DRAMATIC FEMALE

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Albee, Edward - The Goat Or, Who Is Sylvia? // Allen, Jay Presson - The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie //Anderson, Jane - The Baby Dance // Anouilh, Jean - The Lark (Adapted by Lillian Hellman) // Archibald, William - The Innocents // Auburn, David - Proof // Ayckbourn, Alan - How the Other Half Loves // Ball, Alan - Power Lunch // Bass, Molly - Painted Face //Beane, Douglas Carter - The Little Dog Laughed // Behn, Aphra - The Rover // Besier, Rudolf - The Barretts of Wimpole Street // Blessing, Lee - Eleemosynary //Brevoort, Deborah - The Women of Lockerbie // Cariani, John - Last Gas // Churchill, Caryl - Cloud Nine // Durang, Christopher - Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All For You // Eno, Will - The Flu Season // Ensler, Eve - Emotional Creature: The Secret Life of Girls Around the World // Ensler, Eve - The Good Body // Fierstein, Harvey - On Tidy Endings // Fitzgerald, F. Scott - The Great Gatsby (Adapted by Simon Levy) // Gibson, William - The Miracle Worker // Goodwin, Idris - How We Got In // Hansberry, Lorraine - To Be Young, Gifted and Black (Adapted by Robert Nemiroff) // Harling, Robert - Steel Magnolias // Hnath, Lucas - Death Tax // Hnath, Lucas - A Public Reading of an Unproduced Screenplay About the Death of Walt Disney // Joseph, Rajiv - Gruesome Playground Injuries // Karan, Stephen - Speech & Debate // Kaufman, Moises - The Laramie Project // LaBute, Neil - The Break of Noon // LaBute, Neil - reasons to be pretty // Lindsay-Abaire, David - Rabbit Hole // Martin, Jane - Keely and Du // Miller, Arthur - All My Sons // Miller, Arthur - Death of a Salesman // Moulds, Steve - Oh, Gastronomy! // Nguyen, Qui - She Kills Monsters // Nowra, Louis - Summer of the Aliens // Payne, Topher - Evelyn in Purgatory // Pintauro, Joe - Reindeer Soup // Saracho, Tanya - Oh, Gastronomy! // Sherman, Jonathan Marc - Sophistry // Silver, Nicky - The Altruists // Smith, Alena - Plucker // Sodaro, Craig - Moongirl // United States Theatre Project - Columbus // Williams, Tennessee - Cat On A Hot Tin Roof // Wilson, August - Fences

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Jay Presson Allen

BRODIE.

I will not resign and you will not dismiss me, Miss Mackay. I will not allow you to exercise on me your warped compulsion to persecute! I will not be slandered, hounded - you will not use the excuse of that pathetic - that humorous document to bully and blackmail me into resigning. Mr. Lowther - you are witness to this. Miss Mackay has made totally unsupported accusations against my good name. And yours. If she has one authentic shred of evidence, just one, let her bring it forth! Otherwise, if any further word of this outrageous calumny reaches my ears, I shall sue. I shall take Miss Mackay to the public courts, and I shall sue the trustees of Marcia Blaine School if they support her. I will not stand by and allow myself to be crucified by a woman whose fetid frustration has overcome her judgement! If scandal is to your taste, Miss Mackay, then I shall give you a feast! I am a teacher! I am a teacher! First! Last! Always! Do you imagine for one instant that I will let that be taken from me without a fight? I have dedicated, sacrificed my life to this profession. And I will not stand by like an inky little slacker and watch you rob me of it. And for what reason? For jealousy. Because I have the gift of claiming girls for my own. It is true that I am a strong influence on my girls! Yes! I am proud of it! I influence them to look for ugliness and slime where they do not exist. My girls will be coming back from recreation so I shall return to my classroom. They will find me composed and prepared to reveal to them the succession of the Stuarts. And on Sunday I shall visit Mr. Lowther at Cramond. We are accustomed, bachelor and spinster, to spend Sundays together in sailing, in walking the beaches, and in the pursuit of music. Mr. Lowther is teaching me the mandolin. Good day, Miss Mackay.

The Barretts of Wimpole Street by Rudolf Besier

ELIZABETH.

There is more to be said, and I must beg you to listen to me, Papa. How many years have I laid here? Five? Six? It's hard to remember - as each year has been like ten. And all that time I've had nothing to look forward to, or hope for, but death. Yes, death. I was born with a large capacity for happiness - you remember me as a young girl? - and when life brought me little happiness and much pain, I was often impatient for the end, and now this miracle has happened! Day by day I am better able to take and enjoy such good things as everyone has a right to - able to meet my friends, to breathe open air and feel the sun, and see grass and flowers growing under the sky... When Doctor Chambers first spoke to me of Italy I put the idea from me - it seemed too impossibly wonderful! But as I grew stronger, it came over me, like a revelation, that Italy wasn't an impossibility at all, that nothing really stood in the way of my going, that I had every right to go - Yes! Every right - if only I could get your consent. So I set about consulting my friends, meeting all obstacles, settling every detail, so as to have a perfectly arranged plan to put before you after the doctors had given you their opinion. In my eagerness I may have acted stupidly, mistakenly, tactlessly, But to call my conduct underhand and deceitful is more than unkind. It's unjust. It's cruel.

The Lark by Jean Anouilh (Adapted by Lillian Hellman)

JOAN.

Your head is ugly, too, and you can't be sad about everything. But what's inside your head isn't ugly, because God gave you sense. And what do you do with it? Play cards. Bounce a ball in the air. Play baby tricks with the Archbishop and act the fool for all to see. You have a son. But what have you made for him? Nothing. And when he's grown he, too, will have a right to say, "God didn't like me, so why would I like Him?" But when he says God he will mean you because every son thinks his father is God. And when he's old enough to know that, he will hate you for what you didn't give him. And now I'll tell you the truth: I am also afraid. And why not? Only the stupid are not afraid. What is the matter with you? Don't you understand that it was far more dangerous for me to get here than it is for you to build a kingdom? I've been in danger every minute of the way, and every minute of the way I was frightened. I don't want to be beaten, I don't want pain, I don't want to die. I am scared.

The Innocents by William Archibald

MISS GIDDENS.

I was standing there - I was about to pick the flowers - when, suddenly, I felt that I was being stared at. I turned expecting to find that it was you or Miss Flora who had come to call me. Instead, I saw a man, a stranger - a stranger who stared at me, Mrs. Grose, who stood there, casually, as though he belonged here. I stood there waiting for him to approach me. I was sure of a reason for his being there and so I waited - and he - he waited with me - not coming closer - standing there, fifty yards away though it seemed that he was as near to me as you are. And then, even though there was that distance between us I could feel his eyes on me - bold, insolent. He stared at me as though I were being indecent. I felt as though I was looking into someone's room. He stared at me, Mrs. Grose, as though I were the intruder! He went away - as casually as he had come - though, for all I know, he might be still in the garden, somewhere, or in the woods. And the ridiculous thing, Mrs. Grose, is that only now I am angry! Not when I was there, mind you, when I might have questioned him, but now, when I am here, quite safe from him - I feel angry - and - a trifle ill. Don't be concerned for me - I didn't sleep well. Let us forget it.

The Innocents by William Archibald

FLORA.

I said to Mrs. Grose, Oh, look! I'm eating a beetle! And she said, spit out the nasty thing, Miss Flora; But I couldn't because I had swallowed it - and Mrs. Grose wouldn't believe it was a beetle - so I said, Shouldn't I know how beetles taste? And she got quite angry. Why - you're crying - Miss Giddens, you're crying - why are you crying? Are you ill, Miss Giddens, dear? You mustn't cry - it's not going to church that makes you feel that way, I expect. Now - sit here and don't worry about a thing - When Miles and Mrs. Grose come in and we'll sing a song or two or maybe play a game - quietly, as it's Sunday. I can see them - at the end of the garden - Miles has lost his hat, I think - the careless boy. He's running away from Mrs. Grose and she's having difficulty chasing him - he's throwing leaves at her, now. They're having fun - but so are we - I don't wish I were out there. I'd rather be with you. I haven't cut out pictures since last summer - Now you can tell me what they mean. Here's a picture of a porcupine, but it says it's a "Hysterix cristata." And here's a lizard, but underneath is written "Lacerta Calotes." Why?

Proof by David Auburn

CATHERINE.

I lived with him. I spent my life with him. I fed him. Talked to him. Tried to listen when he talked. Talked to people who weren't there... Watching him shuffling around like a ghost. A very smelly ghost. He was filthy. I had to make sure he bathed. My own father. After my mother died it was just me here. I tried to keep him happy no matter what idiotic project he was doing. He used to read all day. He kept demanding more and more books. I took them out of the library by the carload. We had hundreds upstairs. Then I realized he wasn't reading: He believed aliens were sending him messages through the Dewey decimal numbers on the library books. He was trying to work out the code. Beautiful mathematics. Answers to everything. The most elegant proofs, perfect proofs, proofs like music. Plus fashion tips, knock-knock jokes - I mean it was nuts, okay? Later the writing phase: scribbling, nineteen, twenty hours a day... I ordered him a case of notebooks and he used every one. I dropped out of school... I'm glad he's dead.

Keely and Du by Jane Martin

KEELY.

I can't raise this baby, Du. I'm so angry and fucked up, I just can't do it. I dream how it happened over and over all the time. I'd be angry at the baby, I think so. I'd hurt the baby sometime and might not even know it, that could happen. If I had a baby, my first one, and I gave it away, I'd just cry all the time, I would. I'm doing thi on empty and, if I did that, I would be past empty and I don't know. I have such black moods, it frightens me. The baby would come out of being chained to a bed, you know what I mean. It's not my baby, it's the peoples who made me have it, and I couldn't treat it as my baby, not even if I loved it, I couldn't. He'd come around, see. He wouldn't stay off if I had his baby. He would never, ever in this world leave off me, and I think sometime he'll kill me, that's all I can think. Or hurt the baby, whatever, however in his head he could get me, he would do... would do it. Really. And I can't have this baby... uh... it's just not something I can do... because I'm about this far, you know... right up to the edge of it... right there... right there. So I guess it's me or the baby, so I guess that's crazy, but you don't... I don't show you... just how... how angry I really am. I don't. I don't.

Keely and Du by Jane Martin

KEELY.

Yeah, they got worse. He drank more, he got meaner, he screwed around. My dod got shot, Cole wanted to move to Arizona because he knew I'd have to take care of him. I'm waitressing, minimum wage, cashier at a car wash, seventy hours minimum, he drinks himself out of his job, real thoughtful, right? The recession came on, we just fought minute to minute anytime we laid eyes on each other, I said I wanted a divorce, he hit me, and I left. I was out of there fifteen minutes after he hit me... I was a crazy, out-of-my-mind lunatic I lived with him all that time. Jesus! What the hell was I thinking of? After that, he was all over me. I'd look out the window, he'd be in the back yard. The grocery, the library, when I was hanging up laundry, walk into the same bar when I was on a date. He'd come down to the restaurant, say it was about borrowing money, but he knew I wasn't giving him money, forget that, he just like me to be scared which is what I figured out. Then it stopped for six months, who knows why, then he came back, sent flowers, left messages, begged me to talk to him for one hour, so I invited him over, you know, my dad was in bed, asleep, I thought we could sit down and let go of it. I thought I could take his and and say we're clear, we're two different people. You know, some dumb ass idea like that So I fixed him something to eat, and he brought me this stuffed animal, and we were doing, well, not perfect but alright, and I just touched his arm so he would know it was alright, and he locked onto my hand, and I said "let go now," and he started in... said he needed... pulled me in, you know, hard, and I got a hand in is face, and he... he bit down... bit down hard, and I... I don't know, went nuts... bunch of stuff... got me down on the floor... got me down on the floor and raped me. That's how he caught up with our marriage, that's how he changed.

Keely and Du by Jane Martin

DU.

... So, the stock market crashed, three days later, there I was. The doctor asked my father what they planned on calling me... "Calamity Jane," he said. There were ten kids, I was the fourth. Would you like me to stop talking? My mother, Jesus watch over her, died of leukemia at thirty-seven, leaving ten children, God help us, you can imagine. Well, God provides. I took care of the little ones, and my sister, 'til college took care of me. So much to learn, such a stupid little girl. Thousands of meals I put together. Sometimes I would step into a closet for the peace and quiet. Oh, mercy! Oh, my father was quiet, Lord he was silence in shoes, I mean it... so tall... he wore one suit, and he would move through the mess and noise and contention and tears, and he would pick up the fallen, dry the ones who were wat, find the lost and admonish the fallen away with an old wooden spoon. And then he'd go and sit in the midst of the madhouse and read his Bible. When his eyes tired he'd have me read it, on the floor beside him, one hand on my shoulder. You know, I remember a hundred things he did and nothing of what he said. He died of throat cancer, and he died so hard I don't even like to think about it. What about your father? What about your father? I think you're spoiled rotten, what do you think? You care for your father, and you think that's hard? It's a privilege to do that, young lady. You work two jobs and think you're put upon? There are millions suffering because they can't provide. Your husband forced himself on you? You should have gone to the police. You want to end the life of the baby you are carrying? It's contrary to God's will, it's murder, it's not necessary, it's as selfish an act as you could conceive, and we will not allow you to harm that child or yourself. You are better than that, you know you are, and how you feel or what trouble you might have is not so important as a life. Now grow up and talk to me. What about your father?

The Break of Noon by Neil LaBute

GINGER.

