for archiving purposes
Title: Opportunistic
Type: Gen
Genre: ANGST
Characters: Kevin, though he plays others.
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, drugs, sex
Prompts: "Why are all the pretty ones insane?" (though I mangled it a little)
Word Count: Erm... long.
Summary: Kevin monologues. Yay.
Disclaimer: Mine, except some pop culture.
A/N: Written for this week's AWDT prompt, but mostly for my awesome summer program thing. Yay monologues.
Intro
(Lights come up. We are in a student lounge, early in the morning. A large, center block is decorated with three or four empty beer bottles, an ashtray containing the butt of a join of marijuana, and an open bottle of Stolichnaya vodka. Enter Kevin, a boy in his late teens. He is unkempt-looking, with longish brown hair, ripped jeans, and a dirty Pink Floyd t-shirt. He moves lethargically and absentmindedly checks all the beer bottles for a drink; when he finds none, he takes a swig out of the vodka. Finally, he looks out at the audience, but doesn’t put the vodka down.)
KEVIN: It looks like there was a party here last night, doesn’t it? Not like some huge, wild thing with a ton of people, but something fun. Small. Gathering between friends. Maybe be watched The Wizard of Oz with Dark Side of the Moon playing. Maybe just the Dark Side of the Moon part. Maybe we watched The Wall. You’ve gotta be high to watch The Wall, and there’s a joint right over here. …You’re thinking to yourselves that everything I’m saying makes perfect sense. So it must be true.
Well, you’re wrong. It makes sense, I’ll give you that, but none of it’s true.
Truth be told, this whole fucking mess is mine. The bottles of cheap beer I got with a fake ID. Empty, go figure. The pot I bought off the soccer team’s star goalie - maybe you know him. Nice guy, at least he acts like it. The Stoli… that’s my parents’. They’ll never notice it’s gone. Kind of sad, in a way, but they’re true blue suburbanites and so help them God, nothing is at all wrong with their perfect little lives.
Except me. But I’m easy enough to ignore. (imitating a parental voice) Oh, it’s just Kevin. Don’t bother with… (normal voice) Oh. Right. You have no idea who I am, do you?
(He crosses to downstage center.) Kevin Connolly aged seventeen. Middle name Michael, confirmation name Atticus. Forever known in the eyes of God with the same name as a Harper Lee character. If you believe in God. My mom picked the name out, at my step-mom’s advice. It’s “different.” Not like all the Matthews, Marks, Lukes, Johns, and Jameses. But I’ll get to that seemingly questionable relationship in a minute. It’s really not so weird, but I digress.
I’ll do that a lot - digress. It’s part of my parents’ denial. I’ve never been to a psychiatrist, ever, even though I probably need it. A counselor once, but never a real shrink. But I still know that I have ADD. You’ll agree with me, after a while, if you don’t already.
Anyway. I’m Catholic by raising, and pretty much an atheist on my own. Family’s pretty much just in it for the greeting cards anyway. Big, Irish Catholic family on mom’s side. Big, Protestant family on dad’s side. And then Karen and Jason’s families, but no one cares about them. Everyone loves everyone else, in a superficial way. We’re ridiculous… I try not to be. I fail, miserably, but they always give you points for trying, right? Yeah. I take advantage of that. I take advantage of a lot of things.
When I was a kid, really young, six or less… not even six, maybe… the details escape me, but at some vague age around six, this is not how I would’ve imagined myself turning out. I’d probably kick my ass if I met me, but it wouldn’t do anything. It was kind of inevitable, really, all things considered. Oh, right. You need to know all the facts first, or some of them, or the important one, I - whatever!
I smoke pot! There you go! There it is! In plain English! I. Smoke. Pot!
You probably guessed it, from before, but I need confessional if I’m going to go through with this, and I could leave right now… yeah, yeah. I could leave right the hell now…
You know what? I think I will. …Later. (He exits, stage left.)
(Enter Kevin again, from the same place he just left.)
No… that wouldn’t be fair to you, would it? Here you are, you paid to see me, though I really don’t know why, and I couldn’t, in good conscience, take your money like that. It’s not going to me anyway. Besides, I want this so-called opportunity. It’ll “be good” for me. Or… Oprah and Jerry Springer say it will be. Like… if I talk about my feelings, everything will be okay. It won’t. It never really is. But, if you can pretend, then I’ll get some satisfaction, and that’s what counts.
