5th of 50 Plays: The Veto Heard Next Door

 50 Plays  No Responses »
Feb 182012
 

The Veto Heard Next Door

With “special thanks” to New Jersey Governor Chris Christie for the inspiration
and real thanks to Max Richter for the motivational sounds.


In the darkness, the audience hears the sound of the ocean, waves crashing lightly along the beach.  The seas are calm, not stormy.  Lights up to find PETER and TONY sitting on a blanket, looking out into the sea.  It’s just after sunrise, on a fall day, early October, slightly overcast.  The beach is in New Jersey, maybe near Asbury Park.  PETER and TONY stand out against the grayness around them. 

PETER, thirty-six, is wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, unzipped halfway.  He is bare-chested other than the sweatshirt.  The jeans are rolled up; his feet are bare and wet.  He’s been down to the water’s edge.  TONY, thirty-eight, is wearing running shorts, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and running shoes.  He’s sweaty, maybe a bit chilly after his run.

There’s a silence between them that is slightly uncomfortable.  Something has happened.  Finally, PETER speaks.

PETER
Did you get the message that your mom called?

TONY
I did.

PETER
She was concerned.  She said you hadn’t called at your usual time on Wednesday.

TONY
I was busy.

PETER
That’s what I told her.

TONY doesn’t respond.  He begins to stretch a bit, rubbing his legs to keep them warm.

PETER
Are you cold?

TONY
No.

PETER
Are you sure?

TONY
Yes, I’m sure, Peter.  Would you stop nagging?

PETER
I’m not nagging.  I’m just making sure you’re ok.

TONY
You’re nagging.

PETER
Fine.

There is silence between the two of them again.  PETER zips up his sweatshirt a bit more and hugs his knees to his chest.

PETER
Don’t forget to call your mom back.  She’ll think I didn’t give you the message.

TONY
See?  That’s what I mean.

PETER
What?

TONY
You’re nagging.

PETER
I’m not nagging, for Christ’s sake.  I’m telling you to call your mom back.

TONY
Which you did once already, Peter.

PETER
Yes, and you need more than one reminder, Tony.  After eight years there are some things that I know about you.

Again silence.  TONY takes off his left shoe and sock and begins to rub his feet.

PETER
How far did you run?

TONY
Not sure.

PETER
Where did you run?

TONY
I left the house and ran down to the pier, then over to the high school, around the track two or three times, and then back to the house.  I found your note and then ran here.

PETER
That’s pretty far.

TONY (shrugs)
I guess.

TONY continues to rub his foot and grimaces a bit.

PETER
Did you hurt yourself?

TONY
No.

PETER
Well, what’s wrong?

TONY
Peter?

PETER
OK, OK.  Sorry.  But at least let me rub it for you.

PETER reaches for TONY’s foot.  TONY pulls it away, but PETER is too quick.  He catches the foot.  A small struggle ensues, but PETER wins.  It’s evident in this moment that PETER is actually quite strong.  He successfully swings TONY a quarter turn so that his feet are in his lap.  He rubs TONY’s bare foot.  TONY grimaces again, but eventually leans back on the blanket.  He settles down and closes his eyes.  PETER looks at him and looks back out to the sea.

PETER
I was afraid you wouldn’t come.

TONY
Peter.

PETER
Well, you didn’t come to bed last night.  You left me there alone all night.

TONY
I fell asleep on the couch, Peter.

PETER
That’s happened before but you still come get into bed.

Silence.

PETER
You’re really angry with me.

Silence again.

PETER
Tony?

TONY
I’m angry.  Yes.

PETER
I knew it.

TONY
Ahhh.  Peter, would you just let it rest for a bit.

PETER
But you’re angry with me.

TONY
And?  I’m angry with you.  It happens.

PETER
Yeah, and it seems like it’s happening a lot lately.

TONY (trying to pull his feet away, unsuccessfully)
That’s bullshit.

PETER (holding TONY’s feet tightly, not letting him get away)
I don’t think so.

TONY
There’s a lot going on lately.

PETER
So?  There’s always a lot going on.

TONY is clearly worn down by this conversation and losing his patience.

TONY
Work is stressful.  We’re not making enough with the store.  No one needs our services right now.  Who has money to redo anything in their house?  And you’re telling me that you want to move.

PETER
All of that is true.  So why are you angry with me?

TONY
Because you don’t listen to me.

PETER
How do I not listen to you?

TONY
Last week I told you that I didn’t want to move, that we can’t move right now because we don’t have the money.  You proceeded to call the realtor anyway and tell him that we wanted to put our house on the market.  I get a call at the store yesterday from one of the very few clients that we still have left, and she asks me why we’re moving when we haven’t finished her living room.  I tell her I don’t know what she’s talking about, and then she tells me that her friend, the realtor that you called, told her that we were moving to the city.

