photo by Joe Mazza and Brave Lux

Monday, February 27, 2012

The Day He Died

The Day He Died
by Jacob Juntunen

For The Fox's Forest

MOM
Thank you all for coming; does anyone need more coffee? I can get a chair from the kitchen if the arm of the couch is— You’re sure? Well. I know you were concerned about the noise in my basement this morning. It’s my son, David. Um. Losing a child is so hard. I remember when John Lennon was shot. I thought, “The voice of my generation is gone.” But the voice of David’s generation, he shot himself this week, didn’t he? And so the noise this morning. You know things like this happen, but you never think it will happen to your child. You wonder, “Was it something I did?”

(David sits, dials a phone. David beeps out “Smells Like Teen Spirit” as he does so. Says, “Ring, ring.” MRS. BILLMAN answers the phone)

MRS. BILLMAN
Hello?

DAVID
Hi Mrs. Billman, this is David with Family Feature Films—

MRS. BILLMAN
Are you selling something?

DAVID
No, ma’am, we’re just calling to see how you liked the film the “Butterball Boys” you bought from us this Christmas—

MRS. BILLMAN
Well, I don’t want to be rude, but my kids didn’t like it at all—

DAVID
Oh, but they’re not supposed to like it.

MRS. BILLMAN
They ran over it with their bikes. Broke it into a million—

DAVID
We’re trying to show Hollywood that there’s a market for family values entertainment. If you buy films from us, you tell Hollywood to make good, clean fun. You want them to do that, don’t you?

MRS. BILLMAN
Of course—

DAVID
So I’ll put you down for a copy of our latest feature, “Francis the Penguin.”

MRS. BILLMAN
I’m not sure—

DAVID
If you’re still on Rural Route 550, I just need to get that credit card number from you.

MRS. BILLMAN
My husband lost his job last week, and we’re not sure we can pay the mortgage this month—

DAVID
But this is only 19.99 to make Hollywood more moral. Can afford not to buy this video?

MOM
That was my David. He could have sold a cup of rain to anyone in Seattle. He was in a band in high school, but thank God he went to college and got a job. It wasn’t perfect, but in this economy? And at least he wasn’t a slacker like every other twenty-something in Seattle.

(DAVID dials the phone and beeps out “Come as You Are” – “ring, ring.” MIKE enters. No one home. DAVID hangs up.)

MIKE
David, that last sale was nice. You’re one away from beating the all-time monthly record. You’re going to make assistant manager for sure. It’s great being a manager; no more calling, just encouraging. Salary, not commission. You are poised, my friend. And they’ll probably bump me up to full manager for motivating all your sales. So I’ll still be your boss.

DAVID
Great.

MIKE
What’s wrong?

DAVID
Did you hear Courtney read his suicide note this morning?

MIKE
That idiot.

DAVID
They covered it on MTV.

MIKE
He had multi-platinum albums; he was fucking rich; why would he kill himself? I mean, his wife is crazy, but he could have had any girl he wanted.

DAVID
He wrote that he couldn’t keep faking it.

MOM
David probably could have been an actor, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He could sense what someone needed and just turn that part of himself on. That’s acting, right? But it’s also sales, and he just shined there. Everybody said so. If he hadn’t done it, he’d be a manager there now.

MIKE
I guess being a rock star was just too hard; he should’ve tried calling strangers eight hours a day and selling them shit they don’t want, right?

DAVID
That’s not very motivating.

MIKE
Oh, come on. Make a few more calls, get that sale, break the record, and you’ll be on my side of the line. No more calling. Just ringing the bell when someone makes a sale, handing out the gift cards to whoever gets the most credit card sales in an afternoon. Plus benefits. Just dial, man.

(DAVID dials and beeps out “All Apologies”—“ring, ring”)

WOMAN
Hello?

DAVID
Sorry, wrong number.

MIKE
What was that?

DAVID
Over half the people we call don’t even have real addresses. They live on Rural Routes, State Routes, they’ve got mortgages they can’t pay, and we get them to buy these videos they think will shake Hollywood’s foundations—

MIKE
What’s wrong with selling them a little bit of hope?

