Week 42, Day 294 - "Three Wishes"

“Three Wishes”

Written by Joe Janes

11/08/09

294 of 365

CAST:

Reggie, 50s

Genie, ??

(Lights up on Reggie, a homeless man in an overcoat, foraging for food in an alley. He finds a soda bottle with some cola in it. He opens it and swigs down the last of it. He holds his jaw. He has a toothache and is in severe pain. He goes back to foraging and finds a very ornate bottle, much like a Crown Royal bottle. He opens the cap. There’s thunder and smoke and lightning and a genie appears. He holds out three fingers. Reggie holds out three fingers and is very excited. He thinks and thinks and then realizes, of course, his tooth! The genie nods, makes a grand gesture and, voila, his tooth is all better. Yay! He’s very happy about this. The genie reminds him that he has two more wishes left. Reggie thinks. He smells something. Hmmm, it’s him. He looks at the genie. The genie makes a grand gesture. Reggie notices something different. He peels off his overcoat revealing a crisp white leisure suit. He is very, very happy about this. The genie reminds him that he has one final wish. Reggie thinks hard about this. He is tormented by the decision. He has one…no, no, no, no… Now, he’s got the right one… um, no, not that one… The genie is getting impatient. Reggie finally has it. He makes a heart-shape sign with his fingers. The genie shrugs, makes a grand gesture, reaches into his pocket and hands Reggie a full bottle of Crown Royal. Reggie is elated. He thanks the genie. Some thunder, smoke and lightning later, the genie has left. Reggie can’t open the bottle. He bites the cap and we hear a crack. A broken tooth sends him into extreme pain. Blackout.)

Week 42, Day 293 - "Lake Rood"

“Lake Rood”

Written by Joe Janes

11/7/09

293 of 365

CAST

Theodore, 50s

Jeff, 30s

Pooper, ??

(Lights up on Theodore, a homeless man, rummaging through alley dumpsters looking for food. He comes across a framed painting.)

THEODORE

Lovely day for shopping at the local market. Hello, Mabel, how are you? How’s Vern? How are the kids? Why, no, I did not hear about Peter? Really? What a rascal! Well, she’s better off, let me tell you…Hello? What’s this? Somebody painted this. Somebody painted this, stuck it in a frame and someone threw it out in the trash. Looks like a train. Or a mill.

(Jeff walks by with his dog.)

THEODORE

Hey, mister. Got any change?

JEFF

No, Theodore. Not tonight. Just out walking my dog.

THEODORE

Yeah, yeah. Jeff, right? And his wonder mutt. Hey, you like art? You look like an art man to me. Or maybe your wife. Or your dog.

JEFF

What did you find there?

THEODORE

A painting. Look. I think it’s a train. Or a mill.

JEFF

Or a serene lake in autumn as if you were looking from the front porch of your father’s cabin where he died.

THEODORE

I suppose we all see what we want to see. That’s the point of art, right? Give it to you for ten bucks. You want to buy it?

JEFF

No. I want to strangle my wife.

THEODORE

That’s twenty. Cash only.

JEFF

I painted this. This is where I used to go as a kid with my dad. Lake Rood. R-o-o-d.

THEODORE

I know how to spell. Well, Jeff, I can see it has sentimental value. You can talk me down on the price.

JEFF

I don’t understand why Lacey threw it out. She knew it meant something to me. She never said anything bad about it, ever. It’s been on the wall above our sofa for years. Years. Longer than we’ve owned…him. (indicates the dog)

THEODORE

Guess that’s why I never got married. That and I’ve been told I have an aroma women find unattractive. Not a good one. Sort of like baby powder and vomit.

JEFF

I’ve never done anything bad to anything she owns.

THEODORE

Want me to see what I can get for it and give you a cut?

JEFF

This is her dog, too. I walk him every night. I do. Rain or no rain. She named him Pooper. Such a horrible name. I’m embarrassed to call him.

THEODORE

Pooper. That’s bad. It’s one thing if you gain a name like that as a nickname, but to intentionally be named that. Hey, Fuck Box! (Jeff looks at him.) That’s the last name someone called me. I deserved it for reasons I wish not to go into. I’m glad it didn’t stick.

JEFF

Oh, and look. It has a scratch in it. And some grape jelly.