TONY pulls his feet away, sits up, and begins to put his shoe back on.  PETER doesn’t respond.  TONY looks at him for answers and PETER doesn’t have any.

PETER
I’m sorry.

TONY
That’s not going to work so well this time, Peter.  “Sorry” has worked for so many things in the past, but I need more than “sorry” this time.

PETER

I get it, OK?

TONY
Do you?  Really?  It doesn’t seem like it.

PETER
So all of this is why you didn’t come to bed last night?  Why couldn’t you just tell me that then?  Instead you just give me the silent treatment and don’t talk to me and make me think that we’re like ending our relationship or you’re kicking me out or you’re having an affair or—

TONY
Whoa, what?  What are you talking about?   Either you’re nagging me or you’re making up these crazy scenarios in your head.  Why is that?  You and I’ve been together for ten years.  When are you going to believe me when I tell you I’m not going anywhere?

PETER
But you’re angry with me about all of this, and I’m afraid.

TONY
Afraid of what?

PETER
That it’s a deal breaker.

TONY
Was the broken china a deal breaker?

PETER
No.

TONY
Was the fight with my sister’s husband the first time you met my family a deal breaker?

PETER
Almost.

TONY
Am I standing here now?

Silence

TONY
And what about the twenty-five year old?

PETER
Well, that’s a little different.

TONY
How so?

PETER
You were an active participant in that.

TONY
Yes, but only after YOU made the initial contact and told me.  That could’ve been a major deal breaker.  You’re just lucky that guy had a nice ass.

PETER
Not as nice as mine.

TONY
I’m just saying.

This is a bit of an icebreaker for them.  PETER unzips his sweatshirt, and TONY notices.  He reaches out and rubs PETER’s bare chest with his hand, and PETER takes his hand and holds it.  PETER looks at TONY.

PETER
I’m just not sure that I can stay in a place where we’re not wanted.

TONY
What do you mean?

PETER
I mean that New Jersey is not the place for us.  Or at least for me.

TONY
Oh, c’mon.  Is that what this is about?   That’s why you want to move?

PETER
Yeah, that’s why I want to move.  Why is that so hard for you to understand?  Do you want to stay here?

TONY
Of course, I want to stay here.  Our lives are here.  Your parents, my parents, our siblings, our friends.  Not to mention our business.  Why should we leave all that behind because of some fat, overweight governor who doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.

PETER
Because it’s not fair, Tony.

TONY
Life isn’t fair, Peter.

PETER
That’s not the response that I need in this conversation.  I want you to have some empathy for what I’m feeling here.

TONY
I do have empathy for what you’re feeling.  I just don’t want to take that empathy to the point of abandoning everything we’ve worked so hard for just to get out of a state that won’t let us get married.

PETER
Why isn’t marriage important to you?

TONY
We’ve had this discussion so many times and—

PETER
And what?

TONY
And I don’t understand why I have to keep repeating myself.

PETER
Maybe if I believed you, you wouldn’t have to keep telling me.

TONY
What don’t you believe?

PETER
I don’t believe that you can love me like you say you do and not want to marry me.

TONY
What?

PETER
I said I don’t believe that you really love me.  If you loved me, you would marry me.

TONY is kind of stunned by this.  He gets up from the blanket.

TONY
That’s really what you think?  That after all of these years together, all of the sacrifices that we’ve made TOGETHER, that I don’t love you?

PETER doesn’t answer him.  He zips up his sweatshirt again.

TONY
Peter, is that really what you think?

PETER
I don’t know what I think.

TONY
Well, you just said that you think I don’t—

PETER
I know what I said.

TONY
Is that what you meant?

Silence.

TONY
I’m giving you a chance to explain yourself here.  I thought we were headed in the right direction a couple of minutes ago, but now I’m not so sure.

PETER
Me either.

TONY
What?

PETER
I’m really confused, Tony, OK?  I’m really confused.  I don’t know what I think.  I love you so much.  So so much.  But—

TONY
But?

PETER
Let me finish.  This vetoed marriage bill really made me think about us, about how we have nothing that lets people know we exist as a couple.

TONY
How can you say that?  All of the memories that we have, the pictures together? Our families love us together.  Plenty of people acknowledge us as a couple.

PETER
But what about strangers?  What about hospitals?  What about the government?  What about—

TONY
Why do those things matter to you?  Who cares about those things?  Men and women have been together for years without those acknowledgments.  Why do you think we need them now?

PETER
We should’ve had them years ago.  And I don’t understand why they aren’t important to you.

TONY
Are those acknowledgements by those other “things” more important to you than me?

PETER is silent.  He looks out to the sea.  The sound of the sea gets a little louder. A seagull squawks above them.  Loudly.

TONY
Peter?  I asked you a question.  Are those acknowledgements more important to you than me?  Than our life together for the past ten years?

PETER is silent.  TONY is becoming emotional.  The sea gets louder.  The waves are crashing against the beach.

