I only wanted to share with you all a little thingy I wrote. Whether you know it or not, I partake in Bray-Bray's Drama Workshop class which constitutes of eight students: a total of seven freshmen... plus me. It's interesting to say the least. I mean, hey—at least we don't have exams!
Anyway, our latest assignment was to write our very own two-person scene based on a current issue plaguing society. The kiddos went about declaring their issue one by one. Some opted for bullying, one kid mentioned domestic abuse, another brought up rape, one girl called out infertility, you name it... At the time we were studying the musical Rent (written by the late yet glorious Jonathan Larson) and discussed how it fed off a viral issue of its time: AIDS. Anyhow, I'm getting sidetracked here... I ended up choosing the topic of teen suicide for a variety of reasons.
It just really hit close to home. As an aspiring writer, I knew this was something I could write about and write about well. Not just because conjuring troubled characters comes easily to me, but because I've been on both ends of the situation. I know how the story goes, and it's never a pretty one. I have to say that I am quite proud of this piece, no matter how sad, so please don't take it as all tragedy. Please, please take this as a warning sign or even as the universe telling you to go find help. Just... please know that you are loved. You are so loved. I love you. I truly do.
That being said, it's my responsibility to warn you that the following scene may contain triggering content. You know your limits. If you don't think it wise to continue reading, please don't. It's important to take care of yourself first <3
..........
(Sam, a seventeen-year-old senior in high
school sprawls out under her bed in her room. Tears decorate her features.
She’s been crying for quite some time. She fiddles with an orange pill bottle
in one hand. Her room is a disaster—dirty laundry strewn everywhere, forgotten
homework, overturned picture frames, bedding on the floor. The alarm clock on
her bedside table reads 10:43pm. Sam wipes her nose on her arm and hesitates
before scrambling out from under her bed, collecting her red rotary phone. She dives
back under the bed, looking like a small, frightened child.)
(The phone rings twice before lights go
up on the opposite side of the stage. CJ, a slightly nerdy yet sweet young man
picks up the blue rotary phone from his bedside table and sits criss-cross on
top of his navy blue sheets. He wears a superhero sweatshirt, dark jeans and
red converse. His room is tidy—everything in its place. Posters from various
indie bands decorate his walls. He has yet to recognize Sam’s fatal mistake.)
CJ: Hello?
Sam: (sniffles)
…Hey.
CJ: Sam? Is that you?
Sam: (unintelligibly)
Mhmm. (pause) Ceej… I did sumthin’ bad…
CJ: (suspicious)
Sam? What are you on about? What do you mean something bad? What happened?
Are you okay?
(Sam starts to cry and whimper into the
phone)
CJ: (alarmed)
Sammy, what’s going on?
Sam: (mumbled,
incoherent speech) I
want it ta go ‘way, Ceejayy… All of it, I just *hic* I can’t do this any *hic* more!
(Spotlights
center on each. All else is dimmed out. Both teens rake their hands through
their hair fervently, in distress.)
CJ:
Sammy, c’mon talk to me. It’s just me. You’re all right. Talk to me,
please.
Sam: (quietly) …I (pause) I kept thuh stash.
CJ:
Stash? What stash?
(Sam whimpers
and realization dawns on CJ. He sits on the edge of his bed.)
CJ:
Oh my fucking God, Sam, you promised you would throw those out!
Sam:
(hysterical) I wanted to, Ceej! I wanted to,
but the voices—they wouldn’t stop! And… And I had to do something! They
just—they kept coming ba *hic* ck.
CJ: (serious and solemn) Sam, did you open
them?
(Sam remains
silent, staring at the pill bottle in her hands.)
CJ:
(more agitated) Sam, how many did you have?
Sam:
(weakly) I… I only had four…
CJ:
(Gets up and kicks a wall) Goddammit, Sam!
Any more and you’d be dead right now!
Sam: But that’s the
whole p-point! I dunno how to feel anymore, I… (racking sobs heave through her body) My heart, Ceej, my heart! It hurts, it hurts so
b-bad and I just—Ceejay I don’t wanna d-die, I just don’t wanna hurt anymore…
I…
(Sam is
speaking deliriously at this point and CJ realizes he needs to keep calm. He
sighs and sits back down on his bed.)
CJ:
(softly) It’s okay, Sam.
(Silence except
for Sam’s staggered breathing.)