(Theodore looks at the painting and licks off the jelly.)

THEODORE

You should get back at her.

JEFF

You’re right. I should. Here.

(He hands Theodore Pooper’s leash.)

THEODORE

Whoa, man. A dog? What am I going to do with a dog? I can’t even feed myself.

JEFF

Eat it. I don’t care. It’s not my dog. But I want my painting. My house, my painting. It goes where I say it goes. I’ll tell Lacey I traded the dog to get my painting back. That will serve her right.

(Theodore hands him the painting.)

THEODORE

Okay. I can probably get more money for, uh, man, I have to give him another name.

JEFF

Do that. He’ll be thankful.

(Jeff exits with the painting. Theodore sits Pooper down.)

THEODORE

Sit…Petey…Butch…Yeller…Fuck Box… (This last name excites Pooper.) Oh, you like that name. Okay, then, from this day forward you shall be known as Fuck Box. Let’s see if we can find us both some food, because if we don’t, that hind leg of yours is looking delish. That’s right, delish. I’m fancy.

(They walk off together as lights fade.)

Week 42, Day 292 - "Dear Cancer"

“Dear Cancer”

Written by Joe Janes

11/6/09

292 of 365

CAST:

Tim, 40s

Cancer, ??

Cancer II, ??

Cancer III, ??

UPS Person, 20s

(Lights up on Tim in a track suit stage right sitting at a desk writing a letter.)

TIM (writing)

Dear Cancer…You are not welcome in my body. The doctors tell me that not only do I need to have medical treatment, I need to get angry. I need to get angry at my cancer. Well, I’m writing this letter to tell you that you will not win this battle. I don’t like you. I hate you. You’re nothing but a bully and I am not afraid of you. In fact, you need to fear me, Cancer. Fear me because I am going to kick your butt. Sincerely, Tim Tompkins.

(Lights out on Tim as they come up stage left on Cancer, seated, writing a letter. Cancer is well-mannered, well-dressed and speaks with a British accent.)

CANCER (writing)

Dearest Timothy, Cancer here. Delightful to hear from you. Thrilled at the prospect of opening up these lines of communication. I am certainly disheartened to hear your feelings about me, but feel that anything may be resolved over a nice cup of tea. I so enjoy being wedged in here deep within your colon. Hope you don’t mind, I’ve thrown a few doilies about the place. It’s ever so homey. Cheers, Cancer.

(Lights out on Cancer, up on Tim, etc, as the piece progresses.)

TIM (writing)

Dear Mr. Cancer… I was not expecting you to write back. Nor was I expecting you to be British. Irregardless, no freeloaders in my colon. I will soon begin a heavy regiment of chemotherapy and fully expect you to hightail it out of there if you know what’s good for you. Go back where you came from…you limey. Sincerely, Tim Tompkins.

CANCER (writing)

Timothy…Message received. You are clearly a strong, brave American not to be trifled with. Regardless, I have already moved in and have invited a few of my friends to join me. They should be along. We will soon be playing a rousing game of cricket just inside your rectum. I’m working up some polyps to use as wickets. Do wish you could join us but I realize the geometric impossibility of that. Cheers, pip-pip and tut, Cancer.

TIM (writing)

In spite of your pleasant demeanor, I am still very mad that you have invaded my body and staked some kind of unwarranted claim inside my butt. The drugs and chemotherapy are painful and disorienting, but I’ll do what it takes to chase you out. That’s right, Cancer. It’s time for you to fuck off…Sincerely, Tim Tompkins.

(When lights come up on Cancer, he has been joined by several other well-dressed tumors. They are all enjoying the drugs.)

CANCER (writing)

Whoa, Timmy…these drugs are…wow…I hope you have universal healthcare, because I don’t want you to run out of money for this really top-notch shit.

CANCER II

Top-notch, Timmy! Top notch!

CANCER III

Three cheers for Timmy… Hip-hip-hooray!...Hip-hip-hooray!!!...Hip-hip-hooray!!!

(When lights come back up on Tim he is wearing a bald cap.)