MOM
People say Courtney reading the note kept copycat, um, incidents from happening. But it obviously didn’t help David at all.

DAVID
I quit.

MIKE
Whoa, hold on there. One more sale, and we’ll talk a little time off.

DAVID
I can’t keep faking it.

MIKE
One more sale, you take a few days off, and I’ll make sure you come back an assistant manager. No more calls.

DAVID
It’s not about the calls. It’s about the lies.

MIKE
Whoa, whoa, whoa. We never lie.

DAVID
“Your 19.99 will show Hollywood there’s a market for family entertainment”?

MIKE
It might.

DAVID
I’m done.

MIKE
Okay, so you’re giving your two weeks, just sit back down and get that sale, break the record, and I’ll still get bumped up to manager, and if you change your mind—

DAVID
I don’t hear cash registers in my mind, Mike. I hear music. All the time. I gotta try.

(DAVID exits)

MOM
And that was it. He gave it all up. And I apologize to you about the noise from the basement, but I just don’t know what to do about it. He moved back home, fixed the basement up into some kind of studio, and got his high school band back together. David won’t even consider a day job. He and his friends just play and play and play that music. If you can call screaming and feedback music. I know you paid too much for the houses in this neighborhood to hear it all the time, so we’re going to sound-proof the basement. I hope you won’t call the police anymore for the noise violations; maybe the band will get better. It’s so sad to see your child self-destruct like this. Can I get anyone more coffee?

Read full lengths by Jacob Juntunen here!

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Grandma's Ring

Grandma’s Ring
by Jacob Juntunen

(DAD is entirely under a sheet on a block. CHRISTY and ANN are mid-conversation)

ANN
Do we have to do this here in front of everybody?

CHRISTY
Where should we do it, back in the hospital? Oh, wait, you were never there.

ANN
I visited Dad, I just didn’t want to see you.

CHRISTY
He said you never talked to him after Molly’s christening, and you didn’t call me the whole time he was sick—

ANN
I’m here now.

CHRISTY
You never gave him a chance to explain.

ANN
He made it clear who his real daughter was.

(CHRISTY takes off a ring)

CHRISTY
With this little bit of gold and diamond?

ANN
That should be mine.

CHRISTY
Dad gave it to me.

ANN
When Grandma was dying she handed it to me.

CHRISTY
You were eight. She just didn’t want to get buried in it, wanted Dad to watch over it—

ANN
Give me the ring, and let’s just start over.

CHRISTY
Do you want me to give you the ring or to have me in Molly’s life?

ANN
Give me the ring.

(Light shift; CHRISTY exits and DAD sits up, using the sheet as a blanket)

DAD
Does Christy know you’re here?

ANN
I don’t want to talk to her. What do the doctors say?

DAD
I’m glad you came. I was afraid I might not get to say goodbye.

ANN
Why did you let Christy get married in the yard?

DAD
I have cancer, I’m not going to get out of here, and you can’t stop competing with your sister­—

ANN
I wanted to get married in your yard, but you told me no—

DAD
I overextended that summer; I should have never volunteered for the Fourth of July parade—

ANN
But when it was Christy’s marriage, you set up tables with flowers, found a Catholic priest—

DAD
It was an issue of timing, not favoritism—

ANN
How often do you talk to her?

DAD
You moved three states away—

ANN
You think it’s easy to find teaching jobs these days? And you can’t pick up a phone?

DAD
Okay, I could’ve called more, it’s true, but she lives ten minutes away, so of course I talk to her more—

ANN
And Grandma’s ring?

DAD
Bill’s got plenty to get you a beautiful ring, and back then I didn’t think Christy would ever get married. I thought it was a nice gesture to give it to her. It’s just an art deco ring, not like that elegant setting Bill got you—

ANN
Goodbye, Dad.

(Light shift and ANN takes the blanket and holds it like a baby; CHRISTY enters)

CHRISTY
Omigod!

ANN
Molly, this is your aunt Christy.

CHRISTY
It’s so nice to meet you, Molly! She looks just like you.

