Vince's Secret Garden

(A theater.)

NARRATOR:  This is the story of Mary Lennox as played by a middle-aged, Italian man, and her sister, Sally Lennox, who we invented so the girl previously playing Mary would have something to do.

MARY:  Just don't stand in my light.  I need a lot of light.

SALLY:   I wish we were doing Jane Eyre so I could lock you in an attic.

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally were born in India to British parents who loved Sally, but didn't care for Mary very much.

MARY:  Oh, like they're a picnic drinking all that tea and leaving me alone in my room with just the servants.

SALLY:  At least we have lots of toys.

MARY:  I told you before, don't touch my toys, you're going to get germs on them.

NARRATOR:  A cholera outbreak ends up killing everybody.

MARY:  See, what did I tell you?

NARRATOR:  But Mary and Sally survive.

SALLY:  Are you sure both of us survive?  Not just...one of us?

NARRATOR:  Unfortunately, both of your survive.

MARY:  It's because I use disinfectant.  You ever been to India at the turn of the 20th century?  Nobody washes their hands.  It's repulsive.

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally are sent to live with their Uncle Archibald Craven in Yorkshire, England.

MARY:  Who is this guy?  Do I know him?

NARRATOR:  You've never met him.

MARY:  And I'm supposed to go live with him?  Did he pass a background check?

SALLY:  He's our uncle.

MARY:  Yeah, that's what they all say.

NARRATOR:  Mary is just as surly and mean as ever.

MARY:  Gee thanks, because Narrators are always the life of the party.

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally befriend Martha the maid and Ben the gardener.

BEN:  Listen to that bird welcoming the morning.  It's going to be a shame when I eat her for lunch tomorrow.  Nice to see you again, Sally.  And, uh, hi Mary.

MARY:  Hey!  Be nice to me.  I lost my whole family to cholera.  They burned all my toys.  My rocking horse.  My dollhouse.  My wooden bathtub.

BEN:  What kind of kid has a wooden bathtub?

MARY:  What kind of person talks to birds like they're people?

SALLY:  Ben, I've heard that there's a mysterious garden our aunt used to tend to before she died.

BEN:  It's true, but nobody knows where it is.  She buried the key to it.

MARY:  Uh, correct me if I'm wrong here, but--could it possibly be hidden behind that giant wall with the door in it?  Just a hunch.

BEN:  (Sighs.)  Even if that...was where the garden is located...as I said, she buried the key.

MARY:  You people don't have battering rams?  What kind of fortress is this?

BEN:  It's not a fortress.  It's an English manor.

MARY:  Yeah, well, when the Scots invade, you people better have battering rams ready, because you're not going to be able to hide out in a secret garden if the only thing keeping it a secret are some vines in front of it.

SALLY:  The Scots aren't going to invade, Mary.

MARY:  That's what the Trojans said about the Athenians.

SALLY:  You're all mixed up.

MARY:  It's the cholera.

SALLY:  You don't have cholera.  You'd be dead if you did.

MARY:  Stop telling me what I have!

BEN:  I'll be out on the moors.

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally also get to know Dickon.

MARY:  That can't be his name.

NARRATOR:  It is definitely his name.

MARY:  And they call this a kids book?

NARRATOR:  He is TWELVE so maybe we could just--get it together?

MARY:  Okay, sorry.  I didn't name him.

DICKON:  I'm Dickon.  I spend a lot of time on the moors.

MARY:  What are all these moors everybody's talking about?

DICKON:  They're like cliffs.

MARY:  Then just say cliff.  You're all walking around talking about moors and manors like we're playing Clue at Wuthering Heights.

DICKON:  I don't understand any of what you just said, but I hope we can be friends.

SALLY:  You're very handsome, Dickon.

MARY:  Hey, hey, hey--ease up on the Dickon talk, all right?

SALLY:  I'm just being kind to the servants.

MARY:  I know what you're up to, and you better take it down a notch before you give the whole house cholera.

SALLY:  That's now cholera works.

DICKON:  I made friends with a ladybug yesterday.

MARY:  Oh great, he talks to animals too.  Everybody here is Dr. Freakin' Doolittle.

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally discovered the key to the secret garden and let themselves in.