Sam:
Maybe I should just do it.
CJ:
What?
Sam:
(more calm and collected, but emotionally spent) It wouldn’t
matter anyway… Graduation’s in three months and I got rejected from all seven
schools, Ceej. Nobody fucking wants me. Not one damn college wants me. My GPA’s
in the dump, the only extracurricular I got is photography; I’m useless at
sports… There’s no way I’m spending all of next year as a babysitter and my
mom’s threatening to take my camera away, Ceej—my camera!
CJ:
(He runs his hand through his hair, not knowing what
to say) Sam, you gotta believe me, it’ll get better.
(Sam scoffs and
shuts her eyes tightly. She starts bumping her head on the frame of her bed,
softly at first but increasing the intensity as CJ speaks.)
CJ:
Listen, you could… You could always come live here? My parents don’t mind
you at all. Besides, they’ve known you since you were nine, it’s not like
you’re some stranger, yaknow? C’mon, there are ways out of this, Sammy; it
doesn’t all have to go to shit.
Sam:
(Eyes still shut, tears leak out onto her face.) How d’you know
that it won’t?
CJ: (pause) …Well, I don’t. But you’ve gotta
believe me on this one, Sammy. Can you do that for me?
(He clenches
and unclenches a fist over his jeans nervously, waiting for a response.)
Sam: (eyeing the pill bottle once again) Hey,
Ceej?
CJ:
Yeah?
Sam:
If I die, will you write my eulogy?
CJ:
(as if talking to a small animal) No, Sam,
because you’re staying right here with me. Okay?
Sam:
But what if?
CJ:
(sighs, trying to please her) Of course.
(Sam slowly
crawls back out from under her bed, finally sitting on top of her bed. She lies
down with the phone next to her pillow. Oddly, she seems a lot calmer than she
was before. CJ takes this as a good thing.)
Sam:
Ceejay, tell me a story.
CJ:
A story? Oh, um… Okay. (clears his
throat) Well, once there was this kid named Clementine.
Sam:
(slightly teasing) That’s a dumb
name.
CJ:
(smiling) Shut up, it’s my story. You see, Clementine didn’t
have a lotta friends so his mom forced him to go to summer camp. He was really
scared he wasn’t gonna be able to make friends and that the whole thing was
gonna be a disaster.
(Sam listens
while slowly uncapping the lid to the pill bottle.)
CJ: But on the
very first day, a girl with a ladybug backpack came up to him and asked him if
he knew any good jokes. Clementine said no, so the girl told him one of her
own. She then introduced herself as Samantha.
Sam:
Jeez, you’re really bad at naming your characters.
CJ:
(indignantly) Are you gonna let me finish or
not? (pause) Okay. So. Clementine and
Samantha proceeded to create a new handshake and declared each other best
friends.
(Sam spills the
contents of the bottle into the palm of her hand. Tears well in her eyes. She
pops a singular pill into her mouth.)
Sam:
(chuckles, trying to seem at ease.) Hey, that handshake
was sick. I wish I remembered how it went…
CJ:
Well, I happen to remember it
perfectly. I could show it to you next time I head north, okay?
Sam:
(That strikes a chord in her. She speaks through
tight lips.) Mhmm.
(Sam pops
another pill.)
CJ:
(laughs) Good. Now, where was I? …Ah, yes! The infamous
handshake! Ohmygod, remember when we tried to do it over a mud puddle? And then
you tripped me and I fell in? I couldn’t get those stains out for weeks!...
(Sam is sobbing
in silence at this point. She stares at her hand before dumping the rest of the
contents into her mouth. She pulls her knees up to her chest and fumbles with
her alligator socks, once again wiping her nose on her arm.)
(Lights fade on
both. Spotlight on the alarm clock. Now reads 12:07am. Lights come back up only
on CJ. CJ has discarded his sweatshirt and is babbling happily into the phone
when he realizes he’s been the only one speaking for a while.)
CJ:
Hey, Sam, you still there? (pause) Sammy?
(Lights go up
on Sam. She’s cocooned in one corner of her bed. She doesn’t appear to be
breathing. The red rotary phone is hanging by a cord on the floor.)
(Blackout.
Sounds of sirens in the distance.)
The End
..........
I love you I love you I love you
Hasta la proxima,
Much love xoxo
Maya
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