TONY
Peter?  Answer me.

PETER
I don’t know, Tony.  I don’t know.

Lights fade out on the two men looking at each other.  The waves crash loudly against the beach in the darkness.

4th of 50 Plays: Another Kind of Opera Quiz

 50 Plays  No Responses »
Feb 102012
 

Another Kind of Opera Quiz

With special thanks to Verdi for the inspiration


JASON, a young boy sits at a dining room table.  He is about 7 years old and wears a cape, a super hero eye mask, and gold plastic bracelets, a la Wonder Woman.  It’s an extravagant outfit for a Sunday morning.  He is working earnestly at a small tablet computer, surrounded by a stack of young adult novels, papers, and stuffed animals.  His mother, MARTHA, sits at one end of the table, reading the newspaper and drinking a coffee.  She wears sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and her hair is pulled back.  Her cell phone sits nearby on the table, along with a legal pad of paper and a pencil.

JASON
Momma when are we going again?

MARTHA (she’s engrossed in the paper)
Not for another week, honey.

JASON
Why so long?

MARTHA
Because that’s when it plays, sweetheart.

JASON
But why?

MARTHA
Well, that’s when the singers will be ready to perform.

JASON
Why does it take them so long?

MARTHA
Singers have to practice, Jason.  They have to do very special things with their voices, and they have to remember their movements.  It’s hard.  Remember when you did that play in school last year?

JASON
Which one?

MARTHA
The one where you played the little lamb?

JASON
Oh.  Yeah.  I remember.

MARTHA
It’s kind of like that.  You had to memorize lines didn’t you?

JASON
I had one line, Momma.

MARTHA
Just one?  I thought you had lots of lines.

JASON
All I said was “Baaahhh.”

MARTHA
But you said it lots of times, honey.  I thought you were very good.

JASON
Thanks.

MARTHA goes back to the paper.  JASON is silent for a moment.  He moves one of the stuffed animals to sit in front of the keyboard.  He sets up the computer carefully, then presses a button, and we hear the countdown for the picture.  It snaps, and JASON moves the stuffed animal back to its original location.  He looks at MARTHA reading the paper.

JASON
Momma?

MARTHA
Yes, Jason?

JASON
What’s a courtesan?

MARTHA
What?

JASON
What’s a courtesan?

MARTHA (putting her newspaper down)
Uh, where did you hear that word?

JASON
I don’t know.

MARTHA
Jason?

JASON
I said I don’t know.

MARTHA
How can you not know?

JASON
I just don’t.

MARTHA
Well, it’s not a word that you need to know.

MARTHA picks up her newspaper and starts reading again, but peeks around the side to check in on her son.  JASON ignores her and goes back to his computer.  The two settle back into their routine.  JASON begins to type on his computer.  He smiles broadly and makes a large gesture with his hand, hitting a button on the computer.  The computer begins to play a recording of La Traviata, Act I, “Libiamo Ne’lieti Calici.”  Jason air conducts a bit with one of his pencils.

MARTHA
Honey, can you turn that down a little?

JASON
But Mom, we have to study.  It’s next week!

MARTHA
We’ve been studying plenty, now please turn it down.

JASON
I don’t want to!

MARTHA
Jason!

JASON
How can I know what’s going on if I don’t study and you won’t tell me what a courtesan is?  How can I, Momma?  Uncle Mark says–

MARTHA
Is that where you heard that word?

JASON
Yes.  From Uncle Mark.

MARTHA
Of course, from Uncle Mark.  I’m going to crown your Uncle Mark.

JASON
Momma, Uncle Mark says that it’s very important to know what’s happening at the opera.

MARTHA
I know what your Uncle Mark says.  Maybe if Uncle Mark would mind his business, you wouldn’t be so worried about courtesans.

JASON
But what is one?  Uncle Mark says they’re special ladies.  Uncle Mark says that Violetta is the most special lady in Traviata.  Does that mean she’s like Ms. Turner?

MARTHA
Ms. Turner is your teacher!

JASON
But you say she’s a special lady all the time.

MARTHA
Yes, honey, but she’s a different kind of special lady.  I’m going to crown your Uncle Mark.

JASON
So why is Violetta special?  Does her being a courtesan make her special?

MARTHA
I guess it does.

JASON
How is she special?

MARTHA
I don’t know.  I guess she just is.  Now go back to taking pictures of your stuffed animals.

JASON (reaching for the cell phone on the table)
I’ll call Uncle Mark and ask him again.

MARTHA (grabs the phone)
No, you won’t!

JASON
But I want to know.

MARTHA
Jason—

JASON
Why can’t I know?  I WANT TO KNOW!

JASON slams hit little hand on the table.   

MARTHA
Jason, go to your room!  Now!

JASON
I’m sorry sorry sorry.  I just want to know, Momma.

MARTHA
I said NOW!

