Old Works Revival: Alene

I have had a sort of Renaissance of sorts in regards to my writing, given I have had very little time to write any new material. I feel bad that I haven't updated in so long and I promise I will be better! I will even promise to write tomorrow and Friday. Writing is something that takes maintenance--once you fall out of the groove of it, it's hard to start again. So I am catching myself before it is too late! And since I don't have time to write anything new, I have decided to revamp something very old. Something I have not looked at (according to my computer) since November 2008. I have re-read it, revised it, and made it respectable for readers.

But first, an introduction: This is a script to be performed on stage. They are a collection of monologues I wrote together for a New Works writing class. It is still a work in progress, as in theory the show is supposed to be about an hour and a half long-- each scene being one person's experiences (think the Vagina Monologues but broader). I never have finished it. Maybe someday I will. Maybe tomorrow I will begin again. I wrote this in 2008 and re-reading these monologues I realized how much of myself I put in my work. Perhaps you will notice this as well-- but this feels like a very dated piece of work to me. Well, enough talk. Here it is.


ALENE-- NOV 2008-- EDIT AUG 2011

[Scene opens to blank stage except for a single chair, table and window piece. On the window sill an old fashion radio sits. No one is on stage. The sound of a door opening and slamming closed is heard backstage. A woman, ALENE, enters. She is a few years past middle aged and a bit bedraggled. She may or may not have some sort of dialect. It has been raining and she is wet. She is struggling to carry overstuffed recyclable grocery bags.]

ALENE: (Starting off stage, coming on slowly, weighed down by the bags.)They keep telling us these bags are the way to go. That they alone will help stop global warming. Have you been outside recently? It’s freezing! Global warming. Paw! (There is a pause as she stands taking in her surroundings. It is cold in the apartment and a shiver runs down her back.) Phew, it’s no better in here. (Drops all the bags onto table and moves toward the window frame) This town has been drowning itself all week, one rain drop at a time. (Opening window and shouting through it) Make up your mind! You’ve been telling all your scientific friends you’re getting warmer, but you're saying just the plain opposite to me, now aren’t you? Give me a little sun. I want you to clear up before Saturday or that preacher will be all alone on Sunday morning. (Closes the window, satisfied.) I don’t much like traveling in stormy weather myself. I wouldn’t have even gone to the store, if I wasn’t near starving here with no food in this place. Now it’ll get better. Sometimes all you got to do is talk harsh to something for it to do what you want. It’s just the same with the weather. Oh, don’t worry, the weather will be nice and clear by morning the way I told it off just now. (Phone rings form offstage) Now where did that darned telephone go to now. I can never remember where I last put it. (Phone rings again. ALENE walks off stage muttering. Last ring then a ‘hello’ from off stage. Then, entering and leaving spaces for response.) No, Mr. Phillips everything is just ducky up here… No, no, we’re all fine. (Smiles at audience, and covers mouth-piece.) It’s Mr. Phillips. He’s always worrying about me, the sweet old man. Lives on the floor below. (Stomps on floor then uncovers phone.) Yes, yes... No, no, that was just me. (To audience, forgetting to cover mouth piece this time.) He’s a bit nosey to tell you the truth. What? (Realizing what she’s just done.) Oh, dear. No Mr. Phillips not you! Of course not you. (Puts down phone on top of the pile of bags on the table) He hung up. He’s a bit touchy too. He’ll be fine though. Always seems to find a way to forgive me. Tomorrow he’ll call again or he’ll walk his little plaid slipperred feet up here and see how I’m holding up. I don’t know why he cares really. I pay my rent. I don’t use all the hot water. I don’t have a T.V. so I’m not turning that on too loud. (Walks to radio and turns it on, it plays “Friday I’m In Love” softly.) Maybe it’s the radio. (Slowly turns volume up until phone starts ringing. ALENE keeps turning up volume until ringing stops. Singing along) Tuesday, Wednesday—Heart attack! (Phone rings again. This time ALENE controls herself and turns down radio so that it is now playing softly in the back ground.) Well that answers that question. Mr. Phillips must not like The Cure. (There is a pause while the song ends.) I always thought they were wonderful. (Walking to table and unpacking groceries) I was in a band once. Oh dear, what was our name? (Laughing to herself) Oh yes, we called ourselves “The Magnificent Sevens”. It was a tribute band to the Clash; mostly we played their songs down at that old pub on 2nd Street. Back in the 80’s when they were popular. As I recall we weren’t very good. There were only six of us and I played the harmonica. If you are at all familiar with the Clash you’ll know, there is no harmonica. It was a great time though wasn’t it? That old pub is gone now. Don’t know what there is in it's place; one of those fancy expensive salons I think. It used to be that people just painted their own damn nails. There were no little Korean girls sitting on a cramped stool getting to smell all manner of feet. These days nobody can do anything themselves. (By this time ALENE has finished unpacking her groceries and is sitting in the chair) I don’t know what will happen for all our future generations, but I can tell you, with all the confused weather and cranky neighbors and—and helplessness nowadays; it don’t seem very bright.
[Scene ends, ALENE frozen in chair. Lights fade.]

