Coffee With Your Sugar

An Office.

ROB is drinking coffee in the break room.  BRIAN enters.

BRIAN:  Hey Rob.

ROB:  Hey Brian.

BRIAN:  Did you see that they put Steve in Dan's old office?

ROB:  Dan left?

BRIAN:  Two weeks ago.

ROB:  Wow.

BRIAN:  I know.

BRIAN sits.  ROB rips open about eight sugar packets and dumps them in his coffee.  BRIAN watches all this.  Then--

BRIAN:  Hey Rob?

ROB:  Yeah?

BRIAN:  You want some coffee with your sugar?

ROB:  Huh?

BRIAN:  You put a lot of sugar in your coffee.

ROB:  Right.

BRIAN:  So I'm just saying.  You know.  There's probably more sugar in there right now than coffee.

ROB:  Oh.

ROB smiles.

ROB:  Ohhhh...

ROB begins to laugh.  His laughter is sincere and sustained, and it grows louder and louder until BRIAN is concerned for his well-being.  LINDA rushes in.

LINDA:  Is everything okay in here?

ROB can't even speak he's laughing so hard.

BRIAN:  Oh hey Linda, I just, uh...I told Rob a joke, I guess, and he, um, he really...liked it?

LINDA:  He looks like he's dying.

ROB nods as if to indicate--"I am.  I am dying.  That joke was so funny it's probably going to kill me."

BRIAN:  It was just a joke.

LINDA:  What was it?

BRIAN:  Huh?

LINDA:  The joke.  What was it?

BRIAN:  Well, it was...it was sort of like--more of a comment--a commentary?  On like, on--

LINDA:  Jesus, Brian, just tell me the damn joke.  I'm a supervisor.  I need to write this all up.  Rob looks like he's going to turn blue.

ROB nods as if to say "Yes, I probably am going to turn blue at some point in the near future."

BRIAN:  Okay, well, Rob put a lot of sugar in his coffee just now.

LINDA:  Okay?

BRIAN:  So I was like--Do you want some coffee with your sugar?

A beat.

LINDA:  Where did you come up with that?

BRIAN:  What?

LINDA:  How did you--that is--the most brilliant thing I have ever heard.

BRIAN:  Huh?

LINDA:  I mean, that kind of insight--

BRIAN:  You've never heard that before?

LINDA:  Never.

ROB shakes his head as if to say "I had never heard it either!"

LINDA:  You know what's crazy, Brian?  So many people put a lot of sugar in their coffee, and I always look at them and think--Why do they do that?  Why do they put so much sugar in their coffee?  But it never occurred to me to say anything about it, let alone in such a clever way, and then you come along and just cut right to the core of it like that.

BRIAN:  It's just a stupid thing people say.

LINDA:  Bravo, my friend.  Bravo.

She slowly applauds him.  ROB tries to, but he's still laughing way too hard.

BRIAN:  It's just an expression!

STEVE enters.

STEVE:  Hey can anyone tell me what my code is for the fax machine?  Dan was supposed to have left it for me, but all I got was this note telling me what a piece of shit I was for taking a job from a guy with three kids.

STEVE notices LINDA slow-clapping and ROB, now on the floor, convulsing.

STEVE:  Is this like a team-building exercise?  Does anybody want to trust fall?  I'm really good at trust falls.

LINDA:  Steve--(Still slow-clapping.)--your new co-worker is a damn genius.

STEVE looks at ROB.

STEVE:  You mean like one of those crazy geniuses?  Like Amadeus?

LINDA:  I'm not talking Rob.  Rob will be dead soon.  The victim of another man's razor-sharp acumen.

ROB nods as if to say "Yes, I've been murdered by Brian's brilliance."

LINDA:  Brian made an observation about Rob's coffee and it is--and I don't think I'm over-stating this--the most enlightening thing I've ever heard in my entire life.

STEVE:  What was it?

BRIAN:  It was not--

LINDA:  You probably shouldn't tell him, Brian.  I'm not sure he can take it.  He may have been smart enough to take Dan's job from him thereby leaving him a ghost of a man with three kids to get through college and a wife with a pill addiction, but I'm not sure he can handle the truth-bomb you just laid on Rob.

BRIAN:  It wasn't a truth--

STEVE:  Well, now I really want to hear it.

LINDA:  Steve, do you remember in Indiana Jones--(Still clapping, ROB still laughing.)--when they open the Ark of the Covenant and because no human eyes are ever supposed to see what's inside it all the Nazis evaporate into powdered milk?

STEVE:  I don't think it was quite like that, but yes, I know what you're referring to.

LINDA:  That's what Brian's joke is.  It's the light from the Ark of the Covenant turning Nazis into baby powder.

