PIPELINE
BOOKS BY DOMINIQUE MORISSEAU
PUBLISHED BY TCG:
The Detroit Project
INCLUDES:
Paradise Blue
Detroit ’67
Skeleton Crew
Pipeline
PIPELINE
DOMINIQUE MORISSEAU
THEATRE COMMUNICATIONS GROUP NEW YORK 2018
Pipeline is copyright © 2018 by Dominique Morisseau
Pipeline is published by Theatre Communications Group, Inc.,
520 Eighth Avenue, 24th Floor, New York, NY 10018-4156
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio or television reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that this material, being fully protected under the Copyright Laws of the United States of America and all other countries of the Berne and Universal Copyright Conventions, is subject to a royalty. All rights, including but not limited to, professional, amateur, recording, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio and television broadcasting, and the rights of translation into foreign languages are expressly reserved. Particular emphasis is placed on the question of readings and all uses of this book by educational institutions, permission for which must be secured from the author’s representative: Jonathan Mills, Paradigm Agency, 140 Broadway, 26th Floor, New York, NY 10005, 212-897-6400.
“We Real Cool” by Gwendolyn Brooks. Used By Consent of Brooks Permissions.
The publication of Pipeline by Dominique Morisseau, through TCG’s Book Program, is made possible in part by the New York State Council on the Arts with the support of Governor Andrew Cuomo and the New York State Legislature.
TCG books are exclusively distributed to the book trade by Consortium Book Sales and Distribution.
ISBN 978-1-55936-587-1 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-55936-902-2 (ebook)
A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.
Book design and composition by Lisa Govan
Cover design by Monet Cogbill
Cover image by James McMullan
First Edition, September 2018
This play is for my mother, a master-educator and proud public school teacher for forty years in Highland Park, Michigan.
This isn’t her story. It’s just a similar world in which she was a fiercely committed educator, and worked very hard to help her students transcend.
I salute you, Mama.
Love, Dominique ☺
CONTENTS
PRODUCTION HISTORY
CHARACTERS
NOTE ABOUT THE SETTING
NOTE ABOUT THE TEXT
SCENE 1
SCENE 2
SCENE 3
SCENE 4
SCENE 5
SCENE 6
SCENE 7
SCENE 8
SCENE 9
SCENE 10
PIPELINE
PRODUCTION HISTORY
Pipeline was commissioned by Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theatre Company (Martha Lavey, Artistic Director; David Hawkanson, Executive Director).
Pipeline received its world premiere on July 10, 2017, at Lincoln Center Theater (André Bishop, Producing Artistic Director, Adam Siegel, Managing Director) in New York City. It was directed by Lileana Blain-Cruz; the scenic design was by Matt Saunders, the costume design was by Montana Levi Bianco, the lighting design was by Yi Zhao, the sound design was by Justin Ellington, the projection design was by Hannah Wasileski; the stage manager was Charles M. Turner III. The cast was:
NYA
Karen Pittman
OMARI
Namir Smallwood
JASMINE
Heather Velazquez
XAVIER
Morocco Omari
LAURIE
Tasha Lawrence
DUN
Jaime Lincoln Smith
CHARACTERS
NYA, Black woman, mid-late thirties. Single mother. Public high school teacher. Trying to raise her teenage son on her own with much difficulty. A good teacher inspiring her students in a stressed environment. A struggling parent doing her damnedest. Strong but burning out. Smoker. Sometimes drinker. Holding together by a thread.
OMARI, Black man, late teens. Smart and astute. Rage without release. Tender and honest at his core. Something profoundly sensitive amidst the anger. Wrestling with his identity between private school education and being from a so-called urban community. Nya’s son.
JASMINE, Black or Latina woman, late teens. Sensitive and tough. A sharp bite, a soft smile. Profoundly aware of herself and her environment. Attends upstate private school but from a so-called urban environment. In touch with the poetry of her own language.
XAVIER, Black man, mid-late thirties. Single father, struggling to connect to his own son. Marketing executive. Wounded relationship with his ex-wife. Financially stable. Emotionally impoverished. Nya’s ex-husband, Omari’s father.
LAURIE, White woman, fifties. Pistol of a woman. Teaches in public high school and can hold her own against the tough students and the stressed environment. Doesn’t bite her tongue. A don’t-fuck-with-me chick.
DUN, Black man, early-mid-thirties. Public high school security guard. Fit and optimistic. Charismatic with women. Genuine and thoughtful and trying to be a gentleman in a stressed environment. It’s not easy.
NOTE ABOUT THE SETTING
Not necessarily New York City, but definitely modeled after it. Can be any inner city environment where the public school system is under duress. However, the quick pace of the language is New York City–inspired and should be maintained in any setting. Present day.
Also, we have undefined space. This is a place where location doesn’t matter. It is sometimes an alternate reality bleeding into reality. It is sometimes just isolated reality that doesn’t require a setting. Only words.
NOTE ABOUT THE TEXT
A “ / ” indicates when the next line of dialogue begins.
1
Lights up on Nya. She is on the phone, though we don’t have to really see her holding anything. She is living the call.
