photo by Joe Mazza and Brave Lux

Thursday, August 9, 2012

First Responders

Part of 31 Plays in 31 Days.                        
            First Responders
            By Jacob Juntunen
(MAN and NURSE are facing one another.)
            MAN
But you don’t understand, he’s my partner.
            NURSE
He’s getting prepped for surgery. It doesn’t matter who you are, you can’t see him.
            MAN
We were some of the first responders when the towers fell, digging through that rubble together—
            NURSE
Making it ten years after that is pretty good.
            MAN
After all the shit we breathed? I’m the only one I know from our group that doesn’t have something wrong with me.
            NURSE
We’re going to do our best for him, but he’s not young anymore, and there’s fluid in his lungs—
            MAN
So you’ve got to let me see him. What if he never wakes up?
            NURSE
He’s already had the drugs; he’s barely conscious—
            MAN
But he’s awake?
            NURSE
Barely, I don’t know if he’d even recognize you.
            MAN
After all these years together?
            NURSE
I’m sorry.
            MAN
What if I wear scrubs or whatever?
            NURSE
We don’t have any extra—
            MAN
You’ve got to have those surgery masks or whatever. I can wash up, do whatever doctors do before surgery—
            NURSE
He’s not in surgery yet—
            MAN
Then why can’t I see him?
            NURSE
He’s being prepped, they’re shaving his chest, they’ve already got him on a sedative, and the anesthesiologist—
            MAN
What if you came back with me?
            NURSE
Someone’s got to be at the front desk.
            MAN
Call someone else! I’m sorry. I don’t mean to yell, it’s just—
            NURSE
I understand.
            MAN
—we’ve been together for over a decade. Come back with me, I’ll do whatever you say. If you say we’ve got to leave, I’ll leave, but I’ve got to see him, tell him everything will be okay, pet him one last time. When we were going through the rubble, we thought his nose would find all kids of wounded, but there weren’t any survivors. We just kept finding bits of people. But people would see him, fall to their knees—tough guys, too, you know? Guys I’ve known since we were in the academy together—and they’d just cry into his fur. He was our four-legged shrink, getting us through those days. I can’t let him go without saying goodbye.
            NURSE
(picking up phone) Hey, Marie? Can you come up and watch the front desk for a few minutes?

Jacob is head of playwriting at Southern Illinois University, Carbondale. 
Read his full lengths
here.

No comments:

Post a Comment