ma was a superstitious kind of lady forbade me to touch anything that grew back. And I spent the rest of my young life on the driveway and the sidewalk. In high school when a boy left flowers on my locker for Valentine's Day Ma gave me the sign of the cross when I arrived home a limp bundle of carnations in my hand. Ma always said that was the reason I moved to the city. Without fail every call for 11 years she'd hassle me about how nice the yard was looking ever since I left. Even though there were patches she'd always sigh that we're never going to grow back. Her way of harping on me for first moving out of Altoona then out of Des Moines, then out of state. I don't think she ever forgave me for that. She thought she was missing out on something because I was so far away. That's why she left me the house. Her last little jab at how I'd never been able to take care of anything that had roots. Funnina? It's just me now. And the bush. No matter how much water I put on it or how many blankets I tried to smother it with it decided it wasn't going to die. It got pretty routine. Sun went down, I made a cup of decaf and went out to sit by the bush watching it burn with all the earnestness it could muster. Kind of prettiness about it, you know? Like the way you admire something kind of deadly when it's not hurting anything at the moment. Like a sleeping tiger curled up in a cage. I got to the library about two weeks out of the... I got to the library after about two weeks of this shit to find a Bible. Because even though I hadn't been to church in a while I have seen the Ten Commandments. I wanted to learn that this bush is supposed to talk to you. God called unto him out of the midst and the bush said, Moses, Moses! And he said, here am I! And he tells him to go back to Egypt to set his people free and whatever that means rivers of blood, snakes, dead babies, hard stuff. Bush wasn't as happy as it looked. I mean, maybe it picked the wrong town, the wrong yard, the wrong girl living alone in a house with a shotgun for a drinking buddy. It's an easy mistake to make. So that night, I took up my usual spot by the bush. I cleared my throat. I said, I don't know how to be polite about this, but my name's Nina and this is my yard. Unsurprisingly, I guess there was no response. No voice like thunder in the ground or making my ears bleed, so I went on. I'd really prefer if you found somewhere else to make your home. I mean, after all, this was my home first. Nothing happened. It just blazed on, looking at me like I was the biggest goddamn moron to ever walk the earth, so I just shut my mouth. I figured I had introduced me and if the Angel of the Lord wasn't a complete asshole, he'd introduce himself too. But the bush wasn't having any of that. Just kept flickering like a flaming wink. That was the last time I tried holding a conversation with it. I thought I could sell this place and move back up to Chicago again, but that was kind of shocked at hell. How was I going to hide it? Make it go away without upsetting some divine plan. I mean, not that I care, but Christ! Nobody could stay here forever. Sitting next to a flaming bush, looking up at the sky from my porch, hoping that next year it'd be a different porch in some faraway place. I knew I couldn't kill the bush. Even if I kept trying, there's no getting around, but it'd probably be some kind of biblical crime. I wondered if the roots burned. They all curled up and dried and lonely under the ground. I tried everything. I even touched it just once. The last time I tried to kill them. I figured that was the test. That was the way to make sure it was real. But even though I could hear my mother groaning in her grave that after something like 13 years I would dare get down on my knees in her flowerbeds, I split my shaking hands into the bush and shut my eyes tight. It was the strangest thing I ever felt. After burning for so long, it still wasn't warm. It's like a cold wind looking my fingers. I could only take it for a minute before I yanked my hands out. Low and behold, it didn't protest it being broke and it didn't die. Mom would have loved that once she got over the shock. Theme 2 A month later, the season is now early summer. The bush continues to burn cheerfully in the yard. At the edges of the stage, perhaps in the wings, a few camping tents have been set up. They just barely intrude into the yard. The guys over at the Polk County Fire Department were and still are, real life. Came home after my job interview at the Hivee to find them neatly parallel parked alongside my curb all flight like. I parked my truck right alongside them and I followed the stretch of long yellow hose that wound alongside my driveway through the grass inside the gate into the backyard around the corner of my house. There they were all sitting there in a semicircle like schoolchildren on a Sunday. Some passers-by lost on their way to South Dakota had rung in. Concerned there might be fire in my backyard saw a lot of weird lights got to cover the bush up. Four firemen sitting there in my backyard watching it go. Their big overcoats were off and their hats and