STEVE:  Please, I want to hear it.

LINDA:  I don't think it's a good idea, Steve.

STEVE looks at BRIAN longingly.

STEVE:  Please Brian?  I need this.

BRIAN:  Uh...I--

LINDA:  Think about what you're about to do, Brian.

STEVE:  Let him do it, Linda!

LINDA:  Is he worthy?  I don't think he is.

STEVE:  I am.  I am, Brian.

LINDA:  He may have vanquished Dan, but that doesn't make him deserving.

BRIAN:  I--I--

STEVE:  TELL ME BRIAN!

BRIAN:  ROB PUT A LOT OF SUGAR IN HIS COFFEE AND I ASKED HIM IF HE WANTED SOME COFFEE WITH HIS SUGAR!

A beat.

STEVE:  I have to sit down.

ROB howls.

BRIAN:  Steve?

STEVE:  I wasn't ready for that.

LINDA:  I told you.

STEVE:  Goddammit.

LINDA:  I tried.

STEVE:  I have to find Dan.

BRIAN:  What?

STEVE:  I have to find Dan and give him his job back.  I can't be here.  What am I doing?  What am I DOING?

BRIAN:  I don't--

STEVE:  I have to go.

He puts his hand on BRIAN's arm.

STEVE:  Thank you, Brian.  Thank you so much.

He exits.  ROB passes out.

LINDA:  Thank you, Brian.  You gave us a gift.  And I'm not sure we can ever repay you.  Rob is probably dead--

He probably is.

LINDA:  --But what a way to go.  Steve just realized he's not a real person.  And me?  I don't know what the next step is.  But I know I have to take it.  I have to take it, Brian.  Do you understand?

BRIAN:  I--

LINDA:  Of course you do.

She puts her hand tenderly on his cheek.

LINDA:  Of course you do.

She exits.  A moment passes.  BRIAN looks down at ROB, who is probably dead.  Another moment passes.

BRIAN:  It just seemed like a lot of sugar.

End of Play

Three Places to Kiss

He used to do this thing

Do you want to hear about it?

It's fine if you don't
But it's not bad
I promise
It's not bad

He, uh, well...

We'd be laying in bed together
And he'd be, you know, on top of me
And we'd just be, you know
Looking at each other
Not saying anything
Which is my favorite
When you can do that
When you can just lay there
With each other

And he'd kiss my nose
And I'd laugh

Then he'd kiss my chin
And I'd smile

And then he'd kiss my lips
And I'd, you know, kiss him back

This went on for awhile
Because we were together for awhile
And one day
I just came right out
And asked him

Why do you do that?

He didn't even know what I was talking about
He'd been doing it so long

'The three kiss thing,' I said
'Why do you do that?'

And he kissed my nose and said--
'That's to tell you I think you're cute'

And he kissed my chin and said--
'That's to tell you I think you're strong'

And then he kissed my lips and said--
'That's to tell you that I love you'

You know, eventually,
No matter who you're with
They stop kissing you
The way they did
When the two of you first got together

It just happens
No shame in it

But he kissed me in those three places
And he kept kissing me like that
And I think that's why
We were so happy for so long

There's nothing wrong
With somebody
Kissing you once

But if you can find someone
Who kisses you the way he kissed me?

Kiss them back

That's all I gotta say

Kiss them back

Two Gay Guys Discuss Their Brands While a Spider Destroys the City

A coffeeshop located in a city that is currently being destroyed by a giant spider.

TOM and STEVEN are drinking coffee, while PAUL looks out the window at the devastation.

TOM:  So they’re coffee mugs?

STEVEN:  I don’t like the term ‘mugs.’  I don’t want mugs in my brand.  They’re beverage containers.

TOM:  So it’s a line of beverage containers?

STEVEN:  Yeah, with different dinosaurs on them.  And then under the dinosaurs it says ‘Extinct.’  And the line is called ‘Extinct.’

TOM:  I didn’t know you liked dinosaurs.

STEVEN:  It’s not about the dinosaurs.  It’s about impermanence.  My brand is all about what’s fleeting.  Here today, gone tomorrow, you know?

PAUL:  You mean like the city?

STEVEN:  What?

PAUL:  The city.  The giant spider just crushed all of Barton Street.

TOM:  You should put a giant spider on one of your cups.

STEVEN:  Beverage container.

TOM:  Sorry.

PAUL:  Doesn’t Trevor live on Barton Street?

STEVEN:  Who?

PAUL:  Trevor?  Your boyfriend?

STEVEN:  Oh yeah!  I should call him.

PAUL:  To see if he’s okay?

STEVEN:  No, because he’s supposed to be updating my Instagram for me while I’m on my social media break next week.

TOM:  God, I need one of those.  My brand is all about decompressing.