TIM (writing)

Cancer. You seem to think this is some kind of game. Well, I am not playing. I am as serious as a heart attack. (He crosses the last few words out and rewrites) Butt attack. I will do whatever it takes to get your punk ass out of my not-punk ass. Today, I go under the knife. If you will not leave on your own, you will leave when doctors cut out a chunk of my colon. Don’t think I won’t do it. That part of my colon is five feet long. You may think you’re big, but you only take up a few inches. The doctors are going to take out a whole foot, just to make sure they get you and your stupid cheery friends. Take that, Sir Asshole.

(Lights up on Cancer’s chair. It is empty. Lights up on Tim smiling. We hear a doorbell.)

TIM

Come in.

(A UPS man or woman enters. Hands Tim a package and has him sign for it. After Tim signs, the UPS person stands there waiting.)

TIM

I just conquered cancer.

UPS

I’m thrilled.

TIM

I’m not going to tip you.

(The UPS person mumbles as they exit.)

UPS

Hope you get more cancer.

(Tim opens the box and takes out a small box of tea and a card. He reads the card. Lights come up on Cancer’s chair. All that is there is his arm writing.)

CANCER

Dear Tim… Good show! You really gave us the ol’ heave-ho. Bravo, my friend, bravo. I hope someday we meet again under better circumstances. Cheers. Cancer.

(Lights out on Cancer. Tim looks concerned as he feels an itch deep within his anus. Lights fade.)

Week 42, Day 291 - "Excursion Into Philosophy"

“Excursion Into Philosophy”

Written by Joe Janes

11/05/09

291 of 365

CAST:

Ernst, 40s

Marla, 20s

(Lights up on Ernst sitting on the edge of a twin bed. He is fully dressed and an open book sits next to him. Behind him, with her back turned, lies Marla asleep in a slip. Ernst looks deep in thought, but hard to read emotionally. He gets up and looks in a downstage mirror, unseen by the audience. He regards his face with concern. He sits back down and picks up the book. He struggles to read it without glasses.)

ERNST

The first and greatest victory is to conquer yourself; to be conquered by yourself is of all things most shameful and vile.

(Marla stretches and her hand falls on Ernst’s arm. Puzzled, she looks around the room. She takes her hand off his arm and scoots down to the end of the bed and gets up. She finds her blue uniform slacks and slips them on.)

MARLA

I don’t do this.

ERNST

Really? You’re very good at it.

MARLA

That’s not funny.

(She slips on her matching blue uniform jacket, but does not button it up. She sits on the bed.)

MARLA

What time is it?

ERNST (looking at his watch)

Six am.

MARLA

It’s so bright out.

ERNST

Yes.

MARLA

I can’t go out like this. I look ridiculous.

ERNST

It’s New York. You could walk down Broadway naked with a feather sticking out of your rump and no one would notice.

MARLA

Really.

ERNST

Well, I’d notice.

MARLA

You look cleaned up.

ERNST

I didn’t sleep.

MARLA

It’s not fair.

ERNST

Don’t leave. Go back to bed. We have the room till noon.

(She finds her shoes and puts them on.)

MARLA

I can’t do that. You’re a stranger.

ERNST

We’re still strangers?

MARLA

You know what I mean.

(She looks in the mirror and pulls her hair back. He stands behind her.)

ERNST

Do you see what you want to see when you look in the mirror?

MARLA

I don’t know. It’s just me. I don’t like my nose. (She looks at him and touches his cheek.) What about you?

ERNST

I don’t like what I see at all. I always expect to see a younger man looking back at me. And every time, it’s this man who keeps looking older and older. More gray. Baggier eyes. (He looks in the mirror.) I don’t know that guy.

MARLA

You look good for your age.

ERNST

Thanks and ouch.

(He sits back down and she moves to the door to leave.)

MARLA

I’m sorry about your wife.

(He looks at her blankly, at first, and then we see a sadness emerge. He looks away. She sits back down on the bed. She takes his hand and they sit in silence for a moment.)

ERNST

You know, you’re not so much a stranger to me. (She looks at him.) I saw you eating lunch yesterday. I was sitting on the other side of the café. I watch people and I saw you nibbling at your tuna salad sandwich like a bunny.

MARLA

I do not.

ERNST

Yes. You do. (He imitates her eating.) It was adorable. The café was crowded. You were alone.

MARLA

So many people in this city and I don’t know anyone.

