See Him?

                                                            See Him?
                                                            By Jacob Juntunen

Characters:
A: A woman.
B: A woman.

Setting:
They sit onstage.

(A has a beer. B just sits.)

                                                            A
See the way that guy gets the boat in the water? You can tell he’ll get it off the trailer quick. Some of these guys take forever getting their boats in the water. Sammy hated that.

(A takes a drink of the beer.)

                                                            B
You learned a lot about boats.

                                                            A
We were out here every day, even when Sammy only had the strength for one swim. But we had to wait for the fishermen to get their boats in the water. He’d just lie there where you’re sitting, ball in his mouth, waiting to fetch again. You want a swig of this?

                                                            B
It’s not even five.

                                                            A
So? The sun’s starting to set. Winter’s coming.

                                                            B
He still wanted to fetch at the end?

                                                            A
Right up to the last week. He was a retriever to the end. Okay, that guy’s gonna go park his truck, then he’ll take the boat on the lake. Then we should be able to see Sammy.

(A takes another drink)

                                                            B
Maybe you should take it easy on that beer.

                                                            A
I’m not so drunk that I’m hallucinating. We’ll just sit here in the grass, the sun will hit its golden hour, and the rays will be this nice diffuse red… And we’ll see him.

                                                            B
It was nice of your colleague to pay for his cremation.

                                                            A
(taking a swig) Yup.

                                                            B
I’m glad coming out here helps.

                                                            A
You don’t think we’re going to see him, do you?

                                                            B
Well, he’s not here anymore.

                                                            A
You’ll see. Oh, shit. Another boat. This was always a busy hour. Hey, Joe.

                                                            B
You know him?

                                                            A
I got to know a lot of these guys. It’s a pretty male space, but I’d be out here in my wading boots, and they’d ask how old Sammy was. All that grey on his muzzle, you know? Once they found out he had cancer in his back leg but still wanted to swim, they didn’t mind I was out here.

                                                            B
Maybe we should go?

                                                            A
Don’t worry. Joe knows what he’s doing; he’ll get the boat right in there. Then you’ll see Sammy swimming. He looks more like when he was a pup. That boxy little face and worried eyebrows. And he always makes this grunting sound while he swims, especially when he’s got a ball in his mouth.

                                                            B
No, I mean, maybe we should go before you get drunker? I thought you were just going to tell me about him, that maybe it would be good for you to get it off your chest, not—

                                                            A
Sure, I’ll tell you about him while we’re waiting for Joe to get his boat in—

                                                            B
We’re not going to see Sammy—

                                                            A
(overlapping) After his back leg was ruined by the cancer, he could only get in the water from this boat dock. He needed the sloping ground, you know? But I still had to help him get out. The water sucked at him and tried to pull him under, but I’d wear my waders, and go in after him, put my hand under his hips, and walk him out. Phew. Even at the end he was close to 90 pounds.

                                                            B
Come on, let’s go—

                                                            A
But he was still graceful in the water, like a seal pup. Golden retrievers have webs between their toes, and he used his tail like a rudder. After John gets his boat out on the lake, you’ll see him, see how he goes after that tennis ball with a little snap of the jaws—

                                                            B
Put that beer down and get up—

                                                            A
Hey, let go of me—

                                                            B
Come on, we’re getting out of here—

                                                            A
What the fuck’s wrong with you?

                                                            B
We’re not going to see him. He’s gone. He’s a box of ashes on your mantel. I’m sorry, but it’s true, and coming out here, getting drunk, talking about him like he’s still around—

                                                            A
I know he’s not around. Fuck you. I know that. I know exactly where his ashes are. I hate to say it, but it was exhausting doing this everyday. At the end I had to lift him every time he wanted to stand up. I had to lift him in and out of the car. I had to wade into the lake and hold his butt up and frogmarch him until he was lying down where we’re sitting now. You think I don’t know that’s over? My whole body knows that’s over: my cracking back, my aching shoulders, my wet feet.

                                                            B
Let’s just get in the car.

                                                            A
The sun sets, and I see him when I could throw the ball into the water for hours, and he’d still want more. When I was alone and he was my best friend. Before I had you. Before I had anybody. He never let me down. And you’ll see him. See how these last few months were worth it. Just sit down. John’s going to launch in just a second and you’ll see Sammy out there, swimming after that tennis ball.

(They sit)

                                                            A (Cont)
Want a swig of this?

                                                            B
No.

(A moment)

                                                            A
Catch one for me, John! Tell him good luck.

                                                            B
Good luck, John.

(A moment)

                                                            A
There Sammy is! Do you see him?

                                                            B
Um…

                                                            A
God. He’s gorgeous. Seeing him like this, how happy he is— Well, it just makes everything I did these last few months worth it. Look at him. Right there. See him?

                                                            B
Yeah. Sure I do. He’s right there.

