The Bride At Every Funeral

The Bride at Every Funeral
by Jacob Juntunen

JOHN
I had just won a smallish biggish deal award in poetry circles when my father died. It wasn’t unexpected. I knew I was a finalist, and it was a pretty good poem that got published this year. I’m nominated almost every year. And Dad had been fighting cancer all winter, so his death wasn’t unexpected either. It was a grey slushy day when we had his viewing.

(MICHELLE enters)

MICHELLE
I’m so sorry for your loss. But it’s so good you could be with him in the hospital in those final moments.

JOHN
Yeah, thanks, Aunt Michelle.

MICHELLE
Family’s so important at a time like this.

JOHN
Absolutely. And at least there’s a little good news to take my mind off it.

MICHELLE
The Gunterman Prize for Verse?

JOHN
I guess they have to give it to you after nominating you half a dozen times.

MICHELLE
That poem; I saw it in Leaves of Grass Monthly. It really moved me. I’m glad your father got to know you won the prize.

(MICHELLE exits)

JOHN
That was my Aunt. She always got on well with me and my Dad. Supported my writing, helped out when he was in the hospital. Her son, though, was a total asshole.

(LUKE enters)

LUKE
John!

JOHN
Cousin Luke.

LUKE
Bad news, man.

JOHN
But at least there’s some good news to take my mind off it.

LUKE
Oh, so my Mom already mentioned—

JOHN
Well, it’s just a smallish, biggish award—

LUKE
Who’s the best writer that ever lived?

JOHN
Oh, just because of this prize I don’t think we can say—

LUKE
Seriously. Who’s the best writer that ever lived?

JOHN
Uh, T.S. Elliot?

LUKE
Because of Cats? No way. Best selling author ever.

JOHN
Um. God? The Bible? But I appreciate what you’re trying to say, I mean, Leaves of Grass Monthly is a pretty big journal—

LUKE
Stephen King. No one has sold more than him. He is the literary master of our age. Of any age. You find Romeo and Juliet on clearance for a dollar, not It. Fucking clowns still terrify me.

JOHN
Well, that’s genre fiction, not really the sort of thing I do—

LUKE
Exactly. We can’t all be Stephen King, right?

JOHN
Right, so, I’m just keeping my mind focused on the good news here. It’s probably like a rule that they can’t keep nominating me for the award—

LUKE
You know what sucks, though? It won its share of awards, Stephen King has won tons of awards, but not the Pulitzer. Can you believe that? Stephen King has never won a Pulitzer though he’s sold more books than the Pulitzer authors put together.

JOHN
Well, hey, sometimes those smallish biggish deal awards really keep a writer going.

LUKE
Right. Exactly.

JOHN
So the good news? That will perk me up during this dark time? Maybe a congratulatory—

LUKE
Yeah, so I guess if Mom told you, the cat’s already out of the bag. My book is selling like wildfire on Amazon! For Kindle and paperback.

JOHN
You self-published?

LUKE
And I’ve already sold a thousand copies. People are making their living this way. Cut out the middle-man, you know? Anyway, it’s horror, of course, the real genre of our times. I’ve got some copies with me.

JOHN
You’re selling your book at my father’s funeral?

LUKE
It’s a great way to take advantage of the family discount.

(LUKE freezes)

JOHN
So I balled up my fist and threw it against his face for the thousands of poets in the land that would have chewed off their writing hand for the smallish biggish prize I won; a mass of disembodied arms in black sleeves and white cuffs held me back while I screamed “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” at him; but like Hercules bending to his tasks, I wrenched out of their vice-like grip, felt my enemy’s hair between my fingers, and pulled his shrieking head into the crisp air and softly falling snow; I shoved him down into the rushing gutter. I nearly finished the first stanza of “Prufrock,” but felt it more appropriate to stop at: “Oh, do not ask, ‘what is it?’”; and I slammed the door. Inside, nothing but silence, blank faces staring at me like white faced clowns, until a few cousins began slow applause, which gradually built and built—

(MICHELLE enters and LUKE unfreezes)

MICHELLE
Did you tell John your good news?

LUKE
Mom’s real proud to finally have a writer in the family.

MICHELLE
Isn’t it amazing? You should get him to sign a copy for you before he gets too famous.

JOHN
Thanks for paying your respects.

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More Jelly Beans!

More Jelly Beans!
by Jacob Juntunen

(RONNIE has a couple bags of jelly beans.)

