Clarissa Can't Explain a Damn Thing

                (CLARISSA’s old bedroom.  CLARISSA sits next to her daughter SAM on the bed.)

SAM:  How long are we staying here?

CLARISSA:  Until I get a new job.

SAM:  Have you thought about another career?

CLARISSA:  I’m a journalist, Sam.

SAM:  And journalism is dying.

CLARISSA:  Sam—

SAM:  It’s dying, Mom.  In your case, it’s already dead.  Why would you even go into a field like that?

CLARISSA:  Like what?

SAM:  One so antiquated.

CLARISSA:  It wasn’t antiquated when I went into it.  Believe it or not, it was actually considered a pretty safe career choice.

SAM:  Oh.

CLARISSA:  And since when do you say antiquated?

SAM:  It’s a word.

CLARISSA:  I talked to you too much when you were a baby.

SAM:  Mom—

CLARISSA:  You picked up too much.  You know too much.  I feel like I’m living with a double agent.

SAM:  I feel like living here is going to be a trigger for you.

CLARISSA:  A trigger for what?  My depression or my anxiety?

SAM:  Both?

CLARISSA:  I can handle being depressed and I can handle being anxious, as long as I’m not both at the same time.  The problem is, they require separate medication, and you can’t take them together, so I have to choose.

SAM:  So which do you choose?

CLARISSA:  I usually just close my eyes, pop one in my mouth, and see what happens.

SAM:  Well, that sounds fine.

CLARISSA:  Your father should be here any minute.

                (A ladder hits the window.)

CLARISSA:  Bingo.

SAM:  What?

CLARISSA:  That’s him.

SAM:  Who?

CLARISSA:  Your Dad.

                (SAMUEL pokes his head into the window.)

SAMUEL:  Hey dude.

SAM:  Dad, don’t call me dude, I’m a girl.

SAMUEL:  I’m ignoring gender stereotypes.

SAM:  Don’t.  It’s weird.

CLARISSA:  You felt like taking a trip up the ladder for old time’s sake?

SAMUEL:  No, your brother was sitting on the front steps crying, and I didn’t want to find out why.

SAM:  He’s probably crying because he still lives at home with his parents.

CLARISSA:  Sam, please.  That’s your uncle.

SAM:  He’s a turd.

CLARISSA and SAMUEL:  Sam!/Dude!

SAM:  That’s what you guys call him!

CLARISSA:  We’re allowed to call him that.  We’ve known him longer.

SAM:  I can’t believe we’re living here with him.  (To SAMUEL.)  Can’t I just come live with you?

CLARISSA:  I don’t want you living with him.

SAM:  Why not?

CLARISSA:  Because he’s a man-child.  (To SAMUEL.)  No offense.

SAMUEL:  None taken.  I’m working out a lot of stuff right now, but I have to go year-by-year.  My therapist thinks trauma needs to be confronted in chronological order, but some years take longer than others to get through.  Right now, we’re working on Year 7.

SAM:  What happened when you were seven?

SAMUEL:  I got bit by an alligator.

SAM:  How the hell did that happen?

CLARISSA:  Sam, please, language.

SAM:  Seriously?

CLARISSA:  Pretend you’re a teenager from the 1950’s and say ‘heck.’

SAM:  Heck?

CLARISSA:  Heck.

SAM:  (To SAMUEL.)  How did an alligator bite you?

SAMUEL:  Your Mom used to have an alligator in her room.

SAM:  In her room?

                (CLARISSA flops on the bed.)

CLARISSA:  Do we have to tell her everything?  Must I answer for all my sins?

SAM:  You had an alligator in your room?

CLARISSA:  Yes, I was very quirky when I was younger.  Time has extinguished that part of my personality.

SAM:  You wouldn’t even let me have a kitten.

CLARISSA:  I hate cats.

SAM:  But you like alligators?

CLARISSA:  I did.  I used to like a lot of things.

SAM:  Here we go.

CLARISSA:  I so different then.

SAM:  To hell with this—

                (She gets up to go.)

CLARISSA:  Sam—

SAM:  Hell is not a swear word, Mom.  It’s a imaginary place Christians made up.

SAMUEL:  Is she not Christian anymore?

CLARISSA:  She’s Vestual.

SAMUEL:  What’s that?

CLARISSA:  I don’t know.  She made it up.

SAMUEL:  Making up religions?  Way to go, dude.  Stick it to the patriarchy.

SAM:  I think religion is a very personal thing.

CLARISSA:  She won’t even tell me what Vestual means.

SAM:  It’s personal.

CLARISSA:  Does it have anything to do with sex?

SAM:  Ew!  No.

CLARISSA:  Then I’m cool with it.

SAMUEL:  I’m cool with it too.  And as far as sex goes—

CLARISSA:  We’re shutting that down right now.

SAMUEL:  It’s healthy to talk about sex, Clarissa.

CLARISSA:  We’ll talk about it when Sam is ready to talk about it.