JASON
I’m sorry.  Please, no room?  Pretty please?  I’ll even shut off the music. (He shuts it off.)

MARTHA is glaring at him, but the absurdity of the super hero outfit and the opera and the situation about the word is too much for her, and she begins to laugh.

JASON
Why are you laughing?

MARTHA
Because it’s funny, Jason.

JASON
What’s funny?

MARTHA
It just is.  That word.  Courtesan.  (She laughs)

JASON
Uncle Mark did not think it was funny, Momma.  He said this courtesan’s story is very sad.

MARTHA
Well, your uncle would know.

JASON
Uncle Mark is bringing us to the opera, and I want us to know.  He said that we need to know the story.  It’s not in English, you know, Momma.  We need to know the story and the music before we go.

MARTHA realizes that the peaceful Sunday morning will not stay peaceful unless she gives up some information about the courtesan.  She sets down her paper and takes a deep breadth.  JASON is all ears.

MARTHA
So I don’t know what happens in this opera so well, sweetheart.  I’ve never been before.

JASON
Never been to the opera?

MARTHA
I’ve been to the opera, Jason—

JASON
With Dad?

MARTHA
Oh no.  Of course not.  Your father wouldn’t set foot in a theatre, much less an opera house.

JASON
Why not?

MARTHA
Jason, your father is not so interested in music.

JASON
But he’s always listening to music when I spend the weekend with him.

MARTHA
That’s a different kind of music, honey.  Your father likes rock and roll.  Not opera.

JASON
It’s really loud.

MARTHA
Yeah, your father likes it loud.

JASON
Jackie’s loud too.

MARTHA
I’m not surprised.  Your father likes music and ladies louder than I did.

JASON
Uh huh.  (pause)  I don’t like Jackie so much.

MARTHA
Me either.  (She catches herself.)  I mean, you should be very nice to Jackie.

JASON
Why?

MARTHA
Because your father likes Jackie, and you need to try to like her too.

JASON
But she’s so loud.  And she wears funny makeup.  Her eyebrows are weird.

MARTHA
Just don’t look at them.  That’s what I do.

MARTHA makes a face and the two start to giggle.

JASON
Mom!  That’s not nice.

MARTHA
Just don’t tell your father I said that.  But it helps if you don’t look.

JASON
I’ll try that next time.

MARTHA
Good.

MARTHA sips her coffee starts to go back to the paper.

JASON
So who did you go to the opera with?

MARTHA
I went with Uncle Mark, when we were kids.  Grandma and Grandpa used to take us.  We’d go every Christmas to see La bohème.

JASON
I know that one.  Uncle Mark plays that one for me.  That’s the one with Mimi, right?

MARTHA
That’s right.  Mimi, Rodolpho, Marcello—

JASON
Colline

MARTHA
Shaunard, Benoît—

JASON
And Musetta!  She’s my favorite!

MARTHA
Me too!

JASON
Uncle Mark plays her song all the time when I go there, and he kind of dances around the house.

MARTHA
That sounds familiar.  He did that when we were kids.

JASON
How old is Uncle Mark?

MARTHA
He’s 41.

JASON
He doesn’t act like he’s that old.

MARTHA
Well, don’t ever let your Uncle Mark here you say his name and “old” in the same sentence.  You won’t get invited for sleepover weekends anymore.

JASON
Uncle Mark is a lot of fun, Momma.  And I like Uncle Steve too.  They always take me for ice cream.

MARTHA
Your uncles love you very much, Jason.  That’s why they’re taking us to the opera.  They want you to know about these things.

JASON
Right.  That’s what they said.  Uncle Steve said I need to be well-rounded.

MARTHA
Yes.

JASON
They said that I could be the first soccer player-super hero-opera singer if I wanted to be.

MARTHA
Is that what they said?

JASON
Yeah, I told them that’s what I wanted to be, and they said that was great!  Dad and Jackie just laughed at me when I told them that.  Why did they laugh, Momma?

MARTHA
Because your father is not so interested in stuff like this.  And he also doesn’t like your uncles like you and I do.

JASON
I know.

MARTHA
I know you know.

There’s silence for a moment.  JASON seems sad about this last comment about his uncles.  But it passes, like a high cloud on a summer day, and he’s back. 

JASON
OK, Momma, so back to my question.  What’s a courtesan?

MARTHA
Jason, I told you we are not talking about that.

JASON
When I asked Uncle Mark how a courtesan was special, he told me it was your job to tell me. Uncle Steve said you would figure out a way.  Uncle Mark told me to keep asking.  He told me not to take no for an answer.

MARTHA
Of course he did…

JASON
So?

It’s clear that MARTHA has no way out.  She begins to search for the appropriate words.

MARTHA
OK, sweetheart.  Uh, let’s see how I can explain this so you’ll understand.  A courtesan is a special lady.  But not like your teacher, Ms. Turner.  A courtesan likes to do nice things for a man.