MARY:  This place is a pigsty.  Weeds everywhere.  We should just burn the whole thing to the ground.

SALLY:  No, that would be awful.  Our aunt loved this place.

MARY:  Oh, now you're against burning things?  Where were you when my wooden bathtub went up in flames?

NARRATOR:  That night, Mary and Sally heard strange noises throughout the manor.

MARY:  It's probably the pipes.  I went to turn on the shower last night and it sounded like a raccoon was trying to eat its way out of a sardine can.

DICKON:  I love raccoons.  I keep one under my bed.

MARY:  Okay, new plan, Sally, no more talking to Dickon.

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally discovered that the sound was coming from their cousin Colin who was bed-ridden with a mysterious spinal disease.

COLIN:  You two have to be my new best friends.

MARY:  The hell I do.

SALLY:  Mary--

MARY:  Who does he think he is just laying there telling me what to do.  I feel like I'm being bossed around by a homosexual gremlin.

COLIN:  I'll have you beaten for saying such a thing.

MARY:  You're a selfish beast.

COLIN:  You're a cruel temptress.

MARY:  Temptress?

SALLY:  I think he secretly likes you.

MARY:  That's perverse.  We're cousins.

SALLY:  It didn't matter back when this was written.  You actually end up marrying him.

MARY:  Again--THEY LET CHILDREN READ THIS?

NARRATOR:  Mary and Sally took Colin out to the secret garden--

MARY:  Not really a secret anymore, is it?

NARRATOR: --Where he realized that he could walk after all.

MARY:  What did I tell you?  A little faker.  Just like Grandpa Joe in Willy Wonka and the Cocoa Plant.

NARRATOR:  It's the Chocolate Factory.

MARY:  I know what I said!

NARRATOR:  Mrs. Medlock discovered the children in the garden and was so happy to see that Colin was well again.

MRS. MEDLOCK:  Sally, you've worked a miracle.  Mary, you...Well, you were here I suppose.

MARY:  Real nice, Medlock.

COLIN:  If only my father could see me like this.

MRS. MEDLOCK:  He can.  He's looking down at you from his window.

COLIN:  Father!  (Waving.)  Father, I'm well again!

MARY:  'Well' might be a stretch.  I think he's got a touch of la femme de fancy, if you know what I'm talking about.

MRS. MEDLOCK:  Sally, you can stay here as long as you like.  Mary, we're sending you to an orphanage in America.

MARY:  Sounds good to me.  Is it one of those orphanages where there's lots of singing and redheaded chicks?

MRS. MEDLOCK:  Uh, sure.

MARY:  Well, there you go.  Happy ever after.

NARRATOR:  The End

The End

The Stain on the Floor

There’s a stain on the floor

That gets cleaned up each day

Made up of spots

Light spots

Barely noticeable

Unless the light

Hits it just right

We walk over the stain

Until we get around

To wiping it away

A little soap

Some warm water

And the cloth we keep

By the sink

The stain is on the wood

Not in it

As guests sometimes remark

It’ll come up

If you scrub it just right

At first we do it in the mornings

First thing

Remove the stain

Then go about your day

After some time

When talking about the stain

And its constant reemergence

Proves boring to us

We leave it for a few hours

And take care of it

In the afternoon

Soon it stops occurring to us

To clean it up at all

And it sits there each night

Long after dinner

Erased only before bed

And eventually not even then

Why bother

Cleaning up a stain

That’ll only reappear?

Leave it where it is

A few spots

An elongated mark

Something dark

In the city

Of all that light splatter

Who cares?

Leave it there

It’s an old house

Old houses have stains

Just like the people

Who live in them

We go about our days

And our days go quickly

So much so

That we don’t notice

When the stain disappears

Did you clean it?

No, did you?

Funny

Yes, very funny

But nobody laughs

How does that something

That once persisted

Suddenly give up?

