The Best American Short Plays 2010-2011

by William W. Demastes

  CLIFF All right. The Bible says that a man and his wife shall be one flesh.

  SHERRI Matthew 19:5.

  ANDY You know the verse?

  SHERRI [Pointing to the needlepoint on the wall.] It was a wedding gift.

  CLIFF But what does it mean? It’s obviously not literal—husbands and wives maintain distinct bodies.

  SHERRI Not in death they don’t.

  CLIFF Exactly. What if in death your soul is reunited with the souls of those you love—not merely reunited, but joined. So that by loving another person, and being loved in return, your spirit—your consciousness—is enlarged. By loving, you become a more complete person—and now I’m speaking literally—two souls become one, and the resulting person, when this soul is reborn—

  SHERRI The Bible doesn’t say anything about reincarnation—

  CLIFF The resulting person carries the accumulated wisdom of two people. And when this person loves and is loved in return, the souls join again, they’re reborn—

  SHERRI Clifford—

  CLIFF And the resulting person carries the accumulated wisdom of three people, or four, or sixteen, or however many lovers joined in death to create life. So that our purpose in living is to love, and in a perfect world, as we achieve our purpose, we move inexorably toward that moment when every soul that has ever existed is joined together in perfect love. And this is heaven. And this universal soul, bound by love, encompassing all creation, is God.

  [ANDY takes a sip of tea—his first. SHERRI turns to him.]

  SHERRI Mr. Bowden, I hope he’s not offending you.

  ANDY I’m not offended—why would I be offended?

  SHERRI Now there’s no need to get defensive.

  ANDY I have a question. You mind if I ask a question?

  CLIFF Go for it.

  ANDY My question is, what kind of a world you’re living in to call it perfect. Because the world where the rest of us live is anything but.

  CLIFF You’re right. And it follows that if love brings souls together, hatred must tear them apart.

  ANDY Hatred?

  CLIFF Enforced pain, suffering—call it what you will. When we hurt another person—whether intentional or no, I haven’t decided—we lose a piece of our soul. When we die, if on the whole we have hated more than we’ve loved, we return a less complete person—our soul is less capable of love.

  ANDY What if the other person deserved it?

  CLIFF What if, what if—the end result is the same. In an imperfect world we move inexorably away from other people until finally each soul is cut off behind an insurmountable barrier. Love is impossible. And this we call hell.

  ANDY And Satan?

  CLIFF What about him?

  ANDY Where does he enter the picture?

  CLIFF This isn’t about good versus evil.

  SHERRI You can’t talk about God in His heaven and leave out good and evil.

  CLIFF No, that’s the problem. There’s enough jerks already setting down rules for how to live. Loving other people isn’t even a commandment.

  SHERRI If by jerks you mean preachers—

  CLIFF I don’t mean anyone in particular. Look, you want to hate somebody—

  SHERRI Nobody wants to hate anybody.

  CLIFF Plenty of people want to hate somebody. Be my guest! All I’m saying is the consequence of hatred is you end up alone.

  ANDY And the consequence of love is you don’t?

  CLIFF The consequence of love is the union of souls.

  ANDY That’s a mouthful of bull. I know plenty of people that fell in love and got married—

  CLIFF I didn’t say anything about marriage.

  ANDY They end up just as alone as if they’d never loved at all.

  CLIFF Because of death?

  ANDY Because of life! Because of white lies and everyday stress. Because of absent children and adultery.

  SHERRI Mr. Bowden—

  ANDY Because to love until death do you part requires a greater miracle than what brought you together in the first place.

  SHERRI Mr. Bowden, he doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

  CLIFF Sherri, I’ve been in love.

  ANDY She love you back?

  CLIFF Yes.

  ANDY How do you know?

  CLIFF Because she told me.

  ANDY How do you know?

  CLIFF Because I loved her.

  ANDY No more?

  CLIFF That’s a good question.

  ANDY What’s the answer?

  CLIFF It’s kind of beside the point. She lives in Albuquerque now, and I live here.

  [CLIFF takes a sip of tea and grins at SHERRI.]

  Soon as the power’s fixed, I’m teaching you to make coffee.

