Perhaps the Final Story

Perhaps the Final Story

by Jacob Juntunen

DAD:
KID/MOUSE:
WHALE:
MOM:

Setting:
Bed & Sea

DAD is sitting on the KID’s bed, reading.

                                                            KID
Please keep reading this one, Daddy.

                                                            DAD
I don’t know why you want this book tonight of all nights. Where were we?

                                                            KID
The mouse built the boat.

                                                            DAD
Right. “Despite everyone telling him it was impossible, the mouse built his boat and set it afloat on the sea.”

The KID becomes the MOUSE and floats onstage on the bed, which is also a boat.

                                                            DAD (cont)
“The mouse sailed so far from the shore that all she saw around her was water. It was peaceful. Night came, and she lay on her back and looked at the stars. She saw a meteor shower, and a pod of whales spouting in the moonlight.”

The WHALE enters swimming by the MOUSE’s boat.

                                                            WHALE
We have a code blue in room 243.

The WHALE exits as the KID sits up.

                                                            KID
What was that?

                                                            DAD
That wasn’t about you. Darn it. I told her to turn that down.

                                                            KID
It was just the doctor show Mommy watches?

                                                            DAD
Right. It was exactly like that.

                                                            KID
But I saw one where a kid had open heart surgery and, and, and…

                                                            DAD
That was just pretend. I’m going to go tell her again to turn it down—

                                                            KID
Don’t leave!

                                                            DAD
Never. I’ll never leave you.

                                                            KID
Will you just keep reading to me, Daddy?

                                                            DAD
Lie back down. “The Mouse floated for hours.”

The KID becomes the MOUSE again.

                                                            DAD
“But then the rain started, and a giant—” Hey, why don’t we read a different story?

                                                            KID
I want to hear about the mouse!

                                                            DAD
I think there’s a mouse in Green Eggs and Ham?

                                                            KID
Please, Daddy. What if this is my last story?

                                                            DAD
Why would you think that?

                                                            KID
The voice saying code blue?

                                                            DAD
I’m going to go tell her to turn it down. I don’t want you getting scared by—

                                                            KID
If you stay, I won’t be scared. I promise. Just keep reading to me?

As DAD reads, the KID/MOUSE acts out the story.

                                                            DAD
“But then the rain started, and a giant wave came and threw the mouse into the ocean! She floated there under the stars and the moon, and wondered what it would be like to die—”

                                                            KID
Why are you crying, Daddy?

MOM enters.

                                                            MOM
Hey, what’s going on here?

                                                            DAD
Nothing.

                                                            KID
Daddy’s crying.

                                                            MOM
Why are you reading that to her?

                                                            KID
It’s my favorite!

The WHALE enters.

                                                            WHALE
Any pediatrician to room 245, stat.

The WHALE exits.

                                                            DAD
That’s not about us, honey.

                                                            MOM
Can’t you ask them to turn that down?

                                                            DAD
I have. Repeatedly.

                                                            KID
What happened to the mouse next?

                                                            MOM
You know this story, we’ve read it to you hundreds of times. Let’s read you something else.

                                                            KID
No! What happens to the mouse?

The parents share a glance, checking in. There’s nothing else to do.

                                                            DAD
Um, “She floated there under the stars and the moon, and wondered what it would be like to die—”

                                                            KID
You already read that.

                                                            DAD
Okay, right. “As she tread water, the mouse wondered, ‘Did dying hurt?’”

                                                            KID
Why’s mommy crying?

                                                            DAD
We’re just tired honey.

The WHALE enters the space, human.

                                                            WHALE
We’re ready now.

                                                            KID
We haven’t finished the story.

                                                            WHALE
Sorry. The OR is booked solid tonight, and the anesthesiologist just finished with the last patient.

                                                            MOMMY
We’ll be right here, honey.

                                                            KID
Read a little more, Daddy?

                                                            DAD
“As she tread water, the mouse wondered, ‘Did dying hurt?’ Just then, a whale surfaced next to her—”

                                                            WHALE
Hey little girl. Are you ready?

                                                            DAD
“The whale said, ‘What are you doing swimming way out here?’”

                                                            KID
Mommy, I’m scared.

                                                            MOMMY
You’re going to be ok.

                                                            DAD
“The mouse told him about falling off the boat.”

                                                            KID
I don’t want to die.

                                                            WHALE
We’re not going to let you die, honey. The doctor is going to fix your heart, and then you can play with all your friends. Won’t that be nice?

                                                            DAD
“The whale swam with her on his back, all the way back to shore.”

                                                            WHALE
Ok. We need to go.

                                                            KID
I’m scared.

                                                            MOM
We’re going to be right here waiting for you.