I'm taking the car, John. I need to get back to, you know... the real world. To Civilization. Earth. You scare me now - worse than ever before. That you could actually believe this garbage you're spouting! We do what we do, we make choices and we're responsible - you were an awful husband and now you're feeling bad about your life and you wanna change it. Fine. Do something. Change how you live the rest of it but that doesn't mean God spoke to you... and you know it! In your heart? You know that... just be a man and say so. Go out there and spread the gospel of "I used to be an asshole to my family." Try that. Or ask my forgiveness for how you treated us and we'll be even. I don't need your precious money. I really don't. An apology would be enough.

Reindeer Soup by Joe Pintauro

IONA.

Oh how foolish of you, you have no idea or else you'd never say such a thing. Reindeer have the biggest hearts in the universe. They put dogs to shame. A reindeer will sit in eighty below zero waiting for you outside your cabin till she freezes to death. They let you imprint on them and they stay more faithful than a dog or a horse or... even a husband. So you see, Norman think's I'm her significant other. If you fall down in a snow storm, a reindeer will hunker down in the snow next to you and make a drift to hold the heat around your body. Much better than a husband, a reindeer. Love you like... well, she saved my life once. Okay, I was ice fishing. The ice cracked and I went under the ice, like this... breathing... one inch of air. Can't make waves. Stay still, floating. Through the ice, I see her four legs over my face... tides pulling me away, she's following over my face. The ice gets thinner, it's cracking. Splash! She's in the water. I grab her reins and she swims. On shore, I pass out from the cold. Next thing, she wakes me up in front of my bubble.

Reindeer Soup by Joe Pintauro

JULIE.

I wasn't meant for this world. I'm wasting away, worrying about the elephants getting shot by poachers so some narcissistic woman could wear an ivory bracelet. I get the shakes in bed each night wondering: how does that poor elephant mother feel? She's got her trunk up in the trees grabbing fruit for her baby and BAMMMM! Mother is hit. Mother is dizzy. Run my darling child. Mother is falling to her knees. Oh the pain. I'm bleeding to death. Goodbye tree, goodbye clouds, BOOOOM! I've fallen in a heap. My eyes are glaring at the sun - my trunk is swinging wildly. Oh no. They're coming closer. They're going to shoot again. The gun is touching my skull. BAMMMM! In the brain. Goodbye light! The last thing I see is the giraffes running. The eagles soar up and away. They look down and see the cities covered in pollution... They think: where will we go? The condors too. They swear to never lay their eggs again. And how many people eat chickens each day? Twenty million? A hundred million? All those chickens murdered each day. All that blood all over the world. I think I'm going to faint. And now you tell me that string beans and broccoli feel it too. I just won't stand for it another minute.

On Tidy Endings by Harvey Fierstein

MARION.

I remember, at the funeral, I was surrounded by all of Collin's family and business associates while you were left with your friends. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should have said something but it felt good to have them around me and you looked like you were holding up.... Wrong. But saying that it's all my fault for not letting go...? There were other people involved. Arthur, you don't understand. Most people that we knew as a couple had no idea that Collin was Gay right up to his death. And even those that did know only found out when he got sick and the word leaked out that it was AIDS. I don't think I have to tell you how stupid and ill-informed most people are about homosexuality. And AIDS...? The kinds of insane behavior that word inspires...? Those people at the funeral, how many times did they call to see how he was doing over these years? How many of them ever went to see him in the hospital? Did any of them even come here? So, why would you expect them to act any differently after his death? So, maybe that helps to explain their behavior, but what about mine, right? Well, maybe there is no explanation. Only excuses. And excuse number one is that you're right, I have never really let go of him. And I am jealous of you. Hell, I was jealous of anyone that Collin ever talked to, let alone slept with... let alone loved. The first year, after he moved out, we talked all the time about the different men he was seeing. And I always listened and advised. It was kind of fun. It kept us close. It kept me a part of his intimate life. And the bottom line was always that he wasn't happy with the men he was meeting. So, I was always allowed to hang on to the hope that one day he'd give it all up and come home. Then he got sick. He called me, told me he was in the hospital and asked if I'd come see him. I ran. When I got to his door there was a sign, INSTRUCTIONS FOR VISITORS OF AN AIDS PATIENT. I nearly died. And believe me, a sign is not the way to find these things out. I was so angry... And he was so sick... I was sure that he'd die right then. If not from the illness then from the hospital staff's neglect. No one wanted to go near him and I didn't bother fighting with them because I understood that they were scared. I was scared. That whole month in the hospital I didn't let Jimmy visit him once. You learn. Well, as you know, he didn't die. And he asked if he could come stay with me until he was well. And I said yes. Of course, yes. Now, here's something I never thought I'd ever admit to anyone: had he asked to stay with me for a few weeks I would have said no. But he asked to stay with me until he was well and knowing there was no cure I said yes. In my craziness I said yes because to me that meant forever. That he was coming back to me forever. Not that I wanted him to die, but I assumed from everything I'd read... And we'd be back together for whatever time he had left. Can you understand that? Two weeks later he left. He moved in here. Into this apartment that we had bought as an investment. Never to live in. Certainly never to live apart in. Next thing I knew, the name Arthur starts appearing in every phone call, every dinner conversation. "Did you see the doctor?" "Yes. Arthur made sure I kept the appointment." "Are you going to your folks for Thanksgiving?" "No. Arthur and I are having some friends over." I don't know which one of us was more of a coward, he for not telling me or me for not asking about you. But eventually you became a given. Then, of course, we met and became what I had always thought of as friends. I don't care what you say, how could we not be friends with something so great in common: love for one of the most special human beings there ever was. And don't try and tell me there weren't times when you enjoyed by being around as an ally. I can think of a dozen occasions when we ganged up on him, teasing him with our intimate knowledge of his personal habits. Blanket stealing? Snoring? Excess gas, no less? I don't think that my loving him threatened your relationship. Maybe I'm not being truthful with myself. But I don't. I never tried to step between you. Not that I ever had the opportunity. Talk about being joined at the hip! And that's not to say I wasn't jealous. I was. Terribly. Hatefully. But always lovingly. I was happy for Collin because there was no way to deny that he was happy. With everything he was facing, he was happy. Love did that. You did that. He lit up with you. He came to life. I envied that and all the time you spent together, but more, I watched you care for him (sometimes overcare for him), and I was in awe. I could never have done what you did. I never would have survived. I really don't know how you did.

On Tidy Endings by Harvey Fierstein

MARION.

It's very easy for you to stand here and criticize, but there are aspects that you will just never be able to understand. You weren't there. You have no idea what it was like for me. You're talking to someone who thought that a girl went to college to meet a husband. I went to protest rallies because I liked the music. I bought a guitar because I thought it looked good on the bed! This lifestyle, this knowledge that you take for granted, was all a little out of left field for me. I met Collin in college, married him right after graduation and settled down for a nice quiet life of Kids and Careers. You think I had any idea about this? Talk about life's little surprises. You live with someone for sixteen years, you share your life, your bed, you have a child together, and then you wake up one day and he tells you that to him it's all been a lie. A lie. Try that on for size. Here you are the happiest couple you know, fulfilling your every life fantasy and he tells you he's living a lie.

The Miracle Worker by William Gibson

ANNIE.

The asylum? I grew up in such an asylum. The state almshouse. Rats - why, my brother Jimmie and I used to play with the rats because we didn't have toys. Maybe you'd like to know what Helen will find there, not on visiting days? One ward was full of the - old women, crippled, blind, most of them dying, but even if what they ad was catching there was nowhere else to move them, and that's where they put us. There were younger ones across the hall, prostitutes mostly, with T.B., and epileptic fits, and a couple of the kind who - keep after other girls, especially young ones, and some insane. Some just had the D.T.'s. The youngest were in another ward to have babies they didn't want, they started at thirteen, fourteen. They'd leave afterwards, but the babies stayed and we played with them, too, though a lot of them had - sores all over from diseases you're not supposed to talk about, but not make of them lived. The first year we had eighty, seventy died. The room Jimmie and I played in was the deadhouse, where they kept the bodies till they could dig - the graves. No, it made me strong. But I don't think you need send Helen there. She's strong enough.

Cloud Nine by Caryl Churchill

BETTY.

I used to think Clive was the one who liked sex. But then I found I missed it. I used to touch myself when I was very little, I thought I'd invented something wonderful. I used to do it to go to sleep with or to cheer myself up, and one day it was raining and I was under the kitchen table, and my mother saw me with my hand under my dress rubbing away, and she dragged me out so quickly I hit my head and it bled and I was sick, and nothing was said, and I never did it again till this year. I thought if Clive wasn't looking at me there wasn't a person there. And one night in bed in my flat I was so frightened I started touching myself. I thought my hand might go through into space. I touched my face, it was there, my arm, my breast, and my hand went down where I thought it shouldn't, and I thought well there is somebody there. It felt very sweet, it was a feeling from very long ago, it was very soft, just barely touching and I felt myself gathering together more and more and I felt angry with Clive and angry with my mother and I went on and on defying them, and there was this vast feeling growing in me and all round me and they couldn't stop me and no one could stop me and I was there and coming and coming! Afterwards I thought I'd betrayed Clive. My mother would kill me. But I felt triumphant because I was a separate person from them. And I cried because I didn't want to be. But I don't cry about it any more. Sometimes I do it three times in one night and it really is great fun.

Summer of the Aliens by Louis Nowra

DULCIE.

I want to make a mess of this place. We'll tear it up, piss and shit on it all and someone passing by will say tomorrow morning: I saw angels in the RSL hall. It was angels that destroyed it. Nectar of the angels. Aren't they beautiful? Angels hover in the air like dragonflies. Like this. Not I have no wings. No, not yet. Angels have to think of them and then they imagine having them and there is a feeling, like it must be when boys get stiff, a growing from the shoulders. Two wings on either shoulders. But they don't look like wings at first, they look like buds, white buds. Then slowly, like a flower, they slowly open, breaking through the angels' clothes. Real slow, unfolding like in dreamtime. And then they open out, like my wings. They begin to float testing new, unnamed muscles. Then they're like a bird flying, break free of the ground. I begin to rise. Above you. Higher higher, like a cloud, my body feels light as a cloud. I begin speaking but my voice has changed, it's as loud as a scream, softer than a whisper. I speak like an angel. My speech sounds like this. I am saying something secret to you in angel talk.

Plucker by Alena Smith

ALEXIS.

I just want to go to a party by myself again. You know? I want to have a crush on someone again! You know how it is - when you set your sights on someone. Maybe it's at a show, maybe he's playing guitar, and looking dark and melancholy, and you say to yourself - that's him, he's it, and I am going to get with him. Tonight. And even though the room is full of other perfectly attractive women who might be thinking the exact same thing, at the precise moment you know of light up, and you know you have it in you to make it happen. Tonight. You know that strange, cosmic needles are weaving you and him together with burning threads of fire. You know that he will be unable to resist you. And it's true. You stick it out till three in the morning, drinking and smoking way too many cigarettes, talking to other guys you're not the slightest bit attracted to, watching him flirt with other girls, but always catching your eye at the last possible second before you were about to give up, letting you know with one hot glance that it's on, he just has to get rid of this one and then he'll make his way over to you. And then he does, he makes his way over to you, and he puts his hand on the small of your back, and you feel calm, safe, protected, even though you are going up in flames. And this is what you give up when you settle down. You give up this crazy magic that it took you years to perfect. It's like an arrow-maker having to put down his tools and stop making arrows. No more setting your sights on someone. No more sending fiery arrows zooming through the dark. I just want to meet someone again who sets me on fire. You know?

Plucker by Alena Smith

THOMASINA.

It was our last day on the Vineyard - we'd been at the beach all day. And you know that feeling you have when you've been at the beach for hours and hours - like your skin has absorbed the heat of the sun - and your mind has absorbed the crash of the waves - and you're completely relaxed - you're like, part of the beach - and the air is salty and fresh - and it's beginning to cool off into the evening... I was lying on my side, turned away from Julian, and there was this little girl. She was such a pretty little girl, in a blue striped suit, and I was staring at her, and all of a sudden I slipped into a dream. I was dreaming that she was my baby, our baby, and if I rolled over, Julian would be there, but he'd be older, and I'd be older, and we'd have this little girl. And then I felt Julian's hand on my back, and I turned to face him, and looked into his eyes, and he was crying. And that's when he asked me to marry him.

Plucker by Alena Smith

LEE.

Let's see... Well, it was Paris. And we were twenty years old. And we were crazy in love. Like lunatics! We'd make out against the walls of stone cathedrals... we'd sleep till hour in the afternoon, then go out to one of those little squares and smoke Gauloises and drink these ridiculous drinks - bellinis, I don't know - the kind of drinks only Americans on their junior year abroad ever order, I bet. The waiters were probably laughing at us. But we had no idea. We felt completely authentic. That's what was so beautiful about that time. I remember waking up in bed together, thinking, this is what it means to be an adult. But actually, we were kids. We were innocent. And we didn't have shit to do - we didn't even have class most of the time because the French students were always on strike - and all we did, all day, was amble around Parisian streets in this haze, the stupor, which was the combined effect of language immersion, too much liquor, and well - falling in love.

Sophistry by Jonathan Marc Sherman

ROBIN.

It's supposed to mean that I've had enough of this shit. Yes, I know, I asked for it, I do deserve some of it because I tolerated it, I allowed it, I ignored it, but there are limits. You've pulled off some incredible stunts during this relationship, gotten away with extraordinary garbage, and I want to be the first to congratulate you, you do the scumbag thing extremely well. But I will no longer be a segment of your vicious circle. I don't fit. I can't even look at myself in the mirror, because when I do, all I can see are flowers, somebody else's flowers. You've gotten a lot of mileage on just a few drops of romance very early on. I'm a sucker. But the tank is empty. Enough of this. I can't do it. Enough.