STEVEN:  My brand is about shutting off and tuning in, but if you don’t update at least once a day on all your platforms, your brand just, like, ceases to exist.

PAUL:  Guys, I think the spider can spit fire.

TOM:  Spitting fire—that’s great.  That should be the banner on my website.

STEVEN:  What’s your website for?

TOM:  Just, like, letting people know what my brand’s about.  There are photos of me, and some of Kensingston—

STEVEN:  Your dog?

TOM:  No, my dog is Kingston, Kensington is the boy I dated when I was in London last summer.  He was so good at selfies.  You wouldn’t even know they were selfies.  He would take duct tape with him everywhere, and like, tape the phone to things, and then use the timer to take the selfie.

STEVEN:  Is he the one who took the photo of the two of you on the bridge almost kissing?

TOM:  Yeah.

STEVEN:  Oh my god, I died when I saw that.

PAUL:  Speaking of dying, I think the spider is getting closer.

TOM:  Kensington is the resident photographer for my brand.

STEVEN:  Ugh, I need a resident photographer.  The one I had turned out to be a softcore porn director.

TOM:  Really?

STEVEN:  Yeah, and it sucks, because he knew so much about lighting.

PAUL:  I think we should probably go soon.

TOM:  Can we at least finish our coffee?  God, I hate be rushed.  My brand is all about not rushing.

STEVEN:  Taking time for yourself.

TOM:  Loving yourself.

STEVEN:  Believing in yourself.

TOM:  Inspiring yourself.

PAUL:  Saving yourself from a giant spider?

                (A beat.)

TOM/STEVEN:  That doesn’t really gel.  I can test it out with my Instagram followers to see how it goes over, but I don’t think they’ll go for it./Is that ironic or something?  My brand isn’t really into irony at all.  It’s way more about sincerity.

PAUL:  I guess there’s really nowhere safe to go right now anyway.

STEVEN:  Exactly.  So just relax.

TOM:  You should try these lotions I sell on my website.  They’re very soothing.

STEVEN:  You make lotions?

TOM:  No, they’re someone else’s lotions, but I totally endorse them.  I’ve written the copy a bunch of really positive Amazon reviews, and now we’re sort of like business partners.  Like, I’m a silent partner, but a very active one.

STEVEN:  Do you make any money off—

TOM:  No, none at all.  And I spend a ton on the lotions.  Like, I’m their best customer.  But I believe that when it comes to your brand, you have to be your best customer, you know what I mean?

STEVEN:  I get it.

TOM:  Yeah?

STEVEN:  I really get it.

PAUL:  I think I’m going to go outside.

TOM:  Are you going to go fight the spider?

PAUL:  No, I’m probably just going to die, but I’d rather do that than stay here with the two of you.

STEVEN:  That’s so inspiring, Paul.

TOM:  Seriously, you’re so brave.

STEVEN:  I’m going to put your photo on one of my beverage containers.

TOM:  I’m going to post about you on my site.

STEVEN:  And then I’ll wait a few hours and do the same so we don’t overlap.

TOM:  You’re great.

STEVEN:  You’re so great.

TOM:  Fight.

STEVEN:  Dream.

TOM and STEVEN:  Live.

PAUL:  Bye.

                (PAUL exits.)

TOM:  I’m kind of glad he left.

STEVEN:  Me too.  You really fit with what I’m trying to accomplishing with my brand, but him sitting here with us—

TOM:  It didn’t fit.

STEVEN:  It just didn’t fit.  And fit is so important.

TOM:  Oh my god, it’s incredibly important.

STEVEN:  So important.

TOM:  But I wish him the best.

STEVEN:  Oh, of course.  All the best.

TOM:  Just the best.

STEVEN:  Mhmm.

TOM:  Mhmm.

STEVEN and TOM:  Mmmm.

                (They sip their coffee, and right outside the shop, the spider steps on PAUL.)