JASON
Like Grandma for Grandpa?

MARTHA
Uh, NO!  Very different from that.  Very different.  Not the same at all and don’t ever say that to Grandma.  Uh.  Let’s see.  It’s a special lady who wears a lot of makeup and special clothes and she makes the man that she works for feel very good.  Does that make sense?

JASON
Kind of.

MARTHA
It does.

JASON
I guess so.  Does the lady always have to work for the man?

MARTHA
Well, I guess not.  Why?

JASON
Cause it kinda sounds like Jackie.

MARTHA
What?

JASON
A courtesan kinda sounds like Jackie.   She wears a lot of makeup and special clothes all the time.  Stuff that’s too tight.  And when I stay over, Dad’s always saying how she makes him feel so good.  And then she makes all these goofy faces at him.

MARTHA
Sounds about right.  You made a good connection there, honey.

JASON
Yeah, I think I get it.

MARTHA
You do.  You really do.

MARTHA smiles at her son.  He goes back to his computer, grabs a stuffed animal, and takes a picture again.  MARTHA moves to pick up her paper.

JASON
Mom?

MARTHA
Yes, honey?

JASON
Can we call Jackie “Violetta” here at home?

MARTHA is a little taken aback by this request.

MARTHA
Uh, why do you want to do that?

JASON
I don’t know.  I just think it would be fun.

MARTHA
I’m not so sure, sweetie.  It feels a little mean.

JASON
But it’s just here at home.  Pleeeaaase?

MARTHA looks at her son, smiles to herself.

MARTHA
OK.  But only at home.  And don’t you dare tell your Uncle Mark.  This is our secret, OK?

JASON
OK.

MARTHA
Promise?

JASON
I promise, Mom.  I promise.

MARTHA smiles at JASON.  She picks up her newspaper and goes back to reading.  JASON turns on the music again and air conducts as the lights fade to black and music surges.

3rd of 50 Plays: How Do You Say “Window” in Italian?

 50 Plays  No Responses »
Feb 042012
 

How Do You Say “Window” in Italian?

With thanks to Chekhov’s Olga, Masha, and Irina for the inspiration.

A dining room table with four chairs.  The tabletop is in disarray covered with photographs.  It’s evening, and the light in the small room comes from an overhead fixture.  The room itself is dusty, but not dirty.  Old.  A bit frozen in time.  There’s also an open bottle of red wine on the table.  It’s uncorked.  Three wine glasses: one filled and untouched, one half-filled with a lipstick print, one empty.

Around the table sit MARGE, CATHERINE, and DORIS, three sisters.  They are in their mid-50s to early 60s. MARGE, the oldest, looks very tired.  She has not had an easy life.  CATHERINE, the middle sister, drinks freely from her glass of wine, and has a lightness that seems false.  DORIS, the youngest of the three, is focused on organizing the pictures.  She is the silent leader.

CATHERINE (wine glass in hand, picking up a photo)
Oh, look how cute this is!  Do you remember this Doris?  Remember how much fun we had on this trip?

DORIS (taking the photo)
This was the one where Dad stopped the car because we wouldn’t stop laughing, right?

MARGE
Let me see.

DORIS hands her the photo.

MARGE
Oh my God, look at how young Dad looks.  This was in Oklahoma.  I remember it was so hot and dusty.  Dad got so mad about the laughing and then madder about how dirty the car was.  And Mom tried to keep him calm.  Without much success.

CATHERINE (imitating her father)
“Goddamnit, you kids, if you don’t stop laughing, I’ll stop this car—“

MARGE and DORIS (together)
“—and you’ll all be sorry!”

The three laugh together, CATHERINE drains her glass, and fills it up again.

CATHERINE
Ah, those were the days.  Those. Were. The. Days.  (She drinks again.)

DORIS returns her attention to organizing the photos into piles on the table.  MARGE picks up the box and looks inside.  There are many more photos.

MARGE
How did this box of photos get past us?  We’ve been through the bedrooms and the closets so many times.

DORIS
George said the box was at the very back of the crawlspace in the attic.

CATHERINE
He said he would have missed it if he didn’t have his flashlight out.

DORIS
I doubt George would miss anything, Catherine.  He’s gone through this house with a fine-toothed comb.

CATHERINE
Well, he’s just being thorough.

DORIS
A little too thorough if you ask me.

Silence. The women continue to look through the photos for a time.

CATHERINE
I think Dad will love to see these pictures.  Dad’s going to just be so surprised.  Do you think he’ll recognize them?

MARGE
What’s that supposed to mean?  Of course he’ll recognize them.

CATHERINE
Marge, that’s so sweet that you think so, but I’m not so sure.  Dad’s not remembering much of anything anymore.  He’s even a little confused about who I am this visit.  (She drinks again.)