[Scene opens- wooden desk- one man, Louis, in a suit walks in- sits on top of desk. Louis is in his late 30's, a classic business casual zombie, but this morning he looks a bit disheveled; the part in his hair isn't straight, his tie is crooked, and his socks don't match--or something of that sort.]
LOUIS: So I’m here now. Now its your turn to say, ‘late again I see’. You know what I see? You know what I think? I think there is a world out there that is too big not to see it. It drives me crazy having to be here, locked up like a prisoner. With you breathing down my neck all day long. (Takes off suit jacket and throws it to the ground) Dressed like a poodle in a dog show. I’m no accountant. (Pause) I guess my dad might have been. In a past life. Spending all that time telling me to be an accountant. (Mocklingly) ‘Math is fun. Honest.’ Well math maybe fun but actually living life is funner. Does that upset you, Mr. I have a comb-over and perfect grammer? 'Funner'. Nothing's 'funner'. Well with you, sir, nothing's fun. It used to be that everyone spent their lives, well, living their lives. They cooked, they cleaned, they farmed, they played in the river, they even went fishing—and that was a daily thing. I want to play in the river. I want to go fishing. The last time I went fishing was when I was nine. It was the year before my grandpa died and he took me. That day he told me stuff—stuff like fish bite only in places were there is a bit of back wash in the river, and stuff like what bait to use in what environments. But most of all he told me how to live life. To see things. To do things. He told me that he had lived in a time that didn’t allow people to live their lives. He told me I could live in a time where people could live. I could go see the great wall of China. I remember him telling me that. I even remember laughing as he told me I could build my very own great wall of China. (Laughs at the memory. Then the mood changes to a darker, grim one.) He told me I could do anything I wanted. Then my grandfather died. And my father, his own son wouldn’t go to the funeral. He wouldn’t let me go to my grandfather’s funeral. After that my dad just filled my head with sickeningly serious stuff—lies if you will. About life. My life, his life, but painfully enough, he filled my head with lies about my grandfather's life. He laughed at his memory. And I tried to defend him, I really did try. I told him about the great wall of China—and about how I could do anything- even make my own. But he just laughed and laughed. As years past I forgot my grandpa. He faded slowly into what I thought was the fog of silly dreams. And now here I am, an accountant— a nobody. And all because that’s what my father, what society taught me to be. So why am I here, telling you? Like you care about my grandpa. Like you care about me, I’m only your faithful employee. Well, sir, because I still have that bit of grandfather left in me. It's been burning quietly inside, like a smoldering volcano, just waiting to explode to the surface of my conscience. And now, finally, it has. Today, driving to work in my little silver normal Subaru I saw an old man walking down the street. Just walking. Bug-like glasses on and a cane and a sweater vest. So cliché old. But not happy. Just there. And as I looked pityingly at this poor excuse for a human man I realized something. I never want to be that guy. I never want to turn into a man who just rumbles along, dying slowly because he was wise enough not to do anything life threatening in his past. So now its my choice, right? Be like my grandpa and fish til I die or be like that man and just lay down my whole life until I finally die. Well I’m making my choice. I’m going to live. (Mocking himself) La vida loca. Whatever. Whatever it takes to see what I want to see. To think what I want to think. But most of all, I want to live the way I want to live. The way my father never lived. The way my grandfather lived. I want to fish.
[Lights fade as LOUIS walks away.]