their masks. One of those huge aluminum extinguishers was abandoned on the grass. A bunch of pieces of siding had fallen off my house from where they'd been spraying the shit out of the bush with the hose. A couple of them had taken their boots off. Big glassy stairs. Barely noticed I was there. I didn't know what to do. Going up unlocked the back door took off my shoes put a sweater on over my blouse then I sat on the grass next to Lloyd Gibbons who was leaning back on his hands like it was lounging in front of his fireplace with his wife and kids in the dead of winter. He was the quarterback for Altoona High School. Same class as me. He married Lou Ellen Reed the Sunday after we graduated. I got invited even though a Lou Ellen Reed told the vice principal I was trying to plant dope seed near the football posts. Lou Ellen Reed was a bad liar. Laughed right in the vice principal's face when he stopped by. Lloyd and Lou Ellen I got three kids I think maybe another one on the way. Catholic people. Good house, good firemen. First thing I asked him how long it took him to get up to the house? 14 minutes. Could have been worse. How long has been here? You beat the cops record by a long shot. Nina how long has this been here? At least four months I keep it covered with a blanket when I go out. Nothing stops it. You saw for yourself didn't you? The hose didn't work. Nothing. Will. I tried. I tried everything Lloyd. He shifted his head to the side and he looked at me tearing his eyes away from the blade. He didn't say nothing. Real unassuming folk, the Gibbons people. They like things straight to the point. No fancy business about it. Mom was pretty fond of Mrs. Gibbons Lloyd's mama. Went to church together every Sunday. Mrs. Gibbons made Mr. Gibbons drive all the way out here to pick my mama up right up until the day she died. Found her face down in the flower bed and all. Mrs. Gibbons was the one who gave me the call. No gentleness. No sweet talk. Definitely no tears. Just Nina Jean your mama's gone and ventured off to pay to the Lord. You ought to come home. Lloyd's made the same stuff. It's why he's good at running into burning buildings without fat and eyelash. Can't just leave it here. This thing ain't gonna leave you alone. Lloyd, I'm taking suggestions as to what to do with it. Can't say there's anything to be done. There's one of them signs. Like God stuck his thumb right down in your backyard. It's got mean something. Like what? It doesn't do nothing but burn. It's as quiet as ashes. We'll wait. For what? You'll wait where? Here. And that's how Lloyd Gibbons moved his family into my backyard. Every one of them firemen brought somebody. Lloyd brought one of his one big god damn tent and a couple of pup tents for the kids. Woke up the next morning and there they were. Making oatmeal over a camp stove and Llewellyn was washing her daughter's hair with my garden hose. I marched right out there and I said, Llewellyn Reed, what the hell are you doing on my lawn? Just like my mom used to do if I chased a frog through the yard. She stood right up, looked me in the eye and said, Doin' the lords work, Nina? We go where God calls. Then another one showed up with his mother, his wife, his 10 month old baby, pitched up a big blue tent right next to Lloyd's. The last two firemen were too young to have anybody bachelors, I guess, so they ended up shacking up together. My backyard looked like a god damn flea market. Every morning Llewellyn led prayers over the bush for Lloyd to call the kids to school. Lord, we're here this morning again to see what you have in store for us. We have sent down a lot to illuminate our lives, and we are waiting for your next sign. We are waiting for you to tell us where to go. We are the sheep of your heart. So I beat one of those boys around the ears to try to cook a marshmallow over the bush. So another one tried to throw a frog in there. The little girl just sat and stared and she didn't know what the hell her family was doing here, and neither did I. But I knew it would only be a matter of time before somebody came looking for them. And then the police would be dragging their wives here next. And their mothers, and their grandmothers for the whole fucking town of Altoona would be pulled up to my yard like paperclips to a fridge magnet. I raced as fast as I could to get out of this hole when I was 18. It looked like everybody else had decided to catch up. I started keeping the shotgun under the sink. It was a lot closer than the coat closet. It's funny as hell too. All those tents in my yard didn't make a mark on the lawn. But that place of grass where I sat next to Lloyd been dead ever since. Scene three. It's mid-summer. The air is hot and sticky and more tents have sprung up, perhaps taking root amongst audience members. There are more tents on stage creeping closer to Nina's house. The bush burns on. These people. These people! The day I interviewed at the Hivee Joe Lee-Way said it's real nice to have you back, Nina. He took a cinnamon drop out of a jar and put it in front of me with a little smile. For you, that day. The day when I figured I could make it