The Mailbox Decides

The mailbox decides

If you get his letters

It’ll give you the bills

And the magazines

And the packages you order

Late at night

When everything

Seems necessary

But as far as his letters go

Well…

It’s conditional

If he writes without assigning blame

Okay, here’s a letter

If he writes you love poems

You’re not getting those

They’re awful

The rhythms are all off

And the line breaks

Don’t make sense

If he says he’s sorry

The mailbox blacks out

Everything but that

And all you get is a piece of paper

With the words ‘I’m sorry’ on it

And black stripes

Everywhere else

The mailbox decides

How many more chances

He’s going to get

And, if it were completely up to the mailbox,

That number would be zero

The mailbox believes

That a first chance is a gift

A second chance is a privilege

And a third chance is a miracle

And the mailbox

Does not

Believe

In miracles

The mailbox waits for you to walk over every afternoon

And pick out the envelopes

Hoping to see something

From him

If it had eyes, it would roll them

But instead

It hugs his last letter

To its side

So that you don’t know

It’s there

This particular letter

Contains nothing but begging
And nobody likes begging

In the afternoon

The mailbox is actually doing him a favor

Even though he’d be furious

If he knew how much interference

Was going on

But the mailbox is yours

And so it is responsible for and to you

Not to him

Not to his tear-stained notebook pages

Without perforated edges

Or his cologne scented

Hallmark cards

With sloppy cursive

All over the inside

The mailbox has no obligation

To make sure you get

His grand essays

About love and forgiveness

In fact, the mailbox believes

That nobody should ever ask for forgiveness

Forgiveness should be something
You wait for

Patiently

Until the other person

Is ready

To give it to you

The mailbox watches you walk back to your house

Angrily shuffling through credit card offers

And a free copy of Taste of Home

And a little pang of guilt appears

That pops its flag up

For a moment

You turn around and almost catch the flag going up

And for a second, the mailbox thinks you might come back

And root through it

Finding that letter

That you shouldn’t be reading

Because all that begging

Will only ruin your day further

But you don’t come back

You keep walking

And the mailbox opens up the letter

And begins to read it over again

The begging still reads like begging

But in between the words

There was something else

A sort of exhaustion

A lack of, not effort

But the ability to create effort

There was a realization

Buried in the denial

This was over

It’s over

The mailbox

Folded the letter back up

And placed it in the envelope

Then let it slide down

So that you’ll see it

The next time you go

To get the mail

Provided the mailman

Doesn’t return it

Back to him

You may as well read it,

The mailbox thinks

Because it knows you

And it knows you’ll see

What’s hanging on the ends

Of all those sentences

Around the vowels

And between the commas

You’ll know what he knows

And you’ll write him back

You’ll seal it up

And send it away

Then it’ll be his mailbox

Holding onto something

And trying to decide

If it’s time

To let it go

Let's Not Talk About the Empire

A dining room.

            (MOTHER, MOM, HUSBAND, and WIFE are all seated at the table.)

WIFE:  Now what did we promise?

MOTHER/MOM/HUSBAND:  No talking politics./No talking about bad stuff./No politics.

WIFE:  That’s right.  No politics.  We’re going to have a nice holiday meal.

HUSBAND:  Mom, you okay with that?

MOM:  Sure.

WIFE:  Mother?

MOTHER:  I have lots of other things I can talk about.

WIFE:  Wonderful.

            (They begin to eat.)

MOTHER:  The weather’s been so nice lately.

MOM:  That’s because the Rebels blew up the ship that was blocking our second sun.

HUSBAND:  Mom—

MOM:  What?  She brought up the weather.

MOTHER:  That ship never blocked the sun.

WIFE:  Mother, please—

MOTHER:  It didn’t.  It was barely near that sun.

MOM:  You’re delusional.

MOTHER:  You’re a cow!

WIFE:  STOP!  This is not good for the baby.

HUSBAND:  She’s right.  We all need to try and have a civilized evening together even if we are on different ends of the political spectrum.

MOM:  At least I’m on the light side.

MOTHER:  You mean the side that’s going around damaging property?

MOM:  Compared with blowing up planets, I’d say a few ships are—

WIFE:  Mom, please, there is no defending what the Rebels are doing.  Now, I appreciate their cause, but their approach is very misguided.

MOTHER:  Thank you.  It’s nice to see that my daughter-in-law agrees with me.

HUSBAND:  Well…I think she might be a little confused, Mother.

WIFE:  No, I’m not.  I’m not at all confused.

MOTHER:  You know, I met Lord Vader once.

HUSBAND:  Here we go with Lord Vader.

MOTHER:  I think he gets portrayed very negatively in the galaxy.

WIFE:  Darling, why would you say I’m confused?

MOM:  How would you portray him?

HUSBAND:  Because you are.

MOTHER:  As a man with a vision.

WIFE:  No, I’m not.

MOM:  How do you have a vision when you can’t see through your helmet?

HUSBAND:  Sweetheart, it sounds as if you agree with the Dark Side.

WIFE:  Do we really need to go throwing around labels like Light Side and Dark Side?  All they do is divide us.

HUSBAND:  Yes, which is a good thing, because otherwise, we could end up being, you know, evil.

MOTHER:  It’s a label.

HUSBAND:  I like labels.  Labels are good.  If it weren’t for labels, we would never know when tauntaun milk has gone bad or which fences are electric.

WIFE:  Darling, you’re starting to sound like a Jedi.

HUSBAND:  I WISH I could be a Jedi.

MOTHER:  There goes my blood pressure.