[Lights come up on a single long counter top across the stage. Bar stools are lined up along the counter. The sound of a door opening and a bell ringing cues the entrance for JADE a young waitress in her early thirties. She is tattooed up in down her arms. She has dark hair, with a shock of red in the front. Thick, edgy glasses frame her face in an oddly butch way. She's not your usual diner waitress, but you can tell she tries to be the perky, peppy waitresses seen in old movies wearing roller-blades.]
JADE: (With forced perkiness.) I assume your having the usual?(Towards off stage) Order up: I need a stack of pancakes and a hard boiled egg with a side of—(Taking a second to remember.) whole wheat bread. (Pouring some orange juice and placing it on the counter top.) And some fresh squeezed orange juice.(Slowly losing the perkiness after a few words.) By fresh I mean from a container bottled in Florida using oranges grown with pesticide and herbicide. But that’s as fresh as you get it here in the city. What I’m trying to say is its not mom’s hand squeezed style. But I guess you know that. There aren’t many ignorant people that I see come into this diner. There maybe tons of people out there who are ignorant of what’s happening in the world today but none of them enter this old place. All of them seem to know where they’ve been and they certainly know where they are going. I hear a lot and I see a lot and I don’t seem to care what happens next. I’m not too old or anything but these days does age even matter? I guess I’m skeptical or cynical or something but as I see it there are kids out there so cynical that they go out and kill themselves. Or if they don’t kill themselves they go out and get themselves killed. They drive drunk or do drugs or jump off buildings. (Wiping off the counter as she speaks. Every once and a while she stops to take a breath. JADE is the kind of person who gets emotional easily.) I guess it was the same when I was a kid. I suppose I was just the same. (Pause from her cleaning as she organizes her thoughts.) Heaven knows my brother was. He was younger than I was by three years and he always wanted to act older then he was. Like he had to catch up to me. I was busy living my life as a young budding teenager with a dweeby younger brother when suddenly I find out he’s been smoking pot with his friends after school. No big deal, right? Then it got worse. He started doing other things. Sneaking out to go to dance parties and tripping on acid. Coming home from friends’ houses drunk. He was only a freshman. But the worst part was my parents wouldn’t do any thing—or couldn’t do anything. They’ve always been useless. (Pausing, suddenly seeming a little more angry.) He destroyed his life. But not only that, he destroyed mine. But I thought he was getting better. He went through a program. He told us all he was better. That he was done with it. He promised me he was clean. (Pause as JADE leans on counter trying to keep herself together as she continues.) Six months later he died. Cocaine overdose. He was 16. Why can’t people understand how precious life is? Does no one understand that you only get one chance to live? When my brother died I guess people would say I kind of lost it. I like to think of it more in the terms of I kind of lost myself. And now? Now I’ve found myself—(with a bit of sarcasm and bitterness but also sounding tired) working here every day of every week 6 am to 3 pm. I don't get no holidays and a don’t want no holidays. Sounds pretty hypocritical of me, doesn’t it? Telling you to live your life while I sit here rotting away. But I guess that’s what people are in the end; hypocrites. We all know what to do, we just never seem to get around to doing it. Well here’s your breakfast. (Placing plate on counter and moving back into her forced perkiness) Enjoy! And have a real swell day!
[The sound of the bell from the door is heard as the lights fade on her strained smiling face]