ANN
I think she looks like Dad, like a little old man.

DAD
Hopefully she’ll grow out of that.

CHRISTY
Where’s Bill?

ANN
He’s talking with the priest.

CHRISTY
Can I hold her?

(ANN gives CHRISTY the blanket)

ANN
Is that Grandma’s wedding ring?

CHRISTY
I found it at Thanksgiving. Too bad you couldn’t come home—

ANN
I was pregnant. Bill’s family came to our house. You were all invited— Dad?

DAD
Turns out it was in your Grandma’s jewelry box.

ANN
I told you to look there.

DAD
Well, maybe if you’d gotten married at home—

ANN
I wanted to get married in the yard!

DAD
Then why’d I pay for that huge Church?

CHRISTY
Mother Rome always takes her thirty pieces of silver, doesn’t she?

ANN
Why’d you give her the ring?

DAD
Well, you were holding down the fort with Bill’s family for the holidays and I thought Christy could use something special—

CHRISTY
It looks good, doesn’t it? All art deco and crap?

ANN
Give me Molly. Now.

DAD
Annie, what’s wrong?

ANN
Both of you, just get inside— Go! I said go!

(DAD and CHRISTY exit, confused; light shift; ANN flaps the sheet out and puts it on like a wedding dress. DAD enters.)

DAD
That’s some train.

ANN
Is it too much?

DAD
Nothing’s too much for a bride. Is the church all right?

ANN
It’s perfect. I just wish Grandma could be here.

DAD
I’m sure she’s looking down on this.

ANN
I remember sitting on that green couch with the doilies on the arms, listening to her talk in her brogue about her outdoor wedding, about being a protestant marrying a catholic in the old country. How neither church would let them get married inside.

DAD
When did she tell you that?

ANN
It was that last summer she was sick. She talked about it all the time when you took Christy to the playground. You said I was too old to go, that I had to “hold down the fort” with grandma. I think she felt sorry for me.

DAD
Well, you were eight and Christy was four. I had to entertain Christy somehow, and you were old enough to take care of grandma—

ANN
She told me how her Dad stood up to everybody for her, that he made sure his daughter got everything she wanted. He did it all for her. He put tables covered in flowers in the yard, found a free-thinking priest. He even bought the ring when the groom couldn’t afford it. She used to say she wanted me to have that ring.

DAD
I’m sorry, I looked for it, I’ve just been so busy—

ANN
I know you are. But this is perfect. Everything is perfect, Dad. Thank you.

(ANN kisses DAD on the cheek, and they hug. The wedding march is heard.)

DAD
Ready?

(Tableau of ANN and DAD, arm in arm, about to walk into the church. Lights and music fade out.)


Read full lengths by Jacob Juntunen here!

Monday, February 6, 2012

Dying Alone

Dying Alone
by Jacob Juntunen

For Meghann

(MA and PA stand on a rectangle block; they hold a white sheet hanging down over their bodies. YOUNG WOMAN and YOUNG MAN sit facing each other, each reading a book. WOMAN and MAN lie in each other’s arms leaning against the block that MA and PA stand on, forming the peak of a triangle with YOUNG WOMAN and YOUNG MAN’s seats. Only YOUNG WOMAN can hear MA and PA.)

MA
They’re naked mole rats, blind, digging these tunnels, these networks, that they think matter— to what? To get to a desk faster? To move zeros and ones in a space that doesn’t exist?

PA
But there are real accomplishments. She can move from one end of the city to the other while reading. For a couple bucks.

YOUNG WOMAN
It’s just a subway, Pa.

(YOUNG MAN hears the YOUNG WOMAN and looks up from his book.)

YOUNG MAN
Um…

(YOUNG WOMAN is embarrassed. Both go back to reading)

MA
“It’s just a subway.” That’s how they are. What about the way the light rushes in through the window on the express? She passes the 33rd Street mosaics everyday, and does she notice them?

PA
There’s a weed growing in the cracks between the sidewalk in front of her apartment that has these delicate little white flowers, and she stepped on it today. I’ll be amazed if she visits Central Park once this spring.