MOM:  I dated a Jedi once.  He was very…impressive.

WIFE:  Enough about the Jedi, Mom, it was one date.

MOM:  He thought I was charming.

MOTHER:  And yet he didn’t marry you.

MOM:  I didn’t want to marry him.

WIFE:  Thank god.

MOM:  I wasn’t a fan of the ponytail, and he was always talking in riddles.  Do this or do not do this.  It was like dating a fortune cookie.

HUSBAND:  I happen to think that being a Jedi is—is—

WIFE:  Insane?  They’re nothing but magicians.  They do parlor tricks.

HUSBAND:  They have light sabers!

WIFE:  Is that what this is about?  I told you, I will buy you a light saber, provided you only use it in the garage.  I don’t want the baby going anywhere near it.

MOM:  What if the baby’s a Jedi?

WIFE:  The baby is not a Jedi.  The baby is going to be raised to be an upstanding citizen of the Empire.

HUSBAND:  The hell he is!

MOM:  This should be interesting.

MOTHER:  My grandson is not going to be a Jedi.

WIFE:  Agreed.

MOM:  How do you know it’s a boy?

WIFE:  I’ve been throwing up for six weeks straight.  Only a man could make you that sick.

MOM:  She’s got a point, Son.

HUSBAND:  I wish you’d brought all this up before we got married!

MOM:  I tried to warn you about her.

WIFE:  Mom!

MOM:  You take after your father.  He was a very depressing man.

MOTHER:  I loved your father.  I remember when I was having trouble with my neighbors and he offered to slaughter them all for me.

WIFE:  He was very considerate.

HUSBAND:  Don’t you see that we’re talking about right and wrong here?

WIFE:  Don’t go throwing around your liberal terminology to try and make me change my mind.  Just because one group of people tortures and oppresses another, that doesn’t automatically make them the bad guys.

MOM:  It doesn’t?

WIFE:  No!  Some people like being tortured and oppressed.  They’re used to it.  They wouldn’t know what to do if you DIDN’T torture and oppress them.

MOTHER:  God, it’s been forever since I was really oppressed.

HUSBAND:  Mother—

MOTHER:  Or tortured.

HUSBAND:  My child is not going to be pulled to the Dark Side!

WIFE:  He’s not going to have any choice.

HUSBAND:  We’ll see about.

WIFE:  Oh, we certainly will.

HUSBAND:  We will.

WIFE:  We CERTAINLY will.

HUSBAND:  WE WILL.

WIFE:  WE CERTAINLY WILL.

            (A beat.)

MOM:  Did anybody make cranberry sauce this year?

            (They ALL look at her.)

            End of Play

Watching My Sister Break Up With Boys

When I was younger

I used to sit at my window
And watch my sister

Break up with her boyfriends

My bedroom window

Faced the driveway

And I would watch the cars pull up

Driven by various boys

And my sister would get out

And I’d know

That it was over

For whatever boy

Was leaning on the wheel

They all took it different ways

Some would cry

Most would scream

One guy got out of the car

And stood in front of my sister

Just stood in front of her

Staring at her

Until he finally got on his knees

And pressed his head against our driveway

His entire body trembling

With something I couldn’t make out

I was ten

And I thought

That’s how I want to be

I want boys shaking

On pavement for me

My sister would quietly into the house

Trying not to wake up
Our parents

While I crept into the kitchen

And watched her make herself

A bowl of Rice Krispies

She’d pretend not to notice me at first

And then she’d push out a chair

And I’d go sit next to her

While I waited for her

To tell me the story

Of the boy

Whose heart

Just got broken

Sometimes she’d laugh about it

Sometimes I could tell she felt bad

Sometimes she’d let me have some of her cereal

And then she’d walk me back to my room

Like we were walking along a street in a city

Just two girls

Finishing up their night

My sister looked like the cover of a book

But the book wasn’t easy to read

And it was written in a language

Not many people understood

Last year for Christmas

I showed up with my daughter

And my sister was sitting by the fire

Drinking a glass of wine

And staring at the smoke

‘Go give Auntie a hug,’ I said

To my little girl

My sister had already been through one divorce

And now she was going through another

She never could teach people how to read her

How to crack the cover

And settle in

Not everybody wants to work that hard

Not everybody knows how

My little girl walked over to her aunt

And lifted her arms up

The way she does

When she wants you to pick her up

I saw my sister smile at her little niece

A girl who I can already tell

Has a lot more of my sister in her

Than me

My daughter makes you work for it

Her love, her affection—everything

She doesn’t care how cute you are

Or how many boys you left broken

In the driveway

My sister laughed

Picked up my girl
And put her right on her lap

My daughter squeezed her

And I could see some of the smoke

Wash out of my sister’s eyes

It’s not always easy

To figure out how to love somebody

Sometimes it takes years

Sometimes you never figure it out

But my sister looks at my daughter

Like I used to look out my bedroom window

And I’m glad

I’m glad she’s finally got somebody

She can figure out

Christmas Spirits

Somewhere above a fire place.