DORIS
The confusion seems to be more pronounced with people he doesn’t see very often. Right, Marge?

MARGE
Uh, I guess you could say that.

CATHERINE
Yes, Doris, I realize that.  Not sure how I can get here much more often than I do.  It’s not an easy trip.  Two hours of driving isn’t easy for me anymore, and Jimmy doesn’t like to make the trip.  His back bothers him.

DORIS
Right.  I forget sometimes how hard things are for you two.

CATHERINE
It’s so tough with this retirement.  Our social security only goes so far, and the pension checks, well, they are not what we thought they’d be.

MARGE
It’s hard.  I know.  By the time I buy food and pay my bills, there’s almost nothing left.  I don’t know how you two do it with the two houses.  Plus your grandkids?

CATHERINE
It’s soooo tough, Marge.  So so so tough.  And you know with Danny’s new little one, we try to get to them as much as possible.  It’s a lot.

There’s silence after this.  DORIS pushes her pile of organized photos towards the center of the table.

DORIS
I actually need to go.  I have to work in the morning, and I still need to stop by the store on the way home.  We need milk.

CATHERINE (picking up the bottle of wine)
Sure you don’t want just a little taste of this before you go?

DORIS
I don’t think so.

CATHERINE
Oh, c’mon Dorie.  Dorie, Dorie, Dorie, you never have fun with us.  We ask you, and you never want to stick around.

DORIS (she gets up from the table)
I have things to do, Catherine.  I’m still working.  And Bob’s been at home cleaning up after our dinner.  I told him I’d only be an hour, and I’ve been here for three.

MARGE
I’m sure Bob is fine, Doris.  Sit down.

DORIS
I really need to go.

CATHERINE (losing her patience, setting the wine bottle down a bit too hard)
Doris, sit down, please?

MARGE looks at CATHERINE with a bit of fear.

DORIS
What?

CATHERINE
I said sit down.  Please.

DORIS
Why?

MARGE
Catherine…

CATHERINE
Marge, I know what I’m doing.

MARGE
I don’t think this is the right time to—

CATHERINE
Shut up, Marge.

DORIS
Right time to what?

DORIS looks at MARGE who looks away, then DORIS looks to CATHERINE.  CATHERINE takes another swig of wine, sets the glass down, and tries to focus.

DORIS
What’s going on?

MARGE begins to slowly put the pictures back into the box.

CATHERINE
I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you this—

DORIS
Tell me what?

CATHERINE
If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll tell you.

DORIS
I’m listening.

CATHERINE
George and I have been talking—

DORIS
Again.

MARGE
Doris, let her finish.

DORIS
Oh, I’ll let her finish.  We always let her finish.

CATHERINE
And we’ve decided—

DORIS
Of course.

CATHERINE
After speaking with Marge—

DORIS gives MARGE a look.

CATHERINE
That Dad should come live with Jimmy and I.

There is a long silence.  MARGE is very concerned about what’s going to happen next.  She can’t help but put the pictures into the box very quickly. 

DORIS
What?

CATHERINE
Dad is going to come live with Jimmy and I.

DORIS
No, he’s not.

CATHERINE
Yes, he is.  We’ve decided it’s for the best.

DORIS (to MARGE)
Are you hearing this?

MARGE
I heard her.

DORIS
She and George “talked” to you about it?

MARGE
They did.

DORIS
Did they talk to you or tell you how it’s going to be?

CATHERINE
We talked to her, Doris.  We asked her what she thought.

DORIS
Then why are you “telling” me.

CATHERINE
Because we knew this was how you’d react.

DORIS
What’s that supposed to mean?

CATHERINE
What do you think it means?  Look at you.  You’re being completely unreasonable before you even know all of the details.

DORIS
Unreasonable?

CATHERINE
Unreasonable.  Resistant.  Not listening.

DORIS
Not listening?

MARGE
You’re not listening, Doris.

DORIS
You want listening?  I’m all ears, Catherine.  Tell me all about your grand plan.

CATHERINE
George called me a month ago and said that Dad was becoming more and more disoriented and could do less and less for himself.  Since Mom died. He’s good on his feet for the most part, but he’s just confused a lot.  The assisted living space is good for him, but the administrators are starting to work about him falling.  Or wandering out of the facility.

DORIS
Are you kidding me?  Dad wouldn’t do that.

MARGE
It happens.  It happened last week four towns over in that other facility we looked at for Dad.  That woman got disoriented, left her apartment, and tried to cross that busy highway.  She’s in a coma now, Doris.

CATHERINE
Oh, that’s awful.  Just awful.  She’s in a coma.  Is that what you want for Dad, Doris?

DORIS
Of course not, Catherine.  Of course that’s not what I want for Dad.

CATHERINE
Then we think this is the solution.

DORIS
But you and Jimmy are two hours away.  And you’re only there for part of the time.  What are you going to with Dad when you go to the other house?  That’s eight hours away.

