Ohms of Resistance ~ a dramatic monologue

Setting:  Can be a bare stage. Action takes place in the Gulf South, inside a barricaded Power Relay Station.

Time: Current, any time of day or night.

Props:
Typed manifesto, heavily edited by hand.
Frayed wire.
Smart Phone (either on a tripod or held by hand.)

(Jess Tendrup, a slim young man, dressed like a small town Metal Head, adjusts the video feature of his Smart Phone. He often speaks directly to the video camera.

When ready to begin, Jess steps into the camera frame, composes himself, musses-up his hair, and reads a prepared statement.)

SOUND: off-stage battering ram, which Jess tries to ignore.

We take electricity for granted. Flick up the switch. There is light. We don't ask how. We simply will it. And it is. Like sorcerers, we bend electrical power to our own purposes. We harness wild current, direct its flow over long-distance cables right up to our own houses. Right up to the supermarket—where electricity, our ever faithful wizard's apprentice, keeps our pizza bagels frozen. Right up to the hospital, shopping mall, multinational conglomeration. Right up to the prison, where we depend on electricity for searchlights, sirens, electric fences and electronic locks. The humble light bulb is merely the physical form of Wired Society's combined will power. Flick up the switch. There is light.

(Forgets the prepared statement, speaking impromptu.)

So don’t tell me we can't do nothing about it. Don't tell me it ain't nobody’s fault!

“Well Brother Jess, that’s what to expect from God-forsaking, Hell-bent, Secular Humanist modern society.”

“But it just keeps on happening! Nobody can stop it. People lack the power. Politicians lack the guts. And the perps are the police themselves! Oh dear! The military!”

“That is because not enough righteous citizens are armed! Without more guns in the hands of heroes, nobody can stop this tragedy (that keeps on happening.) So nobody is to blame.”

Oh really? Well, I blame me! I blame all y’all! Blame us all for what happened. What keeps on happening! Only difference is, I am the only one with the will power to do something.

(Removes a frayed wire from his pocket.)

We can be humbled. In a single stroke, we can be made to tremble before the torrent of wild electrical current. I promise, I will stop the insanity. With more insanity.

But first, hoo! I should take a breath! Aw man, I get ahead of myself!

(Puts wire back into his pocket.
Adjusts the camera angle.
Musses-up his hair.)

I still need to record my final thoughts for posterity, my last Will and Testament, my video suicide note. My manifesto!

SOUND:  Off-stage battering ram.

Yes, yes. I hear y'all!

Homeland Security soldiers are outside the building right now, banging away at my barricades. Sounds more like they're banging at my brain. 

Sorry soldiers! Y'all will just have to wait! You can have the Power Station back when I'm done.

At the very least, these words spoken on this video blog, I want them to exonerate my family and defend other innocent folk from blame. Except for you, Pastor Roloff. You accept your blame, then go right ahead and die. Go to Hell, jump into the molten lake of eternal brimstone, and burn right up--Brother.

Hello, YouTube! This is Jess Tendrup. Howdy. 

(Attempts to read prepared statement again, but often digresses.)

I, Jesse Tyrelle Tendrup, being of sound body, as y’all can see (flexes muscles for camera). And of sound mind. Yes! I do know who I am—Jess Tendrup. Where I am—barricaded inside the Gulf South Power Relay Station. And what I plan to do.

SOUND: battering ram.

I, Jesse Tyrelle Tendrup, son of Mister and Missus Travis Tendrup, and a recent graduate from Maranatha Christian Academy, currently employed as a car detailer down at Big Sally’s Autobody—Hey Sal! As you can see, I won’t be coming into work today—I do herein and forthwith solemnly accept full and sole responsibility for my actions. Nobody but me needs to carry any blame on this. Not my useless mama. That's for sure. Not my sister, (her name chokes him) Melissa Grace. Not even my daddy, who really is to blame. Really, if y’all only knew. But not even my asshole daddy needs to carry any blame on this. And even though Pastor Roloff loaded up my head with hateful, fantasy lies, I, Jesse Tyrelle Tendrup, accept full responsibility for my own destructive actions. I know folks will get hurt. Some folks might, probably, die.

Sacrifices are expected with an Armageddon, a disruption of this magnitude. Not just the local grid. Folks, our town—we are the hub of the entire Gulf South! This Power Relay Station can bring down the whole region. Imagine the Gulf dark. Actually, in 10 minutes, y'all won’t need to imagine. Hospitals will go dark. Critical-care and life support machines shut off. Heart monitors stop beeping, beep, beeeeeee... Hearts stop. At the prisons, no more electricity for search lights, sirens, or electric fences. What good are electronic locks with no electricity? All the prisoners will escape, run amok, maraude the lowlands and the high ground, and savage the citizenry. But worst of all, at the supermarkets—where we are most vulnerable—pizza bagels will thaw.