ERNST

Then I saw you again in the afternoon at the drug store buying toothpaste and “Movie Mirror” magazine. Reading that magazine later in the park. And then I saw you on your way to work. Struck up a conversation about Jimmy Stewart on your way home.

(She gets up and moves towards the door.)

MARLA

I need to go.

ERNST

It’s not as bad as it sounds. You just fell victim to a lonely actor with a day off.

MARLA

That’s how you spend your free time? Hunting conquests?

(Ernst is silent. Marla opens the door.)

ERNST

Don’t forget your book.

MARLA

It’s not my book.

ERNST

It’s not mine.

(She closes the door, returns to the bed and picks up the book.)

MARLA

The Gideons must be expanding their library. (She reads from it.) How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the waking state? (She puts the book down.) I can’t go out like this.

ERNST

Don’t.

(They stare at one another as lights fade.)

Week 42, Day 290 - "Social Issues I & II"

“Social Issues I & II”

Written by Joe Janes

11/4/09

290 of 365

CAST:

Steve, 50s

Alan, 30s

(Lights up on Steve standing near two chairs that face one another, but are comfortably spaced. He is writing in a note pad. Alan walks in.)

ALAN

Dr. Morgan?

STEVE

Alan, come on in. Nice to meet you. Call me Steve. Have a seat. (Steve takes a seat. Alan remains standing.) I’m just finishing up a few notes. Now, you mentioned over the phone that you’re having problems with intimacy.

(Alan takes the remaining chair and moves it as far as possible into the upstage right corner of the stage and has a seat.)

ALAN

Yes.

(Blackout)

PART II

(Lights up on Alan sitting in a chair center stage in profile. Steve is straddling him and has his face nose-to-nose with Alan’s face.)

STEVE

I think we’ve made tremendous progress in a short period of time, don’t you, Alan?

(Alan takes a dollar bill and slips it into Steve belt.)

STEVE (continuing)

Please stop paying me in singles.

(Blackout)

Week 42, Day 289 - "This Will Be Our Year"

“This Will Be Our Year”

Written by Joe Janes

11/3/09

289 of 365

CAST

Ronald, 50s

Charlotte, 50s

Sissy, 20s

Conrad, 40s

Ron-Ron, late teens

Aunt Hazel, 70s

(Lights up on the whole family sitting down to dinner. Fairly normal looking family, except Conrad has many visible tattoos and piercings.)

CHARLOTTE

Here we go, everyone. My famous pot roast. Sissy helped me with it, Conrad.

SISSY

Mom.

CONRAD

It smells wonderful, Mrs. Teaberry.

CHARLOTTE

Mrs. Teaberry? Who’s that? My mom? Call me Charlotte.

CONRAD

Okay. Charlotte.

RONALD

May as well call us by our first names. Your closer to us in age than you are to our daughter’s.

SISSY

Dad.

RONALD

Call me “Ronald.” Just being friendly, Sissy.

RON-RON

Can I go over to Marcus’s and look at his grandpa’s stool sample?

CHARLOTTE

No, Ron-Ron. Sit and eat your dinner. We don’t all get together very often.

AUNT HAZEL (bitterly)

And I’ll be dead soon. Enjoy me while you can.

RON-RON (hesitantly)

Okay.

RONALD

You’re not dying, Aunt Hazel.

AUNT HAZEL

The hell I’m not.

CHARLOTTE

Technically, we’re all dying. Aren’t we, really?

RON-RON

Me, too?

CHARLOTTE

Not as much as the rest of us.

RON-RON

But I want to die, too.

RONALD

Keep pushing it and we’ll make sure that happens, young man.

AUNT HAZEL

Who’s the freak show?

SISSY

Aunt Hazel!

CONRAD

It’s okay, hon’. I’m Conrad. Sissy’s boyfriend.

AUNT HAZEL

Ain’t that just fucking wonderful.

CHARLOTTE

Aunt Hazel! Language!

AUNT HAZEL

Wear a condom. You don’t want your babies to have prince alberts.

RON-RON

Can I get a prince albert?

RONALD

Not till your old enough to pay for one yourself. Now, no more talk of penile piercings at the dinner table. It makes me uncomfortable.

CHARLOTTE

Everyone enjoy the pot roast.

RONALD

Good idea. (They all eat a few moments in silence. Ronald stands.)