As she speaks, images flow behind her: camera-phone video clips of school fights, disjointed and perhaps emerging less into video and more into large overwhelming shadows.
NYA: Hey it’s … it’s me. I know I shouldn’t … but I don’t know what else to … we need to talk. It’s about our son. He got in a fight. On school grounds. They’re going to … … … they’re talking about … they’re talking kicking him out. They’re talking pressing charges. They’re going to … … … I don’t know what they’re going to … … … I’m just … (Beat beat beat) I’m exhausted. You know that? Like there is no more helium. I’m sinking. Like there is all this … weight … I can’t fight gravity. You know? Like I just can’t even fight this pulling down … taking all of my—I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t even know. (Beat beat beat beat beat)
(Then randomly enthusiastic) So anyway! Give me a call back when you get a moment. So we can talk. Talk about. Your son. Our son. Us …
…
…
(Long, awkward pause.)
Yep. Okay. Bye.
(Quick pause.)
I um … I also miss you.
(Beat.)
Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m gonna … I should delete that. I’m gonna delete that.
(She pushes a button. We hear the prompt that says: “To erase and rerecord, press 3.” She presses 3.
Then, very professionally:)
Hey, Xavier, it’s Nya. Calling to talk to you about our son. Give me a call back when you get this. Thanks. Bye.
(Nya stands in silence for a moment. Then lights a cigarette. She leans her head to the side. Puffs.
We hear a school bell ring.
The distant sound of a school day starting. Hallways filled with lockers closing and gossip and trampling feet.
A public address announcement comes through. It is fast and static:)
PA (Offstage): Good morning students, welcome to another glorious day at Chadsey High. Please remember to take off your hats. No sagging allowed. New policy in effect today—homeroom teachers are now going to lock your cell phones and other non-school-issued devices in their drawers. You will retrieve them at the end of the day. If you have any objections to this, then you are free to leave your devices at home. If you are caught with any non-approved electronic device in class, this is an automatic suspension. No exceptions. I repeat (Loudly) NO EXCEPTIONS! Please do not have your mamas coming up here demanding to get your smart phones back. We have the city government behind us. You cannot win. I repeat (Loudly) YOU CANNOT WIN! Also, there is a pep rally today after school. Be sure to attend and show your school pride. And finally, have a glorious day, students. (Loudly) A GLORIOUS DAY!
(Nya puts her cigarette out on her shoe. Waves the smoke out the window. Then she moves toward a door and opens it.)
NYA: Mornin, class. Pull out your pens. Pop quiz today.
(Groans and sucking teeth are heard. The shadows become harsh fluorescent lights. They bleach us into blindness.)
2
A girl’s dormitory. Bedroom.
Jasmine and Omari.
JASMINE: Tell me you wasn’t lookin’ at her.
OMARI: I wasn’t lookin’ at her.
JASMINE: Oughta cut her face.
OMARI: I wasn’t lookin’ at her.
JASMINE: Thinkin’ she’s so cute.
OMARI: I wasn’t lookin’ at her.
JASMINE: She ain’t that cute.
OMARI: I was kinda lookin’ at her.
JASMINE: What?
OMARI: Just like a little bit.
JASMINE: What’s a little bit?
OMARI: Like modestly. With no intention. Just observing.
JASMINE: What you got to be observing for?
OMARI: To take in my surroundings. Learn the world. Not be just tied up in my own existence and nothin’ else.
JASMINE: Everything’s more important to you than me.
OMARI: You important to me.
JASMINE: Not hardly. You just biding your time. Till you figure out what to do next. Ain’t that it?
OMARI: Why would you say that?
JASMINE: Cuz I don’t like to talk at nothin’. I like to say exactly what’s what.
OMARI: You wanna know what’s what?
JASMINE: Yeah. I wanna know.
OMARI: I don’t know where I’m gonna be two days from now. Or two hours. And I can’t be pretending we in some fairy tale fantasy where all I need to do is chill with you in a castle with our horses or whatever.
JASMINE: Horses?
OMARI: Or whatever. I’ono. Whatever they got in castles. Truth is I got too many worries and bein’ with you don’t make ’em go nowhere. You feel me?
JASMINE: You sayin’ I’m addin’ to your stress level?
OMARI: I’m sayin’ I got stresses. Real ones. And hiding out in your dorm ain’t doin’ nothin’ but prolonging the inevitable.
JASMINE: This some wack version of a breakup?
OMARI: It’s just me bein’ honest.
JASMINE: Well fuck your honesty. Seriously, Omari, you gonna make my heart explode with all yo’ back-and-forthness. One minute you tellin’ me I’m the cure. Next minute, I’m the cause. Maybe you your own stress problem and I ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.
OMARI: Maybe I am.
JASMINE (Pssshhh): Fuck you.
OMARI: Maybe I’m confused.
JASMINE: That’s the realest shit you ever said.
(He tugs at her needfully.)
OMARI: Yo, this could be our last time.
(She snatches away.)
JASMINE: You kiddin’ me right now?
OMARI: I’m just seeking intimacy.