  [CLIFF glances at his cell phone. He presses several buttons, as though scrolling through a text message.]

  Sweet!

  [CLIFF leaps to his feet and hurries into the vestibule. We hear him pulling on boots and a jacket.]

  ANDY Where are you going?

  [CLIFF pokes his head—now covered in a stocking cap—into the parlor.]

  CLIFF Snowball fight in the park.

  SHERRI I think I’ll pass.

  CLIFF I’ll shovel the walk when I get back.

  [CLIFF disappears into the vestibule. The front door opens and slams shut. SHERRI calls after him.]

  SHERRI AND FINISH YOUR THESIS!

  [To ANDY.]

  Did you want to go with him?

  ANDY No.

  SHERRI Mr. Bowden, I apologize if Clifford seems tactless. To hear that talk about love, you’d expect to find a wedding band on his finger. Lord, if I had a dollar for every new girl I’ve seen at breakfast—

  ANDY He was right about me and Karen.

  SHERRI Pardon?

  ANDY Looking back, I can’t say we were ever much in love.

  SHERRI I’m sure that’s not true.

  ANDY You don’t know anything about it. I’m not begging for pity, I’m stating a fact. We stayed together out of duty to each other, not love.

  SHERRI Duty’s nothing to take lightly.

  ANDY These letters say you’re wrong.

  [He pulls a bundle of opened letters from his jacket pocket.]

  Duty’s a bigger sham than love, Mrs. Blount. Love makes fewer promises.

  SHERRI There were times I’d have agreed with you. When Lou and me were fighting over what, I can’t recall. Duty kept us together till the love could find its way back. Love that was all the more sweeter for having been so nearly lost.

  ANDY You have no idea how near.

  SHERRI I’ve got a better idea than you, I think.

  ANDY Mrs. Blount, it was your husband she was having the affair with!

  [Tossing the letters on the table.]

  That’s his name on the envelopes. That’s his signature inside. You still want to tell me about duty?

  SHERRI I want you to leave my home.

  ANDY Where should I go?

  SHERRI Anywhere but my home!

  ANDY Mrs. Blount—

  SHERRI Don’t you dare come any closer!

  ANDY You had a right to know.

  SHERRI You smug little—I already knew.

  ANDY What?

  SHERRI My husband was a salesman. He traveled to places all over the Midwest. On one of those travels, Mr. Bowden, he met your wife. They started an affair, lasted thirteen months. They ended it, and he told me. That was over sixteen years ago.

  ANDY They didn’t end it.

  SHERRI They ended it. Didn’t you read the dates of those letters?

  ANDY They were still writing each other when he died! That letter on top—read it for yourself. Not sixteen years ago. Three!

  [ANDY holds up a letter for SHERRI to see. She takes it from him, removes it from the envelope, and begins to read.]

  Mrs. Blount, I—

  [SHERRI cuts him off with a gesture. She finishes reading, returns the letter to its envelope, and hands it back to ANDY.]

  I shouldn’
t have come here. I’ve hurt you...I’m sorry.

  [SHERRI stands. Without a word, she crosses into the parlor and exits up the stairs. ANDY looks at the letter for a long moment. Then he tears it in half, followed by the other letters. Outside, the snowplow groans its return. The front door opens and closes, and CLIFF enters from the vestibule; his pants are soaked with melted snow.]

  CLIFF Plow’s coming through.

  ANDY What?

  CLIFF Case you need to get somewhere.

  [Calling upstairs.]

  HEY, SHERRI, WE’RE PLOWED!

  ANDY No.

  CLIFF GIVE ME AN HOUR—I’LL CLEAR THE STOOP!

  [CLIFF hurries through the dining room and exits into the kitchen. ANDY stands and crosses to the window. He watches the snowplow move slowly down the street. CLIFF re-enters, carrying a metal trash can lid.]

  ANDY What’s that?

  CLIFF Shield.

  ANDY What?

  CLIFF It’s brutal out there, man.

  [CLIFF crosses to the vestibule. ANDY stops him.]

  ANDY Tell me about the husband.

  CLIFF Who?