Then there’s me! I’m a sacrifice too. A willing sacrifice, for sure, in order "to bring illumination to the masses." Right, Pastor Roloff? “Shine a bright light. So that the Righteous, groping in the dark, may see the uphill path to the Pure Land.” I am a martyr for the cause. Perhaps even, if you will allow, a victim? As much a victim as anybody else. That is, if y’all are willing to accept that a person can be both the victim and the villain in the same story, especially when he tells the story his own self.

Villain? Victim ? Martyr? Nah, what I truly am is Resistance. Over at the Autobody, Sal's been teaching me about a car’s electrical system. Sal taught me that Thomas Edison, the electronic scientist, proved that we need Resistance to make light visible. Resistance, measured in Ohms. Love that word! (chants like “om”) Ohhhhms.  I am the tungsten filament inside the bulb that resists the current, halts the mindless march-step of electrons, and makes them reveal their incandescence!

“But why now, Jess? What changed?”

Well, the Event changed…everything, changed me. I still feel those sirens whining inside my ears. My eyes still wince at the memory of strobe lights, blue and red, rotating on the rooftops of cop cars, fire trucks, a SWAT wagon, two ambulances. Was all that show of force really necessary for one terrified Black kid clutching a water pistol for dear life?

Where did all that smoke come from? Emerging from-out the smoke, TV news crews walked and talked—it seemed at the time—in slow-mo. Everything in slow-mo. Click-click of Smartphone cameras echoing in the smoke. Click-click, click. (Turns phone toward audience.) Onlookers filmed Video Selfies in a slow arc, scanning the horror. 

Fucking gawkers! Uploading the Event from their Smart Phones directly onto Social Media, separating the actual Event in space and time from its truth. All via the alchemy of electricity—for us to Share and Like later on, at our leisure.

(Turns phone camera back toward self.) 

The Event completed my education in disillusionment, showed me the utter, moral bankruptcy of our Wired Society. To murder a child, film it, and say nothing. We are all nothing but a mountain-heap of dead batteries. Our potential expended. Useless and toxic.

The Event re-wired my brain's micro-circuitry. It radicalized me. Knocked free some electrons from their usual orbit. “This shit ain’t right!” I screamed at the cops, at the TV crews, the gawkers. “Stop this stupid fucking insanity!” And when the TV news and the gawkers turned their cameras on ME, that’s when it struck me. Sometimes it takes an act of stupid fucking insanity to stop stupid fucking insanity. To restore Order. Yank off the bandage, so the wound can breathe and finally heal.

(Reading manifesto.)

My act of resistance shines a bright light onto our collective, national passivity. Calls attention to the strangle-hold of special interest groups over Congress, such as the NRA, ACLU, NAACP, and probably NASA for all we know. My sacrifice—although it might seem senseless, insane—advocates for sanity. For good sense. Deprived of our electric light, may we see the true light of God’s judgment!

Most importantly of all, my resistance stands witness to violence. I am a lighthouse casting my beacon onto the rocks below, onto atrocities committed against us by those we trust!

(Directly to camera.)

I, Jesse Tyrelle Tendrup, witnessed a police officer gun down a child, a little-little kid, outside the Pump-Dump-and-Go gas station and convenience store. Just a kid, his small Black face is frozen forever in my mind in a mask of terror! Y’all never want to see terror like that on a boy’s face! No, I’m just a boy. He was a little-little kid, same age as my sister, clutching his plastic, water pistol to his heart.

I was only at the Pump-Dump-and-Go to buy a Scratch ticket and a PBR when I saw this cop gun down this kid over a toy gun painted safety orange! Other cops looked on. Said nothing. Turned a blind eye. Why are cops afraid to call out one of their own? Not even for murder? Of a kid? Too embarrassed, I guess. Nobody did nothing except take more Selfie photos and Selfie videos. So I guess all y’all are right. Nobody is to blame.

And Nobody has been investigated for this mur-der. Nobody tried. Nobody convicted. Nobody brought to justice. But a kid died, all the same. A kid with a name, Baltimore Ferguson.

Mama, I am talking to you right now! Keep Melissa Grace safe, you heard me? You know exactly what I am talking about. Since you don’t care nothing about yourself none, don’t even stand up to protect your own self, ever, you have only one job. Simple. Keep Melissa Grace safe from violence, safe from Daddy.