[Lights come up on completely empty stage. TED walks on with a bag and yoga mat. He lays down the yoga mat. TED is in his 40's or 50's. He's clean shaven, neat, tall, slick. He is angular and abrupt. He is a fast talker and a mover and shaker.]
TED: (Settling himself on his mat and sighs audibly.) Finally. I’ve been waiting for this moment all week. I really do need a vacation. A human really can’t be expected to work 50 hours a week forever and not go loco. That’s why I’m here. To relax, you see I’m a consultant for PG&E and work like crazy. I guess some people would say I’m a lawyer but I like to call myself a consultant. It takes the edge off. (Sarcastically) Surprisingly enough, people don’t open up to lawyers. Hey, I’m just doing my job. I help people, I don’t care if they are the ‘right’ people I’m doing a public service. Plus, doesn’t everyone need a little help now and then. It’s my belief that something is only wrong to the people that are negatively effected. The person who did it was thinking positive when they did what ever they did, right? If everyone was like friggin’ Dorothy in Oz, always thinking about other people and not herself, we wouldn’t get anywhere. No wonder she was stuck in Oz. (Takes out some candles from his bag and lights them.) Ah… Now that’s more like it. As I was saying earlier I started yoga to relax. Don’t get the wrong impression of me, I’m no hippy. I drive a giant gas guzzling SUV and take long showers and wear suits and use aerosol bug spray. That was a bit harsh huh? Well that’s exactly the reason why I’m doing this. My aunt swears by meditation and since my father has fallen ill I’ve been more busy then ever. With work and hospital visits and trying to hold together my family I’m so stressed I can hardly see straight. One day when I was visiting my dad, my aunt, his sister, waltz in and pecks me and him on the cheek and tells me she can’t stay long because she is on her way to some sort of pilate-whats-it class. Meanwhile I’m unraveling faster then a badly knit sweater and my dad’s nearly comatose from all the morphine they’ve been pumping into him. So it hit me, I could do yoga, I could slack off, I could take a break from my responsibilities once a week. Don’t I have a sister and brother who can visit my dying father? And they don’t pay me enough at PG&E for me not to take an hour or two off a week to go to my yoga class. As for my family, my wife has a new boyfriend and my daughter is six. She doesn’t want to do anything except play with her Barbies and watch High School Musical. (Pause, clarifying) My daughter that is. She’s not even in high school. That child doesn’t even know what a friggin' musical is. And as for my wife, I knew she was having an affair after she stopped sleeping with me and started screening our phone calls. Before now, I didn’t know how to handle it. Should I confront her? Should we try to work something out or go to counseling for a while? Or maybe I should file for divorce. But the thing is, I don’t need to. It’s back to the slacking off stuff I was talking about earlier. Filing for divorce would take to much effort. I realized that my wife has just become the lump in the bed, the thing that keeps TiVo-ing over Monday night football. She’s an object to me now, and I think, from her actions it’s the same for her. So she rather have sex with this other guy, it would be too much of a hassle to divorce me and marry him so she just… doesn’t. It’s not like we don’t like each other. We get along just fine, we don’t fight, or even bicker. I guess if you were into clichés you could say the passion just died. But is this yoga thing like a mid-life crisis? (Slight pause as he thinks about it.) God, I hope not, or I’m going to die young. Nope, I figure this is just something I’ve got to do for myself. And I’m perfectly happy with my screwed up, crazy, stressful life. Who ever said life was simple was insane, but who ever said life could be fun was right on the money.
[The lights fade as TED begins to lean forward in a stretch.]