                                                            DAD
The whale’s going to carry you back to us. We’ll be right here.

The WHALE takes the KID/MOUSE on his back and walks offstage. The parents hug. Blackout.

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Ready?

Ready?

by Jacob Juntunen

For Zocha

A: Any body
B: Any body
C: Any body

Setting:
Empty stage. A, B, and C sit in chairs.

                                                            A
I wasn’t ready to get out. Lying in the warm water was so nice.

                                                            C
I wasn’t ready to get up. The bed was so comfy. But I was starting to have those nighttime worries.

                                                            B
We moved all her stuff into my house, all these boxes—so much junk! But supposedly she had to have it. I didn’t know if I was ready to share the house.

                                                            A
My skin was getting wrinkly, but I squeezed and released my fist under the steamy water.

                                                            B
I had a ritual before bed every night.

                                                            C
You know when you lie still for so long it feels like the mattress has conformed to your body? When the blankets are like a warm bath? I should have just been concentrating on that, but I stared up at the ceiling and couldn’t turn off my brain.

                                                            A
The light was dim, and I curled up and listened to the thumping beat.

                                                            B
It was something my mom taught me.

                                                            A
I guess not everyone would find it relaxing, but I loved the beat so loud that I could feel it through the water.

                                                            C
There was the buzzing coming from beside me, letting me know it was time to get up. But I just kept thinking, “Ten more minutes.”

                                                            B
Every night, before bed, I made sure the dishwasher was running. I loved the whooshing sounds it made. It put me to sleep.

                                                            A
And the water around me had jets, too, making whooshes and massaging my whole body. Why would I want to get out?

                                                            B
But before I ran the dishwasher, I used Comet to scrub the stainless steel sink until it shined.

                                                            C
Just ten more minutes to lie there, feeling the cotton on top of me, staring straight up, and trying not to ask, “Was my life a success?”

                                                            B
I used Clorox to get every crumb off the counters.

                                                            C
Sometimes cotton feels like a soft summer breeze. But I never learned how to just feel it, to just be in the present, to stop wondering if I had accomplished enough.

                                                            B
But with her coming into the house? The kitchen was always going to be a disaster. There was no way I was going to be able to keep up the cleaning with her around.

                                                            A
I curled up fetal, then stretched out, feeling the water move around me. Wanting to fall asleep to the beat.

                                                            B
And watching whatever I wanted on TV before bed? Forget it. I’d have to sleep at the same time as her now.

                                                            C
The machine was still buzzing beside me, and I knew I had to get up. But I just wanted a few more deep breaths. To try to calm the fears about whether my life was a failure or not.

                                                            A              
Why should I leave? I fit in the water perfectly, and to get out my head was going have to get squished so it could fit into the canal.

                                                            C
I wanted to see one more dawn out the window, some piece of beauty that would make my life seem worth it.

                                                            A
The sack of water around me would have to tear and come gushing out.

                                                            B
When my husband put together the crib, I was excited about her coming—of course I was excited—but was I ready for the dirty kitchen and lack of sleep?

                                                            A
I’d have to breathe air for the first time.

                                                            C
I wanted a few more minutes of air in my lungs.

                                                            A
Seeing light with my naked eyes for the first time. How comfortable does that sound?

                                                            C
But I saw my grown child asleep in the chair next to my bed, next to the monitor making the steady buzzing instead of the staccato beeping it had been making when my heart was still beating.

                                                            B
But when my husband and I heard our first born say her first words—I realized you could never be ready for that.

                                                            A
They say you don’t remember those first traumas, squeezing between the bones of the pelvis, your first breath, the first time your eyes see light, all those firsts. How could you be ready for all that? But, of course, I had to get out. And I did.

(A stands up)

                                                            A (cont)
I came out into the light and the sound, the chaos and confusion, and my eyes could only focus about a foot away from my face. I was put on someone’s chest, and I saw a woman looking down at me, crying, a face I would remember as clearly as the trauma of leaving her. That made it worth coming out.

                                                            B
I was never ready for how much I loved her. I never got used to it. Every night, I put her in the crib and looked down on her sleeping. There’s a new light in the world, a new star in the sky, and we lit it.

(B stands up)

                                                            C
I knew I had to get up, to leave my body, but I was scared. Was my life a success? Had I done enough? But then it came to me. A realization. I shouldn’t be using adjectives to describe my life. I needed to use adverbs. Not, was my life a success, but had I lived well? Had I lived lovingly? Had I lived completely? I looked at my grown daughter, asleep in the hospital chair, next to my body. My daughter didn’t want to miss my final breaths. So I thought, Yes. I had lived completely. I think so. I think so. I’m ready.

(C stands up. Blackout.)

                                                            

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