here all right. Even with the burning bush in my backyard I thought, Jesus, this might not be so bad. When you look to a new place all you do is try to organize who you are. You figure out what you want people to know and what you don't want them to know. You drop your last name. You drop your raggedy corduroy coat. You drop your boots with the holes. Your accent. You drop your wedding ring, your high school, your college. If you went, maybe you dropped that too. One by one you figure out what you can keep and what can go. What you want people to know. You pull the rest out. It falls out of your mouth like rotten teeth. You throw it away down the sink in the trash till it's empty. It's clean. It's blank. But I forgot. You can't do that when you move back. When you move back, it's like your knee-deep and shit-creep and you're trying to catch minnows with your bare hands. Joe Lee-Way sat in front of me in senior algebra. He is one I would keep. One of those who had train ride type of dreams. 80 mile an hour dreams. But he wasn't one of those kids with what you'd call a good facility with language. He couldn't write for shit. I write better than Joe Lee-Way. Man can still barely sign his name. You want to know something funny? My brother beat the force record out to your house. You know how the boys raced to your house because it's the last one near the candy line? He beat the whole damn record. Pretty impressive, huh? And now you're here, showing up, filling out a job application. Since after what happened to you is part of force training. Your house is the last one before the county line. They got to see how fast they can drive to it. It's practically a class. Your mama used to serve them all dinner before she passed God rest her soul and she'd say, maybe if you'd gotten here a hair quicker, Mina might still be around. You doubt that you'd died. That's pretty damn funny, huh? I mean, they're just trying to prepare themselves for the worst and all. I'm left. Then I got home and the whole firehouse force was on my lawn. It's the fourth of July. More than half the town is camped out around me fighting and squabbling over who gets to use my hose and for how long I've been banging on my windows when it starts raining real bad and sneaking their kids into my garage during thunderstorms to sleep on the concrete. That's what I get for thinking I could come back here and it would be normal. Maybe not normal, but quiet. I know how things work here. I knew when I came back there would be all sorts of whispering behind closed curtains. Because nobody here just leaves for 10 years and don't ever come back. I thought I would just slide into life like a hand into a glove. Now I've always been that way. Thistle, settle in wherever it settles. I've always said no roots. You people! You circle my house like vultures waiting for a sick lion to die but I will not go down easy. You know this. You know my dirt teeth family for six generations and you know if we're one thing deep in mud, it's silly. You'd think that because the bush is on my property people might have thought I was part of the plan. But it isn't so. They keep encroaching closer like maybe if enough of them assemble outside my porch I'll open my house up. I'll invite them in. Or maybe I'll pitch up a tent next to Llewellyn's and be a lightning rod for the Lord's divine grace. And they want they want inside. It doesn't matter, I never asked them to come. It doesn't matter that half of them wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire. They swarm like moth around a flickering bug light and I can't let them in. I just can't as I realized. Take the bush over them. I can't ask forever as long as I can do it alone. Well, as alone as it got when you got a bush that's too uppity to let you know it's decided to move in and why it decided to have so many guests over at once. I would let them rot and gotten back to my nights of wondering how the hell I was going to get out of here. Well, except Lloyd. I didn't mind having him around. He's real patient, even though his wife surely ain't and bullied everybody but everybody's always wrapping on the windows when I was inside the back door of the porch windows everywhere because they all needed something and it's either me or walk all those miles back to town. He'd walk out the backyard around the house and he always knocked on the front door three times with a little brass knocker. Real polite. Mina, I'm sorry to be a bother, but Harlan Dowell's mother is sick and she won't budge to go to the hospital. Yeah, I know. I told her to go too but she won't move a muscle because she's afraid she'll miss Gabriel coming down with his flaming sword to strike down the mine. Thank you kindly for the blanket. Sorry about this. A different day. Nina, did your mom keep any tools in the garage? No? Maybe the basement? There's something wrong with carburetor on my truck so I have the kids miss school today and I just borrow somebody else's but nobody else has one to spare. Do you mind if I take a look around? I don't want to talk otherwise but it's school and Luella won't let up about being on time. Another