CATHERINE
We’ll take him with us.

DORIS
To a house that has one bathroom on the second floor?  How’s that going to work?

CATHERINE
Jimmy’s already priced an addition that includes a bathroom on the first floor.

MARGE (trying to get this conversation to go in a better direction)
It seems like a nice idea.

DORIS
I thought you two had it so tough financially.  How can you afford an addition?

CATHERINE
Well, we’ll just have to manage.  We’ll do anything for Dad.

DORIS
You’ll do anything for Dad.  (To MARGE) Are you listening to this?  She’ll do anything for Dad.  That’s a good one, Catherine.  If you’ll go anything for Dad, where’ve you been for the past two years?  Actually, where’ve you been for the past twenty years?  You and Jimmy moved out of here and haven’t done anything to help us with Mom and Dad since you left.  Marge and I have been busting our asses to keep an eye on them, and then after Mom died, we spend all of our time over here.  You and Jimmy’ve been here four times in two years.  Four times.

CATHERINE
It’s a long way for us, Doris.  We do the best we can.  I don’t understand why you always have to be critical.  It’s always you against George and I.

DORIS
That’s because you and George don’t pay attention. For being 30 minutes away and almost never visiting, George has gotten very interested in all of this once we decided to sell this house.

CATHERINE
Selling this house was inevitable.  We need to do it before the market gets any worse.

DORIS
So you say.  But it’s really because you’re both tired of having to worry about it.

CATHERINE
George and I have our own lives. Mom and Dad are not the center or our lives.  Why is that wrong?

DORIS
Because it is.  That’s just how I feel and you’re not going to change my mind about it.

CATHERINE
Maybe it’s wrong for you, but it’s not wrong for me.  Or for George.  You shouldn’t judge us for that, Doris.  It’s not fair.

MARGE has packed up all of the photos.  The table is empty except for the wine bottle and the closed box of photos.

MARGE
I think we should all sleep on this and talk about it tomorrow when everyone’s fresh.

DORIS
There’s nothing more to talk about.  Dad’s not going.

CATHERINE
Doris, you can’t stop us from doing this.

DORIS
Why can’t I?  You think I’m going to let you take Dad two hours away from here.  How am I going to see him?

CATHERINE
The same way Jimmy and I do now.

DORIS
Well, I’m not driving two hours there and back every day.

CATHERINE
So you won’t see him everyday.  You’ll get used to it.

DORIS
I’ve seen him everyday since Mom died.  Marge and I both have.

MARGE
And I’m tired, Doris.

DORIS
Tired?

MARGE
I’m tired.  I can’t take care of him anymore.

DORIS
But you’re not taking care of him.  The people at the facility help him.

MARGE
They do, but there’s a lot they don’t do.  I spend a lot of time there during the day, while you’re at work. And it’s exhausting.  And as he gets more confused, it’s even harder.  Can’t you understand that?

DORIS
I can’t believe that you agree with this plan.

MARGE
I’m agreeing with it because I think we all need a change.  I’m starting to resent Dad and what I have to do for him, and I don’t want our last years together to be filled with anger and frustration.  That’s why I’m agreeing to it.

CATHERINE
That’s such a rational way to think about it. There’s a reason why you’re the oldest, Marge.  Wise, wise, wise.  (She raises her glass and drinks to her sister.)

DORIS
I’m not going to let this happen.

CATHERINE
I’m not sure how you plan to do that.

DORIS
I’ll go talk to Dad about it.  He has friends here he won’t want to leave.  He likes the nurses and assistants at the facility, and all of his things are here.  You can’t just take him like this.  He won’t agree to it.

MARGE and CATHERINE look to each other.

MARGE
Dad already agreed to it, Doris.

DORIS (shocked)
That can’t be true.

CATHERINE
Dad said he wants to go.  He’s ready for a change.

DORIS
But he gets confused.

CATHERINE
He wasn’t confused about this.

DORIS
You’re lying.

MARGE
She’s not, Doris.  She’s serious.  He wants to go.  He’s tired of the memories.  He just wants to forget.

DORIS
I don’t believe that.

CATHERINE (takes the final swig, draining her wine glass and sets it down)
Why don’t you go ask him yourself?

MARGE stands up, picks up the box of pictures, and hands it to DORIS.

MARGE
See if he wants to remember all of this.  Go ahead and ask him.

DORIS takes the box and holds it for a moment.  She looks down, takes the lid off.  Looking into the box at the images, with the faces of the past looking back at her, her feelings flow freely.  She turns the box upside down, spilling the photos are all over the floor of the room.  She throws the box on the table and exits, leaving MARGE and CATHERINE alone as the lights fade to black.