  ANDY Her husband. You knew him, right?

  CLIFF Sure.

  ANDY And?

  CLIFF Really great guy.

  [CLIFF pounds on the lid as though preparing for battle and exits into the street. ANDY continues to watch from the window; when the world is quiet once more, he turns to go back to his room. As he reaches the stairs, SHERRI re-enters from the second floor, carrying a small box. She crosses slowly to the dining room table and sits. ANDY follows, lost.]

  SHERRI Mr. Bowden, please have a seat.

  ANDY Mrs. Blount—

  SHERRI Please sit down.

  [ANDY sits. SHERRI watches him closely. She drums her fingers on the box.]

  ANDY What’s that?

  SHERRI Do you carry pictures of your wife?

  ANDY Why?

  SHERRI I want to know what she looked like.

  ANDY Before or after the chemo?

  SHERRI The moment he first laid eyes on her.

  ANDY I can’t help you there.

  SHERRI No. I didn’t think you could.

  [She passes him the box. He grabs at the lid, then hesitates.]

  ANDY Should I—

  SHERRI You opened everything else. Might as well.

  [ANDY opens the box. He removes a bundle of letters, also opened.]

  ANDY From Karen...

  [SHERRI nods.]

  What do they say?

  SHERRI I never read them.

  ANDY Why not?

  SHERRI They’re not addressed to me.

  ANDY You giving them to me?

  SHERRI Do you want them?

  [ANDY nods.]

  Then they’re yours.

  ANDY Mrs. Blount, I can’t—

  SHERRI Suit yourself.

  [SHERRI takes back the letters, stands, and crosses to the fireplace. She opens the gate.]

  ANDY What are you—

  SHERRI Mr. Bowden, I don’t intend to re-think over thirty years of marriage just because you walk into my home with a pile of letters. I have letters of my own. And if nobody wants them, I’m going to burn them.

  [SHERRI holds out the letters, as though to give ANDY one last chance to take them. He stares, greatly tempted, and finally snatches them from her hand.]

  ANDY Fair’s fair....

  [ANDY removes his wallet from a pocket and pulls from it a small photograph. He hands the photograph to SHERRI. For a long moment she looks, her face expressionless. Then she tosses it into the fire.]

  SHERRI How long will you be needing a room for, Mr. Bowden?

  ANDY Till the snow melts, I guess.

  SHERRI They’re already talking another storm this weekend.

  [SHERRI closes the fireplace. She glances at herself in the mirror, instinctively brushes a few stray hairs, then crosses into the parlor.]

  ANDY Where are you going?

  SHERRI A walk.

  [SHERRI exits into the vestibule. ANDY flips through the letters. A moment passes, then SHERRI re-enters, wearing a winter coat, boots, and a scarf.]

  Care to join me?

  ANDY No. Thank you.

  SHERRI You ever live in the country?

  ANDY What do you mean?

  SHERRI Just someplace where the snow stays fresh for days after a storm. Sometimes weeks. Instead of turning to slush. You got people already racing to shovel themselves out—take a look outside, you don’t believe me.

  ANDY Can’t really blame them.

  SHERRI City never looks so lovely as just after it snows. You almost forget where you are.

  [ANDY nods, only half listening.]

  If you do go out, Mr. Bowden—

  ANDY What?

  SHERRI Please remember to lock the door.

  ANDY Yep.

  [SHERRI exits into the vestibule. The front door opens and closes, and a key turns in the lock. Then all is still. ANDY opens a letter. He falls to reading as the lights fade to black.]

  • • •

  Eleanor’s Passing

  John Patrick Bray

  Eleanor’s Passing by John Patrick Bray. Copyright © 2012 by John Patrick Bray. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  CAUTION/ADVICE: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that performance of Eleanor’s Passing is subject to a royalty. It is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America, and of all countries covered by the International Copyright Union (including the Dominion of Canada and the rest of the British Commonwealth), and of all countries covered by the Pan-American Copyright Convention and the Universal Copyright Convention, the Berne Convention, and of all countries with which the United States has reciprocal copyright relations. All rights, including professional and amateur stage performing rights, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound recording, all other forms of mechanical or electronic reproduction, such as CD-ROM, DVD-ROM, information storage and retrieval systems, and photocopying, and the rights of translation into foreign languages, are strictly reserved. Particular emphasis is placed upon the matter of readings, permission for which must be secured from the author’s agent in writing.