                                                            A
Almost at the tennis ball.

                                                            B
He looks great. And it makes it all worth it. Right?

                                                            A
It sure does.

                                                            B
Then yeah. I see him. He looks great. Pass that beer.

(B takes a drink. Blackout.)

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Mom's Orchard

             Mom’s Orchard
            By Jacob Juntunen

Characters:
SYLVIA: A woman.
ANNA: A younger woman.
TINA: A young woman near Anna’s age.

Set:
Two or three blocks on stage; ones an actor can easily step up and down from.

(SYLVIA, ANNA, and TINA all enter, ANNA carrying a beat-up plastic tub and an envelope.)

            TINA
This is the best box you could find?

            ANNA
It will hold them, won’t it?

(TINA, very slowly, starts getting up on the blocks, gathering unseen objects, and putting them in the box. She moves deliberately, in slow-motion from block to block, getting up and down.)

            ANNA (cont)
(to SYLVIA)
I don’t see why we have to do this outside. Your library would have been fine.
(holding out envelope)
You just need to sign this.

            SYLVIA
The sun is out, the decorations are still up from the Fourth of July, the cherries are ripe—

            ANNA
The orchard isn’t as convenient as your library would have been. We could have looked at your finances if we were at your desk— Do you need a pen? I brought one out here.

            SYLVIA
I want you to see what you’re giving up. Look at them. Practically bursting, transforming sunlight into sweetness. You get up there, pick them, stain your hands red—

            ANNA
We need to talk about how you’re going to survive—

            SYLVIA
Oh, honey. I’m not. That’s the whole point. But these trees will—

            ANNA
You’re going to survive, maybe a year the doctor said, with treatment, and that’s why we—

            SYLVIA
Fat green leaves, bushels and bushels of sweet bings, with just enough sour to make a few pies. And you want me to sell?

(TINA enters the scene in normal speed)

            TINA
I’m not going to be able to reach the top ones.

            ANNA
(to TINA)
That’s okay, just get the ones you can.

(TINA returns to her slow-motion gathering)

            ANNA (cont)
(to SYLVIA)
This is serious, Mom. I don’t have the money to take care of the medical bills when you start to deteriorate.

            SYLVIA
Luckily, Oregon has the Death with Dignity act.

            ANNA
You’re not committing suicide.           

            SYLVIA
I’ve already found a doctor who will help me go. Honey. There is cancer in my bones. We’re not wasting money to make me ill and buy me a few months. You’ll inherit this orchard.

            ANNA
I want you. For as long as you have. So you will sell these trees to Oregon Cherries—

            SYLVIA
Those horrible canned… things… will never come from my orchard. Unless you sell it after I’m gone.

            ANNA
The orchard never made any money, and they’re offering a good price—

            SYLVIA
My orchard doesn’t lose money either. We break even between the farmer’s markets and the roadside stand. It just needs someone to run it after I’m gone.

            ANNA
I finally got my own column in the Oregonian, head food critic, getting to try all the nouvelle cuisine that Portland has to offer—

            SYLVIA
From food writer to organic cherry farmer. That seems right to me.

            ANNA
Just because you gave up tenure after Dad died to become a hermit out here—

            SYLVIA
You were with me. You liked it well enough when you were a kid.

(TINA enters the scene in normal speed)

            TINA
They’re pretty dirty.

            ANNA
(to TINA)
We’ll wash them before we sell them.

(TINA returns to her slow-motion gathering)

            ANNA (cont)
(to SYLVIA)
I liked climbing the trees. I liked how my hair turned blonde in the summer. I liked how the dog would eat the low-lying fruit, how I could help him up to the first knot in that big trunk over there. How we’d sit in the tree and eat together, me spitting out the pits, him crunching away.

            SYLVIA
We have some good pictures of you and the dog in that tree. What a sight. Your Dad would have loved to see it.

            ANNA
And he would have wanted you to keep being a professor.

            SYLVIA
I needed something to make something more substantial than words for your father.

            ANNA
But you never got rid of your books!

            SYLVIA
And they’re yours, too, once I’m gone. Unless you just sell my library off, too.

            ANNA
I’m not giving up my career to live out here like you did, never moving on, never letting go—

            SYLVIA
You don’t let go of someone you really love.

            ANNA
It could go into remission. You never know.

            SYLVIA
The doctor says there’s no chance.

            ANNA
There’s always a chance.

            SYLVIA
Well, I’ve made my final wishes clear. I won’t sign that, but I know as soon as I’m gone Oregon Cherry will make the same offer to you. I know they’ll want to take everything I worked for, my entire life, process it in corn syrup—

            ANNA
They can their cherries in water, with no preservatives or—

            SYLVIA
Do you eat canned cherries?

            ANNA
I can’t eat any cherries that I don’t pick myself.