Emotional Creature: The Secret Life of Girls Around the World by Eve Ensler

GIRL 5.

Hello, my name is Chang Ying. I'm 15 and I have been working in this factory since I was a kid. I speak good Chinese, I just can't write it or read it. But I have a lot to say and I think I can help you. You may not think some poor girl who only makes a few cents an hour has anything to teach you. But I know a lot about Barbie. I am one of the people who makes her head. I pull the lever and her head pops out. I actually see what goes into it. As you can tell by now, I have found a way to get this message to you. It isn't a letter or internet or phone. It's what I call Head Send. Can you feel it? It is very strong. I started doing it when I was 5. You have to think a thought very, very intensely, and then you close your eyes and concentrate and your head sends it. Because I make Barbie's head, I Head Send my thoughts into each one of her brains. So whatever girl gets her will hear my thoughts. I have made many, many Barbie heads, so my message is in a lot of places. If you listen very closely to your Barbie - put her head to your ear like a shell - you will hear what I have to say. Many, many of us girls are needed to make Barbie, because three Barbies are sold every second. They told us this the first day of the job. They said girls like me were working in a lot of countries to make Barbie perfect. Her body comes from Taiwan. Her hair comes from Japan. Then she comes to China to get clothes and get her head put on. They told us what we did here in China was the most important part, and that we had to do it fast or we would not keep up and then little girls couldn't get their Barbies. At the beginning I used to worry about this and I would always be very nervous. I cut my hand a few times in the machine. Then I saw a picture of Barbie's dream house and it made me start thinking about where I live. I live in a nightmare house. Prison Barbie, all us girls shoved into one ugly place. I have never been anywhere else, but I do not think anyone really looks like Barbie. She is so skinny. I started thinking about how it's actually hard to love Barbie the way she is now. She is very tough, so much plastic. She's not cuddly at all. She can't even put her arms around you. You have to do things for her. Worship her, dress her, buy her things. She wants everything. She is very greedy and needy. Listen, it's not Barbie's fault, she doesn't even have a chance. So many people control her. I've heard girls love their Barbie at the beginning, then when they get older then turn on her. They cut off all her hair or even her head or put her in the microwave oven. The people who are in charge make her say really stupid things. They put words in her mouth: Will we ever have enough clothes? I want to go shopping! Math is hard. I know Barbie doesn't really want to say any of this, 'cause I know what's going on in her head. She talks to me. She's really hurting. She really hates shopping and feels bad about all the girls who are starved to make her and are starving to be like her. She's actually very messy and surprisingly loud. Barbie isn't who you think she is. She's so much smarter than they will let her be. She's got great powers and is kind of a genius. There are more than 1 billion Barbies in the world. Imagine if we freed them. Imagine if they come alive in all the villages and cities and bedrooms and landfills and dreamhouses and factories. Imagine if they went from makeover to takeover. Imagine if they started saying what they really felt. Imagine if I could activate them. Let Barbie speak. Head Send: Free Barbie! Head Send: Free Barbie! Free Barbie! Free Barbie!

Emotional Creature: The Secret Life of Girls Around the World by Eve Ensler

GIRL 4.

RULE NUMBER 1. GET OVER THAT GIRL THING: "THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING TO ME." When it happens, and trust me, it happens to thousands of us, here in the Congo and around the world. You will not believe it. You will think - these are just crazy soldiers fooling around. They must be bored or something. They couldn't be hurting me, grabbing my arms and legs rough like this, throwing me into their truck. Your brain will start telling you things. They are old enough to be my father. They know better than this. This will be confusing. It will make you feel stupid. It will make you feel like what is happening is not really happening. It will make you feel like you did something wrong. I watched my best friends - Alisa, Esther and Sowadi. We were on holiday. We took the boat together from Bukavu to Goma. We were joking around a lot on the lake - Lake Kivu. It's a really huge lake. It takes 5 hours to cross it. We were drinking Fantas and making fun of Esther's big crazy hair. We were going to Goma to swim and hang out. We went shopping. Sowadi bought these gold shoes. I remember thinking I wanted them too, but I didn't want her to think I was copying her. As we walking out the store and down this street, it didn't seem real. We were just shopping and now these crazy soldiers... That's why they didn't run. I wanted to run, but I didn't want to leave them. When we tried to refuse, that's when we got how serious it was. One of the soldiers, the real big one, started beating Alisa and she was screaming. My best friends were all screaming and crying. I got very quiet. That's what I do. I wasn't going to let those soldiers know anything. That leads to: RULE NUMBER 2. NEVER LOOK AT HIM WHEN HE IS RAPING YOU. He will call your name in that grating, craving voice. He will beg you to look. He will turn your head with his big rough dirty hands. Never move your eyes to his. Close them if you have to. He is nothing. He is a teeny tiny meaningless speck. RULE NUMBER 3. BUILD A HOLE INSIDE YOURSELF AND CLIMB INTO IT. He will be on top of you. He will hold his hand over your mouth. You are a virgin. You are only 15. He will remind you that no one is coming. Imagine you are dancing. Think of your favorite song. Remember your mother braiding your hair. Feel her kindly, roughly braiding hands. Hear her calling your name, "Marta, Marta, Marta." RULE NUMBER 4. NEVER EVER OPEN ANY DOOR TO HIM. Never laugh at his jokes. He will be shoving himself into you. He will do this 2 or 3 times a day. It will not be painful after the first 20 times. Your insides will no longer belong to you. He will sometimes wear cologne. Beware. That smell will make you sympathetic. Do not give way to it. You will begin to feel something for him. It's natural after six months. It has nothing to do with Claude. By the way, never use his name. Only refer to him as "him" or "you." "You, move over. You, leave me alone." RULE NUMBER 5. HIS SADNESS IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. Sometimes he will seem so sad. All the bad things he has seen and done. You will feel bad for him. You will feel everything he feels and doesn't feel. You have been his slave for almost two years. You will start to think there is no one else. This is your life. He will be the only person who ever loves you. When you start vomiting one morning, you will be sure he poisoned you. Then it will pass and it will happen again, and slowly you will realize you are pregnant with his baby. He will tell you if you even think of aborting it, he will kill you. RULE NUMBER 6, IT DOESN'T MATTER IF YOU GET CAUGHT, BETTER DIE TRYING TO BE FREE. When the opportunity reveals itself, flee. Count on miracles. When you run, you will take your baby because deep down you know she is yours. You will take her clothes and nothing else. You will start to run and your legs will be strong like a strong person's legs, and you will think clearer and better than you have ever thought before, and you will hear your mother calling, "Marta, run, run, run" and you will make it on the bus at the exact right moment, and you will not look out the window because you know the four bodyguards who have watched you like a hawk for two years are already there, but you are in your hole and no one can see you, and you will be invisible, and the next day you will make it to the boat, and as it is pulling out from the shore you will not be breathing, you will see Claude and the other men on the dock asking and looking for you, and someone will point to the boat, and you will know he has found you even though you are deep inside the hole. And the Captain of the boat will suddenly be standing next to you, and he will ask you one single question "How old are you?" and then you will start to talk as if it's the first time you've talked, and you will be surprised at how loud and crazy your voice sounds, and you will say things like, "I went on vacation for two days and he kept me for two years. I am 17. He took me when I was 15. He raped me every day three times a day. He gave me diseases and made me pregnant. If you turn this boat back, I will throw myself into the lake. I will drown myself. I'll be okay dead as long as I never have to see him again. I will take his baby with me." And the Captain will put one hand on your shoulder, and you will see a light in his eyes that you will identify as mercy, and he will not turn back. RULE NUMBER 7. DO NOT FEEL GUILTY ABOUT HOW HAPPY YOU FEEL WHEN YOU HEAR HE IS DEAD. After six months back at home in your beloved Bukavu, you will run into two soldiers from the camp and they will be surprised at how good you look, and they will tell you that Claude got killed and you will say "God did something good," and at that moment milk will pour into your breasts and you will love your baby. RULE NUMBER 8. NO ONE CAN TAKE ANYTHING AWAY FROM YOU IF YOU DO NOT GIVE IT TO THEM.

Emotional Creature: The Secret Life of Girls Around the World by Eve Ensler

GIRL 6.

Stephanie. She liked it. I could tell. She didn't pull away. She tasted like cinnamon gum. Her soft mouth. Her lips. Her tongue. I made it happen. Well, we both did, in a way. Kinda grew up, out of us, between us. We were laying on her bed. I was wearing her t-shirt. The real soft one. It smelled like her, all lemony and foresty. I couldn't believe she let me wear it. I was tickling her back. I said it would be easier and feel better if I undid her bra, and I did. I really got into rubbing her back - and then she started kind of pretend-moaning. We started laughing really hard and then she grabbed me and we were rolling and rolling all over the bed. Crazy rolling. A little rough even. Then we kissed. Just like that. It was... mystical. Next day in school, I couldn't wait to see her and I started to move towards her, and she just stared through me and kept walking down the hall like she never met me. Like I was never there or here. Like there was never a kiss. Like I was really gay and weird. I'm not gay. I'm not straight. I'm Stephanied.

Emotional Creature: The Secret Life of Girls Around the World by Eve Ensler

GIRL 4.

I never even thought about a condom. I was practicing abstinence, but to be honest, I didn't really know how to apply it, 'cause once the kissing started. I am tired a lot. My mother thinks I'm doing drugs. I could never tell her. She is super religious. Sometimes I picture it like a new little friend and we could talk about stuff, and maybe even later she could help me. But that is really far off and right now I don't even have a job or an idea about what I would do. I wouldn't be attacking it or anything. I would just be removing it. I wouldn't be hurting it. Just putting it someplace else. Well, then I wouldn't have a problem growing inside me and I wouldn't want to kill myself. I like school. I want to be an important person. It's not a baby. It's a maybe. I dreamed the other night that I took it out to look at it. It was really cute and the size of my thumbnail. It looked like one of those emoticons. I tried to put it back in but this nurse was there. She looked just like JLo except she was all nasty and told me it was too late and why'd I take it out 'cause it was none of my business. That makes me sad and a little relieved. I mean, I would like to meet her. I think she might have my face. I hope she doesn't have my legs. I don't really know Marcus so well. I mean he's got great Converse and he knows all the rappers - songs, that is. But he could have craziness in his family and then this problem would turn into a crazy person, and then I would have to spend my whole life taking care and worrying that he didn't end up in jail or paying rent, while he was just staring off into space eating Big Macs all day. I don't even know if I like babies. I like the baby clothes. They're all soft and shit, and the little baby hats and the shoes - they're so cute. I could dress her all nice but then what if she started crying and didn't stop crying I really wouldn't like that.

Emotional Creature: The Secret Life of Girls Around the World by Eve Ensler

GIRL 2.

I look so pretty, right? Aren't I pretty? Pretty girls don't really look like anything particular. They look like everyone dreams of looking, but they do not look like anything you can really identify. When you describe someone pretty you say things like, "Oh that girl, Laila, she's so pretty." But when you describe not so pretty girls you always say something special about them, something about how they look. "Oh, Zoya she's the one with the wild hair," or, "Maryam, her legs are a little short but she has major breasts." I was really funny once. Really funny. Like everything I did and said - funny. You would probably by laughing right now. I wish you were laughing. I wish I could give you examples of the funny I once was, but then I would still be funny. I know it's hard to believe, looking at me now. Before when I was funny, I looked funny. I looked like something unexpected about to happen. It all had to do with my nose. It was big and ugly and funny. My nose was funny. When you met me, you met my nose. Hi, welcome to my nose. Noses are so intense. I mean, have you really ever looked at yours? I used to look at mine all the time. It fascinated me. God, what is a nose? Even the word is funny. Nose. My nose put everyone at ease. It was a conversation breaker. Somehow it let everyone know I could be trusted. It is hard to describe, but my nose gave me permission. It inspired me with wicked ideas. It made me daring. I was the one in my classes who was the clown. They called me Gonzo. Like the Muppet. My parents are not bad people. I know they love me. I know they want what's best for me. But that involves their idea of what is best. And it has meant they know better than me. My parents who loved me paid a man on my sixteenth birthday to take my nose out. They hired a man to take my poor nose down. The only problem is that my nose was attached to me. I didn't even know what was happening. I thought they were taking me to Paradise Chang restaurant in Valiasr. I thought we were going to have my favorite Chinese food. Then we were at this little hospital clinic place. I didn't understand. There was a doctor who oddly has a big nose himself. He told me it was a really simple procedure. My mother kept smiling this crazy guilty-mother smile. They kept telling me I would be happy and everything would be better, and I would thank them for it because my life would be so much easier. Then the doctor drugged me. When I woke up I was so nauseous and they were all hovering strangely over me and I could tell something terrible had happened. I started vomiting flesh and bone and blood. My nose was coming out all over me, ruined, hammered, destroyed. I was crying and I didn't even really know how to cry without a nose. And my father took my hand and said, "Dokhtaram, you will be a princess now," and I said, "I don't want to be a princess. I was happy being a clown." I know this is hard to believe but I never dreamed of being pretty. I felt sorry for the pretty girls 'cause everyone was always staring at them. They were just there like... goldfish in a bowl. Just swimming around, being looked at. Occasionally nibbling at the fish food, but nibbling 'cause we all know skinny is the same as pretty. Because I do not eat, I do not have much energy. Food actually makes your brain function. So pretty people hardly move. They can't do too much. They do not have very expansive thoughts. But then again, they don't need to. They're pretty. I miss my nose. Every day I rub it and dream of telling lies like Pinocchio so it will grow back. I went on this secret date with a boy who told me I was pretty. I'm not really. He thought I was being coy. I wasn't born pretty. I'm not naturally pretty. I'm fake pretty. He didn't understand and so he kissed me, 'cause that's what boys do when they don't know something and don't want to look stupid. When he kissed me there was nothing in the way. It was too easy. I didn't even have to make a joke about it. And that was sad, 'cause the joke about my nose always made the guy laugh and then we both relaxed and kissing was so much better then.