  Inquiries concerning rights should be addressed to John Patrick Bray at JohnPatrickBray@yahoo.com.

  John Patrick Bray

  John Patrick Bray is a lecturer in the Department of Theatre and Film Studies at the University of Georgia. He earned his PhD in theater at Louisiana State University, and his MFA in playwriting from the New School (Actors Studio Drama School). He has written under grants from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Acadiana Center for the Arts in Lafayette, Louisiana, and has earned commissions from organizations in Louisiana and Off-Off Broadway. His work has been published by Next Stage Press, Smith and Kraus, JACPublishing, Heartland Plays, Inc., and the Riant Theatre. Bray is a member of the Dramatists Guild of America, Inc., and he is an Equity membership candidate.

  • • • Production History • • •

  Eleanor’s Passing was one of eight winners of the Heartland Theatre Company’s 2011 Annual Ten-Minute Play Festival in Normal, Illinois. It opened on Thursday, June 9, 2011, with the following cast:

  MOE , Larry Eggan

  GUS, Dave Lemmon

  TALL GLASS , Kevin Woodard

  The production was directed by Christopher Gray.

  Setting

  Present day, MOE’s back porch in Southeast Louisiana.

  Characters

  MOE , in his 70s

  GUS , in his 70s

  TALL GLASS , in his 70s

  Synopsis

  Now that MOE’s wife, Eleanor, has passed away, his old friends GUS and TALL GLASS stop by to cheer him up. Share a beer. Help him out with his house. And his garden. Move in. With a dog. Friends gotta stick together, y’know?

  • • •

  [Lights up. A back porch. Two rocking chairs wi
th a table in between. It is late evening in the late autumn in Southwest Louisiana. The lighting is dim. MOE enters with a small electric lantern. He is dressed mostly in black. He walks with a little bit of a limp. He sets it down between the chairs. He turns and looks at the chairs. A moment. He sits in one. He looks over at the other one. GUS enters. GUS, also an old-timer, is carrying a hunting magazine. He is holding a Bud Light. He looks at MOE and at the other rocking chair. MOE looks up at him. Then away. GUS continues to look at him, drinking his beer.]

  MOE You going to keep on staring at me, or are you fixin’ to take her chair?

  GUS I wouldn’t ask it of you.

  MOE Go ahead.

  GUS I’d say yes, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I like to think we’re close, but not that close.

  [MOE chuckles.]

  Bud Light?

  MOE If I start at this point, I doubt I’d stop. Ever.

  GUS Right.

  MOE How long we know each other, Gus?

  GUS Too long.

  MOE Thought so.

  GUS You want me to...I don’t know...do something?

  MOE Like what?

  GUS It’s what I keep asking myself. You know. What can I do? I want to do something. All I got is beer.

  [Pause.]

  I got a dog too.

  [MOE gives him a severe look.]

  Now you think of how I regard Wallace before you start looking at me like that.

  MOE [Chuckles.] I’m sure Eleanor wouldn’t approve.

  GUS Why not?

  MOE The dog has a prettier name than me. She wouldn’t abide that.

  GUS Sure she would.

  MOE It might tear through her garden. How could I have something that would dig up her garden? That’s all I...

  [Slight pause.]

  GUS What do you think is going to happen?

  MOE I don’t know. Do something, I guess.

  GUS Guess so.

  MOE Wait for my turn.

  GUS Yes, sir. You could do that.

  [Beat.]

  While waiting for God, I enjoy a Bud Light. You sure you don’t want one? I know the kids these days drink Purple Haze. Named after a sixties rock-and-roll song.

  MOE I know the song.

  GUS Tourist shit, you ask me. Come down here. Show off their boobies if you throw them beads. Me? I like Bud Light. It’s unpretentious. The common denominator, you know? You can go into any store from here to Santa Fe, and you’ll find Bud Light.