            (PAST, PRESENT, and FUTURE all hover eerily.)

PAST:  So I think you should go first—

PRESENT:  Why would I go first?

PAST:  Because we’re in the Present.  He should see how things are now before he sees how they were or how they could be.

FUTURE:  Mmmmm…

PRESENT:  He might not even believe I’m a ghost if all I do is show him around town.  That just makes me a flying tour guide.

FUTURE:  Blergh.

PAST:  You know what, Future?  Maybe we should go backwards.

PRESENT:  Backwards?  Why backwards?

PAST:  Because if he sees that he’s going to burn in Hellfire if he doesn’t change, he’ll probably just change right away, and then the two of us can take the night off.

FUTURE:  Nope.

PAST:  I realize that means you still have to work, Future, but why should all three of us miss Christmas?

PRESENT:  You know, the obvious thing would be to just go in order.

PAST:  Ugh, but then I have to go first.  I hate going first.

PRESENT:  You’re the Ghost of Christmas Past.  Going first is, like, your whole thing.

PAST:  But it’s so sad!

FUTURE:  Little boy die.

PRESENT:  Exactly!  The little boy dies in the future.  You think what you have to show him is sadder than that?

PAST:  Oh god, but he lets that nice girl get away from him.  It breaks my heart.

PRESENT:  He had a girlfriend?

FUTURE:  Little boy die.

PRESENT:  We’re putting a pin in that right now, Future.

PAST:  Oh, they were so cute together.

PRESENT:  What happened?

PAST:  What do you think happened?  He was a jerk and she left him.

PRESENT:  Oh my god, did he choose money over her?

FUTURE:  Money.

PAST:  Yup, he chose the money.

PRESENT:  That is devastating.

PAST:  Does she ever come back?

PRESENT:  She must not, because I don’t know her.

FUTURE:  Not familiar.

PAST:  So they never meet again?

PRESENT:  He probably has to change first.

PAST:  You guys, we have to make sure he changes.

PRESENT:  That’s why you need to go first.  He’s not going to change seeing the Present.  He knows the Present.  He’s aware.

FUTURE:  Woke.

PRESENT:  I wouldn’t say ‘woke’ but he definitely knows he’s being a jerk.

PAST:  You have to sort of…color things in for him.

PRESENT:  What are you talking about?  I walk him around the street, I say ‘This is how things are’ and then I get old and die in front of him.  It’s all protocol.

FUTURE:  Boo.

PRESENT:  What?

PAST:  I agree with Future.  You might want to change up the routine a little bit.

PRESENT:  And do what?

PAST:  Go show him the house where the little boy lives.

FUTURE:  Little boy die.

PRESENT:  Okay, the pin is still in that, Future.  Take it down a little.

PAST:  Show him his nephew’s house.  Go inside.  Look around.

PRESENT:  That’s breaking and entering!

PAST:  They won’t know you’re there.

PRESENT:  It’s a total invasion of privacy.

PAST:  Well, walking him around the streets of London on Christmas Eve isn’t going to do any good.

PRESENT:  And you think showing him some ex-girlfriend is?

PAST:  You have no idea how sad it is when she leaves him.

PRESENT:  Does she sing?

PAST:  Sometimes she sings, it depends on the version.

PRESENT:  Oh my god, if she sings—

FUTURE:  I can’t.

PRESENT:  Right?

FUTURE:  Little boy die.

PRESENT:  There he goes again.

PAST:  Plus I take him to Fezziwig’s and sometimes I show him his sister.  Sometimes it’s a brother.

PRESENT:  What’s with all the ‘Sometimes?’  Isn’t the Past always the same?

PAST:  No, I have to shake it up a little bit to keep things interesting.

PRESENT:  For him?

PAST:  No, for me.  I’ve been doing this for thousands of years.

FUTURE:  Old.

PAST:  Rude.

FUTURE:  Ancient.

PAST:  RUDE!

PRESENT:  So you just change the past?

PAST:  I don’t change it.  I just show slightly altered versions of how it occurred.

FUTURE:  Fraud.

PAST:  Oh, like you have to do anything.  You stand by an empty grave and wait for him to fall in.

FUTURE:  Effective.

PAST:  Of course it’s effective!  You’re essentially threatening him with eternal damnation!

PRESENT:  It’s true.  We both try to coax him lovingly, and then you come along and just blackmail him into being a decent human being.

FUTURE:  Very effective.

PAST:  This is why he should go first.

