Huff & Stitch
Page 4
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! angelina, loyal beast, springs into action! She sinks her teeth into donna’s bare calf.
angelina: Leave my brother alone!
mike: Angelina!
Let go.
Now!
angelina: Fuck that!
I warned her!
mike grabs angelina by the collar.
mike: Angelina!
No!
Donna, you slammed my son down pretty fuckin good, don’t you think?
donna: I didn’t hit him.
mike: Yes you did.
I watched you.
We all did.
donna: That’s not . . .
I just . . .
Why are you picking on . . .
I do . . .
I cook . . .
So your retard son can watch me in the shower!
mike: Charles!
Get down here.
Five, four, three—
charles enters. mike takes off his belt and beats charles.
charles: Dad!
Stop!
Please!
Stop!
Please!
They started the fire!
mike: The . . . the fire?
At the motel?
You started that fire?
wind: No . . . Charles, you snitch—
mike: You did.
And on top of that you lied to me.
huff: It wasn’t his fault!
The flaming porno magazine turned into a raven—
mike: I don’t wanna hear that word outta your goddamn mouth.
donna: Mike, don’t.
mike grabs her face.
mike: Donna, shut the fuck up.
No one asked what you have to think.
donna: He’s right, kids.
Confessing is the best thing for you.
wind: (to audience) At just that moment the door opens and my kohkum arrives.
kohkum: Put that belt away!
mike: Kohkum, this is none of your business.
You shouldn’t be here.
kohkum: My nosums are in trouble.
Smelling like Skunk on the moon of their mother’s death.
mike: You’re dementia!
This has nothing to do with the fucking moon.
kohkum: Don’t you hit those kids.
mike: Kohkum, your daughter was a drunk.
She left you alone and me to take care of those boys.
I’m trying to do that the best way I know how.
kohkum: Nosums, listen to me.
You stay away from your dad when he’s like this.
Shame on you, Mike.
mike: Old woman, you’ve had your head up your ass as long as I’ve known you.
kohkum: I’m not going anywhere, Mike.
You’re going to have to throw me out.
mike: If that’s the way you want it.
wind: (to audience) That’s when Donna takes me and my brother into the basement.
donna: It’s okay, kids.
They’re only fighting because they love you.
Now clean up!
wind: Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
huff: It’s okay.
It’s not so bad.
I got an idea.
Let’s run away together.
We’ll go to the woods and start a fire and everything and kill moose and live Indian way and then we’ll go to Toronto and we’ll show them our sacred gifts from Creator and we’ll be famous.
wind: That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.
Wanna know why?
huff: Why?
wind: Because no one cares about us.
huff points to the audience.
huff: What about them?
wind: Them?
They’re not even real.
huff: Yes they are.
wind: No they’re not.
huff: Yes they are.
wind: No they’re not.
And neither is your sacred gift from Creator.
huff: Whoosh.
wind feels warm inside.
wind: Fuck off!
wind pushes huff.
(to audience) That’s when I run.
I throw my jacket on and run into the coldest storm of the winter.
My father and my kohkum fighting behind me.
The wind screaming through my clothes.
To the audience.
huff: (to audience) Hi?
Hi?
Hi.
I gotta keep cleaning.
Angelina’s tracked tomatoes all down the steps and splattered them on the floor and the walls.
I got so much more to go.
It wouldn’t be so bad if my brother were here to help me.
He didn’t even bring anything for the cold.
Or to eat.
I should go find him.
Pack a bunch of stuff.
Nothing fancy.
Just what we really need.
My socks are wet.
Donna was wearing my mom’s sweater yesterday.
Same dark hair.
Same red sweater.
I came in thought she was my mom.
I got real happy.
Gave her a big ol hug.
Then Donna turned around and my mom was dead again.
Ever real mean Trickster, hey?
Wind never sticks up for me.
I always stick up for him though.
If someone hits my brother they have to hit me too.
I don’t care.
It only hurts for a second.
Only things people say hurt longer.
And stuff they do.
I better go find him.
He must be . . .
I don’t know where he is.
We used to go to the motel.
But it’s gone now.
Gone, gone, gone.
Sometimes I wish I were gone.
huff takes his belt off and makes a loop around his neck. He ties the long end to the doorknob.
I can never remember the exact moment I fall asleep.
This time I will.
I’ll think about my mom.
Down at the lake.
And how much I miss her.
And I hope you come back because then everything will be real good again.
Don’t let me pass out for too long, okay?
Promise?