(TINA enters the scene in normal speed; from now until the end of the play, everyone will move at a realism pace)

            TINA
(to ANNA)
Sorry, I didn’t hear you.

            ANNA
(to TINA re: the envelope)
I was just thinking about this offer.

            TINA
The lawyer said it’s a good offer.

            ANNA
Yeah. It is.

            SYLVIA
You need to put down roots and stay right here, like I did.

            TINA
You’re not having second thoughts, are you? I’ve just about got your mom’s library all packed.

            SYLVIA
I put all my love for your father into these trees, and now it’s time for you to carry it forward.

            ANNA
(to TINA)
Sorry I didn’t help you pack. I didn’t how hard it would be to be in her library. It still smells like her.

            TINA
She died with dignity, you know. My Mom went through chemo, it was awful. She was sick all the time, and it didn’t help a damn bit. Your mom did the right thing.

            SYLVIA
If you ever loved me, just tear up that offer!

(ANNA pulls the paper out of the envelope. She looks at it. She puts it back in the envelope.)

            ANNA
Okay. Let’s pack up the rest of the books.

Blackout.

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Until You Sit Here

                                                            Until You Sit Here
                                                            By Jacob Juntunen

Characters:
LOGAN: Any body.
PAT: Any body.

Set:
Two chairs on one side of the stage; one chair a short distance away.

(LOGAN sits on a chair, an empty chair nearby. PAT sits alone on a chair a short distance away, staring, as if at a screen.)

(Silence.)

                                                            LOGAN
Soup’s getting cold.

                                                            PAT
If we had a laptop, I could bring it to the table and sit with you.

(Silence.)

                                                            LOGAN
I don’t want to eat alone again.

                                                            PAT
I’m right here.

                                                            LOGAN
So sit at the table with me.

                                                            PAT
Until I see if I get the job, I’m not going to be able to relax.

                                                            LOGAN
There’s nothing we can do about it now. Just come sit with me.

                                                            PAT
She said she’d e-mail me tonight. It’s 8pm. I should have heard by five, don’t you think? I mean, it’s an office job.

                                                            LOGAN
Maybe she forgot.

                                                            PAT
That can’t mean anything good for my prospects, can it? How am I going to keep getting my meds if I don’t get that benefits package?

                                                            LOGAN
You can stay on my insurance if I don’t graduate.

                                                            PAT
But your dissertation’s done.

                                                            LOGAN
If I don’t file it, I could keep paying tuition, keep our insurance—

                                                            PAT
It would probably be cheaper to just buy the drugs—

                                                            LOGAN
Come sit with me. Have some soup. Split pea is the worst when it gets cold.

                                                            PAT
Let me sit with my phone on the table, that way I can see if an e-mail comes in—

                                                            LOGAN
No phones at the table, that’s our rule—

                                                            PAT
Just this once—

                                                            LOGAN
We couldn’t even get through a meal without you staring at that phone, I just want you to sit with me—

                                                            PAT
But this is an exception—

                                                            LOGAN
Just sit here, have some soup. There’s extra ham in it. Like the first time I cooked it for you. When we first got married you weren’t distracted by some stupid screen—

                                                            PAT
I’m worried I can’t get my meds without that benefits package.

                                                            LOGAN
So how come you didn’t sit with me last night? Or the night before? We got rid of the phones at the table, and you just sit in front of the computer—

                                                            PAT
She said she’d e-mail tonight.

                                                            LOGAN
Sitting there isn’t going to make the e-mail come. I’m not going to eat anything until you sit here. Both bowls will just harden up, get that skin on top, get chalky. I’m not eating until you’re with me. Really with me. Sitting here, talking to me, listening to me.

(Silence.)

                                                            LOGAN (cont)
Are you listening to me?

                                                            PAT
I don’t understand how she says she’ll e-mail tonight, from a business, and I don’t have it by five.

(Silence.)

                                                            LOGAN
I’m not eating until you sit here.

(PAT doesn’t move.)

(Silence.)

(Blackout.)

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Kiss Daniel for Me

                                                            Kiss Daniel for Me
                                                            By Jacob Juntunen

Two African American women sit.
AUGUSTA writes in a leather-bound book.

                                                            RACHELLA
Do you know what we got to do to see the governor?

                                                            AUGUSTA
The Warden gave me this letter of introduction. Didn’t you get one?

                                                            RACHELLA
He gave me this here piece of paper, but I ain’t sure exactly what it says…

                                                            AUGUSTA
It’s in plain English, isn’t it?

                                                            RACHELLA
I don’t know, it’s… Well… What you writing there?

                                                            AUGUSTA
A letter to the governor asking him not to sell my son. We’ve been Emancipated, haven’t we?

                                                            RACHELLA
Why you writing a letter if we’re going to see the Governor in person?

                                                            AUGUSTA
The Governor of Illinois might not have time for the likes of us.