 

 

Cultural Sensitivity: We are what we tweet

 culture  No Responses »
Feb 022012
 

My colleague, Chris Stipeck, who I’ve worked with for 5+ years, sent me an article by Ian Parker that appears in the February 6, 2012 edition of The New Yorker entitled “The Story of a Suicide.”  The article outlines in great detail the incidents leading up to the death of Rutgers University student Tyler Clementi in September 2010.  Clementi’s roommate Dharun Ravi is currently on trial for a slew of charges pending from an incident where he videotaped Clementi having a sexual encounter with another man. After Clementi discovered this invasion of his privacy and the supposed broadcasting of his encounter into cyberworld, Clementi jumped from the George Washington Bridge, killing himself, and igniting a firestorm of national attention around bullying, or what some have come to call social combat, a term that I prefer because of its weight and scope.

Chris and I have been talking about this incident off and on for the past 15 months.  We share many things in common, most notably that we live and work among 1000 first-year college students at New York University.  It’s a unique experience living with this cohort, one that I’ve enjoyed for seven years now, and I’m constantly reminded of what it’s like to be 17 or 18 years old and a student.  I do academic and social programs with the students, as does Chris, but he also manages all aspects of the building, including 30+ professional and para-professional staff members.  He and I meet every other week to discuss our work and the events within the building, and our conversations often veer into social, cultural, and political topics.  He’s an intelligent and thoughtful guy, and our conversations consistently provide me with insights that affect how I work and interact with students, both in residence and in the classroom.

Clementi’s story has been an ongoing topic for Chris and I for a variety of reasons, and the contents of this article have already made the  “agenda” of our next breakfast meeting.  However, in advance of our conversation, some thoughts already crystalized that I can’t help but share out on this blog, as I’ve spent many an entry over the last year emphasizing the importance of paying attention when it comes to the complicated phenomenon of social combat amongst young people.

The details within Parker’s article provide valuable insight into the complexities of the Clementi case, mostly in the form of text messages, tweets, chats entries, and Facebook posts that Parker has somehow obtained.  This avalanche of cyber evidence is disconcerting for two reasons.  First, I realized just how public our social media information is, meaning that once it’s out there, it’s out there.  There’s no taking it back, even if we think we deleted it.  We really are what we tweet.

Second, and more importantly, these captured messages and comments reveal an astounding lack of cultural sensitivity from the cast of characters in the Clementi story.  The article gently points out that even Clementi, who is clearly the victim is this incident, displayed some of his own cultural biases in his cyber messages.  Suddenly, a case that has been mostly black and white for me has many more shades of grey, not because I think that Tyler Clementi is guilty of anything, but more because the blurry and often imperceptible worlds of social combat and non-conscious bias have come into sharper focus.

Plain and simple, the cyber messages illustrate that we’re failing to effectively educate young people about cultural sensitivity before they arrive to college.

I mean failing.  Miserably.

Even with the proliferation of “bullying” curricula in schools nowadays, the average young person comes to college with very little understanding of difference outside of her or his own closed family or community.  The formal education doesn’t appear to be sticking.  Sociologists report that the Milllennial Generation, of which all of these Clementi characters are a part of, are allegedly the most open to our multicultural and globalized world, however their cybermessaging tells a very different story.

For many, this is not news.  I have friend who I’ve know for 35 years, since kindergarten, who fights a daily battle for the safety of her son at school.  He’s different, knows he’s different, and has no qualms about showing it.  I’ve met him and he’s a great kid.  Unfortunately, his classmates, give him a hard time.  Interestingly enough, his school has been cited as an excellent example of how to prevent social combat, but his mom has a different story to tell.  Having grown up in this town, I understand what she’s up against.  The school may be doing its job to some extent, or maybe those educators and administrators aren’t doing enough.  It’s hard to say for sure.  But even if my friend wins her battle with the school, she still has a larger problem to tackle.  Social combat has very deep roots in the messages that young people receive from family members about what is “normal” and “acceptable.”

What we define as “normal” depends on our own personal experiences and perspectives, and our definitions come from our interactions with family members and friends.  The cyber messages from the Clementi case illustrate a lack of sensitivity around race and ethnicity, but even more so around issues of sexual orientation and socioeconomic status.  That last one, SES for short, runs deep in this country, deeper than many like to admit, and we need to spend more time and energy thinking about how class plays out in social combat scenarios.

So if we are what we tweet, and I use “tweet” as a contemporary euphemism for what we say, then we have a lot of work to do.  We can’t practice cultural sensitivity only when we speak aloud; sensitivity needs to be applied to all of our communication, even the communication that we think is private.  And to be clear, I’m not advocating for some kind of politically correct policing of language.  I’m asking for people to pay attention to what they say and how they say it.  We all move through life on a spectrum of sensitivity.  What one finds offensive, another may find funny or simply mundane.  Because of these multiple perspectives, we have a responsibility to tread carefully and mind our tweets.  And to teach young people to do the same, before they venture out alone into the often-unforgiving, multicultural, globalized fray that is our 21st century existence.