day. Nina, I wouldn't come by so early but I promise Luella if I'd ask you if you want to come to service this morning. Another day. Nina, I'm glad you're home. I've got to talk to you. Do you think you would mind going out a little bit and talking to some of the people in the tents? I think folks are starting to get the wrong idea about you. I keep telling them you deserve your privacy because you didn't ask for none of this at all. Hell, nobody gave you the heads up before we started making our homes in your yard but folks get to talking. You know how it is. Folks get to talking. They want to know why you don't come to service, why you don't let nobody in the house. I think you ought to talk to them before they get some half-crazy ideas about coming up to talk to you themselves. If folks get high strung, I mean, I don't want nothing to happen to you because it's because of you we're all here. I know it's a lot to ask. I know how hard this is for you and I think it's a damn shame out of all the houses in the country in this county he decided to stick his business in your yard but that can't be helped no more. You okay, Nina? That's when I slammed the door in his face. He knows better. He hasn't come back since. I'd look out and there'd be a sea of tents, plastic swoops in every color, faces blank and dark, sat at the kitchen window and watched them. Watch me. Saw their numbers increase a little every week, slowly creeping up and covering the grass. It was apparently too much to just be left well enough alone. But what did that bush do? It burned, burned, burned. The well and cackled over it like a witch in heat every Sunday and people stared at it with such fear and admiration at the same time I still don't know how they didn't split in half. And I couldn't walk across the grass. There'd be a little path of dead earth wherever I stepped just like there's one next to the bush where I always sat before it all unraveled in the spot where I sat next to Lloyd on that first day. Lloyd knows what fits I have about strange people on my property. He was a volunteer fireman back when we were 18. Getting a head start. Kind of kid who knew what he wanted since he was the age of five. And he was big as a horse so they recruited him as fast as they could. The big joke was that the firehouse, the cops, and the army were all in a big war over who'd get Lloyd Gibbons at the end of his senior year. Back then, Ma and I had one neighbor. If you could even call him a neighbor. Two or three miles down the way towards town he lived in this real rundown, shanty type house by himself. He had a job in Altoona as one of the yard guys at the hardware store but he didn't make much of a living. I'd always stop in with Ma when she got new plants and whatnot and one loading up the pots of geraniums or mums or boxwoods in the back of the truck. One Saturday in May, about a week before graduation Ma and I stopped for our usual trip. I wasn't allowed to touch anything. Of course. But Ma hated driving. We went. He loaded us up. We went home. Ma spent the day happily planting away and I read in my room till late. I played the radio and I left my window open so she could listen and I fell asleep all sprawled out on the bed. I had dreamed that night. It was slow and strange. I was swimming inside a flower. So dark purple. It was almost black. I climbed up a senior biology they called it a staining and it felt like it took years. Every movement I made was slow and thick but even from the inside of the flower I could see dim pulses of light from the outside. At the top, I parted the mouth of the flower open and looked out to see a garden of other dark flowers like mine. But it was a lie. It was just fire. Nowhere to run. I woke up, breathing heavy and running my hands all over my face. I sat up and there was a man at the foot of my bed staring at me, open-eyed, slap-jawed like a dog, frozen. I sat up quick and that seemed to spring him to life and he grabbed me by the knees and he yanked me off the bed. I smacked my head on the floor and a half a second later my body was halfway out the open window. I hit my head again on the sill as I fell out, landed on the ground. He reached down and he grabbed me by the arms but I pushed the ground with my feet yanking back so hard as I could my nails sliding into his skin. He couldn't feel nothing. His face was blank as the moon and twice as pale, his mouth slobbering and twisting in and around and over itself. I thought I was going to die. It was like he was made of metal and stone, not flesh and muscle. He had no give, no flinch and no voice, nothing. I looked up into his face and he curdled. Then the muscles in his face began to twitch. He shuddered like his heart was made of thunder and his throat began to heave and retch, whatever shit was in his stomach came blubbering out over his lips vomiting it all over himself and me. Blood started pouring out of his nose his face twisted back and forth and he started to scream. My head fell back and hit raw dirt. Everything green around me in a four foot radius was now black and soft and then I realized I screamed let go, let