Stageplay
CHARACTERS:
HARRIET: Late 40s, a therapist, professional and calm under pressure.
JUSTINE: 20s, a patient, timid but hiding a secret.
FRANK: Late 40s, Harriet’s husband, unimposing and prone to panic.
SETTING:
A home office.
The stage is dark. We hear the sound of a tape recorder starting. Lights come up on a home office. Desk in the corner, family portrait on the wall. Two women sit across from each other, one in a chair and one on a small couch, a coffee table between them. A tape recorder is on the table, along with a strange device that looks like a helmet with several wires protruding from it. HARRIET stares at JUSTINE, who avoids eye contact.
Beat.
JUSTINE
(Looks at the portrait)
You have a lovely family.
HARRIET
Thank you.
JUSTINE
Your husband reminds me of someone.
HARRIET
Everyone says that.
JUSTINE
So who is it?
HARRIET
No, not anyone in particular. They just all say he looks familiar. He has one of those faces.
(Beat)
You don’t have to do it.
JUSTINE
But I won’t make any progress in my therapy if I don’t.
HARRIET
That’s not what I said. But it is my professional opinion that this is the best treatment for you. I created the device for cases like yours. That’s why you were referred to me.
JUSTINE
I don’t want to go through it again.
HARRIET
It will help you process it. But it doesn’t have to be all at once. I’ll pull you out if you get overwhelmed.
JUSTINE
How?
HARRIET
It’s perfectly safe.
JUSTINE
(Points at the device)
It’s already in there?
HARRIET
All the information you’ve told me. There are gaps, but your brain will fill those in. It will save that information, and the next time it will be more vivid and fill in more holes. Then eventually—
JUSTINE
I want to get it all over with the first time.
HARRIET
It doesn’t work that. We have to handle this delicately.
JUSTINE
Okay. I’m ready to try it.
HARRIET places the helmet onto JUSTINE. Attaches electrodes to her head.
HARRIET
I’m going to activate it now. You might feel some slight tension in your temples, but it should pass quickly.
JUSTINE
Okay.
HARRIET flips a switch. Sits back down.
HARRIET
Are you in the room?
JUSTINE
Yes. And so are you.
HARRIET
I’m here to keep you calm. It’s more effective than just hearing a voice. Is the room the way you remember it?
JUSTINE
Mostly. But the walls weren’t white, they were—now they’re blue.
HARRIET
Good. Any other details out of place?
JUSTINE
The closet was over…there it is. And I was lying down.
HARRIET
Go ahead.
JUSTINE lies down.
JUSTINE
Lily said I could sleep it off for a little bit then come back to the party. The room was blurry—now I can’t see well. I feel sick.
HARRIET
You don’t have to feel nauseous. You’re not drunk right now. Repeat that in your head. “I’m not drunk right now.”
JUSTINE
(Beat)
I feel okay now.
HARRIET
You can keep it blurry if you want, so it’s more like that night, or you can make it clear.
JUSTINE
I don’t want to see his face.
HARRIET
That’s fine. But he’ll be here soon. Do you want to continue?
JUSTINE
Will he be able to hear me?
HARRIET
Not this time. We can try that in a future session.
JUSTINE
The door’s opening. Bastard’s checking to make sure no one saw him come in. I don’t remember that.
HARRIET
It might be a memory or you might be creating it.
JUSTINE
So this isn’t what happened?
HARRIET
It’s more about your emotions. The details don’t have to be exact replications.
JUSTINE
He’s looking at me. Like he’s trying to decide if I have enough energy to scream. Now his shoes are off. He’s on the bed, on top of me, weighing me down. He’s reaching for my—I can feel him. Stop him.
HARRIET
I’m sorry. I can’t stop him. It happened.
JUSTINE
It is happening, right now! Help me!
HARRIET
I can’t help you. I wasn’t there.
JUSTINE
HELP ME!
HARRIET moves to JUSTINE. Deactivates the device and slips it off her head. Places it on the table and sits.
HARRIET
How do you feel?
JUSTINE
Like shit. I never wanted to see that again.
HARRIET
You told me you see it all the time.
JUSTINE
Not like that. Why would that help me?