Now Melly, I don’t want you never to watch this video until you’re a grown adult woman. Mama, don’t let Melissa Grace watch YouTube! Melly, you don’t need to see your older brother, Jess, like this, in his last minutes alive on this Earth. But when you do grow up and you do watch this, Jess loves you. Sister. try to forgive him.

Please understand, Melly. It’s better he leaves now. Before he hurts somebody again, before he hurts you. No, Jess would never hurt you! But he did already punch Mama. Punched Mama right in her dumb, useless face, the same way Daddy punches her. She didn’t do nothing to defend herself—from her own son!

Jess thought he inherited the family curse, the family disease. The Tendrup appetite for violence. But now, after Mama and Daddy and all their shit, after the Event, after the murder of Baltimore Ferguson, now he believes it’s the whole world’s disease. The strong hit the weak.

You, Daddy. What the fuck, old man, you’re a mean asshole. I hope this video breaks your heart, Fucker, but we both know you don’t got one. I hope my action today chokes you with shame. Be the first time in your goddamn life you felt ashamed, even though you got plenty to be shameful for.

All y’all watching this YouTube video, I want it publicly known that Travis Tendrup, my father, didn’t just beat me up over and over to prove he's stronger than a kid. He touched me too. TOUCHED me. There, I said it!

And if you EVER touch Melissa Grace, I will claw my way back up from Hell with a demon army to drag you, ass-fucker, down into damnation with me!

As for you, Pastor Roloff, only good thing I ever learned from all your sermonizing was eloquence. How to string together pearls of pretty words. Nuance 'em, only hint at deeper meanings. So here comes some eloquence. Brother, fuck you. Ain’t no such place as the “Pure Land” except in your bigoted, mother-punching imagination. Lay off the Apostle Paul’s hate-gospel for a while, huh? Get back to Jesus. Less righteousness and a lot more love. Amen, Pastor?

Fuck eloquence. I blame YOU, Pastor Roloff! Because your mind is sick! Your values are sick! Your hateful attitudes are what makes it ok for cops to kill Black children, for fathers to kill…to kill their sons. And you said nothing, Pastor. Turned a blind eye. 

The ones we trust to protect us don't. I am Baltimore Ferguson too!

And uh, Big Sally—Sal, by the time you see this, guess you already figured out I won’t be coming into work the rest of this week. Sorry about leaving y’all short-handed at the Autobody. You deserve better. Thanks, Sal. For everything you done for me and tried to do.

One final word:  To the Homeland Security soldiers outside my barricade. I know your long silence means pretty soon y’all are planning to escalate to explosives. Right about the time I make the world go dark, BOOM! Y’all will bust into this Power Station and stumble upon my charred remains, smoldering between the negative and positive terminals. Fellas, I am truly sorry to spoil y’all's day. You ain’t the cop who shot Baltimore Ferguson. Sorry about the smell too. Burnt hair and yeah, burnt poo.

Big Sal told me, when the Electric Chair first was invented, scientists protested. The whole scientific world up and protested. God's truth. Because they believed that the Electric Chair degrades "the mysterious dignity of electricity," while mocking the very science that makes it possible to electrocute killers to death.

At the very least, we can all agree I spared taxpayers the expense of frying me in the Electric Chair. These days, the high cost of electricity is shocking! 

(Removes the frayed wire from his pocket.)

(chants like “om”) Ohhhhhhhmssss…. Hope I don’t really go poo.

(Puts the frayed end of the wire into his mouth.)

SOUND:  Pfzzt.

Blackout.

SOUND:  BOOM! and then rubble falling as soldiers bust in.

Next of Kin ~ a short drama

CHARACTERS

CHUCK
Patient’s same-sex husband.

AUNT BELLA
Patient’s middle-aged aunt.

RESIDENT
Fourth-year Medical Student, part of the patient’s care team. Female. Very young in comparison to other cast.

SETTING

Hospital room.

TIME

Early evening, during visitor hours.

(A hospital room, during visitor hours. A family is gathered around the unconscious body of Jimmy Catalano. Chuck, Jimmy’s husband, is comforting Aunt Bella.)

AUNT BELLA

Why don’t someone tell us something?! We been here 45 minutes and nobody will tell us nothing. Where is James’ friggin’ doctor? That nurse at the front desk won't tell us a damn thing.

CHUCK

She can’t. Nurses are forbidden from discussing a patient’s prognosis with family members. That’s the doctor’s job.

