The Birds Are Talking

                                                            The Birds Are Talking
                                                            By Jacob Juntunen

Characters:
JANE: A woman.
ALISA: A woman.

Setting:
In a garden.

(JANE and ALISA are onstage.)

                                                            ALISA
What did he say?

                                                            JANE
What he always says.

                                                            ALISA
That you need to take these pills?

                                                            JANE
That I’m making irrational decisions.

                                                            ALISA
He said hiding me here was an irrational decision? Did you tell him about all the bruises I showed up with? How I just need a place to get away from that asshole until I figure out a way to leave him—

                                                            JANE
I didn’t mention you. I was scared to, now that the police are involved.

                                                            ALISA
The police aren’t really involved—

                                                            JANE
I lied to them, told them you weren’t here. That they needed to come back with a warrant.

                                                            ALISA
What about patient/psychiatrist confidentiality—

                                                            JANE

I think shrinks have to contact the police if there’s a law broken.

                                                            ALISA
If you’re so scared of hiding me, then why are you—

                                                            JANE
The birds told me to.

                                                            ALISA
Maybe if your shrink thinks you need medication, you should consider—

                                                            JANE
Aren’t you scared if I think more rationally, I might kick you out?

                                                            ALISA
Yes.

                                                            JANE
There are always two teacups set on my table, and one is for you. I don’t care how irrational it might be.

(Pause)

                                                            ALISA
What are we doing out here? It’s freezing.

                                                            JANE
I like the garden at night.

                                                            ALISA
Do you think the birds will tell you whether to take your meds or not?

                                                            JANE
Don’t be silly. The birds don’t talk to me at night.

                                                            ALISA
Of course.

                                                            JANE
Only in the mornings. And if I take those pills, maybe the birds won’t talk to me at all.

                                                            ALISA
I think that would be the point.

                                                            JANE
It’s just one more example of a man trying to take away the inspiration of a woman—

                                                            ALISA
I don’t think it’s like that at all—

                                                            JANE
Did you know Virginia Woolf heard birds talk to her?

                                                            ALISA
In Greek. She wanted them to stop.

                                                            JANE
I think they gave her inspiration.

                                                            ALISA
She was desperate to make them stop. When her hallucinations started again, she filled her pockets with rocks, walked into a river, and killed herself. I don’t—

                                                            JANE
I think she did that because World War Two was starting—

                                                            ALISA
I don’t want your body fished from a river.

                                                            JANE
Anyway, I’m not hallucinating. I sit. I hear the birds. And I have insight.

                                                            ALISA
Did you tell your therapist you’d take the pills?

                                                            JANE
He doesn’t understand me.

                                                            ALISA
Why are the pills even in the house if you don’t want to take them?

                                                            JANE
He said he’d call the pharmacy and make sure I picked them up.

                                                            ALISA
What was going to happen if you didn’t?

                                                            JANE
He didn’t say.

                                                            ALISA
Did he say you’d need to spend more time in the hospital—

                                                            JANE
He didn’t say! Anyway, you should be happy for the birds. They’re the ones that said to call you.

                                                            ALISA
The birds told you to invite me to stay here?

                                                            JANE
And you haven’t left the house in three days—does that sound perfectly sane?

                                                            ALISA
You know why I can’t leave— The birds didn’t tell you to call. You would have mentioned it. Three days is plenty of time to explain why you let me stay here—

                                                            JANE
Well, I’m explaining now.

                                                            ALISA
You’re making it up so you don’t have to take the pills.

                                                            JANE
They said to call you and invite you to stay. And you showed up with that pancake makeup under your eyes that wouldn’t fool anyone. It was clear what Andy did to you. That you needed a place to hide.

                                                            ALISA
I’m not hiding.

                                                            JANE
You’re not taking his calls, or leaving the house, or letting me tell anyone you’re here, which sounds like the definition of—

                                                            ALISA
Okay, I’m hiding. A little.

                                                            JANE
And the birds told me your husband would show up—

                                                            ALISA
You don’t really need to be psychic to know he’d come looking for me at the one place where there’s always a teacup waiting for me on the table, my one friend who’s still single and has a place for me—

                                                            JANE
The birds told me that I would need to keep him out of the house somehow. So I told him the birds wouldn’t be happy if I let him in.

                                                            ALISA
Which is totally crazy.

                                                            JANE
But there’s method to my madness.

                                                            ALISA
The birds don’t care if you let Andy inside—

                                                            JANE
Of course not. I just made that up so Andy would think I was crazy and be too scared to try to force his way in. But the birds warned me so I had a plan.

                                                            ALISA
And if you take these pills you’ll see that all this makes no sense—

                                                            JANE
Yesterday morning the birds reminded me it had been 48 hours, and the police would probably be searching for a missing person now, and that I had to be ready.

                                                            ALISA
I’m sorry I got you involved in all this. It’s obviously snapped something—

                                                            JANE
They didn’t have a warrant, so I could keep them out, but Andy told them about the birds and said he was worried I’d done something to you—

                                                            ALISA

Wait, what? You didn’t tell me that.

                                                            JANE
So I agreed to see my old shrink to keep them from trying to get a warrant. And I told my shrink the birds hate Andy, but didn’t tell him I was hiding you. He wanted to know if I was still taking my medication and I told him I stopped. That I don’t need it anymore. That I’m fine now.

                                                            ALISA
I don’t think you’re fine.

                                                            JANE
I come out here every morning and meditate, and I’m fine. I sit right where you’re standing. I cross my legs, hold my hands together in prayer, close my eyes, and try to empty my mind. The thoughts come, and I imagine they’re little birds. I watch my thoughts scamper around, looking for seeds, a mess of useless energy, until they fly away. And I sit for a half hour, watching the birds in my mind, until there’s a moment of clarity. That’s when the birds tell me things. Like Alisa needs help: call her. Offer to let her stay. No strings attached. Do you think that’s a rational decision?

                                                            ALISA
It could be.

                                                            JANE
To hide you from your husband? From the police? When I risk getting sent back to the hospital? Or arrested? That’s what a therapist would call rational?

                                                            ALISA
I guess not.

                                                            JANE
So you want me to take these pills and act more rationally?

                                                            ALISA
I want you to take these pills.

                                                            JANE
Why?

                                                            ALISA
Because you’re more stable on them. You didn’t need to tell Andy the birds didn’t want him in the house. It’s your house. You could have just told him to go home. Meditating in the morning isn’t enough for you. Not to keep the unrealistic thoughts away. What’s the harm in trying the pills again? Take them for a few weeks and see if they help. If they don’t help, then stop taking them. But if they do—

                                                            JANE
What if taking the pills makes me turn you in?

                                                            ALISA
I don’t think you’re keeping me safe because you’re crazy. I think you’re keeping me safe because you’re good. And I don’t think pills will change that.

                                                            JANE
What if you’re wrong?

                                                            ALISA
I’m willing to take the risk to keep the rocks out of your pockets. You’d do the same for me. Anyway, I can’t hide during the entire divorce proceedings. I just needed a place to regroup and recover. You gave that to me. Now take these for me.

(ALISA holds out the pills. JANE takes the bottle.)

                                                            JANE
They make me sleepy. If I take them now, we’ll only have a half hour or so before I need to go to bed.

                                                            ALISA
Just enough time for tea.

                                                            JANE
The cups are set inside. Tea for two.

(JANE takes the pills. They walk inside.)

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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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