Blast-off!
huff hangs himself. trickster grabs the microphone.
trickster: Thank you for listening to Shit Creek Radio, your voice for when you’re up Shit Creek and you don’t have a paddle.
The school is closed for the death of another one of our youth, the victim of apparent suicide.
A ceremony will be held for the family.
The whole community is welcome.
In the weather it’s the first calm day for as long as I can remember.
Trickster.
Out.
wind: (to audience) I spend the night in the stockroom of the store.
In the morning my kohkum finds me and tells me what my brother has done.
(to khokum) No he’s not.
No he’s not.
He’s not.
Because . . . we’re going to burn the school down together.
(to audience) After that I see the world for what it is.
Angelina can
’t talk.
She’s just a stupid dog.
Our mom never loved us.
She couldn’t even love herself.
And no one gets a sacred gift from Creator.
After my brother dies I don’t believe anymore.
And that’s when my kohkum has the ceremony.
kohkum: Kaytayak miyna Awasisak Ka kiyow Kitatamskatinawaw!
Ahta O’sam Ayoskayouyake Oota Kitayanawaw.
Nikamok, Aykaya Kapayakapawit Napaysis.
Ah Nootch Katipiskak, Aykakiysimowa miyna Aynikamowa . . .
Aykiskisiya Ispiy Kakiy Wanihat O’siymisa.
wind: My kohkum prayed all night.
After that she slowed down.
She didn’t get sick right away but she didn’t have that same bounce in her half-step anymore.
Like she left something in that ceremony for me.
And it worked.
For a while.
wind goes to the audience member who saved him.
I need that bag back.
I need that bag back.
I’m almost finished.
Can I please have my bag back?
If the audience member offers the bag, wind refuses it. If the audience member keeps the bag:
Thank you.
He returns to the stage. He turns back.
He takes another plastic bag out of his pocket. He puts it on his head. He duct-tapes a seal around his throat.
But no matter how many times you try and save me you can still find me here.
Not trying to take a plastic bag off my head.
Rebreathing the same breath until it chokes me.
Six minutes under.
See?
I told you.
There really is a perfectly rational explanation for all of this.
But this time I wish my little brother were here.
Because he could just come here and pick me up.
That’s when it happens.
Tennis shoes.
Tiny and soggy-wet tennis shoes squeak across the linoleum floor.
Then a chair slides against the counter.
And as the tiny shoes disappear onto the chair out of sight—and as the cupboard door creaks open—and as the key to my handcuffs falls from the sky onto the floor in front of me I swear: I can smell tomatoes.
wind unlocks the handcuffs and tears the mask off his face. He breathes. Whoosh.
Breathe.
The lights fade out.
Stitch
Production History
Stitch received its first workshop through Cahoots Theatre Projects in 2009 with dramaturgy by Jovanni Sy. It was performed by Michelle Latimer. Later in 2009, Alberta Aboriginal Arts read an excerpt at the first annual Rubaboo Arts Festival in Edmonton. The performer was Reneltta Arluk. VideoCabaret supported workshops in 2010 and 2011 with dramaturgy by Jovanni Sy. The performers were PJ Prudat and Cara Gee.
The play debuted at the Factory Theatre Studio, Toronto, as part of the 2011 SummerWorks Performance Festival, with the following cast and creative team:
Director: Jovanni Sy
Designer: Andy Moro
Performer: Cara Gee
Stage Manager: Nicholas Paddison
The play won the Spotlight Award for Performance as well as Theatre Passe Muraille’s Emerging Artist Award for the script.
In 2011, Playwrights’ Workshop Montréal facilitated a dramaturgical reading with Lois Brown. In 2015 Culture Storm remounted the work in the Aki Studio, Toronto, as part of Native Earth Performing Arts’s 2014/15 season. The play was directed by Jovanni Sy, designed by Andy Moro, stage managed by Jen Stobart, and performed by Georgina Beaty.
Thanks to everyone who asked poignant questions, especially to Leanna Brodie and Tara Beagan, and to Yvette Nolan for speaking of hope.
Characters
Kylie Grandview
kylie covers her face with her hand.
kylie: You’re sick.
I mean that.
You’re disgusting.
I find you repulsive.
Do you see what I’m saying?
I would sooner let a cockroach inside me than you.
You’re only here because you’ve had a derangement since birth that makes you get off on the worst on the Internet.
And let me tell you: the Internet is a big place.
But the ugly truth is that I need you.
I know: you’re so pathetic; I can hardly believe it myself.