AUNT BELLA

Then where the crapola is James' doctor?

RESIDENT

Excuse me, may I come in?

AUNT BELLA

(Charging the Resident.)

Where the hell is Doctor LeDoux? We been waiting here one hour. I want James’ doctor to get in here and explain to us what the hell is going on!

RESIDENT 

I’m sorry you’ve been waiting so long. Doctor LeDoux is not available right now. She’s in the O.R. That’s why I’ve come in.

AUNT BELLA

And who the hell are you?

RESIDENT

My name is Veronica Melbourne, I’m a Resident. I’m part of the team that’s taking care of Mister Catalano.

AUNT BELLA

A Resident? We want a real doctor!

RESIDENT

I assure you I am a real doctor. I’m in my last year of Medical School, and residency is the final step in my training. As I said, I’m part of the team who’s been caring for…

AUNT BELLA

This is how Tulane treats families? We find James unconscious, unresponsive, with a tube down his throat. But no! The doctor makes us wait and nobody tells us nothing! Except that orderly. He walked by here, looked in and muttered “Oh, that coma guy”. Holy Mother of God! A coma?!

RESIDENT

I am so sorry that orderly said that. That is grossly inappropriate. I will personally follow-up with the orderly staff to find out who said that and make sure it never happens again.

AUNT BELLA

Appalling.

CHUCK

Is that what’s going on? Is Jimmy in a…a coma? Why is he in a coma?

RESIDENT

Sir, what is your relation to Mister Catalano?

CHUCK 

Jimmy is my husband.

RESIDENT

(beat) 

I have some difficult information to discuss with Jimmy’s…Mister Catalano’s legal next of kin. Does Mister Catalano have a…um, wife?

AUNT BELLA

Do you hear what Charles just said, young woman? He and James are married. Just as married as I was to my dear, departed Alonso.

RESIDENT

I understand that. Unfortunately, the State of Louisiana does not yet recognize same-sex marriage as legal. I mean no offense, but..

AUNT BELLA

We are offended! How would you like if YOUR husband was in a coma…

RESIDENT

I did not say coma. And my hands are tied on this matter. As a medical professional, I do have to work within legal guidelines. Does Mister Catalano have any adult children?

CHUCK 

No. We don’t have kids. Jimmy doesn’t have kids.

RESIDENT

I see. Are his parents alive? Does he have adult siblings?

AUNT BELLA

Charles and me are James’ only family. His parents kicked him out when he was 16 for being Gay. Then they died in a house fire—God have mercy on their souls—in their own bed. Now I am James’ only blood relative.

RESIDENT

Ma’am, your relationship to Mister Catalano?

AUNT BELLA

I am his aunt. James’ mother is my sister. James and Charles are practically my own sons.

RESIDENT

Then that makes you Mister Catalano’s legal next of kin. As I said, I mean no disrespect to you, Mister…??

CHUCK

Caldwell. Chuck…Charles Caldwell.

RESIDENT

(to Aunt Bella) And how may I address you?

AUNT BELLA

Mrs. Isabella Lorraine Alfaro. The boys, they call me Aunt Bella.

RESIDENT

Mrs. Alfaro, hello. Again, my name is Veronica Melbourne. Before we begin our discussion about Mister Catalano’s care, what would you like to happen right now? Should I discuss with you alone, or would you prefer Mister Caldwell to also be present?

AUNT BELLA

Are you retarded in the head? Of course I want Charles present! He is James’ husband! You have the moral responsibility to discuss James’ healthcare with James’ husband!

RESIDENT

Alright. As long we all understand that any decisions regarding Mister Catalano’s care can only be made by his legal next of kin. Please, may we sit down?

CHUCK

Is it that serious?

RESIDENT

What I came to discuss is difficult. Sitting down is a good idea.

AUNT BELLA

Sit here, Charles. No thank you. I will stand.

RESIDENT

Mrs. Alfaro…

AUNT BELLA

Please, include us both.

RESIDENT

Yes of course. Mrs. Alfaro and Mister…??

AUNT BELLA

He said Caldwell!

RESIDENT

Excuse me. I’m so forgetful with names when I feel nervous. Mrs. Alfaro and Mr. Caldwell, please prepare yourself for difficult news.

CHUCK

Is it a coma?

RESIDENT

Before I answer that question, can you explain to me what you understand about Mr. Catalano’s condition?

AUNT BELLA

James came here this morning to Tulane for knee replacement surgery. Now he won’t wake up. Got that tube down his throat.