go of me! Later was the drugs he was on. Meth, they think from the scratches on his skin that's where I got the idea to break in. They got in there a little earlier maybe he would have had a chance at living. His name was Eddie. I knew he was the neighbor man from down the street when he fell on me. A bag of mush and bones, his hair smelling of wood chips and earth Lloyd Gibbons and the fire department showed up with the cops and it was Lloyd who sat me on the stoop after the ambulance had sutured up my head and wrapped a blanket around me and he said are you okay, Nina? Scene four a month later drought, the bush glows with its orange fire despite the tents that now crowd Nina's property. I forgot what a real drought feels like. When you live in a city and it doesn't rain it's not bad, I'm sure it's hot and you can hardly breathe but at least the garbage is soaked and humid and reek and here when it's drought all you can see is dead for miles and miles didn't rain for a month I figured it would never rain again people started leaving at least that's what Llewellyn claimed was the reason everything that poked out of the earth choked to death on the dust Lord help us know that keeping vigil over this is more important than our earthly needs of roofs and kitchen and indoor plumbing keep those centers within your reach so that when you finally materialize they do not feel the hot fires of hell on the backs of their necks we wait for your call as always Joe Leeway was the first to go slipped an apology note under my door Llewellyn running to him through hell and back as he pulled his bag over his shoulder scolding him about how would he know the Lord had come he looked at her and said Llewellyn, I believe that's why God invented the telephone people stopped flocking to the bush so much used to be there was somebody watching over 24 hours a day seven days a week sitting near it made him feel close to God they'd say but in the little hours of the night the bush was lonely so when I go back out and watch it again like those days when it was just mine Lloyd sometimes came and sat too we didn't say anything what's good about it was that it was quiet sometimes his daughter came too she sat on the steps and made little chains out of wild clover she's real quiet, strange but she adores Lloyd always fell asleep on his lap then he'd carry her off to the tent hadn't actually spoken real words to Lloyd since he came to my front porch and asked me to congregate amongst the masses we were sitting on the porch the drought was rolling into its second month his kid was asleep with her head in his lap and he said Nina, when you're heading back up to Chicago you've been here a while I bet you get one of those church going folks to buy this place now that it's a holy monument I'm not fixing to go at the moment seems pointless but you don't like it here you don't like it there you've been living there an awful long time it's just something I noticed Lloyd seems there's not much difference between there and here for me I keep to myself I can keep to myself here or I can keep to myself in my rented room when you don't exist for nobody you can exist anywhere did you leave because you were scared of people like Eddie Nina you're an addict here without saying goodbye to nobody including your poor ma now the moment you get back there's all this holy and mystical nonsense happening you won't talk to nobody, not even me I told you Lloyd not to talk about I don't know what that bush is doing here I don't know what all these people are doing here don't act ignorant that's bullshit I killed that man when he climbed through my window he held on to me and he rotted from the inside out I touched nobody since and when I touch anything it dies it's just something that's always happened to me Lloyd Ma said it was the devil's coincidence just had no luck around plants that's all then that man climbed through my window and he died and then I left there's too much stuff that's living here it's moving and squirming and breathing there's nothing alive in a concrete room clouds are rolling across the sky thick, heavy and dry in the humid night and Lloyd grabs my hand Nina ain't nothing to it there just ain't that bush is certainly good for something bringing people to you if you let them camp on your yard pretty ain't it and I think we make a nice couple don't you think sometimes you gotta take what you can get bush is a bush seems pretty intent seems pretty intent on sticking by you I bet somewhere up in heaven your mama's just laughing her head up my fingers founded in them to reach out to curl around his wrist warm and damp I don't think he minded much it starts to pour the tents begin coming down people are leaving the air is cool everything is moist, rich, blank Nina stands and enters out into the yard she kneels down and writes her name in the wet dirt with her finger the bush flickers the flames slowly dying ain't nothing to it end of play on behalf of the Kennedy Center's American College Theatre Festival I want to thank our artists and our audience please keep supporting new work thank you and have a lovely evening