[Lights come up on school desk and chair. School bell rings. NOEL enters quickly and sits down. He is a junior in high school and he has all the evidence of a teenage boy. Small, thin, hunched shoulders, and acne, he is nothing to look at. He's a bit neurotic as well, and he knows it. For a teenage boy, he is both oblivious to the world around him and innately attune to it-- a paradox that often frustrates him.]
NOEL: I can’t believe I’m late again. First period Spanish sucks. I’m American, I speak English, I don’t need Spanish. Half the time I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve been taking Spanish for four years and the extent of my knowledge is ‘Hola, como estas?’ Next year I’ll be a senior and I’ll be done with Spanish all together. Did you know colleges require four years of a language now? That makes no sense, I’m not going to study Spanish, or speak it outside of this classroom even. I won’t take college courses in Spanish. So why do I need to learn this stupid language? God, it’s too early to be trying to use your brain; I can’t even think straight. Not that that isn’t different then usual. You know how I was saying that half the time I don’t get Spanish? Well, half the time I don’t get life. It’s damn hard to be a teenager these day. I mean I wasn’t alive ‘back then, in the good old days’ but I’ve heard it was great. Now we have to take all these advanced classes and stuff. My mom stopped taking math in high school after geometry. Now I’m in what, advanced placement calculus? Crazy, right? I mean, man, I took geometry freshman year. I took my first AP class sophomore year, man, those were the days. (Shaking head in disgust.) School, school, school. I’m fucking tired of it, man. My home life ain’t so great either lately. So my parents are fine, so what? They’re just there, you know? My dad just works and my mom just drives around doing stuff. So much for woman’s rights, huh? She could do anything she wants, hang-glide or be president or go up into space and all she does it go to Macy’s and buy luncheon outfits. My grandma wanted to be an archeologist. I friggin’ archeologist! But when my grandma was, like, (Pause as he attempts to find the right words then gives up.) not old like she is now, there were no girl archeologists. So you know what she did instead? Of course you don’t ’cause I haven’t told you. She became a nurse, all day she filled prescriptions and stitched up cuts while there were guys out there finding dinosaurs. Goddamn living dinosaurs… well, you know what I mean. And now what? My mom is living in an age where she could do anything and she does nothing. So pretty much I think my parents are bogus. Bogus just like Spanish class. (Opens up backpack and looks inside) Bogus like my lunch. Leftovers. Yum. Some times I feel like a leftover. Like the thing no one wants to throw away because I may prove to be useful but at the same time the thing that no really cares about. I don’t really have friends, but at the same time I don’t have any enemies. As far as I know, no one likes me and no one hates me. I’m just kind of there. The only times when I matter are when I’m standing in front of your locker or when I buy the last cookie in the cafeteria. Tell me honestly, have you ever really thought about any details of my life? Has anyone ever wondered what my favorite color was or what kind of ice cream was my favorite flavor? (Slight pause.) Well, I like green and I don’t eat ice cream.(Pause.) I’m lactose intolerant. I think about those things. But not about just anybody. (Pointing discretely while speaking.) Mostly I wonder about her. Rachel, she’s a junior just like me. That’s basically the extent of my knowledge about her. (Pause, then explaining) I’ve never actually talked to her. But I think of what I would say to her if we ever did speak. I would offer to carry her books and we could talk about how horrible Spanish is or how horrible our parents are. But what if she likes Spanish? Or likes her parents? (Covering head in hands) Oh Jesus, she just looked at me. She must know I’m talking about her. What if she thinks I’m weird. What am I saying, I am weird! (Looking up.) God, can’t I be normal for once. Can’t I have a nice body and nice hair and nice looks? Can’t I be smart and funny and witty? Just once when I finally speak to her! I could do it! I could speak to her, finally after so long, I’m going to speak to her! I’ll do it right after class, as soon as the bell rings! I can do it, I can do it! (bell rings, the sound of other kids is heard) Oh God, (looks up) I can’t do it!
[Lights down on his figure, looking up towards the heavens.]

[Lights up on ALENE’s apartment again. The groceries are gone, now there is only a table, chair and window. As lights go up, ALENE walks on, the opposite way she did last time, as if to imply that she is entering from a different part of her apartment]
ALENE: Oh my! You’re back. I thought you might be. (Looks out the window.) The weather’s cleared up, do you see? I told you it would. The sun always seems to be faithful to our little planet. It always comes back, even when it seems certain it has gone for good. You know scientists say that the sun will explode one day and then Earth won’t be able to support life? I don’t believe it. The sun wouldn’t abandon us! We are like the sun’s children. And people and things, when they have a connection like that, it can't be broken. Some thing protects that bond, just like something keeps the sun from exploding and deserting the Earth. It’s the reason mama turtles come back to the beach they were born on to lay their eggs, its how daddy penguins can distinguish their baby’s squeaks from the rest. (Phone rings. Continues amused.) It’s how I can tell when Mr. Phillips is calling me to complain about something or other. Ever wonder about those things? Things like the sun leaving us. I do. And I hope things. I hope that I win the lottery. I hope Mr. Phillips will stop calling me and just come up and have a cup of tea with me and talk. I hope people find happiness. Hell, I hope I’ve found happiness. I hope what this is, this life that I’m living, I hope this is what happiness feels like. (Laughing about what she is about to say.) But most of all I hope Mr. Phillips finds his happiness; his plaid slipperred feet and all. (Stomps the ground.)
[Lights fade as the phone rings yet again.]