CHUCK

I dropped Jimmy off myself. Bella and I came back now, together, to check on him. Assumed he would need to rest up a couple days, then we’d take him to our home. But we don’t understand why he won’t wake up.

AUNT BELLA

And that chooch in scrubs looked in and called him “the coma guy”!

RESIDENT

Again, that was inappropriate. Mister Catalano’s surgery did go well. Only a couple hours ago he was alert and speaking.

CHUCK

Is he in a coma now?!

RESIDENT

Not a coma, Sir. Please allow me to continue. I promise I will answer all your questions after I give you complete information. As I said, Mister Catalano was alert and speaking. Then the Charge Nurse informed the medical team that he was complaining of shortness of breath.

CHUCK

Oh my god.

RESIDENT

I was part of the team that rushed into the room to help Mister Catalano. By the time we arrived, he was unconscious and non-responsive. We started CPR and then requested a Code Team.

AUNT BELLA

A what?

RESIDENT

An emergency trauma team. They confirmed that Mister Catalano’s heart was not beating, and they took over the CPR.

CHUCK

His heart stopped beating? Why?

RESIDENT

After knee surgery, it’s common for a deep-vein thrombosis to form.

AUNT BELLA

Missy, you better start speaking English. We have every right to understand this. And we can. If you speak language we understand.

RESIDENT

Of course. I apologize for my word-choice. Let me back up a little. After Mister Catalano’s surgery, a blood clot formed in his leg. The clot broke away from the site of the surgery, and travelled in his blood stream to Mister Catalano’s lungs.

CHUCK

You said his heart stopped beating. He had a heart attack?

RESIDENT

Not exactly. The blood clot blocked the major artery between Mister Catalano’s lungs and his heart. We call that a pulmonary embolism. Because of the blockage, his heart could not receive oxygen, and that’s why he had a cardiac arrest. His heart stopped beating.

CHUCK

But Jimmy doesn’t have heart problems!

RESIDENT

It was the clot, Sir. One possible risk of this kind of surgery is the formation of blood clots.

CHUCK

So why is he unconscious? Why the tube in his throat?

RESIDENT

The Code Team did CPR to get his heart beating again. After numerous attempts, they were finally successful. But although his heart did start again, in the meantime, Mister Catalano’s brain was also deprived of oxygen.

CHUCK

His brain? For how long?

RESIDENT

We don’t know for sure. Long enough that his brain suffered anoxic brain damage.

AUNT BELLA

English!

RESIDENT

Brain damage due to the lack of oxygen. That tube you see is helping Mister Catalano breath. The brain controls breathing. But because of the brain damage, Mister Catalano’s body cannot breath on its own.

CHUCK

People wake up from comas all the time.

RESIDENT

This is not a coma, Sir. The damage is more severe than that.

AUNT BELLA

What do you mean more severe than coma?

RESIDENT

We don’t believe Mister Catalano will wake up.

AUNT BELLA

He’ll wake up. Look, he’s breathing. I see him breathing!

RESIDENT

I’m sorry to tell you this bluntly, Ma’am. But what you see is a machine breathing for him. If we remove the machine, his body won’t breath on its own.

CHUCK

He will die?!

RESIDENT

I’m so sorry.

AUNT BELLA

James chose Tulane! He didn’t have to come here for surgery. He did the research. Tulane is supposed to be the best in Orleans Parish for this kind of knee replacement surgery. How could you let this happen?

RESIDENT

We are investigating right now how this happened. The best we can tell, after surgery, Mister Catalano should have received an anti-coagulant medication to prevent blood clots. He wasn’t.

AUNT BELLA

Wait, what? You were supposed to give Charles medicine to prevent THIS! And you didn’t? This is your fault!

RESIDENT

I’m so sorry.

AUNT BELLA

Sorry?? Sorry won’t feed a mockingbird! Sorry won’t wake up my nephew!

RESIDENT

Of course you’re shocked, angry, and grieving. I don’t claim to understand exactly what you’re feeling. But I am here to help you any way I can.

AUNT BELLA

Help us by waking up my nephew!

CHUCK

Bella, please. It’s not her fault. She’s the bearer of bad news. (to the Resident) You tried to save him. You gave him CPR. Thank you for that.

RESIDENT

I did everything I could, everything I know how to do.

CHUCK

And now Tulane rewards you by making you give us the bad news. You’re a very fine young doctor, Miss Melbourne.

RESIDENT

Oh! Thank you, Mister Caldwell. It’s my duty and my honor to be with your family at a difficult time like this. (beat) There’s more for us to discuss.