So I won’t be asking much of you.
Just do what you always do.
Watch.
Because if you don’t see this it’s kind of like I never existed.
So put your hand on your mouse and click me.
kylie removes her hand to expose a terrible expression on her face, a scar from the bottom of her top lip to the bridge of her nose. As graceful as a dancer, kylie becomes the monster who cut her face. The scorn becomes a smile as she returns to herself.
That’s how this is going to go: like a porn video.
A stream of images flashing on a screen.
Part one of three: the story.
Part two of three: the build-up to some big climax.
Then just when you can’t take it anymore there’s going to be a huge explosion.
All over my face.
So click me.
You’re all by yourself and I’m what you’ve always wanted.
I’m Kylie Grandview, the girl next door.
I’m Kylie Grandview, the cute lesbian.
I’m Kylie Grandview, your schoolgirl fantasy.
I’m interracial hardcore, double penetration, and a cum facial.
I come with heels, whips, and a yeast infection.
Click me.
I’m a mom you’d like to fuck.
Click me.
I’m the slave selling myself into freedom.
Click me at the boss’s office.
This is my big moment: the box scene.
The one where I totally believe “Big-Time Agent” is going to make my Hollywood dreams come true . . . if I suck his cock.
I’m about to roll in like I’m out of bubble gum when the director, Stephen Steelcock, says:
stephen steelcock: Oh hey.
Kylie.
Leeya Springwood is here.
We’re gonna double you guys with what’s-his-name . . . Big Time.
kylie: This was going to be a boy/girl.
stephen steelcock: Yeah.
We didn’t know Leeya was coming.
She just showed up.
Isn’t that great?
kylie: Yeah, great.
Can I just go first?
Big Time can go twice, can’t you, Big Time?
stephen steelcock: Big Time already went twice.
It’ll be faster this way.
kylie: For you.
For me it’s gonna take twice as long.
I have to pick up my kid.
stephen steelcock: Are we having a conversation right now?
Do I give a fuck?
Be in the movie or be picking up your kid.
Leeya’s going to enter and threaten to sue for sexual misconduct in the workplace unless—
kylie: —she can suck his cock?
stephen steelcock: Yeah!
kylie: She’s going to have trouble saying “liability.”
stephen steelcock: That’s not a significant factor for me.
kylie: (to audience) Click to one minute and seven seconds later.
The director says:
stephen steelcock: Go.
kylie: (to audience) And I say:
(having sex with her invisible partner) Oh go
d!
Oh god!
Fuck me!
Oh god, fuck me!
Oh god!
(to audience) I’m good at what I do.
Sex isn’t part of the romance.
It’s who I am.
Big Time fucks Leeya Springwood doggy style while she performs a humiliating and uninspired cunnilingus on me.
I writhe and moan and shiver with wave after wave of fake orgasms.
I’m just starting to go to that blank screen, not-really-there place when she says it.
One of those things that just knocks everyone right over.
leeya springwood: (to Big Time) Punch me.
Do you wanna punch me?
kylie: (to audience) The lighting guy looks over at the sound guy and we all look up at Big Time.
To see if he’s going to do it.
I realize I’m looking at him for the first time.
Big Time looks up at the director as if to ask permission—and let me tell you: Stephen Steelcock is just falling over himself.
So Big Time punches her.
Gently.
A gentle rap with the side of his palm that makes her jump sideways and yelp a little.
This is just the kind of move that makes this a “Starring Leeya Springwood, Also Featuring Kylie Grandview” sort of thing.
After a few hits the director laughs and he stops.
But, oh no: she knows the rules.
If she doesn’t, she’s about to find out.
I ball up a fist and crack her in the side as hard as I can.
She yells in pain.
The director says:
stephen steelcock: Yeah, nice.
kylie: (to audience) So I crack her again in the same spot and then again, and again . . . then I get carried away.
I punch her again and grab her by the hair and jerk her over on her back.
I climb on the desk and pin her hands behind her back.
I slap her across the fucking face and then punch—
stephen steelcock: Stop.
leeya springwood: Owwwah!
Take it easy, you freak.
kylie: (to audience) I’m not embarrassed.
I love it.
I’m back on top and she knows it.
She’s rubbing her side, feigning injury.
She’s had worse in the trailer park.
Poor lamb.
Looking for sympathy in a room full of people who make pornography for a living.
Sorry, there’s only one way to get ahead in this business and that’s not it.
Now it’s my turn to take control of this movie.
I reach around to put—