SAM:  I could talk about it now.

CLARISSA:  Well, I can’t.  Not here.  Not now.  Not in my childhood bedroom where I’m going to be sleeping on the floor so my daughter can have my old bed and retain some semblance of normalcy.

SAMUEL:  It’s not like that bed is unfamiliar to, uh—

CLARISSA/SAM:  STOP!/OH MY GOD I WANT TO DIE!

SAMUEL:  C’mon, we’re all adults here.

SAM:  No, we’re not.  I’m fourteen.

SAMUEL:  In many cultures, you’re an adult.

CLARISSA:  She’s Vestual, Samuel.  They don’t reach puberty until forty.

SAMUEL:  Really?

SAM:  She’s making that up.

CLARISSA:  See?  Two can play that game.

                (FERGUSON knocks.)

FERGUSON:  Hello.

                (CLARISSA stands up and walks to him.)

CLARISSA:  Hi Ferguson.  (To SAM.)  Sam, say hi to your Uncle.

SAM:  Hi Uncle Ferguson.

FERGUSON:  Back to the roost, I see.  My how the mighty have fallen.

CLARISSA:  I can’t say I was ever all that mighty, Ferguson.

FERGUSON:  Hello Samuel.  I see you’re still dressing like a sous chef at a vegan restaurant.

SAMUEL:  When are you going to prison, Ferguson?

CLARISSA:  Sam!

SAMUEL/SAM:  What?/What?

CLARISSA:  Sorry, I forget there are two of you now.  Why did I name you Sam?

SAM:  I don’t know.  I’d rather be named Janet.

CLARISSA:  That was my mother’s name!  We almost named you that.

SAM:  You should’ve.  Sam is a stupid name.  (To SAMUEL.)  No offense.

SAMUEL:  None taken.  I was named after my grandfather.  Apparently he was a Holocaust denier.  (A beat.)  I didn’t find that out until I was ten so I haven’t fully processed it yet.

FERGUSON:  (To CLARISSA.)  I can’t believe you had a child with him.

CLARISSA:  I can’t believe you’re not in jail.

FERGUSON:  Only criminals go to jail.  I’m a whistleblower.

CLARISSA:  Offering to give the F.B.I. a list of the hookers your boss hired so you won’t go to jail for insider trading does not count as being a whistleblower.

SAMUEL:  (Looking at SAM.)  Clarissa—

CLARISSA:  She already knows.

SAMUEL:  How?

SAM:  I saw it on Buzzfeed.

SAMUEL:  Fucking Buzzfeed.

SAM:  Besides, it’s not like Uncle Ferguson hired the hookers.  His crime was, like, really unsexy.

FERGUSON:  Insider trading is very sexy.

CLARISSA, SAMUEL, and SAM:  No, it’s not./Nope./Like, not at all.

FERGUSON:  I had a two-day segment on The Today Show.  You think they do that for just anybody?

CLARISSA:  Did your lawyer tell you to do that show?

FERGUSON:  He said it was fine.

SAM:  Was that before or after you fired him?

FERGUSON:  Before.  Why?

SAMUEL:  You’re going to prison, Fergwad.

FERGUSON:  Hey!

SAM:  I agree.

                (FERGUSON turns to CLARISSA.)

FERGUSON:  I don’t think you living here is going to work out, Clarissa.

CLARISSA:  Well, it’s not your house, it’s Dad’s.  So it’s really not up to you.

FERGUSON:  Dad is old and feeble.  He can’t be expected to make decisions for himself.

CLARISSA:  He’s sixty-four.

FERGUSON:  Mom dying took a toll.

CLARISSA:  He remarried—twice.

FERGUSON:  And the last divorce was very contentious.

CLARISSA:  Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m here to take care of him since you won’t be around much longer.

FERGUSON:  What’s that supposed to mean?

SAMUEL:  She means you’re going to prison.

FERGUSON:  I am not going to prison!  I made a deal!

CLARISSA:  You did?

FERGUSON:  Yes!  With the F.B.I.!

SAM:  Buzzfeed said there was no deal.

FERGUSON:  Fucking Buzzfeed.

SAM:  They said you’re going to jail.

FERGUSON:  I made a deal.

CLARISSA:  Did you get it in writing?

FERGUSON:  We shook on it.

SAMUEL:  Oh man.

CLARISSA:  You shook on it?

FERGUSON:  Yes!

CLARISSA:  Whose hand did you shake?

FERGUSON:  One of the agents.

SAM:  I don’t think that’ll hold up in court.

FERGUSON:  We made a gentleman’s agreement.

CLARISSA:  This isn’t Downton Abbey, Ferguson.  You should have gotten it in writing.

FERGUSON:  But I can’t go to prison.  I have sporadic asthma and I’m allergic to almonds.

SAMUEL:  Make sure you let the prison chef know that when you get there.

FERGUSON:  You listen to me, Clarissa.  No matter what happens—you are not getting my room!