Evelyn in Purgatory by Topher Payne

CANDACE.

It was just this guy from my building, Noah? We got to talking at the mailboxes one day, and he mentioned he had the complete series of Lost on DVD, I'd never seen it because I don't have cable and I get bad reception on ABC, so he started bringing the DVDs over and we'd watch an episode or two and then we'd talk about it and then we'd have sex. I really got into it, Lost I mean, the sex was just okay, but it became like a little routine and I find routines very comforting, you know? Noah didn't use condoms because he said he had this latex allergy, which I never really believed but I was on the pill and I knew he was safe. He was one of those guys Jewish people hire to sit with their dead people, and he had cauliflower ears from wrestling in high school, it's not like he was some stud, who would sleep with that? I was on antibiotics because I'd had strep and I didn't know that made my pills stop working, and then he moved out a few weeks before I found out, and I didn't even know his last name, he was just Noah the dead people sitter who I slept with through six seasons of Lost, and then maybe four episodes of Breaking Bad but I just couldn't get into it, and oh my god what in the name of Christ and I still talking?!

Evelyn in Purgatory by Topher Payne

LILA.

They want to cut art classes at my school. Something must be eliminated, and somehow we have reached a point where fostering creative expression is no longer a necessity. But my students are artists. They win awards. National. They go on the Pratt, DePaul, Parsons. You can't cut funding from a program producing those kinds of results. The principal, a former football coach with whom I have exchanged no end of unpleasantries, claimed I was being insubordinate. Hostile. Which is absurd. In the seventies I lived in a communal household with fourteen people, I know how to be a team player. But the accusation was all it took. I was sent here, and now my program is dying. I will remain here until I have no job to go back to, and then I will be dismissed. I just ache for my students. They won't all be athletes or math scholars. Some of them are meant to be artists. They just need an instructor who trusts them, believes in them. And we're taking that chance away. It breaks my heart.

She Kills Monsters by Qui Nguyen

AGNES.

My memories? My memories are shit. Do you want to know what my memories of Tilly are? They're of this little nerdy girl who I never talked to, who I ignored, who I didn't understand because she didn't live in the same world as I did. Her world was filled with evil jello molds and lesbian demon queens and slacker Gods while mine... had George Michaels and leg-warmers. I didn't get her. I assumed I would one day - that she'd grow out of all this - that I'd be able to sit around and ask her about normal things like clothes and tv shows and boys... and as it turns out, I didn't even know she didn't even like boys until my DM told me so. I didn't know her, Vera. That breaks my heart. I remember her as a baby, I remember her as this little toddler I loved picking up and holding, but I don't remember her as a teen at all. I'll never get the chance to remember her as an adult. And now all I have left is this stupid piece of paper and this stupid made-up adventure about killing a stupid made-up dragon.

reasons to be pretty by Neil LaBute

STEPH.

Yeah, well, whatever... Doesn't matter because the other side of me, the reliable part, was screaming "Thank God ya came to your fucking senses!" Anyway, look. We're right where we should be now, I really believe it. I don't want to believe it, that we could've been doing shit to hurt each other, but I wrestled with all this stuff over the last few months and, just, I know now that we were not very perfect as a couple. Not that we weren't good together because we were, I know that, but be honest... you were never gonna give me what I have now - this ring of the sort of future I'm wanting from a guy. Right? You do understand that I've thought of you that way, Greg, hoped that you could be that person to me? But you weren't. Not really.

reasons to be pretty by Neil LaBute

STEPH.

Don't, alright? Don't try to act like it didn't happen and I'm just having a "girl thing" here because that's not the story, bud. It is not. We can't eat lunch and kiss each other and start blabbing on the phone next week... we're done, Greg. I am finished with our relationship and I'm gonna need you to acknowledge that before I go... Don't speak for me. You always wanna say shit for me, vouch for me or sign shit that we should both have our names on and I'm not gonna have it anymore... you are not me so you don't know. Listen to me very carefully, OK, 'cause I'm ony gonna say this the one time. Fuck off... that's what I want you to do, Greg, get the fuck out of my life and leave me alone, let me start over in a serious fashion, maybe in a relationship or not, I dunno, but if it is in something like that may it please, please be with someone who can keep from being an asshole and thinking they know everything because you don't. You do not know a goddamn thing to do with me is what I've discovered in my four years with you. Four years that are now gone... so totally lost and gone that it makes me cry when I see any little bit from our time together. A key ring or, or your name light up on my phone or... shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. STOP. Why would you...? God. Idiot.

The Laramie Project by Moises Kaufman

SHERRY JOHNSON.

I really haven't been all that involved, per se. My husband's a highway patrolman, so that's really the only way I've known about it. Now when I first found out I just thought it was horrible. I just, I can't... Nobody deserves that! I don't care who ya are. But, the other thing that was not brought out - at the same time this happened that patrolman was killed. And there was nothing. Nothing. They didn't say anything about the old man that killed him. He was driving down the road and he shouldn't have been driving and killed him. It was just a little piece of paper. And we lost one of our guys. You know, my husband worked with him. This man was brand-new on the force. But, I mean, here's one of ours, and it was just a little piece in the paper. And a lot of it is my feeling that the media is portraying Matthew Shepard as a saint. And making him as a martyr. And I don't think he was. I don't think he was that pure. Now, I didn't know him, but... there's just so many things about him that I found out that I just, it's scary. You know about his character and spreading AIDS and a few other things, you know, being the kind of person that he was. He was, he was just a barfly, you know. And I think he pushed himself around. I think he flaunted it. Everybody's got problems. But why they exemplified him I don't know. What's the difference if you're gay? A hate crime is a hate crime. If you murder somebody you hate 'em. It was nothing to do with if you're gay or a prostitute or whatever. I don't understand. I don't understand.

The Laramie Project by Moises Kaufman

REBECCA HILLIKER.

I must tell you that when I first heard that you were thinking of coming here, when you first called me, I wanted to say, You've just kicked me in the stomach. Why are you doing this to me? But then I thought, That's stupid, you're not doing this to me. And, more important, I thought about it and decided that we've had so much negative closure on this whole thing. And the students really need to talk. When this happened they started talking about it, and then the media descended and all the dialogue stopped. You know, I really love my students because they are free thinkers. And you may not like what they have to say, and you may not like their opinions, because they can be very redneck, but they are honest and they're truthful - so there's an excitement here, there's a dynamic here with my students that I never had when I was in the Midwest or in North Dakota, because there, there was so much Puritanism that dictated how people looked at the world that a lot of times they didn't have an opinion, you couldn't get them to express an opinion. And, quite honestly, I'd rather have opinions that I don't like - and have that dynamic education.

Rabbit Hole by David Lindsay-Abaire

NAT.

I know - another rich kid in a plane crash - but this was my whole point. You should've stopped me from going off on that Kennedy tangent, because my point was about Onassis, and how when his son died, he was so distraught by the senselessness of it all, that he put up this big reward to anyone who could prove that someone had sabotaged the plane. He just couldn't accept that what had happened was an accident, so he offered all this money to anyone who could give him a reasonable explanation. He needed someone to blame. He needed a reason for losing his son. But it didn't come of course. And it killed him. The grief did. He only lasted a couple of years after that. Because he never came to terms with it. There was nothing to give him comfort, and so he died. You see? He would rather his son have been killed by some kind of secret assassination than by bad luck. It's like the Kennedy curse, isn't it? People want things to make sense.

The Flu Season by Will Eno

WOMAN.

Is this an experience experienced by anyone? Where it's just you and someone, and you lay and lie and lie in a room. This someone is lying next to you in the breathing dark but he doesn't know who he is, and that makes you start to slip. And you make the statement: I am not in control of my body or my mind. And you state the question: So then what is the "I" that is the subject of the assertion. And then you tender the inquisition: Who is the liar, the breather, the nobody, lying next to me? And who is the one lying inside me, kicking? You won't recall this time in your life with any warmth. And you feel sick. And as you suffer all that and grow great with mistakes, you can't even count on anyone to be - not even faithful - but just humane? Just at least recognizable? Anyone? Any goddamn body? I never swear. Why doesn't everybody not do that. I've breathed deeply enough, thank you. I think I'll go be sick again. That would be the most expressive thing I could do. Words. Excuse me. I'm sorry. I'll be alright. Or I'm wrong. I'm sorry and I won't be all right. And I'm not sorry.

Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller

LINDA.

Are they any worse than his sons? When he brought them business when he was young, they were glad to see him. But now his old friends, the old buyers that loved him so and always found some order to hand him in a pinch - they're all dead, retired. He used to be able to make six, seven calls a day in Boston. Now he takes his valises out of the car and puts them back and takes them out again and he's exhausted. Instead of walking he talks now. He drives seven hundred miles and when he gets there no one knows him any more, no one welcomes him. And what goes through a man's mind, driving seven hundred miles home without having earned a cent? Why shouldn't he talk to himself? Why? - When he has to go to Charley and borrow fifty dollars a week and pretend to me that it's his pay? How long can that go on? How long? You see what I'm sitting here and waiting for? And you tell me he has no character? The man who never worked a day but for your benefit? When does he get the medal for that? Is this his reward - to turn around at the age of sixty-three and find his sons, who he loved better than his life, one a philandering bum - That's all you are, my baby! And you! What happened to the love you had for him? You were such pals.... How you used to talk to him on the phone every night! How lonely he was till he could come home to you!

To Be Young, Gifted and Black by Lorraine Hansberry (Adapted by Robert Nemiroff)

THE MOTHER.

My mother first took us south to visit her Tennessee birthplace one summer when I was seven or eight. I woke up while we were still driving through some place called Kentucky and my mother was pointing out ot the beautiful hills and telling my brothers about how her father had run away and hidden from his master in those very hills when he was a little boy. She said that his mother had wandered among the wooded slopes in the moonlight and left food for him in secret places. They were very beautiful hills and I looked out at them for miles and miles after that, wondering who and what a "master" might be. I remember being startled when I first saw my grandmother rocking away on her porch. All my life I had heard that she was a great beauty - but no one had ever remarked that they meant a half century before! The woman that I met was as wrinkled as a prune and could hardly hear and barely see and always seemed to be thinking of other times. But she could still rock and talk and even make wonderful cupcakes - which were like cornbread, only sweet. She died the next summer and that is all that I remember about her, except that she was born in slavery and had memories of it and - they didn't sound anything like - Gone With the Wind!

Last Gas by John Cariani

LURENE.

I needed to do my thing with you! School was hard! I needed you to help me get through it! That was the plan! You'd come down and help me... and then... I was gonna take you places, remember? But you don't come down and help me. You didn't do anything. You never showed up, never called, never returned my calls. You just... disappeared. And that... wasn't easy to forgive. But I did it. I figured out how to do that. But... I couldn't forget. And it's not... forgive and remember, right? So... how 'bout... I forget now. It's forgotten, okay?

Steel Magnolias by Robert Harling

OUISER.

It's not your fault, M'Lynn. I used to think that you were crazy for marrying that man. Then I thought for a few years that you were just a glutton for punishment. Now I realize that you must be on some mission from God. I have not slept in days. I look like a dog's dinner. However, when I got up this morning, I decided I would try to rise above it. I would start anew. Whatever that man has done, I would overlook it in honor of your wedding day, Shelby. I thought I would make myself a little presentable and floss up the house in case somebody wanted to drop in... it being a big day in the neighborhood and all. So I go out to cut some fresh flowers for the living room. I go down to my magnolia tree and there is not a bloom on it!

Steel Magnolias by Robert Harling

SHELBY.

Mama. I don't know why you have to make everything so difficult. I look at having this baby as the opportunity of a lifetime. Sure, there may be some risk involved. That's true for anybody. But you get through it and life goes on. And when it's all said and done there'll be a little piece of immortality with Jackson's looks and my sense of style... I hope. Mama, please. I need your support. I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.

Steel Magnolias by Robert Harling

ANNELLE.

I don't mean to upset you by saying that. You see. When something like this happens, I pray very hard to make heads or tails of it. I think in Shelby's case, she wanted to take care of that baby, of you, of everybody she knew... and her poor body was just too worn out. It wouldn't let her do everything she wanted to do. So she went on to a place where she could be a guardian angel. She will always be young. She will always be beautiful. And I personally feel much safer knowing she's up there on my side. I know some people might think that sounds real simple and stupid... and maybe I am. But that's how I get through things like this.

Gruesome Playground Injuries by Rajiv Joseph

KAYLEEN.