AUNT BELLA

God in Heaven! Are you kidding us?

CHUCK

Bella, please. Let her continue.

RESIDENT

Mrs. Alfaro, did Mister Catalano ever discuss what he would want if something like this ever happened?

CHUCK

What do you mean?

RESIDENT

How would Mister Catalano, James, want us to care for him? For example, we can keep him on the ventilator. And if he has another cardiac event, I mean, if his heart stops again, we could resuscitate him.

AUNT BELLA

Of course we want that. We want him to live!

RESIDENT

Is that what James would want? If his quality of life is compromised like this?

AUNT BELLA

My nephew wants to live! Tell her, Charles.

RESIDENT

Even knowing that he probably won’t ever wake up? Or if he did, he would not be the James you know?

CHUCK

I understand what you’re saying. Bella, she means withdrawing care. Withdrawing the breathing tube, letting Jimmy…

(Long beat.)

AUNT BELLA

Well, I want him to live! You said I’m his next of kin. His legal next of kin. You have to do what I say. I want him to stay alive!

CHUCK

Bella!

AUNT BELLA

I'm sorry, Charles! But I can't just do nothing. Let them pull the...I can't stand by and watch James... He's my boy! You're both my boys.

CHUCK

(to the Resident)
We cannot possibly make a decision like that. Not minutes after you just walked in here and dropped a bomb on us.

RESIDENT

Of course not. Mrs. Alfaro, you do not have to make any decisions right now. I’m introducing the topic. Begin to think about what I’ve said.

AUNT BELLA

Don’t ask me! You should ask his husband! Charles! Charles is his husband!

RESIDENT

Morally I agree with you. But you are the legal next of kin. Discuss it together then. Decide as a family the best course of action for Mister Catalano. What he would want. What the two of you together think is best.

CHUCK

Jimmy and I watched that whole Terry Schiavo fiasco in disgust. We never imagined it could happen to us.Never talked about what we would want. We both thought the real tragedy was that family’s grief put on display, held up to public scrutiny. Judged by Fox News and Facebook.

AUNT BELLA

Terry Schiavo! No! No!

RESIDENT

I know this is unthinkable, terrible news. But is there anything I can explain better? Do you have any questions for me right now?

CHUCK

No, not right now. Bella, Dear, any questions?

AUNT BELLA

Isn't there any hope?

RESIDENT

I can assure you he's in no pain.

CHUCK

My God! Oh my God! I don't want Jimmy to be in pain! Bella, I don't want him to feel pain!

AUNT BELLA

(Rushes to comfort Chuck) How can you assure us that?

RESIDENT

The most honest answer I can give you is Mister Catalano does not feel any pain. The part of his brain that experiences pain is not active.

CHUCK

Jimmy!

RESIDENT

Mister Caldwell, we also have medications we can give Jimmy to ensure he does not feel pain. Medication and other forms of palliative care...to ease his transition.

(long beat.)

Perhaps I should give you some time to talk and absorb this. I can come back any time you need me. If you do think of other questions, ask for me by name, Veronica Melbourne.

AUNT BELLA

Thank you, Miss Melbourne. We need time alone now, to talk...to grieve as a family.

RESIDENT

Of course. Again, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Alfaro. Mister Caldwell... (Attempts to touch Chuck's arm, hesitates, then exits)

AUNT BELLA

I don't understand what just happened to our family!

(The dam breaks, and Chuck finally has the break down he has struggled to hold back. Bella embraces and comforts him)

CHUCK

Jimmy is my husband!

_________________________________________________________________

The First Thespian ~ a short comedy

Characters:

Thespis of Icaria, a Leading Man

Glaucus, a member of the Greek Chorus

Jerkus, a rival member of the Greek Chorus

Time:          6th century B.C.

Location:    Ancient Greece. On stage at Athens Amphitheater. 10 minutes until Curtain.

Props:         Sword. Sword belt. A mask of Tragedy and 2 masks of Comedy (Optional. Actors may pantomime those faces instead.)

Costume:    Matching togas. Thespis’ toga is too short. Glaucus’ toga is baggy and too large. Jerkus’ toga is just right.

__________________________________

Glaucus:     (Enters from wing, calling off-stage) Thank you, Ten!

Thespis:     (Enters from opposite side of Glaucus, doing vocal warm-up exercises...culminating with) DRACH-mah. drrrrach-ma. drach-MAH!

Glaucus:     Thespis, stop worrying. Tonight you will give an Olympian performance. If your voice fails, you can always rely on your lovely face.