FUTURE:  No.

PAST:  Why not?

FUTURE:  I’m.  A.  Closer.

PRESENT:  Past, you’re going first.

PAST:  But—

PRESENT:  There’s no time.  I still have to put my robe on and prepare a feast.

PAST:  I thought you were getting it catered this year?

PRESENT:  I was, but they raised the price by a third and they weren’t going to do carrots or a cheese plate.

PAST:  Oh my god.

PRESENT:  I said, Forget it, I’ll just do it myself.

FUTURE:  Good call.

PRESENT:  You know, when you take him back in time, you should give him a wise old grandfather.

PAST:  I was thinking about that.  And maybe he gets run over by a horse and carriage?

PRESENT:  That’s TERRIBLE!

FUTURE:  Do it.

PRESENT:  Definitely do it.

PAST:  Okay, fine.  Hey…what do you guys think of puppets?

PRESENT:  Puppets?

PAST:  Yeah, like, what if we added puppets to all this?

PRESENT:  Um, let’s not get carried away.  It’s London, not Sesame Street.

FUTURE:  Little boy die.

PAST/PRESENT:  Enough with that!/I honestly can’t with him.

FUTURE:  Blergh.

          End of Play

Rabbit Skin

A set of rocks outside the kingdom.

MAY, EVE, and VICTORIA are all seated on the rocks skinning rabbits.

MAY:  …And then he ransacked everything.  Even though I told him the villagers could fight in his army if he just talked to them like a civilized human being.  But did he listen to me?  No.

EVE:  They never do.  They never listen.

VICTORIA:  They think they’re so smart.

MAY:  Is it true your husband banished the hordes?

EVE:  Oh, he banished them all right.  Right after they all died of the wasting sickness.

MAY:  I knew he was telling tales.

VICTORIA:  Beezle came home last night smelling of barbarian blood, even though he knew we were going to dinner with my parents.

EVE:  My parents can’t stand Flinn.  They call him One-Eye.  Or they did, until he cut out their tongues.

MAY:  My father is actually very friendly with Terg, but that’s just because he gave him a wizard’s head for Christmas.

VICTORIA:  An actual wizard’s head or the herb you rub on someone possessed by an evil spirit?

MAY:  Well, my father wanted the herb, because now that’s he over thirty, he’s always getting possessed, but that herb is so hard to find, so Terg just gave him an actual head, and my father really appreciated the effort, so now they go pillaging once a month together.

VICTORIA:  I wish my father could be like that with Beezle.  All they do is wrestle and swordfight and throw each other into ravines.

EVE:  Does Beezle get doctor’s care at Blue Castle?

VICTORIA:  He gets to go twice a year, but only if he’s missing a limb.

MAY:  Terg gets free eye.

EVE:  They have eye doctors at Grey Castle?

MAY:  No, I mean, he gets a free eye whenever he loses one.  They have a bucket of them up in the official chambers.

EVE:  I told Flinn he should have signed up to work at Grey Castle.  Red Kingdom is nothing like where we used to live.

VICTORIA:  Does he still get a bonus for every heretic he enslaves?

EVE:  He only gets the bonus when he enslaves at least four heretics, so now he’s trying to convince prisoners they’re heretics so he can get the credit.

MAY:  That’s terrible!

EVE:  Isn’t it?  We almost couldn’t afford to go to Sinner’s Rock last year.

VICTORIA:  Do they still throw the goats off the rock into the fiery pits every night?

EVE:  Well, because of budget cuts, now they just throw dolls that look like goats.

VICTORIA:  Oh no!  But that’s the best part of Sinner’s Rock!  I never would have gone there on my honeymoon if there weren’t actual goat sacrifices.

MAY:  Everything’s changing.  The other day someone tried to tell me that chewing on pig vein wouldn’t make my teeth any whiter.

EVE:  I can’t stand that New Age nonsense.  My mother rubbed pig vein all over herself every day and her teeth were gorgeous.  She used to wear them on a necklace around her neck right up until she died.

VICTORIA:  I didn’t know your mother was dead.

EVE:  Technically she’s not, but we buried her anyway.  Once you realize the person’s a witch, you might as well have the funeral.

MAY:  I’m so sorry.

EVE:  It’s fine.  She had a good long run.  Thirty-three years of bliss.  I wouldn’t want her to live past that.  The quality of life goes way down.

MAY:  We’re talking about putting my mother into a home.

VICTORIA:  Really?  They have an old age home at Grey Castle?

MAY:  Sort of.  They put them in the King’s Dungeon and then they give you earplugs so you can’t hear the screaming until you’re far enough away.  It’s a whole new way of looking at eldercare.  Very advanced.