CHARLOTTE

Dear…

SISSY

Oh, no…

RONALD

I just want to say something. This is the first time in a long time our whole family has sat down at the dinner table to share a meal. We don’t even seem to be able to pull this off during the holidays. Yet, hear we are. No special occasion. And joined by my little girl’s latest beau who was probably having sex a good five years before she was born. But, love is blind, right? You never know. Maybe this is the one. Time will tell. We thought Chuck was the one. Age-appropriate, college educated, decent job with potential. But Sissy thought he was boring. A year and a divorce later, she’s back living under our roof. Which is nice. We’re all here. Even though we had to move Aunt Hazel from Sissy’s old room to the attic, she seems capable of taking those stairs. If she had married and had children, perhaps they would have been able to take care of her. But, no. She thought all she needed was her twenty-seven cats, until the health department kicked her out of her studio apartment. Here she is with us. Family. And, fortunately, cat-less.

AUNT HAZEL

You and Charlotte found them all good homes.

RONALD

We sure did. They are all in a better place. Ron-Ron is failing all his classes and taking every medicine we can shove down his throat. I think he’ll be blessing us with his presence until his mid-to-late thirties.

RON-RON

My acne’s cleared up.

CHARLOTTE

It has. You look so handsome.

RON-RON

And I don’t want to drink gasoline as much as I used to.

RONALD

All good news. Charlotte lost her job at the nursing home after being falsely accused of sexually molesting the patients.

CHARLOTTE

It was sponge bath.

RONALD

I work. I work. And I work. On the weekends, I yell at everyone here. And then Monday, I go back to work. Been at the same salary for eight years. Times have been tough. We have all hit our bumps in the road. But you know, what. We’re family. Even you, Conrad. We’re family. And this coming year will be our year. Things will turn around. I’ll get a raise, maybe a promotion. Charlotte will get a new job, one not involving scrubbing male genitalia. Aunt Hazel will…chill out. Sissy and Conrad will find happiness and start building a future together. Ron-Ron will discover some hidden artistic talent and we’ll all discover the genius we all hoped he could be. Yes. This will be our year. I declare it. It is hereby declared. Make it so.

(He sits. They all resume eating.)

CHARLOTTE

That was lovely.

SISSY

Thanks, Dad.

CONRAD

Really makes me think, Ronald. Thanks.

RON-RON

I’ll try harder in school, I promise. I’ll start in on my homework right after dinner.

RONALD

And I’ll help you.

AUNT HAZEL

We truly are a family.

(They go back to eating. Aunt Hazel chokes on something and spits something out and holds it up.)

RONALD

What is it, Aunt Hazel?

AUNT HAZEL

A cat whisker!

(Ronald and Charlotte try to hide their guilt as everyone else starts to gag. Black out.)

Week 42, Day 288 - "911"

“911”

Written by Joe Janes

11/2/09

288 of 365

CAST:

Leona, 40s

Raymond, 40s

(Lights up on Leona at night. She has come out of a bar and looks disheveled. She appears drunk. She fishes her keys out of her purse. She approaches her car and drops the keys. With great effort, she manages to pick them up without toppling over. She sorts through the keys looking for the car key. She finds it. She uses all her power to focus and aim the key to the car door lock. She gets it on the third try. She turns the key and the door swings open. She manages to whip her body into the car seat and closes the door behind her. Success! She goes to put the key in the ignition, but can’t find it. She checks the seat and the floor. Nothing. She rolls down the window and finds the keys still in the lock. She gets them and puts the key in the ignition. She’s about to turn the key and changes her mind. She takes a deep breath. She fishes her cell phone out of her purse and dials 911. Lights come up on the other side of the stage on Raymond at his station in the emergency call center.)

RAYMOND

911, what is your emergency?

LEONA

I’d like to report a drunk driver?

RAYMOND

Okay. Are you currently in your car?

LEONA

Yes.

RAYMOND

Are you driving behind them?

LEONA

No. I am them.

RAYMOND

You’re the drunk driver?

LEONA

Yes. But I’m not driven yet.

RAYMOND

But you have been drinking?

LEONA

My husband is an asshole!

RAYMOND

Leona, don’t call me at work.

LEONA

‘kay, bye.

(Leona passes out on the steering wheel. Blackout.)