Thespis:      But I'll be wearing a mask.

Glaucus:     Even wearing the mask of Tragedy, your unique talent shines through, my boy. Like a star in the heavens! No doubt, after tonight’s performance, Zeus himself will reserve a spot in the night sky for your soul to sparkle when you ascend.

Thespis:      Does my face look lovelier when I speak in this direction, (turns head in profile to audience) or speak in this direction?

Glaucus:     Where will your audience be seated? Speak in the direction of their ears.

Thespis:      But what if I misspeak, Glaucus?! What if tonight, in front of all the free citizens of Athens, I, Thespis of Icaria, flub history’s first line?

(Groups of ladies and men are arriving for the show.)

Glaucus:     Welcome to Athens Amphitheater, Senators, Ladies. Have you come to see tonight's Choral performance? Most excellent. We have a very special treat for you tonight. Very special indeed. (to Thespis) See how the nymphs look longingly upon you, and even the satyrs...

Thespis:     Satyrs! (Leading man smile.)

Glaucus:     ...much admire your comely good looks.

Thespis:     But tonight, Glaucus, will god-like beauty be enough?

Glaucus:     I said good looks.

Thespis:     I don’t want to be known merely as a glorious physique, an Adonis.

Glaucus:     (under breath) Narcissus more like.

Thespis:     I want to be remembered—nay Glaucus, celebrated down through history for my skill as …as an…what do we call this? Is it choric refrain anymore? With only one singer? We don’t have a word for this in Greek. Am I really the first...ever…to try this?

Glaucus:     To my knowledge, dear Thespis, which admittedly is not so vast as your own, I never before heard of a Chorus member who attempted a solo.

(Jerkus enters)

Jerkus:        Nor should it be attempted.

Thespis and Glaucus in chorus: (intense dislike) Salutations, Jerkus!

Jerkus:        Since the dawn of Chronus, there has always been a Chorus. We are the necessary foundation of a story well told. How else would the audience understand the playwright’s meaning? Without the Chorus to explain it to them? In song.

Glaucus:     But never before has a single member of the Chorus stepped forward by himself, under his own spot of torchlight, and spoken in the voice of another man or acted out the deeds of another man or pretended to be another. Indeed Thespis, what you are attempting is the birth of a new kind of theater.

Jerkus:        Don’t break a leg stepping under that spot of torchlight.

Thespis:     (acid) Why thank you, Jerkus, for your too kind words. (Stage whispering to Glaucus) But Glaucus, how does one person pretend to be another?

Glaucus:     Uhhh…alright, let's start with your name.

Thespis:     Surely you know me, Glaucus. We have sung together the stories of gods and heroes in wild, dithyrambic refrain for 8 years. Thespis. Of Icaria.

Jerkus:       Genius!

Glaucus:     Dear Zeus. Yes, I do know you, Thespis, my lovely boy. Now introduce yourself as the person you pretend to be.

Thespis:     Oh! Of course. Right! (grabs Glaucus by the forearm in a Greco-Roman handshake. Casually introduces himself as if to a business associate.) I am Pericles.

Glaucus:     You are? Really?! This is how an orator, a statesman, a general of Thrace greets his warriors?!

Thespis:      I am Pericles?

Glaucus:     Mean it. Again!

Thespis:      I am Pericles!

Glaucus:     More authority! Again!

Thespis:      I am Pericles! I am Pericles!

Glaucus:     (tents fingertips together and nods) Goooooood.

Jerkus:       That was good?

Thespis:     (to Jerkus) I shall instill fear and respect for Pericles in the audience.

Glaucus:     Not the audience. The armies of Thrace! If you pretend to be Pericles, then pretend to stand where Pericles stands. (Turns Thespis by the shoulders toward audience.) On a hilltop, above the valley where Thracian warriors have assembled to receive your command.

Thespis:     Yes, I see. And then, I shall roar like a fearsome lion. (Roars!)

(Jerkus roars in laughter, mocking Thespis.)

Thespis:     (ignoring Jerkus) To instill fear and respect in the audience...(catching on) the armies of Thrace!

(silence)

Glaucus:     (beat) I like where you are going. Choose something else.

(Thespis struggles to come up with a new idea.)

Glaucus:     For example, draw your sword, thus. Instead of roaring like an actual lion, speak your name…with a roar in your voice!

Thespis:     (draws sword) I…Am…Pericles!

Glaucus:     You make me shudder. You are so real. Honestly, Thespis, there should be a word, a name, for what you can do. Let us see...you pretend to be another person. You imitate or mimic the words and actions of a character in a story...