CLARISSA:  As if I’d want to sleep in your masturbatorium.

SAM:  Mom!

CLARISSA:  I’m sorry, but he gets me so worked up.

FERGUSON:  I’m telling Dad what you said.

SAMUEL:  Hey Ferguson, I’d dye my hair before they put me away.  Gingers aren’t that high up on the prison food chain.

FERGUSON:  I MADE A DEAL!

                (He exits.)

SAM:  Thank god I’m an only child.

CLARISSA:  That was my gift to you.

SAMUEL:  And also, I got into this weird biking accident after you were born, and I’m pretty sure everything stopped working down there after that.  Well, not everything, but—

CLARISSA/SAM:  She gets it, Sam./Ewwwww!

SAMUEL:  I gotta go.  I have a trust seminar to lead in the park.

                (He goes to the ladder.)

SAM:  Remember, this is my weekend with you.

SAMUEL:  I thought that was last weekend.

SAM:  Actually, it was the weekend before last weekend, but you blew me off, so it’s been over a month since we spent quality time together and I’m concerned that the lack of a father figure in my life will eventually lead to me marrying an older man who bosses me around and makes me get Botox when I don’t really need it.  (A beat.  She laughs.)  I’m just kidding.  Next weekend is your weekend.

SAMUEL:  (Breathing a sigh of relief.)  You’re a really scary little dude.

SAM:  Bye Dad.

SAMUEL:  Hey Clarissa, it’s kind of cool seeing you in your old room again.

CLARISSA:  You say ‘cool,’ I say ‘mortifying.’

SAMUEL:  Maybe you needed a reset, you know?  Find out who you used to be?

CLARISSA:  Sam, this isn’t Dawson’s Creek.  Go back down the ladder before Paula Cole starts playing.

                (SAMUEL goes down the ladder as he does the “doo doo doo doo’s” from ‘I Don’t Wanna Wait.’)

SAM:  He’s such a loser.

CLARISSA:  I know, but he was my loser.

SAM:  Is that supposed to be romantic or something?

CLARISSA:  Sam, one day you’ll learn that there are only about two to five winners in the world.  The rest of us are losers.  So you try to find a loser that fits you.  That’s the best you can hope for.

SAM:  Remind me to never let you work the suicide hotline.

CLARISSA:  You probably won’t believe this, but…I used to be really cool.  I mean, I was really, really cool.

SAM:  Why would I not believe that?  You’re cool now.

CLARISSA:  You’re just saying that because I’m in charge of feeding you.

SAM:  I haven’t eaten since this morning.

CLARISSA:  I didn’t say I was doing a good job at it.

                (A beat.  CLARISSA sits back on the bed next to SAM.)

SAM:  I’m sorry you lost your job.

CLARISSA:  I really loved being a journalist.

SAM:  There must be something else you love.

CLARISSA:  Maybe when I was younger, there was.  I narrowed my entire life down to a few things so I could get them right, and it didn’t even work.

SAM:  What things?

CLARISSA:  My career, my marriage—

SAM:  Me?

CLARISSA:  I think I got you pretty right—so far anyway.  If you end up dealing drugs, don’t tell me, okay?  I don’t want to know.

SAM:  Maybe this is an opportunity for you to rediscover a lost passion.

CLARISSA:  I just wish I had someone to explain things to me the way I used to explain stuff to everybody else.

SAM:  How would younger you have explained all this to, you know, you you?

CLARISSA:  She probably would have made a video game about it.

SAM:  You used to make video games?

CLARISSA:  Yeah, you know, like computer games.  I used to make them in my spare time.  It was a way of letting off steam.

SAM:  Did they not have boxing bags back then?

CLARISSA:  It was fun.  I used to superimpose my face on—

SAM:  Whoa, whoa, whoa—it sounds like you pretty skillful, Mom.

CLARISSA:  I mean, I guess.  Back then, computers were pretty basic.

SAM:  When was the last time you made a computer game?

CLARISSA:  Probably last week.  I ran into this problem at the market—I couldn’t find the kind of cheese I like, and I was so mad, so I went home, and I made this game where I’m running through the supermarket looking for the cheese—

SAM:  Mom!

CLARISSA:  What?

SAM:  You can design computer games?  That’s insane!

CLARISSA:  Is it?

SAM:  That never occurred to you?

CLARISSA:  I just do it for fun.

SAM:  Mom, computers mean money.  You should look into this.

CLARISSA:  I mean, I guess I—

SAM:  Where’s the laptop?

CLARISSA:  Um, it’s in my bad downstairs—

SAM:  I need to start researching this.  Maybe I can have us out of this house by summer.  (She gives CLARISSA a peck on the cheek, and then looks her in the eyes.)  We’re going to be okay, okay?

CLARISSA:  Okay.

SAM:  Okay!

                (She exits.  CLARISSA lays down on the bed.  She starts to sing softly.)

CLARISSA:  Na na na na…Na na na na na…