HARRIET
It won’t be easy. You’ll have to get all the way through it at least once. But then I can give you control of the scenario. You can talk to him. You can fight him. You can beat the shit out of him. Whatever helps you process it.
JUSTINE
It was so real. And you pulled me right out of it. How?
HARRIET
It’s nothing to worry about.
JUSTINE
But I need to know.
HARRIET
Why?
JUSTINE
It’s the one part we haven’t figured out yet.
FRANK enters. He’s the man from the portrait. He’s panicked, unable to breath.
HARRIET
Frank?! Where’s your medication?!
FRANK falls to his knees.
HARRIET
Frank!
HARRIET rushes to him. Speaks to JUSTINE.
HARRIET
Look in the top left drawer of my desk. Get his asthma medication.
JUSTINE opens the drawer. While HARRIET is distracted, JUSTINE slips the medication into her pocket.
JUSTINE
I don’t see anything.
HARRIET
It’s there!
JUSTINE pretends to look for it. HARRIET pushes her out of the way.
HARRIET
Where is it?
She pulls out the drawer and empties the contents. Picks up the phone.
HARRIET
Why isn’t it working?! We have to get him to the hospital!
JUSTINE
It’s too late for that.
HARRIET rushes to the door. It won’t open.
HARRIET
What’s happening?!
FRANK wheezes. She kneels next to him.
HARRIET
In annnnnd out. In annnnd out.
FRANK’s breathing grows more frantic and reaches a crescendo before coming to an abrupt halt. He dies.
JUSTINE
Is this what you were looking for?
She holds up the medication. HARRIET grabs the chair and charges at her. JUSTINE pulls out a gun. HARRIET stops.
JUSTINE
Using the chair. That’s a new one.
(Beat)
This can be all over if you tell me how to wake people up.
HARRIET
My husband is dead and you—
JUSTINE
No he’s not. Or he doesn’t have to be. Repeat that in your head. “He doesn’t have to be dead.”
Beat. HARRIET looks at FRANK’s body.
HARRIET
He’s still there.
JUSTINE
You’re not trying hard enough. Of course, you have watched him die a lot now. Maybe you can’t see the truth anymore.
HARRIET
How long have I been like this? It wasn’t designed for long-term exposure. If you leave me under I could—
JUSTINE
Then tell me how to wake you up.
HARRIET
Why are you doing this?
JUSTINE
To gather information from people who don’t want to give it. We’ve already prevented several attacks.
HARRIET
You’re using my therapy device to torture people?
JUSTINE
That’s such an unfortunate word. But they keep dying when we try to wake them up. We don’t want that. And we don’t want that to happen to you.
HARRIET
I’m not going to help you.
JUSTINE
You really want to go through this again?
(Beat)
The next time will be worse. They’ll always be worse.
HARRIET
I’m going to kill you.
JUSTINE
Go ahead. I’m not really here.
JUSTINE gives HARRIET the gun. She fires. BLACKOUT. When the lights come back up, JUSTINE is gone. So is FRANK. HARRIET hesitates, then shoots herself. BLACKOUT. The sound of a tape recorder rewinding. But it’s distorted. Almost demonic. The sound stops. Then the click of the tape recorder starting again. The lights come back up. Everything is as it was when the scene began.
JUSTINE
(Looks at the portrait)
You have a lovely family.
HARRIET
Thank you.
JUSTINE
And such beautiful children.
The lights fade out.
Jonathan Kuhn was born and raised in Selma, Alabama. He moved to Los Angeles to attend the University of Southern California, where he received both his BFA in Writing for Screen and Television and his Master of Professional Writing degree, during which he studied under playwright Prince Gomolvilas. He has performed multiple times at The Moth, including one LA GrandSLAM. In 2015, Jonathan’s play Ex Communication (which he also directed) was performed at the Underground Theatre as part of the Hollywood Fringe Festival. Last year, his short play Looking Forward was performed at the Stella Adler Theatre as part of the first annual A Light In Dark Places: A Collection Of Plays For Hope festival; each play addressed suicide awareness, and the proceeds were donated to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. He has been a member of PlayGround-LA for the past two years, and last October his play Not All Men received the People’s Choice Award for that month’s staged reading series.