YOUNG WOMAN
The park’s way on the other side of town.

YOUNG MAN
Um. Yeah. You’re right.

YOUNG WOMAN
Sorry, it’s, um, my parents?

YOUNG MAN
Right! Sorry. Didn’t see the, um, Bluetooth.

YOUNG WOMAN
It’s cool.

MA
What’s wrong? You can’t have a conversation?

PA
You want to die alone?

YOUNG WOMAN
Of course I don’t want to die alone.

YOUNG MAN
They sound like my parents.

YOUNG WOMAN
I’m not actually talking to— Well— They actually passed away…

YOUNG MAN
Oh, sorry.

YOUNG WOMAN
I just. You know. Hear them? I mean, not really. Not crazy-like. Just. Um. It hasn’t been long?

YOUNG MAN
How did they die?

YOUNG WOMAN
Car accident.

YOUNG MAN
Christ, sorry. None of my business—

YOUNG WOMAN
No, it’s fine, actually—

YOUNG MAN
Sorry.

MAN
I’m sorry.

WOMAN
Oh, honey. Don’t be. It happens to everybody. I love you no matter what.

MA
We were lucky.

PA
Bam! No pain.

MA
But I guess she’s determined to die by herself—

YOUNG WOMAN
No I’m not!

YOUNG MAN
Um…

YOUNG WOMAN
No I’m not… seeing that you’re reading the same book as me.

YOUNG MAN
Oh. Yeah. How about that?

YOUNG WOMAN
How many people have Dostoevsky on the train?

YOUNG MAN
At least two.

(Pause)

MA
You can’t think of anything interesting to say about an 800-page book?

MAN
I just never thought it would happen to me so young.

WOMAN
It’s just your body.

MAN
A pretty intimate betrayal of the body, don’t you think?

YOUNG WOMAN
Have you read it before?

MA
There you go!

YOUNG MAN
It’s my third time. You?

YOUNG WOMAN
First time.

YOUNG MAN
There’s this final speech. It’s. Well. I don’t know why anyone bothers to write anymore. There’s nothing left to say. Not after this novel’s funeral oration.

YOUNG WOMAN
You on your way to work?

YOUNG MAN
Isn’t everybody?

YOUNG WOMAN
Can you blow it off?

YOUNG MAN
To do what?

YOUNG WOMAN
Take a walk in the park? The trees are blooming.

PA
That’s my girl!

YOUNG MAN
Uh. Yeah. I could do that.

YOUNG WOMAN
Let’s get off at the next stop and catch a cab. Huh?

(YOUNG MAN and YOUNG WOMAN toss their books upstage towards MAN and WOMAN and run off)

MAN
My body’s eating itself, all these cells going berserk that even radiation can’t kill, and I’m so sorry—

WOMAN
It’s okay. I know you can’t help it.

MAN
Promise me you’ll marry someone else—

WOMAN
No one will compare to you.

MAN
But I don’t want you to die alone.

WOMAN
I won’t.

MAN
But if you never marry someone else, who’s going to wrap their arms around you—

WOMAN
Come on. Just sit back. I’ll read to you.

MAN
I don’t know why we kept two copies of that book all these years.

WOMAN
Just relax. Let me read you the end:

(WOMAN picks up one of the books tossed upstage by the YOUNG MAN and YOUNG WOMAN)

WOMAN
“And so let us, each one of us, remember him as long as we live.”

(As WOMAN reads, MAN gets up and joins MA and PA on the block, all three holding the sheet)

WOMAN
“And whether you are absorbed in the most important pursuits, reaching out for the highest honors, or struck down by the cruelest griefs, always remember how good it felt when we were together, united by a good and decent feeling, which made us, while we all loved this boy, better people, probably, than we would otherwise have been.”

(He’s gone. She looks down as if the body is still there. The MAN, MA and PA bend down and wrap the sheet around her. They stand back up, looking down on her.)

WOMAN
(to the MAN’s body, which she alone sees on the floor) Don’t you see? I could never die alone after being with you.


Read full lengths by Jacob Juntunen here!