RONNIE
Hey, Kids! It’s Uncle Ronnie! Here, have some jelly beans. No, go ahead, pass them around. They’re my favorite. We’re here to have Presidents’ Field Day before I get shot! I was a lifeguard when I wasn’t much older than you, and when I was really old I sheltered the country in many a storm: when the spaceship blew up, I was your comforting grandparent. I fired all those pesky people that control the airplanes when they turned into communists. And I made another old man take down a wall. But someone still shoots me at the end of this play. It seems unfair. I’ve got about four minutes to live. Did everybody get jelly beans? Keep passing them around. Okay, time to play our games. Who wants to have a three-legged race!?

(General cries of, “Me, me, me!”)

RONNIE
Okay, you, you, you and you. (he picked 2 black kids and 2 white kids) Promise not to shoot me and you’ll get a jelly bean.

TAMICA (black), JENNIFER and ANNIE (both white)
We promise.

RONNIE
(giving beans) Good girls. What about you?

BEN (black)
I don’t know.

ANNIE
Uncle Ronnie! Uncle Ronnie! I had two Daddies! I won’t shoot you!

RONNIE
Two daddies? Well, that’s not actually possible, honey, but you’ve got a good imagination. You can have another jelly bean. (To BEN) Do you promise not to shoot me?

BEN
I don’t know.

RONNIE
Do you know that you don’t get presidents’ day off from school anymore because a communist man with skin like yours got shot? He was never president. All he did was have a dream. You kids have dreams, don’t you? Having dreams is easy, but being president is hard. We’ll see how long history admires the colored communist. On to the event! The three-legged race! It’s easy, two teams, and whoever gets to the other side of the room first gets a jelly bean.

ANNIE
(holding BEN’s hand) We want to be a team!

RONNIE
Now, honey, you two can’t be a team.

ANNIE
But he’s my best friend…

RONNIE
Okay, (putting Tamica and Ben together), you’re a team, and (putting Jennifer and Annie together), you’re a team. Now get lined up here. And before we start…

(RONNIE puts a shackle on the ankles of TAMICA and BEN)

BEN
Whoa, man, what are you doing?!

RONNIE
Shackling you. It’s a three-legged race.

BEN
What about them?

RONNIE
They’re going to keep their legs together voluntarily. Ready? On your marks, get set, go!

(The white team easily wins)

RONNIE (cont)
Very good! Here’s your jelly beans.

BEN
That’s not fair, man!

RONNIE
Don’t be so angry.

BEN
Why do I have to be shackled?!

RONNIE
If you keep up this yelling, you’ll be shackled for a long time.

BEN
My Dad says people like you can’t shackle us anymore.

RONNIE
You used to get a day off school because a president—a real president, with a tall hat—freed your grandparents. Or parents. Or something. I get confused sometimes. And I was president, too, so I’m part of what freed you—

ANNIE
My daddy used to teach history, and he said—

RONNIE
Which of your two Daddies? Right, Annie? Ha, ha. You sure have a good imagination.

ANNIE
The dead one. He taught history.

RONNIE
Oh, so you have a daddy and a step-daddy. I understand now—

ANNIE
No, I had two Daddies—

BEN
I want a rematch.

RONNIE
Okay! Another race.

BEN
Shackle them, too.

RONNIE
Oh, they don’t need it.

BEN
Let me call my Dad.

RONNIE
Will they let him come to the prison phone?

BEN
My Dad’s an engineer for IBM in Silicon Valley—

RONNIE
On a long business trip? Is that what your mommy told you?

BEN
No—

RONNIE
(to TAMICA)And, you, I suppose your mommy has eighty names, thirty addresses, twelve Social Security cards and is collecting veteran's benefits on four non-existing deceased husbands? We call that a welfare queen.

TAMICA
She sells for Mary Kay.

RONNIE
I’m sure that’s what she tells you.

BEN
I want to do the race again, with no shackles.

RONNIE
Okay, fine, no shackles. A level playing field. (removes shackles) On your marks, get set, go!

(RONNIE trips BEN and white girls win)

BEN
What’s the matter with you, man?!

ANNIE
Why did you trip him?

RONNIE
Don’t worry about it, honey, you won, so here’s another jelly bean.

ANNIE
I don’t want your jelly bean! He’s my best friend and you tripped him! And my Daddy who’s still alive said you killed my other daddy. He got all covered with black splotches and had to go to the hospital. He got skinnier and skinnier, sometimes he poohed the bed when we saw him, and he got white spots all over his tongue before he died. And my daddy who’s still alive said you didn’t care about the disease until your friend Rock got sick.

RONNIE
Now, that’s not true, I cared, I just thought it was like measles, that it would go away.

ANNIE
Well, it didn’t go away! And my Daddy died! And you trip my friends! I hate you! I hate you!

(ANNIE shoots him with her finger; )

RONNIE
Well, I told you this would happen. Enjoy the jelly beans!

(RONNIE dies. Blackout)

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