Jerkus:       Thus you are a pretender? An imitator? History's first mimicker?

Glaucus:     No, I don't like the implied guile of pretender. Imitator sounds cheap.

Thespis:     And mimicker? I can’t even pronounce mimicker without tripping. What about charmer? Because I charm the audience into believing that I am indeed Pericles.

(More guests arrive at the amphitheater.)

Glaucus:     Good evening, ladies. Oh yes, many good seats left. Just beyond the urinals. Upwind, I assure you! (calling after them as they pass by) Thank you for supporting local theater!

Jerkus:       Charmer sounds like spells and magic, a snake charmer. A charlatan.  

Glaucus:     (to Thespis) My dear boy, you are the leading man of the Chorus.

Jerkus:       Leading man? (beat) No, that will never catch on.

Thespis:     Will the audience accept me, Glaucus? Are they willing to accept that I, Thespis of Icaria, humble singer…

Jerkus:       Humble!

Thespis:     …of the Athens Amphitheatre Choral Company, speak for Pericles? That I truly am the Great Pericles?

Glaucus:     (ruminates) That depends on your motivation.

Thespis:     My what? What in the name of Melpomene is motivation?

Jerkus:       This I gotta hear.

Glaucus:     Motivation...is...uh? Ah! Motivation is “why are you talking? Why are you doing such-and-such?” In real life, when we talk or do something, it's because we want something. We are motivated to talk because we want something. What does your hero want that motivates him to say "I am Testicles!" (pronounced Testa-cleez)

Jerkus:       (raucous laughter) Oh Glaucus, the hero in this play is named "Pe-ri-cles". Good thing Thespis is history's first "Leading Man".

Thespis:     (movie star smile to more passing nymphs and satyrs) Thank you for coming tonight. Stay after the performance. I would be happy to autograph your papyrus. (rakish wink)

Glaucus:     Quite true! I have no mind for memorizing lines. I would flub history’s first line for sure if I were standing in your sandals. Instead of a Leading Man like you, Thespis, I am merely your follower. Perhaps I could be called history's first…uhh… Thespian?!

Jerkus:       History’s first…uh…Th-th-th-theth-pian. Malarckus!

Glaucus:     And here's Jerkus, history’s first critic! 

Jerkus:       Well I, for one, need the Chorus to back me up, to keep me in step with the group mind, to keep me in line!

Glaucus:     What you do, Thespis, is Art.  And Craft. It requires Art, Craft, and a courageous heart to step forward into the torchlight and stimulate our intellects, arouse our emotions, stir our psyches with only your words and actions.

Thespis:     Brother, you should be directing this whole show.

Glaucus:     What would that make me then? A Director?

Thespis:     No, a tyrant.

(All 3 share a knowing laugh. Pause. Laugh again.)

Glaucus:     Speaking of tyrants, (indicating Jerkus) Pericles wants to defeat a tyrant. That is his motivation. He stands above the battlefield, (indicating the  audience) addressing archers, spearmen, charioteers, and common soldiers, trying to rouse them to righteous indignation against an evil tyrant. Pericles appeals to their clan pride as Thracians! He wants to motivate them into fighting and dying for Thrace. When he says “I am Pericles!”, he is declaring, “Pericles has arrived! Let the fight begin!”

Thespis:     And this is motivation?

Glaucus:     If your motivation is true to real life, Thespis, if we recognize and sympathize, then yes, I believe the audience will accept you as the hero.

Jerkus:       They are lighting the torches. The flutes will start soon.

Thespis:     How is my hair?

Glaucus:     Tousled. Like a hero. Sword belt secure? (Thespis tightens his sword belt) Loins girded? (Thespis flashes his underwear under his toga) Good and good. Ok, here goes. Let us each don our mask.

Jerkus:       Don’t flub your precious line.

(They face audience side-by-side, with Thespis in the middle. All 3 solemnly pull down a mask from atop their heads. Thespis is Tragedy. Glaucus and Jerkus are Comedy. Actors may pantomime if no actual masks are available.)

All 3 in chorus:  Ahhhhhhh…. (Glaucus and Jerkus repeat chant over Thespis’ line.)

Thespis:     (with a roar in voice) I…Am…(draws sword)...Testa-cleez!

(Glaucus chokes on chant. He pulls up his mask. Now his face has become Tragedy. Jerkus pulls up his, but remains Comedy under his mask. Fade to blackout as the panting Thespis, oblivious of his flub, turns to Glaucus for approval.)