                                                            RACHELLA
But the Warden said to come here.

                                                            AUGUSTA
Because the Warden didn’t have time for the likes of us.

                                                            RACHELLA
Can you help me write a letter if he won’t see me? They got my man locked up, but he didn’t do nothing. Today’s his hearing. You’ve got such a good way of speaking.

AUGUSTA continues writing.

                                                            RACHELLA (cont)

Where you from?

                                                            AUGUSTA
Chicago.

                                                            RACHELLA
And you come all the way down here?

                                                            AUGUSTA
I got to try to stop my son being sold, don’t I? Get him closer to home somehow? It’s bad enough he’s all the way down here, I can’t have him sold to another state.

                                                            RACHELLA
They say my man was drunk and disorderly, but—

JACKSON enters.

                                                            JACKSON
Ladies, I’m the Governor’s secretary and he wants to let you know his schedule is full for—

                                                            AUGUSTA
I’m not going to let you sell my boy.

                                                            JACKSON
No one is going to—

                                                            RACHELLA
Will you at least take letters from us?

                                                            JACKSON

The Governor is quite—

                                                            RACHELLA
Ask him. Ask him if he ain’t got time to read some letters from a grieving mother and wife.

                                                            JACKSON
The Governor has an appointment—

                                                            AUGUSTA
So this letter of introduction from the Warden is just a scam to waste our time—

                                                            RACHELLA
I thought the Governor was a man of honor? He ain’t going to leave damsels in distress, is he?

                                                            JACKSON
There are many people who need the Governor’s time, and he can’t see all of—

                                                            RACHELLA
He ain’t a monster, is he?

                                                            JACKSON
Of course not, but—

                                                            RACHELLA
So go ask him if he’s got time to read our letters.

A moment.

                                                            JACKSON
I’m not making any promises.

JACKSON exits.

                                                            AUGUSTA
That was real fine.

                                                            RACHELLA
They hate having their honor poked at. Maybe you could help me with that letter?

                                                            AUGUSTA
Mine’s just about done. Why don’t you talk it out a little with me, tell me what you want to say, while I finish writing mine? Then we’ll see if I’ve got time to help you with yours.

AUGUSTA goes back to writing.

                                                            RACHELLA
Oh. Okay. It should say something like, “Dear John, Everything is fine here. Don’t you worry about a thing. We’re going to get you out of there. We’re taking up a collection in the neighborhood to hire you a good lawyer. We got a lot of support from the Church already. We all know you ain’t drunk or disorderly. We going to prove it. I don’t know if you see our boy in there or not. I ain’t got no word from him or you. And don’t get mean like him, don’t forget to call me. I ain’t able to go years without hearing from you, too. And if you see our dear little boy in lockup with you, kiss Daniel for me.”

A moment.

                                                            AUGUSTA
I thought you were going to write the Governor?

                                                            RACHELLA
Shoot. I was, I just... We been waiting for my man’s hearing for months, and I ain’t been able to write—

JACKSON enters.

                                                            JACKSON
Ladies, the Governor has instructed me to take your letters to him.

                                                            AUGUSTA
No! We need to see him! You can’t sell my boy to another state out West! He’s already so far—

                                                            JACKSON
Transferring your son to a penitentiary in Denver is hardly selling—

                                                            AUGUSTA
Then why do you bounce him around, make me and his father drive like truckers just to visit—

                                                            JACKSON
He is a federal prisoner, so his transfer is—

                                                            AUGUSTA
Illinois already sold him down the river, and now you’re going to pack him in a truck to Denver? Like he’s some FedEx package? Even if he was carrying marijuana, like you say, that ain’t enough to—

                                                            JACKSON
Perhaps call again tomorrow, maybe the Governor will have more time to—

                                                            AUGUSTA
You’re selling my boy to Denver tonight! Tomorrow’s too late!

                                                            RACHELLA
My man’s hearing is today—

                                                            JACKSON
Well, if that will be all, I’ll take my leave of you ladies—

                                                            RACHELLA
Wait, you ain’t got our letters! We just want our boys home. Don’t you got a wife? Children? Don’t you got no sympathy?

                                                            JACKSON
Fine. Give them over, but then you leave this office.

                                                            AUGUSTA
I just gave her a piece of paper, give us five minutes—

                                                            JACKSON
This is ridiculous— Do you have yours? I’ll take yours if it’s ready.

                                                            AUGUSTA
But she just needs a little help—

                                                            JACKSON
The Governor has a benefit to attend. He’s leaving now. Give me what you’ve got.

                                                            RACHELLA
Go ahead, give him your letter.

                                                            AUGUSTA
But I didn’t write down your—

                                                            RACHELLA
There ain’t no point in him not hearing from either of us. Give him your letter.

AUGUSTA hands JACKSON her letter. JACKSON leaves without a word. Blackout.

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

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