JASMINE: You seeking to get socked in the eye. I don’t turn on and off like no stove.
OMARI: You mean a faucet.
JASMINE: I mean a stove. One minute you got me hot. Next minute fire’s out. Quit gassin’ me up and killing my fucking spark.
OMARI: Can’t nothing kill your spark. You always gon’ be fire.
JASMINE: And you always gon’ be crazy.
(Beat.)
OMARI (Truth): I’m scared.
(Jasmine looks at him and wants to say something. Then decides against it. She just looks at him with concern.)
JASMINE: Why you fight him, O?
OMARI: Why you say you gonna cut Keely’s face?
JASMINE: She thinks she’s cute.
OMARI: So you wanna mess that up?
JASMINE: Maybe it would make things balanced.
OMARI: Like what?
JASMINE: Like she wear on the outside what I feel on the inside.
OMARI: That’s messed up.
JASMINE: So I’m messed up. (Beat) Your moms knows?
OMARI: She probably already planning her speech. Threatening to send me to my pops. But dude wouldn’t go for that in a million years.
JASMINE: You ain’t supposed to even be here right now. If anybody finds us—
OMARI: Where else can we meet? They won’t let me talk to you anywhere on the campus. Supposed to be packing my stuff to go home. Ain’t like I could visit you back at your folks’ crib. They won’t let me nowhere near you.
JASMINE: Teen pregnancy stats got ’em spooked. They have no idea who or what I am.
OMARI: I know what you are.
JASMINE: You don’t even know yourself. How you know me?
OMARI: I know you.
JASMINE: What you know?
OMARI: You’re a metamorphic rock.
JASMINE: Here you go.
OMARI: What?
JASMINE: Science references from Mr. Peterson’s class ain’t gonna save you from my wrath.
OMARI: Not trying to get saved. Just makin’ an observation.
JASMINE: Explain.
OMARI: Metamorphic rocks. They change in form. Made from heat and pressure. That’s what makes ’em so rare and interesting.
JASMINE: And that’s me?
OMARI: That’s you.
(Jasmine considers this.)
JASMINE: I think I’m in love with you.
OMARI: I think I’m leaving.
JASMINE: Where you goin’?
OMARI: Somewhere else. I got some money saved. Child support stash from the ol’ man. Shit adds up when you don’t spend it.
JASMINE: You gonna just run from your problems?
OMARI: What else I’m gonna do? Stay and let ’em take away my life? My future?
JASMINE: Maybe not.
OMARI: They recorded it.
JASMINE: So threaten anybody who put it up.
OMARI: I’ll never be able to trace it. If it goes viral, I’m a wrap. And it’s gonna go viral.
JASMINE: Fuck it then. You’ll be a celebrity.
OMARI: I’ll be public enemy number one.
JASMINE: You won’t.
OMARI: I’ll be a monster.
JASMINE: You’ll be that motherfucker nobody’ll fuck with.
OMARI: That ain’t the legacy I was trying to leave.
JASMINE: What legacy you gonna leave now? Runnin’ away?
OMARI: I just gotta go, Jasmine.
(Pause.
They look at each other.
Jasmine’s eyes well up.)
JASMINE: I know what you are.
OMARI: What am I?
JASMINE: A lunar eclipse.
OMARI: How’s that?
JASMINE: Rare and hiding in the shadows of the earth.
Always ready for an escape.
OMARI: Mr. Peterson’s science class is the best.
JASMINE: Don’t leave.
OMARI: I think I gotta.
JASMINE: I can’t survive this prep shit without you.
OMARI: You can survive anything.
JASMINE: Don’t leave.
OMARI: Can I kiss you one last time?
JASMINE: Make it last forever.
(He kisses her. It lasts an eternity.)
3
Teachers’ lounge. Afternoon.
Laurie enters. Goes to refrigerator. Pulls out her container. Puts it in microwave. Sits and waits.
Nya enters and goes to the fridge. Pulls out a salad.
LAURIE: Fucking fifth period.
NYA: You turn in your reports?
LAURIE: Not yet. Humphries is on my ass. English Department head or not—I told him to give me a damn break I only just had my face reconstructed. Asshole.
NYA: You look good, Laurie. I can’t even tell.
LAURIE: My husband can. And my daughter. I freak her out, she says. Everything freaks her out that isn’t painted with at least a gazillion ounces of mascara. Or liters. Or however the fuck you measure mascara. She’s fucking obsessed with it, that’s all I know. I mean, what the hell happened to teenage hood? I remember dyeing my hair orange and piercing my nose to rage against the status quo. That was a sort of cause, y’know? But now, it’s just all mascara and fashion and next top supermodel housewife of bla bla bla—what the hell are we doing, you know? Are they growing down?
NYA: Probably.
LAURIE: And the substitute was an idiot. I asked my kids what’d they do while I was gone. Three weeks while I was gone. You know nobody could give me a straight answer? Then Alejandro finally cracks. Watched The Wire, Season Four—he tells me.
NYA: The Wire?
LAURIE: Said the sub was trying to show them what not to do. You fucking kidding me?
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