EVE:  I can’t believe Flinn talked me into leaving Grey Castle.  I knew it was a mistake.

VICTORIA:  Remember when we all used to get brunch after the Sunday hangings?

EVE:  I barely remember the Sunday hangings.  There’s no capital punishment in Red Kingdom.

MAY/VICTORIA:  What?/Did you run out of rope?

EVE:  The King had a vision of the Lord telling him that murdering his subjects was wrong.

MAY:  So murder the King.  Problem solved.  Terg can do it if you want.  He loves overthrowing royalty.  Especially ones with overcomplicated tax policies.

EVE:  Everybody wants him to be overthrown, but everyone’s scared to do it, because he has this giant portrait of Jesus hanging over his throne.

VICTORIA:  That old tactic.

MAY:  It always works.

EVE:  A great big portrait of Jesus and you’re safe until you die of the blood-cough.

VICTORIA:  I don’t know if I want to raise children in a world like this.  All the traditions are going right out the window.  I can’t even find an endangered Moon Wolf to slaughter for Harvest Night.  My kids might have to eat Moon Duck, and you know how I feel about serving them anything with that much fat.

MAY:  You can’t even overthrow a kind and pious ruler anymore.  It’s sad.

EVE:  It is sad.

VICTORIA:  It’s very sad.

MAY:  I’m glad I’m on my way out.  Two more years and I’ll be as old as your mother was, Eve.

EVE:  Have you talked to your children about your end of life wishes?

MAY:  I did.  Most of them involve poisoning me without my knowledge, but I told them if that was too hard, they could just leave me at the bottom of the well near our summer cottage.

VICTORIA:  I told my children that when the time comes, they should lay me gently down in the forest and allow nature to bring me back to its bosom.

EVE:  And what did they say?

VICTORIA:  They said that was stupid and can’t they just donate my body to the village scientist?

MAY:  Kids are so ungrateful.

VICTORIA:  Aren’t they?  I had to forcibly rip three out of the seven of them from my body with nothing to numb my pain but chewing on the scalp of an eagle, and they could care less.

EVE:  Little terrors.

MAY:  Vicious monsters.

VICTORIA:  I think I may have left one of them in the woods the last time I went berry-picking.

EVE:  When was that?

VICTORIA:  Five years ago.  I keep telling Beezle we had eight children, and he keeps saying, Oh, you women and your hysterical inability to count, but I’m telling you, little Morgana had a twin brother.  I would bet my life on it.

MAY:  Look on the bright side, he was probably kidnapped by fairies.

VICTORIA:  I suppose that’s the most realistic way to look at it.

EVE:  I hope one day there won’t be three women like us sitting around talking of such things.

MAY:  Is that really what you hope?

EVE:  Yes, it is.  Skinning rabbits by a fire on a cold autumn night before the Harvest is no way to carry on with life.  We should be enjoying ourselves.

VICTORIA:  Oh, but I am enjoying myself.

MAY:  I am as well.  I haven’t gotten out of the house since the mouthpox quarantine was lifted.

EVE:  I just hope it gets easier—if not for us, then for our children.  Or for their children.  Or for their children’s children.

MAY:  I hope that when they tell their husbands not to ransack a village, their husbands listen.

EVE:  I hope they get to do some ransacking themselves.

VICTORIA:  I hope they never have to see their husbands throw their fathers into ravines or gulches or any hole in the ground really.

MAY:  I hope they can have wizard head whenever they want, not just when the lord of darkness consumes their soul for a fortnight.

EVE:  I hope when their husband tells them they’ll like moving to another kingdom, they tell him ‘No,’ and he heeds their warning so they don’t end up living in a drafty chamber near the south end of the castle next to the room where they keep the werewolf children.

VICTORIA:  I hope they don’t have husbands.

            (MAY and EVE look at her in shock.)

I mean…not unless they want them.

MAY:  Why would they not want them?

VICTORIA:  Well—

EVE:  Well, because…maybe they won’t?

MAY:  But then how will they have children?

VICTORIA:  Well, maybe they won’t want children either.

MAY:  This is causing an incendiary feeling to radiate throughout my skull.

EVE:  Your mind is blown?

MAY:  YES!

VICTORIA:  All sorts of things are going to happen.  That is the beauty of time.  It has so much room to surprise us.

EVE:  One day when I was a child, my mother looked at me and said—It is so much more unlikely that you would be here than that you would be here.  Remember that when you feel afraid.  You have already beaten the odds just by standing here in front of me.

MAY:  What a remarkable thing to say.

EVE:  Yes, well…She was a remarkable woman.

VICTORIA:  May there be many more like her.

MAY:  Here, here.

ALL:  Here, here!

            (With that, they go back to skinning rabbits, waiting for the night to turn to day.)

            End of Play