We avoid stepping on the spot

Where the stain used to be

Then we try our hardest

Not to go in the room

Where it wouldn’t be expunged

Week later, we’ve blocked off

That entire part of the house

Keeping to our rooms

And our one tiny lavatory

Even though there are

So many of us

The floors in our part of the house

Creak and give way

When we step on them

Sending us down into basements

We haven’t seen in our years

But it’s still preferable

To stepping on a spot
With no spot

We interrogate each other

Asking where the spot could have gone

Wanting to go back

Into the room

To see if it’s returned

But scared to find it gone

Or worse

Scared see it back

But bigger

And even harder

To get rid of

When the questions bring forth

No answers

We fall silent

Not wanting to hear

So much as a whisper

From the mouths

Of those we’ve been next to

For years

Cowering in our corners

We shut our doors

And lock ourselves away

Hoping the wind we hear

Will carry itself

Through every room

Finding things that won’t leave

And things

That are never

Coming back

A Swing That Won’t Stop Swinging

My fear would be

A swing that won’t stop swinging

A lone swing

On a quiet playground

Going back and forth
With nothing to stop it

And no wind

And no reason

To sway

The swing would whip

This way and that

Get caught up

In its own rope

The slide would stay put

The jungle gym empty

The merry-go-round

Would do a turn

Then stop

And never start again

But the swing

Will keep swinging

Up and up

But never over

The tension

Of it

Bursting past

And down again

Never achieved

Just high and in limbo

Trapped in the wide open

Left to stay aloft there

Until somebody

Lets it fall

And when it does

It doesn’t drop

The way it should

Stumbling to the right

It bounces up

And back again

Like bungee jumpers

Trying to give itself

A rattle

I sit in my house

Across from the playground

And try to pretend

It’s just sitting there

Dormant

Not in any kind

Of distress

But finally

I have to break

Racing across the street

I notice the empty wind

The stillness

But all the while

The swing ricochets

It damages the calm

When I get to it

I grab the ropes

But it lashes at me

Cutting up my palms

With blistering thread

With no other choice

I sit on its plank

And as soon as I do

It shoots up

In a forward direction

Nearly sending me

Out across the playground

Past the sand

And the spot

Where the pavement

Begins

Then pulls back

And shows me

The bottom

From a point

At the top

My legs slide down

And nearly off the plank

But then we’re down again

My hands sweat

My mouth opens

But only cold air gets in

I want to let go

I want to drop

I want this to be over

There’s no reason

For the push and pull

The rope should snap

The plank should break

The corridor I find myself in

Should expand far enough

So that I can at least

Go in a circle

Or some other kind of shape

That doesn’t feel so pointless

So limiting

So trapped

I get to the peak

Of the swingset

And with everything I have

Push myself

To bring forth the energy

To take me

Over the bar

And once I do

The swing stops

It deposits me

Back on the ground

Softly

As if it had never even

Moved

An inch

The Elevator Only Goes Up

The elevator only goes up

If you want to go down

You take the stairs

And the stairs

Are a long way

Down

Floor after floor

While others

Go up

You could just

Keep going up

The sky goes first

Then the stars

Then the second sky

That rides atop

The stars

Too high?

An idea will hit you

When you reach

A higher platform

Of existence

An idea that

Down

Was always

A thing

To refuse

To refuse

To go down

To be

Brought down

The only reason

You ever

Hit that button

Every day

That said

Ground Floor

Was because somebody

Told you

That access

Was limited

That the availability

Of the higher levels

Was sectioned off

And given

To those

Who’ve earned it

And what did that mean?

What did that mean
To you?

Did you stop and think about it?

Or did you just

Accept what was given to you

And head down

Down

Down

To the lobby

Where everybody

Was so happy to see you

Because you were with them

And not off

A thousand floors up

Experiencing something

They could never even

Dream of?

We will take your feet

Off the ground

We will will take your feet

Off the floor

Of the elevator

That only goes up

And lift your chin

And propel you

Past gravity

You will never

Have to think

About being on solid footing

Ever again

But that’s just

If you get in the elevator

That only

Goes up

Because once you do

There’s no changing

Direction

There’s no redirecting

The course

Of your travel

Sign-up is done in ink

You hear me?

I don’t want belly-aching

When the roof of the elevator

Splits in two

And you’re taken out

So you can do away

With even that

Which took you

To the heights

You never thought

You’d find yourself at

You are above

You are the ideal of above

And up

And up

And up

You are only

Going

Up