Goddamnit. Hey again. So I'm trying to get more healthy. Mostly. Most of the time. I thought you should know. So, you know, don't worry about me or anything. Come on, Doug. Wake up now. Just wake up. I'm here. I'm here to wake you up, okay? It's been a long time, I know, and I just want to... Jesus. What the fuck am I doing here? I'm so sick of your shit. WHO GETS STRUCK BY FUCKING LIGHTNING?! ON THEIR FUCKING ROOF! I hate to tell you this, you stupid fucking genius, but getting up on the roof in the middle of a fucking electrical storm isn't a brilliant fucking move! I'm trying not to swear so much. And I'm moisturizing. So that's what's going on with me these days. So congratulations on almost being married. I mean, I heard about it. I heard about her. Elaine. Elaine. She sounds lovely. Poor girl. You probably made the right decision, though. I don't think you're gonna be ready to settle down till you stop climbing up on the roof, you know? I mean, I'm no model citizen, but I do know basic fucking things about personal safely, you dumb piece of shit. I mean, you're not the first groom to get cold feet. I feel like an idiot here. I was pretty sure, I'd get here, say two words to you and you'd snap out of this shit. Because it's ME! It's KAYLEEN, DOUGIE! I'm BACK! Last time I saw you you'd just blown out your stupid eye. It was this same hospital. Twice in ten years. Not stellar for a couple of kids supposed to be best friends. Twice! Well, I guess this is three times. Does this count? Does it count if one of us might be brain dead? Of course, you've always been brain dead, haven't you, Dougie? Ha ha ha. What else what else what else what else...? I am retarded. Your hand is all dry. You can't marry that girl, Doug. You can't. Because what about me? What about me, huh? When my dad died, when you... when you came to the funeral home that night... That stuff you said to me... You're always doing that, you know? The top ten best things anyone's ever done for me have all been done by you. That's pretty good, right? And I know. I know I know I know... I'm so stupid. I'm always... I'm just fucked up, you know that. And so I need you to stick it out, Dougie. I'm gonna need you to come looking for me again. I'm sorry. But you have to wake up now. You have to wake up for me. Because I'm not great, you know? I'm not great. And I really need you right now. I really need you to come over and show me some stupid shit again, tell me some stupid joke like you always do. I'm sorry I've been gone. I'm back now. You know? I'm back now. So wake up. Wake up now, buddy. Just, you know... rise and shine. It's Tuesday. That was always your favorite day.

A Public Reading of an Unproduced Screenplay About the Death of Walt Disney by Lucas Hnath

DAUGHTER.

I just don't think it's a good idea to name my kid the name you're named. Because when I say your name, I think all sorts of things I don't want to think. When I say your name, I think of you, and when I think of you I get all angry, and when I think of you and the way you act, and the way you yell, and the way you threw a tantrum at my wedding and threw cake at people, and I think of the way you yell, and the way you fire people and the way you force people to do what you want them to do, and I know about what you did to Roy. How when you won the Oscar for your film about lemmings, you walked into his office and threw the trophy at his head. Put a hole in the wall. When I think these thoughts when I think of the thoughts, I think these thoughts when I say your name, and I get angry, and I get sad, and I get scared, and I know that if I name my kid your name, then anytime I say his name, I'll feel the ways I feel when I think of you, and the kid will see that and the kid will feel that, and the kid will feel like I feel those ways towards him, and he'll feel bad and sad and maybe scared, and over time he'll think I feel about him the way I feel about you, and when he grows up, he'll be really fucked up, and when he grows up, he'll feel like I like his brothers better than him.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (Adapted by Simon Levy)

JORDAN.

Daisy Fay... the most popular girl in Louisville. We all envied her. She dressed all in white and had a little white roadster and all day long the telephone rang in her house, and excited young officers from Camp Taylor demanded the privilege of monopolizing her nights. Well, one night I'm walking by her house, this was nineteen-seventeen, and she's on the porch dancing with a lieutenant I'd never seen before. They were so engrossed in each other that they didn't see me, and he was looking at her in a way that every young girl wants to be looked at. And because it seemed so romantic to me I have remembered the incident ever since. His name was Jay Gatsby, and I didn't lay eyes on him again for over four years. Even after I'd met him at one of his parties I didn't realize it was the same man until the other night. Anyway, they became inseparable, promises were made, and then he left for the war. She changed after that, became distraught, withdrawn. I don't know what happened, something to do with her family, but after the war was over she just up and suddenly married Tom Buchanan of Chicago. He arrived with an entourage an more pomp and circumstance that Louisville ever knew before. The day before the wedding he gave her a string of pearls valued at three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I was a bridesmaid. Half an hour before the bridal dinner I went into her room and found her lying on her bed as lovely as the June night in her flowered dress. And as drunk as a monkey. She had a bottle of champagne in one hand and a letter in the other. I was scared, I can tell you; I'd never seen a girl like that before. She wouldn't let go of that letter. She took it into the tub with her and squeezed it up into a wet ball and only let me leave it in the soap dish when she saw that it was coming to pieces like snow. But she didn't say another word. I gave her spirits of ammonia, put ice on her forehead, hooked her back into her dress, and half an hour later we walked out of that room, the pearls around her neck and the incident over.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (Adapted by Simon Levy)

DAISY.

Pammy? Oh, yes. Listen, Nick, let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear? It'll show you how I've gotten to feel about... things. Well, Pammy was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. "All right," I said. "I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool - that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little FOOL." You see, I think everything's terrible anyhow. Everybody thinks so - the most advanced people. And I know. I've been everywhere and seen everything and done everything. Sophisticated... God, I am so sophisticated!

The Women of Lockerbie by Deborah Brevoort

MADELINE.

I was in the kitchen. I was baking a pie for Adam. A pumpkin pie, to welcome him home. The TV was on. I listen to it when I'm cooking. It was tuned in to a soap opera. "All My Children." One of the couples was fighting. The woman was pregnant. She wanted to get an abortion. "Don't be a fool!" I say to the woman. "Have the baby!" I sprinkle flour on the counter and roll out the pie dough. I roll it once in each direction. Like this... The way my mother taught me. And then Ted Koppel comes on the air. I know immediately that something is wrong. You only hear Ted Koppel's voice at night never in the day. I thought, "Oh dear, something awful has happened. What a shame. And so close to Christmas." I grab more flour and sprinkle it. I roll the crust. I hear... "Pan Am 103 was last seen in a fireball over Scotland." I double over. I sink onto the kitchen counter. My face presses into the pie dough. It is cold on my nose and cheek. I cannot stand up. I grope the counter for something to hold on to. My arm hits the flour bin. It crashes to the floor. My feet are covered with flour. I reach for the handle on the refrigerator. I pull myself up. And there in front of me is a note held by a magnet that says. "Adam. 7pm. JFK. Pan Am 103." I live in New Jersey! I have two cars in the driveway! This wasn't supposed to happen to me!

Steel Magnolias by Robert Harling

M'LYNN.

Well. I wasn't in the mood to play bridge. No. I couldn't leave my Shelby. It's interesting. Both the boys were very difficult births. I almost died when Jonathan was born. Very difficult births. Shelby was a breeze. I could've gone home that afternoon I had her. I was thinking about that as I sat next to Shelby while she was in the coma. I would work her legs and arms to keep the circulation going. I told the ICU nurse we were doing our Jane Fonda. I stayed there. I kept on pushing... just like I anlways have where Shelby was concerned... hoping she'd sit up and argue with me. But finally we all realized there was no hope. At that point I panicked. I was very afraid that I would not survive the next few minutes while they turned off the machines. Drum couldn't take it. He left. Jackson couldn't take it. He left. It struck me as amusing. Men are supposed to be made of steel or something. But I could not leave. I just sat there... holding Shelby's hand while the sounds got softer and the beeps got farther apart until all was quiet. There was no noise, no tremble... just peace. I realized as a woman how lucky I was. I was there when this wonderful person drifted into my world and I was there when she drifted out. It was the most precious moment of my life this far.

All My Sons by Arthur Miller

MOTHER.

I was fast asleep, and... Remember the way he used to fly low past the house when he was in training? When we used to see his face in the cockpit going by? That's the way I saw him. Only high up. Way, way up, where the clouds are. He was so real I could reach out and touch him. And suddenly he started to fall. And crying, crying to me... Mom, Mom! I could hear him like he was in the room. Mom!.. it was his voice! If I could touch him I knew I could stop him, if I could only... I woke up and it was so funny... The wind... it was like the roaring of his engine. I came out here... I must've still been half asleep. I could hear that roaring like he was going by. The tree snapped right in front of me... and I like... came awake. See? We should never have planted that tree. I said so in the first place; It was too soon to plant a tree for him

Oh, Gastronomy! by Steve Moulds

MARY.

I think this might be Mom's best feast yet. I should give Dad some credit too. He was the one who roasted the pig. But let's be honest. This is Mom's victory. I mean, Andrea and Susan haven't spoken since their boys got into that scrap at the St. Joe's picnic last year. But there they are smiling at each other while Susan eats Andrea's cheese grits. If that's not forgiveness... And check out Aunt Jocelyn talking up her French silk so she can get investors in that pie shop she's always wanted. Oh my god, and little Johnny, sucking on that pig's eye socket like a lollipop? That's... the future of Kentucky basketball right there. I know this is technically a family picnic, but as far as I'm concerned, this might as well be the state fair. I feel like this is what the harvest was like back in the old days - more food than you could ever save, and a place at the table for everyone. I just wish Sally could've made it. She and Mom need to stand in the same room and... I don't know, scream? Hug it out? Punch each other? Something different from the last three years. Those two could teach a master class in overreacting to an argument. The way Mom blanched when Sally decided to track down her birth parents was just stupid. And she definitely never understood the Alaska thing. I don't think Sally understands the Alaska thing. But deciding that the Family Feast was Mom's elaborate scheme to get her to come home? That's a stretch, even for Sally. And yeah, we get it, you're vegetarian. But the roast pig is for our guests. Last week, I dropped some hints on Facebook that if she was going to finally make it to one of these, this would be the year. And not just 'cause Dad's feeling worse. But after a message or two, she dropped off the face of the earth. Again. I guess what pisses me off the most about my sister is that she's never understood herself. She likes to believe that she's the family outcast, because she's adopted, and liberal, and... well-traveled, or something. But you find two women more similarly stubborn than Sally and Mom, and I will pay you a thousand dollars.

Oh, Gastronomy! by Tanya Saracho

ONE.

My boyfriend, he doesn't know what to do with me, because even though he tells me that I look fine to him, fine is not enough to me. Do you know what fine means? Fine means, I'll fucking tolerate you. That's what fine means. Fine means, "Sure, but could we please turn the lights off so I don't have to look at you?" Fine means "Our days are counted, baby unless you do something about your weight." Fine is people looking at you when you put anything in your mouth because all of a sudden you've turned into a social pariah. I sat there yesterday as a restaurant, and these two assholes were having some kind of a ball over at their table as I was trying to eat my freakin' lunch. The two actually sat there staring at me, as I put the sandwich in my mouth. It was so embarrassing. I'm sitting there alone, which I hate in the first place, and these two douchebags are like whispering something - I notice cuz they're giggling like little girls over there. So I look and they don't really stop. I try to ignore the, but I mean, I have to freakin' eat my food, right? I have 45 minutes for lunch, I have to eat this thing. And I can feel their freakin' eyes on me, like burning across the restaurant and I say fuck it and take another bite and they... These two jerks make this noise. Like... And I know what that noise is. I know what it means. How did I let it get this bad?

Oh, Gastronomy! by Tanya Saracho

ANNIE.

Are you fucking serious?! Did you just school me in fucking fork etiquette?! It's not enough that your mom just publicly shamed me in front of your whole family with her, "Annie, we use the butter knife to butter our bread and NOT the dinner knife," and you're still going to stand here and prep me so what? So I won't embarrass you in front of your guests? What's so shitty is that you just sat there, Ian. You didn't say a word. You let her just take me to town and you let everybody just chuckle it away. I knew it. I shouldn't have come. No, actually, I'm glad you brought me Ian. I'm glad I saw. Listen to me, because we've never talked about this and I just think it's time. You kind of tiptoe around it when I bring it up but we need to take it out right now and talk about this shit or it's just going to fester and blow up on us: I grew up poor, Ian. I grew up hungry. Really hungry. Not like stomach growling hungry; stomach burning, hand shaking hungry. Hungry like you thought your knees would give out on you on your walk home cuz you were so weak because you knew there would be no relief that night. Not until the next morning when you headed to school early for the free breakfast. For the runny eggs and microwaved English muffins what were bricks. Hey, but it was breakfast, right? There were days where we had nothing, Ian. You will never understand that kind of nothing. I don't want to throw the word privileged around, but you will never understand that kind of poverty. And it's not like my mom didn't try, it's not like she didn't work. She did the best she could. But shit, if there was no money, there was no food and more times than not, there was no money so it was a simple equation. Your fiancée grew up on food stamps, Ian. FOOD. Stamps. What's your mom going to say about that? It's something that you don't ever shake. The knowledge that yeah, you could be doing okay, but you're always two paychecks away from being back in the food bank line.

Death Tax by Lucas Hnath

DAUGHTER.

Did she say that I'm evil. She says that. She says from Day 1, I was a bad seed. Did she say that? She likes to say that to people. That I was evil from the start. She says that she looked into my eyes, and saw something in my eyes, and could just tell that I was evil, and there was nothing she could do about it except to treat me like an evil child, because that's what you do to children who have the evil look in their eyes. Or did she say I'm after her money. I'm sure she said that. I'm sure she said I'm after her money. Here's the thing. Okay, so that you see my side, because I know you've only seen her side, I can tell, I can tell the way you are, the way you look at me, the way you're silent at moments, the way you're judging me, I can tell - I'm really good at this by now - telling when my mother's said something about me, it's happened enough, I can tell. And so, I know you've heard her side, but now I want you to hear my side, so that you can know both sides: She says I want her money. She has so much money, just sitting there. And what do I have? What do Charley and I live on? We use food stamps... How is that right? Is that right? I'm just saying, alright, food stamps, was maybe the wrong example, I'm sorry if I offended you. I just think it's not right, I think - How is it right that she has so much money just sitting there in a bank, and her daughter and grandson have to struggle as hard as they struggle. And - It's not like I'm not trying. I'm trying. I'm doing some work as a substitute teacher, but they're only able to give me like two shifts a month, and two shifts a month means about, what, like, 200 bucks. And also I'm in a real estate course, an online thing, but even once I get that, I mean, that's commission based work. That isn't even - And I thought of becoming a nurse too. Or maybe a CNA. I forget which one requires less school, or they're both - both don't require much, like two years, is that right? - it's pretty quick, right? I mean, I'm sure that's part of why you became a nurse. I'm sure this isn't where you meant to wind up. Is it? It's something you did because you were trying to support your kid, because you needed the money, because it was there. Not because it's easy, I'm sure it's not easy, but because there was work there for you. So I'm saying, I'm saying I'm like you in this way. You and I, we're kind of on the same page here, right? And anyway, I mean, is it so wrong for me to want some of the money? Isn't that what parents do? They help. They help their children. Their children are children, which means they aren't as far along in life as the parent. They're a couple of steps behind. Shouldn't a parent want to help? I understand that. I understand that now. Now that I have Charley, I'd do anything I can to help Charley. I want his life to be easier. Easier than mine. If I had the power to make his like a lot better... And she has all this money. And it's not even hers. It was my dad's. If she didn't have him, she'd have nothing. So I think it's pretty hypocritical what she's doing. So I'm not gonna hide it. I think about money a lot. I think about money a lot, because I'm having a really shitty time right now, making things just "okay." I think about money a lot because I don't have money. I think about money because it's not okay to not have money. I think about money because I think about what happens when you don't have money. I think about money because I think about my kid getting sick or getting hurt or it he like fell down the stairs and broke something, and we don't have the money to deal with something like that. Or what if the landlord next month decided that he's gonna jack up the rent. Of what if I get into a car accident and I need to get car repairs and the insurance goes us. Or what if Charley needs new shoes for school, or there's some school trip I have to pay for, and I don't want him to be left out. Or what if, what if my husband doesn't pay child support, what if suddenly we get less, or what if, you know, and - But I don't bring it up. I shut up. I say nothing. I don't complain. I don't tell my mother. I don't make a big deal of it. But then I think, that's bullshit. Why shouldn't I bring it up? Why shouldn't I stand up for myself, for my kid? Why should I, and I - and I'm like, well, fuck it, fuck it, you know, and so I call her up about a month ago, and I call her up, and I tell her everything, everything I just told you, I tell her that. I tell her about how things are tight. I tell her what I'm scared of. I say, "I'm having a hard time and I'm scared." And I say, "I need you." And I ask her, "Can I have some money?" And she tells me something like you'll get what you get when I'm gone. And I'm like, "Well, you know, these problems I'm having, I'm having them like now. Like today. I need some money now." And something about that just really rubbed her the wrong way. And she starts yelling. And she's like, "That's all I am to you, just a checkbook, and you just use me for my money." And I was like, alright, okay, I'm not going to deal with this. This is kinda like abuse, and I'm not - And - And before I hang up the phone - I'm gonna hang up on her - and, I say: "You know, you're gonna regret this, when you're in your final moments, when you're there, and you know you're going, you know death is coming for you, when you're in pain, when you're gasping for breath, when your heart is stopping and your lungs stop working: the last thoughts you'll ever have, you're gonna sit there and think about how you didn't help your family when you could have. When you realize that you left your grandson out to dry, then you're going to really feel like shit. And you're not gonna be able to justify it. And you're gonna feel like shit. In your final moments, you will feel like shit." And I hung up the phone. I mean, I might have said some other things, but that was like basically it. But I'm not wrong... right? It's true, isn't it? She will feel like shit. You hear about this type of thing all the time, parents, when they die, if they're still fighting with the kids, then when they die, it's like a really awful death. It's true, right? Isn't it true?

Death Tax by Lucas Hnath

MAXINE.

It is gone, yes, it is gone. You have money, and then after the taxes, you have less money. And the bigger the pile of the money, the more money that goes away. Sometimes. Sometimes that's how it works. Today, that is not how it works. Today, if I were to die today, my daughter, my only daughter, my only family, my daughter would get all the money that I have left. This much. If I were to die after the first of January, the tax laws change. And because these tax laws change, my daughter will only get this much money. That is, if I die after the new year. This much is much less than this much. You see? And I know what happens. I have heard what happens. People hear about what happens. I know of women like myself who have died in the past couple of months. And they did not need to die. And I know that nurses, like you, nurses like you make very little. You make... this much. So it's not hard for a family member to come along and offer you some money and say, "Well, if there's anything you can do to speed things along, there's more where that came from." And I know, I know there are... things you can do, small things, to speed things along. Small adjustments in my care. Or small steps taken or not taken. You lie a patient on her side, her left side, just at the right moment, the patient will die. Yes? Yes. See, I know about that trick, I know about it. I've heard. Or maybe better yet: a little extra morphine here and there, over the course of a month, a little extra morphine relaxes the patient, relaxes the body, makes the body fight just a little less. And when the body stops fighting, the body starts dying. You see? ... You see. You know. And I know, I know my body. I know the feeling of my body fighting, and I know, or think I know, or am starting to know the feeling of what I think I think is the feeling of my body stopping. It's like the difference between a plane coming in for a nice easy landing, and a plane - There is a difference. And I know my daughter wants that money. She's already asked me to give it to her, all of it, before I'm dead, before I die, as though I'm already dead, she's already asked for this, and when I said no, she said, you're going to regret this, that's exactly, exactly, what she said, and she hung up the phone. Slammed it. Slammed down the phone. And if I were to try to do something about it, change my will, right now, if I were to write her out, then she'd challenge it. She'd challenge it, and there's a good chance she'd win. This close to death, this close to death, too easy to just say, well, Maxine was so close to death, Maxine didn't know what she was doing, Maxine was crazy, someone coaxed her, she was under an influence. And my daughter would challenge the will and she'd win and I'd be dead. What good would that do? Change the will, keep the will the same - both options leave me dead.

How We Got In by Idris Goodwin

LUANN.

Sometimes when I'm bored at church I try to rhyme things in my head. Whatever is in the room. Chair, people, hair, steeple, light, bench, white, inch. Then challenge myself. Two-word rhymes. Hymn-maker, thin wafer. I always loved rhymes. You know. Ever since I heard Melle Mel's "The Message." My sisters used to love it. Have me do it when their friends were around. But they'd shush me whenever my mom or dad would come in. But I couldn't stop. Rhymes are made to stick in your mind. But I couldn't stop. Rhymes are made to stick in your mind. Rhymes have so much power, right? You can come up with something that takes over somebody's... brain! One time he heard me singing "The Message" and man, woooo, he just went upside my head. I stopped singing that song. But I couldn't stop rhyming. I came up with my own rhymes instead. He'd find 'em and rip 'em up! So I just stopped writing. On paper. But now, I want them recorded. I want everybody to hear 'em - to get my rhymes stuck. You know?

Power Lunch by Alan Ball

WOMAN.

What? You don't need me here. You've already decided that my expectations are so unrealistic no man could possibly live up to them, you've made up your mind that I would reject you, all that's left is for you to feel sorry for yourself. You don't need me for that. You think this is what I want? Get myself a good man, all my problems will just disappear? That is so fucking arrogant I could puke. I have a life, thank you. Oh, I'll admit, I do want somebody. Somebody who is smart, somebody who is real, somebody who doesn't turn into the Human Clam the minute things start to get too close. Because I am just as freaked out as you are, but just once, just once I want to feel like maybe I'm not totally alone in the world, that there's somebody next to me who's every bit as scared as I am but who will do what he can to keep me from losing sight of what's good, and let me do the same for him. That's all. But that would require someone like you looking at someone like me and accepting me for who I am, wouldn't it? And of course, statistically speaking, we both know there's a higher chance of me discovering nuclear fusion in a curling iron after being the first woman to win both the Miss America Pageant and the Presidential Election.

columbinus by The United States Theatre Project

PERFECT.

Remember Steve? You loved him. You loved how he smiled and sat across from you at this very table. Do you know that Steve laughs at you? - laughs that you drive a bus? I heard him laugh one night about the white-trash school-bus driver... and even I laughed. Do you know he spent the night? I was in bed and he knocked on my window... I knew you were upstairs. Yeah... I thought about waking you but, c'mon what would I have said? Could you imagine, me sitting on your comforter naked, his beer on my breath, asking you, "Is this the right time to do it?" Yeah... what would you have told me? So, Mother, it just kind of happened. He was so into it and I don't think he heard me... I said no, but he said it was all right, so I guess it was okay, but... it hurt and I asked him to... but he looked at me really like intensely... and after a while he put his clothes on and left... and... I mean it can't be, Mom, if he's my boyfriend, and we love each other, I mean it's not his fault if I left him in the window and... well, you could have heard him? Maybe you did, but you didn't want to bother me... wanted to give me my space. You are always good about that, Mom... It was fine... next time it will be better. I know that. You've gotta experience these things to know. Yeah...

columbinus by The United States Theatre Project

FAITH.

Okay... okay... I just don't understand. Jesus, tell me, is this normal? Is this healthy? Because they, they... love their lives. They are smiling, laughing, happy people. Those faces, those photos are on the cover of my Teenage Spiritual Guide from youth group. Those faces... not this face. Look at this face. Why isn't it on your book? I'm sorry but this feeling of being saved... this knowing that at least I will be saved... it's making me sick. If this is what You went through, I understand suffering. But why torture me? Because they tortured You? Then take me now. Take me right now. It seems death on a cross, a few hours of suffocation, is nothing next to four years of looks, and smirks and "fuck-off's." I don't know, Lord. You tell me. Maybe that's why Your teenage years are such a mystery. You didn't want anyone to know. Will You respond? I already know the answer to that, but I wonder... will I ever see Your face? What will it feels like looking in Your eyes... or any man's eyes? The reassurance of "It's all right" from a voice you can actually hear. Nothing imagined or blindly trusted.

columbinus by The United States Theatre Project

REBEL.

Yeah, well, it's probably this play, and that thing that happens when you're on stage, not being yourself... but I look at you, and let's face it, you're not me first choice - maybe not anyone's: the long baby face, with the Jay Leno chin, and - but when I look at me... I see someone too familiar staring back at me. I see the overpriced life she lives in. I see all that spelled out in every fat bulge, or frizz, or nose that's uncoverable... I'm uncomfortable with me. So I look away... to something else, someone else and you're not so bad... you are possible, obtainable. If I don't look at you and see that, then there's not much left, but some weed, and another episode of Friends, and my pathetic antisocial fucked-up life. So hey, it's your chance... climb the balcony... give me a plastic rose... and we'll pretend that we're actually beautiful people. Come on, it's easy to escape.

Fences by August Wilson

ROSE.

I been standing with you! I been right here with you, Troy. I got a life too. I gave eighteen years of my life to stand in the same spot with you. Don't you think I ever wanted other things? Don't you think I had dreams and hopes? What about my life? What about me. Don't you think it ever crossed my mind to want to know other men? That I wanted to lay up somewhere and forget about my responsibilities? That I wanted someone to make me laugh so I could feel good? You not the only one who's got wants and needs. But I held on to you, Troy. I took all my feelings, my wants and needs, my dreams... and I buried them inside you. I planted a seed and watched and prayed over it. I planted myself inside you and waited to bloom. And it didn't take me no eighteen years to find out the soil was hard and rocky and it wasn't never gonna bloom. But I held onto you, Troy. I held you tighter. You was my husband. I owed you everything I had. Every part of me I could find to give you. And upstairs in that room... with the darkness falling in on me... I have everything I had to try and erase the doubt that you wasn't the finest man in the world. And wherever you was going... I wanted to be there with you. Cause you was my husband. Cause that's the only way I was gonna survive as your wife. You always talking about what you give... and what you don't have to give. But you take too. You take... and don't even know nobody's giving!

Fences by August Wilson

ROSE.

Why, Troy? Why? After all these years to come dragging this in to me now. It don't make no sense at your age. I could have expected this ten or fifteen years ago, but not now. I done tried to be everything a wife should be. Everything a wife could be. Been married eighteen years and I got to live to see the day you tell me you been seeing another woman and done fathered a child by her. And you know I ain't never wanted no half nothing in my family. My whole family is half. Everybody got different fathers and mothers... my two sisters and my brother. Can't hardly tell who's who. Can't never sit down and talk about Papa and Mama. It's your papa and your mama and my papa and my mama... I ain't never wanted that for none of my children. And now you wanna drag your behind in here and tell me something like this. Well, I don't want to know, goddamn it! And you don't want to either. Maybe you want to wish me and my boy away. Maybe that's what you want? Well, you can't wish us away. I've got eighteen years of my life invested in you. You ought to have stayed upstairs in my bed where you belong.

Cat On A Hot Tin Roof by Tennessee Williams

MARGARET.

That's what she thinks because she got the same story they gave Big Daddy, and was just as taken in by it as he was, poor ole thing. But tonight they're going to tell her the truth about it. When Big Daddy goes to bed, they're going to tell her that he's dying of cancer. It's malignant and it's hopeless. Hell, do they ever know it? Nobody says, "You're dying." You have to fool them. They have to fool themselves. So this is Big Daddy's last birthday, and do you know something, Brick? Big Daddy's made no will. Big Daddy never made out any will in his life, and that's why Mae and Gooper have launched their campaign to impress him as forcibly as they can with the fact that you drink, and I've borne no children. Oh, Brick, Brick, y'know, I've been so goddam disgustingly poor all my life! That's the truth, Brick! Always had to suck up to people I couldn't stand because they had money and I was poor as Job's turkey. You don't know what that's like. Well, I'll tell you, it's like you would feel a thousand miles away from Echo Spring - and you had to get back to it on that broken ankle - without a crutch! That's how it feels to be as poor as Job's turkey and have to suck up to relatives that you hated because they had money and all you had was a bunch of hand-me-down clothes and a few moldy three percent government bonds. My daddy loved his liquor, he fell in love with his liquor like you've fallen in love with Echo Spring! And my poor Mama, havin' to maintain some semblance of social position to keep appearances up, on an income of one hundred and fifty dollars a month on those old government bonds! When I came out, the year I made my debut, I had just two evening dresses - one my mother made me from a pattern in Vogue, the other a hand-me-down from a snotty rich cousin I hated. The dress that I married you in was my grandmother's wedding gown! You can be young without money but you can't be old without it. You've got to be old with money because to be old without it is just too awful, you've got to be one or the other, either young or with money, you can't be old and without it. That's the truth, Brick. Well, now, I'm dressed. I'm all dressed and there's nothing else for me to do. I'm dressed, all dressed, nothing else for me to do. I know where I made my mistake. I've thought a whole lot about it and now I know when I made my mistake. Yes, I made my mistake when I told you the truth about that thing with Skipper. Never should have confessed it, a fatal error tellin' you about that thing with Skipper.

Cat On A Hot Tin Roof by Tennessee Williams

MARGARET.

Hear them? Hear them screaming? I don't know where their voice boxes are located, since they've got no necks. I tell you, I got so nervous at that table tonight, I thought I'd throw back my head and utter a howl you could hear across the Arkansas border. I said to your charming sister-in-law, Mae - honey, couldn't you feed those precious little things at a separate table with an oilcloth cover? They make such a oilcloth cover? They make such a mess an' the lace cloth looks so pretty. She made enormous eyes at me and said, "Ohhh, noooo! On Big Daddy's birthday? Why, he would never forgive me!" Well, I want you to know, Big Daddy hasn't been at the table two minutes with those five no-neck monsters slobbering and drooling over their food before he threw down his fork an' shouted, "Fo' God's sake, Gooper, why don't you put them pigs at a trough in the kitchen?" Well, I swear, I simply could have di-ieed! Think of it, Brick, they've got five of them and number six is coming. They're brought the whole bunch down here like animals to display at the county fair. Why, they have those children doin' tricks all the time! "Junior, show Big Daddy how you do this - show Big Daddy how you do that; say your piece fo' Big Daddy, Sister. Brother, show Big Daddy how you stand on your head! Show your dimples, Sugar!" - It goes on all the time, along with constant little remarks and innuendoes about the fact that you and I have not produced any children, are totally childless and therefore totally useless! Of course it's comical, but it's also disgusting, since it's so obvious what they're up to!

Moongirl by Craig Sodaro

ANNE.

Why would I lie? I'm giving up! I know now how wrong I was. I didn't realize what I'd done to you until your grandmother burst in here last night. She had to have her own way. It was always like that. I joined the choir because she thought it would be a good idea. I ran the four-forty because she said it would be healthy. I took college prep because she said college was the best thing for me. I studied business because it was growing field for women. I did what I was told, married, moved five blocks away, and never crawled out from under her thumb. Especially after your father died. The poor man... he tried so hard to make her like him... and do you know what made her like him the most? His death. I've never been my own person. I've always been Ralph and Myra's daughter... I always will be. But it's not too late for you, Moongirl. You have to find your own way, in your own time... and whether I approve or disapprove is of little importance.

Moongirl by Craig Sodaro

SYLVIA.

So you want to save her from the danger. I had a son. Like your daughter, Bill became involved in a group. A group dedicated to anarchy... total freedom. I... I tried to enlist the help of the police, but they couldn't do anything because of a lack of evidence. The hideout was located up in the mountains. They watched it carefully, but apparently were unaware of the extensive use of drugs that went on. I drove to the compound twice, but was turned back both times. Finally, I was allowed to visit Bill in the presence of two other cult members. He was a stranger, just like your Kathy. It frightened me beyond belief. I didn't know where to turn until one day I received a phone call from a man named Ben Harrigan who said he could recapture my son and deprogram him. But his call came too late. That evening Bill's body was found in a culvert along a highway. A drug overdose. The coroner called it accidental given my son's lifestyle. The dangers are very real. I see Bill's face in every victim I work with. Each one I bring back... lightens the burden a little, I suppose. I'll never be sure. I think back to when he was small... like your daughter... those beliefs that seemed so strong... What happened to them? Were they really so fragile they couldn't withstand a charismatic liar? Or was it Bill himself...

Speech & Debate by Stephen Karam

DIWATA.

So last year when we were rehearsing for The Crucible, there was a line of girls, we were all in costume waiting to use the bathroom... so I went up to the third floor, and I yelled into the boys' room. No one answered, so I went in. I finished going to the bathroom, and I heard footsteps. Normally, I'd rattle around, make noise pulling toilet paper out, you know, trying to let someone know I'm there, I'm a master at masking the sound of plopping poop. But because this is the guys' bathroom... I just kind of hold my breath, thinking I'll wait it out. And then more footsteps. Maybe they came in together, I can't remember... but I could see them through the crack in the side of the door. Mr. Healy for sure, and then him, with those white sneakers. Their backs were to me. He never looked at Mr. Healy, both of them seemed to be peeing, but then Solomon seemed to be standing further away from the urinal, like he was... I dunno... like he was trying to show Mr. Healy his... you know? And there was some touching, I don't remember exactly how it started, because then I breathed, I inhaled, they must have heard; they didn't check to see who was in the stall, they just bolted, both of them. And that was it. I sat in there for about twenty minutes. I was scared. I was scared, isn't that weird?

Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All For You by Christopher Durang

SISTER MARY IGNATIUS.

We said grace before every meal. My mother was a terrible cook. She used to boil chopped meat. She hated little children, but they couldn't use birth control. Let me explain this one more time. Birth control is wrong because God, whatever you may think about the wisdom involved, created sex for the purpose of procreation, not recreation. Everything in this world has a purpose. We eat food to feed our bodies. We don't eat and then make ourselves throw up immediately afterward, do we? So it should be with sex. Either it is done for its proper purpose, or it is just so much throwing up, morally speaking. Next question. "Do nuns go to the bathroom?" Yes. "Was Jesus effeminate?" Yes. "I have a brain tumor and I am afraid of dying. What should I do?" Now I thought I had explained what happens after death to you already. There is heaven, hell and purgatory. What is the problem? O ye of little faith, Christ said to someone. All right. As any seven-year-old knows, there are two kinds of sin: mortal sin and venial sin. Venial sin is the less serious kind, like if you tell a small lie to your parents, or when you take the Lord's name in vain when you break your thumb with a hammer, or when you kick a barking dog. If you die with any venial sins on your conscience, no matter how many of them there are, you can eventually work it all out in purgatory. However - mortal sin, on the other hand, is the most serious kind of sin you can do: murder, sex outside of marriage, hijacking a plane, masturbation. And if you die with any of these sins on your soul, even just one, you will go straight to hell and burn for all eternity. Now to rid yourself of mortal sin, you must go make a good confession and vow never to do it again. If, as many of you know, you are on your way to confession to confess a mortal sin and you are struck by a car or bus before you get there, God may forgive you without confession if before you die you manage to say a good act of contrition. If you die instantaneously and are unable to say a good act of contrition, you will go straight to hell.

The Good Body by Eve Ensler

EVE.

What I can't believe is that me, a radical feminist for nearly thirty years could spend this much time thinking about my stomach. It has become my tormentor; my most serious committed relationship. It has protruded through my clothes, my confidence and my ability to work. I've tried to sedate it, educate it, embrace it and most of all erase it. My body will be mine when I'm thin. I will eat a little at a time, small bites. I will vanquish ice cream. I will purge with green juices. I will see chocolate as poison and pasta as a form of self-punishment. I will work not to feel full again. Always moving towards full, approaching full, but never really full. I will embrace my emptiness, I will ride it into holy zones. Let me be hungry. Let me starve. Please. Bread is Satan. I stop eating bread. This is the same as not eating food. The closest I let myself come is dried bread - pretzels. They are the memory of bread, the freeze-dried sound-bite version of bread. Four days in, a scrawny actress friend tells me, "Eve, your stomach has nothing to do with diet." What? "It's the change of life," she says, "All you need is some testosterone." I try to imagine what I will be like, totally bread-deprived and shot up with testosterone. "Serial killer" comes to mind. I watch Ab Roller infomercials until four A.M. as I eat a bag - no, a family-size bag - of peanut M&Ms. I try to buy an Ab Roller by phone but they're really hostile on the 800-"Roll-It-Away" number. They're probably starving too. They interviewed all these once-famous blonde women to see if they had better results with the Ab Roller than sit-ups, crunches or curls. Of course all of them said yes. All of them were flat flat flat. The next day I bite the bullet, well, at least I bite something, and hire Verno, a fascistic trainer. Right away he has me lifting heavy objects. Very heavy. The good news is I'm so fucking sore I can't move my head so I'm unable to see my digesting stomach anymore. I'm walking down a New York City street, and I catch a glimpse of this blonde pointy-breasted raisin-a-day-stomached smiling girl on the cover of Cosmo magazine. She is there every minute, somewhere in the world, smiling down on me, on all of us. She's omnipresent. She's The American Dream, my personal nightmare. Pumped straight from the publishing power plant into the bloodstream of our culture and neuroses. She is multiplying on every cover. She was passed through my mother's milk and so I don't even know that I'm contaminated. Don't get me wrong, I pick up the magazines. No, no, no. It's the possibility of being skinny good that keeps me buying. Oh God, I discover a Starbucks maple-walnut scone expanding in me, creeping out. Flabby age, leaking through the cracks. Big Macs, French fries, Pizza Land, four helpings, can't stop. My stomach is America. I want to drown in the cement. Obviously I'm missing something. Maybe if I go and find Helen Gurley Brown, the woman behind Cosmo, she'll reveal the secret.

The Altruists by Nicky Silver

SYDNEY.

You're so critical. You've always been so critical. Fine, last night at some hour, everyone left. I was asleep, thankfully, but I assume everyone left. And Ethan crawled into my bed, stinking like a Bowery Bum - but you know, frankly, I like that smell, on him, mixed with sweat and this ninety-dollar-an-ounce cologne I bought him. It's sexy. And I've been so lonely. I ran my hand over his shoulders. He has massive shoulders - you can't tell to look at him in clothes, but his shoulders are huge and well-muscled and my god I'm never going to hold him again! Anyway, I ran my hand over his shoulders and kissed the back of his neck. Normally, when he's present, this is a signal. And, at least in the beginning, he responded by making athletic, rhythmic and unforgettable love. But last night, he did not! I was kissing the back of his head, using my tongue to play with the tiny hairs and trace hearts in the nape of his neck. He ignored me. He pushed me away and he mumbled indecipherably, but it couldn't have been very loving, considering the force, the violence of the gesture. Something in Ethan snapped last night, something very primal snapped. He has hurt me in every way imaginable, but he's never been violent! Until last night! And as he pushed me away he muttered someone's name. I couldn't make it out but it wasn't mine, of that much I'm sure. Tears filled my eyes but I was not going to be refused! I have poured myself into this man, and I am not to be shunted aside. I licked his ears and stroked his hard-as-marble buttocks, murmuring endearments, purring I love you's, until, all at once, with a growl, he turned over, spun over, holding his pillow and pressed it over my face! I couldn't protest - I couldn't breathe. I grabbed his wrists, but he had the strength of ten men! I tugged at his arms, but they're like steel! I squirmed! I writhed! I shrieked silently under the down... until my eyes closed and I, thank God, lost consciousness... He tried to kill me, Ronald. Ethan tried to kill me... And so I shot him.

All My Sons by Arthur Miller

ANN.

Never mind, Kate, I'm all right. There's something I want to tell you. I'm not going to do anything about it. I'll do nothing about it Joe, but you're going to do something for me. You made Chris feel guilty with me. Whether you wanted to or not, you've crippled him in front of me. I'd like you to tell him that Larry is dead and that you know it. You understand me? I'm not going out of here alone. There's no life for me that way. I want you to set him free. And then I promise you, everything will end, and we'll go away, and that's all. I know what I'm asking, Kate. You had two sons. But you've only got one now. And you've got to say it to him so he knows you mean it. Larry is dead, Kate. He crashed off the coast of China November twenty-fifth! His engine didn't fail him. But he died. I know... I loved him. You know I loved him. Would I have looked at anyone else if I wasn't sure? That's enough for you.

The Goat or, Who Is Sylvia? By Edward Albee

STEVIE.

Now, you listen to me. I have listened to you. I have heard you tell me how much you love me, how you've never even wanted another woman, how we have been a more perfect marriage than chance would even allow. We're both too bright for most of the shit. We see the deep and awful humor of things go over the heads of most people; we see what's hideously wrong in what most people accept as normal; we have both the joys and the sorrows of all that. We have a straight line through life, right all the way to dying, but that's OK because it's a good line... so long as we don't screw up. So as long as we don't screw up. And you've screwed up! Do you know how you've done it? How you've screwed up? Because you've broken something and it can't be fixed! Fall out of love with me? Fine! No, not fine, but that can be fixed... time... whatever! But tell me you love me and an animal - both of us! - equally? The same way? That you go from my bed - our bed... it's amazing, you know, how good we are, still, how we please each other and ourselves so... fully, so... fresh each time... you go from our bed, wash your dick, get in your car and go to her, and do with her what I cannot imagine myself imagining? Or - worse!... that you've come from her, to my bed!? To our bed!?... and you do with me what I can imagine... love... what you for!? That you can do these two things... and not understand how it... SHATTERS THE GLASS!!?? How it cannot be dealt with - how stop and forgiveness have nothing to do with it? And how I am destroyed? How you are? How I cannot admit it though I know it!? How I cannot deny it because I cannot admit it!? Cannot admit it because it is outside of denying!? How stopping has nothing to do with having started?! How nothing has anything to do with anything!? You have brought me down, you goat-fucker; you love of my life! You have brought me down to nothing! You have brought me down, and, Christ!, I'll bring you down with me

The Goat Or, Who Is Sylvia? By Edward Albee

STEVIE.

Oh? Do you know what I thought - what I thought after I'd read the letter, right to the end? Well, I laughed, of course: a grim joke but an awfully funny one. "That Ross, I tell you, that Ross! You go too far, Ross. It's funny... in it's... awful way, but it's way overboard, Ross!" So, I shook my head and laughed - at the awfulness of it, the absurdity, the awfulness; some things are so awful you have to laugh - and then I listened to myself laughing, and I began to wonder why I was - laughing. "It's not funny when you come right down to it, Ross." Why was I laughing? And just like that I stopped; I stopped laughing. I realized - probably in the way if you suddenly fell of a building - oh, shit! I've fallen off a building and I'm going to die; I'm going to go splat on the sidewalk; like that - that it wasn't a joke at all; it was awful and absurd, but it wasn't a joke. And everything tied in - Ross coming here to interview you yesterday, the funny smell, the Noel Coward bit we did about you having an affair, and with a goat. You said it right out and I laughed. You told me! You came right out and fucking told me, and I laughed, and I made jokes about going to the feed store and I laughed. I fucking laughed! Until it stopped; until the laughter stopped. Until it all came together - Ross' letter and all the rest: that odd smell... the mistress's perfume on you. And so I knew. And next, of course, came believing it. Knowing it - knowing it's true is one thing, but believing what you know... well, there's the tough part. We all prepare for jolts along the way, disturbances of the peace, the lies, the evasions, the infidelities - if they happen. I've never had an affair, by the way, all our years together; not even with a cat, or... anything. We prepare for... things, for lessenings, even; inevitable... lessenings, and we think we can handle everything, whatever comes along, but we don't know, do we! Fucking right we don't! Something can happen that's outside the rules, that doesn't relate to The Way The Game Is Played. Death before you're ready to even think about it - that's part of the game. A stroke that leaves you sitting looking at an eggplant the week before had been your husband - that's another. Emotional disengagement, gradual, so gradual you don't know it's happening, or sudden - not very often, but occasionally - that's another. You've read about spouses - God! I hate that word! - "spouses" who all of the sudden start wearing dresses - yours, of their own collection - wives gone dyke... but if there's one thing you don't put on your plate, no matter how exotic your tastes may be is... bestiality. The fucking of animals! No, that's one thing you haven't thought about, one thing you've overlooked as a byway on the road of life, as the old soap has it. "Well, I wonder when he'll start cruising livestock. I must ask Mother whether Dad did it and how she handled it." No, that's the one thing you haven't thought about - nor could you conceive of. So! How was your day? I want the whole day to rewind - start over. I want the reel to reverse: to see the mail on the hall table where Billy's left it, then not see it because I haven't opened the door yet - not having gotten the fish yet because I haven't bought the gloves yet because I haven't left the house yet because I haven't gotten out of our bed because I haven't waked UP YET! But... since I can't reverse time... yes, I do want to know. I'm reeling with it. Make me not believe it! Please, make me not believe it

Painted Face by Molly Bass

KHAKI.

No, I'm not mad, Janet. I don't see why you keep asking me. You did what you wanted to do - what you thought was okay for you to do. Just because I disagree with you doesn't necessarily mean that I'm mad at you. I'll tell you one thing, though. I don't appreciate you coming to me and confessing what you've done. I don't see why you can't just tell me as a friend instead of telling me as if I'm a priest of something. You know, sometimes I feel like I don't have any friends at all. I'm some kind of convenience: an entertainment director when you can't think of anything to do, a place to go when everything else is boring, a full refrigerator when you're hungry, and now! Now! I'm the person you come to when you've done something wrong. I'll say I forgive you and make you feel better about it. Well this time, Janet, I don't forgive you - I think you're stupid! Do something like that just to impress a guy. Be a person, Janet! Are you that weak? I'm sorry, Janet. I didn't mean that. It's just my mind is - I mean I've got a lot on my mind and I - I shouldn't have taken it out on you.

The Baby Dance by Jane Anderson

WANDA.

It's not genetic or nothing. It's just how he was raised. You know, it don't matter where a baby comes from. You can make them turn out however you want. A brand new baby's too excited to be alive to care about what was going on when it was sitting in its mama's belly. Feel that? She's stretching her legs. They're gettin' to be so long, she's running out of room in there. You feel her kicking? She's thinking about swimming in her own pool in her own back yard and how her new mama and daddy are gonna buy her dresses and pretty things. I think she knows where she's going 'cause I dream about it at night. I've been seeing this happy little girl at a birthday party dancing around a great big cake with all this attention being paid to her. And they start singing her the birthday song. But I never hear what her name is when they sing it at the end. Did you think of a name for her yet? If you want, you can talk to her and tell her her name. I'll shut my ears so I don't hear.

The Little Dog Laughed by Douglas Carter Beane

DIANE.

Mitch, you want to be a movie star. You don't want people to know you're a homosexual. If you were heterosexual, by this point you would have a lovely bride and a child on the way. And at least one franchise to your name. Ellen, you want to have a child and a lovely home and millions of dollars. Alex, you want to be with Mitch, have Ellen as a friend, maybe have a child one day. My suggestion. If Ellen and Mitch were to get married, they would be, by all appearances, an ideal couple. The world would fall in love with them. Soon this beloved couple would have a child together. They would be on magazine cover after magazine cover. The child will be beautiful. The child will look enough like Mitch - I have previously noted the similarity in Alex and Mitchell's coloring - to be his son. Mitch, you get your franchises and you keep Alex. You just call him a personal assistant of call him a Pilates instructor. Call him the literary director of your production company. Alex, you no longer have to go down on unattractive strangers. You have a nice little high end job, you get to keep your friend, your child, and "yo' man," as the female rappers love to say. Ellen, what you choose to do with your personal life is your business. Just keep it to yourself. Just get married to Mitch and you will have a wonderful, wonderful life. Wealth, ease, celebrity. Mitch, you get to keep your friend with quotes and you get to be a movie star. You just have to keep everything with Alex quiet. As we've previously discussed, you are not adverse to being quiet. And, I mean, come on. Wasn't it a hell of a lot sexier when it was secret and forbidden? Yeah. The only wrinkle is that in the eyes of the public, Mitch will have left me for you, Ellen. But, it's that little bit of spice that keeps it all from looking too pat. And now, if you'll excuse me, that music you hear is not an underscore. It's a cell phone call. It's he meaning him and I've been waiting for him to call me back all day. Now. There's the check on the table. Think of what I said.

The Little Dog Laughed by Douglas Carter Beane

DIANE.

When I was first an agent, a junior agent, I packaged my first film - all of it, source material, writer, actors, cinematographer, producers, everything. And I had a meeting with this director. As a last-minute precaution I brought along a lawyer, a nobody flunky from legal to help us through the finer points. And. And all through this meeting with said director, said director never looked at me, never spoke to me, never acknowledged my existence. I was, by his estimation a bimbo. A... piece of ass. And he spoke only to the lawyer. I did not exist. Yesterday, in this office. Said director is here, in the office. To get the job of our movie. And I exist. And he looks me in the eye. And I am not a piece of ass. And he begs me for the job to direct this film, not in so many words - but the eyes, they're begging. And he says to me, "C'mon. Diane. We have history." History. He is asking me to believe in the reinvention of our past. History. This is where we are in our lives. Now. There were eight thousand times in that story I just told when I could have shouted out, "HELLO, I AM A PERSON AND YOU ARE IGNORING ME!!!" but I didn't. Even at the end when I was on top. And that's how one wins. By shutting up. You can win. And all you have to do is shut up. Don't say anything.

The Rover by Aphra Behn

HELLENA.

Hang your considering lover! I never thought beyond the fancy that 'twas a very pretty, idle, silly kind of pleasure to pass one's time with: to write little soft nonsensical billets, and with great difficulty and danger receive answers in which I shall have my beauty praised, my wit admired, though little or none, and have the vanity and power to know I am desirable. Then I have the more inclination that way because I am to be a nun, and so shall not be suspected to have any such earthly thoughts about me; but when I walk thus - and sigh thus - they'll think my mind's upon my monastery, and cry, "How happy 'tis she's so resolved." But not a word of man. I'll warrant, if my brother hears either of you sigh, he cries gravely, "I fear you have the indiscretion to be in love, but take heed of the honor of our house, and your own unspotted fame"; and so he conjures on till he has laid the soft winged god in your hearts, or broke the bird's nest. But see, here comes your lover, but where's my inconstant? Let's step aside, and we may learn something.

Eleemosynary by Lee Blessing

ECHO.

Uncle Bill hardly remembers you, you know that? I asked him what you were like as a little girl, and he couldn't even say. He remembers Grandma even less. He didn't have one interesting story about her - about Grandma. They don't have a single picture of her, either. Not even in their minds. To them, she's just a woman who lived a big, embarrassing life. They all think they've saved me just in time. Not just from Grandma - from you, too. So I started wondering if they weren't right. Maybe the smartest thing would be to forget you completely. And Grandma. After all, what did I ever get from the two of you, except a good education? You especially - what were you ever to me, except a voice on the phone now and then? And I looked around the new room where I was staying, and it was real nice and... blank, the way a thing is before you put any time into it. I thought, I could live a whole new life here. I could invent a whole new me. I could be Barbara if I wanted to, not Echo. I could fit in. I don't mean I'd become like Whitney and Beth. I'm not that crazy. But I could become like Robinson Crusoe, and adapt myself to a strange and harsh environment. I could live in a kind of desert. I could even flourish. Like you have. I could live without the one thing I wanted. But I kept hearing your voice. That voice on the phone, hiding behind spelling words, making excuses - or so energetic sometimes, so... wishing. I don't even remember what you said, just the sound of it Just the sound that said, "I love you, and I failed you." I hate that sound. And I will never settle for it, because no one failed me. No one ever failed me. Not Grandma and not you. I am a prize among women. I'm your daughter. That's what I choose to be. Someone who loves you. Someone who can make you love me. Nearly all the time. I'm going to stay with you. I'm going to cultivate you. I'm going to tend you.

Eleemosynary by Lee Blessing

DOROTHEA.

The day I graduated high school, my father smiled at me, and he said he had a wonderful surprise - which turned out to be an arranged marriage between me and John Wesbrook. John was, I admit, a sort of boyfriend - and I had thought of marrying him, perhaps, in four years. But what I thought didn't concern my father. I said, "What about college?". And he said, "John's going directly into his father's business." "No, no - what about college for me," I said. My father just laughed. He laughed at the idea that I might prefer college to marriage. He laughed and laughed. My father - and John too - made vague promises I could go to college sometime if only I'd get married now. On June 2nd I graduated high school; three weeks later I was married; two weeks later I was pregnant. John and I had three boys and a baby girl. I liked the girl. After our third son was born, I asked John if I could go to college. He said no. I reminded him of his vague promises. He said that's what vague promises were for. Then I met a very strange person. A very strange person indeed. He was a guest at a summer party. This was in the forties. Normally our guests were financial types. But he was the friend of a friend, and he was a spiritualist. I'd always thought such people were weird, funeral sorts, but this was the happiest man I'd ever met. He talked to me for a long time about his investigations into the supernatural. He didn't make these eccentric journeys for any dark, compelling reasons. He simply enjoyed the possibility of an entirely different world within our reach. I asked if that didn't seem like escapism. He said he couldn't think of a better world to escape from. "Look around you," he said, "Don't you just it to escape?". But what would my husband think, I wondered. And this man - as though he'd been reading my thoughts - said, "The best thing about it is, no one hold an eccentric responsible." And suddenly a great breath of happiness went down into my lungs. "Eccentricity," I thought - "What a relief!". From that day on, I never felt the need to listen to a thing my husband said - or anyone else. Eccentricity solved so many problems. I could stay a wife and mother, and still converse with the souls of animals. Eccentricity saved my life. It became my life. I think God for it. For all the good - and the harm - that it caused.

Eleemosynary by Lee Blessing

DOROTHEA.

We can't help what God made us. If you hadn't been born the way you are, I could've waggled letters over your crib forever and nothing would have come out of it. If you have a baby now, your father will think, "Fine. She's just a woman, like I said all along. I'll find her a husband." He will, too. And we won't be able to stop him. When a soldier in battle suddenly has to kill someone, we say that's all right. It's his life or someone else's - that's the choice, no matter how regrettable. Well, you have a choice, too. Between living your life or someone else's. You only get to make that choice once. And you have to choose now.

How the Other Half Loves by Alan Ayckbourn

FIONA.

Well, it's been pretty dull all around for everyone, hasn't it? I mean, I think these things go in phases, don't they? You have an exciting time of the year. Ad then all of a sudden you get a dull time of the year. I don't know why that should be, at all, do you? But I've always found that, for some reason. Must have something to do with the season of the year, I suppose. In the summer you can always go out, can't you? But then you get to winter, on a day like today, you can't do anything, really, can you? You're just stuck indoors, all day, wishing you could get out only you can't. Listen, I think I really ought to dash out and drag Frank in. It's not fair for him to miss all the fun, is it?