So, I smoke pot. A lot of pot. It’s probably unhealthy, but that’s just going on everything I’ve ever heard. My own experience is that intoxicants, even something as simple as nail polish, make everything infinitely more interesting and easier to put up with. People aren’t boring, but the things they do are. (Shudders.)
And then there’s life to deal with, but that’s another story. Life’s bad enough without people.
People are the worst inventions ever, if you buy into that whole ineffable… infallible… that… whatever the hell, oh fuck it, what’s the - oh! Intelligent! Intelligent design! If you buy into that shit, then do me a favor and kill yourself, because you make no fucking sense. Look at us! Our respiratory track crosses our digestive system! Where does that make sense? How can you look at us and think that something intelligent came up with us? But you… if you believe in intelligent design, you are so much worse than that. And if you can suspend your better judgment for a little while, then accept that we, as a species, are the worst invention ever. We’re not even interesting. Like did you know that…
See what I mean?
And the bitch doesn’t believe that I have ADD. Shit, man. I tried to tell her once. I was like… thirteen, maybe… just started smoking pot - I’ve been using all sorts of shit since I was twelve… paint thinner, nail polish, Clorox… tell you about that in a minute - and I got a brochure on it from Mike, my best friend. Brother by another mother, you know? He’d just gotten put on Adderall or whatever the hell they put ADD kids on, and he took the pamphlet from his parents. Gave it to me because I was interested, So I read it, and yes, I can read - and I read it, and it had this list of symptoms, right? Like, “How to tell if your kid needs pills.” I read it, and it sounded just. Like. Me. Just like me, swear to God. So I showed it to my mom and… well…
Okay, first it took a while for her to put that goddamn cell phone down. Then to get her to put the kids down. Then to get her to put the phone down again. Finally! It’s eleven-thirty at night, and I’m dead fucking tired, and I’ve been trying to get this woman to listen to me for three fucking days, and she just hangs up from talking to Yvonne or Julia or whatever vacationing friend she was talking to, turns to me, and says in the most sickly sweet voice ever, “I’m sorry, sweetie. What were you saying?”
…I wanted to kill her! And it would’ve been justified too! But I didn’t. No, no, I’m a good enough kid to not do that, so I just show her. “Mom, well… Mike just got put on this stuff, and… and I’m not saying that I have what he has, but, you know, I might, and these… these symptoms, they… they really sound like me!”
And she reads it, and nods… taps her foot in that kind of sort of semi-annoyed way that she does, and she says, “Oh, no, sweetie, you don’t need to worry. None of this sounds like you at all. Honey, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
…EXCUSE ME?! What the FUCK?! There’s nothing wrong with me? There’s everything wrong with me! Why am I the only one who knows it?
(Pause. He rocks back and forth, alternating between balancing on his heels and the balls of his feet. He sets the vodka down on the stage and takes a few moments for meditative breathing, occasionally shoving his hair off his face.)
I’m sorry. It’s just… really frustrating. But I’m okay! Really! I just… got caught up in the magic of theatre, or something. I’m fine… just fine.
…I never got around to telling you about my family arrangements, did I? Well, let’s do that then.
My parents had a shotgun wedding and I’m the only one they ever had together. Yeah. They split up before they could turn it into Kramer Vs. Kramer. And they’re still friends. Each showed up when the other got remarried… made me sit through it all. Their brats play together, and then they double date and leave me alone with said brats…
Oh my god, the brats. There are tons of little brats. Six of them. Half-brats and step-brats and… god! And I have to baby-sit them, without pay, whenever the parents want to go out. Mostly, they stay out of my way and I let them do whatever. So it’s a way to get high. Not drunk. Never drunk with the kids. No, no, parents would know about that. They’d come home, take one look at me, and state the truth in that perfect, suburban way.
(imitating a parental voice) Kevin… Kevin, you’re drunk. Blind, stinking drunk. I… I just can’t believe this. You’re supposed to be the role model, Kevin. Think about your brothers and sisters, Kevin. What kind of example are you setting for them, Kevin? If Eric grows up to be a drunk, you’re partly responsible, Kevin. I hope you know you’re throwing you life and brain cells away, Kevin. You used to be such a good kid, Kevin. What the hell happened to you, Kevin? Everything’s your fault, Kevin! Everything in this house comes back to your negativity, Kevin! You’ll never amount to anything at this rate, Kevin!
(normal voice) BULL! SHIT! FUCK THAT! IF YOU WANT THE BRAT TO NOT GROW UP LIKE ME, THEN TRY BEING FUCKING PARENTS FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIVES!
(Pause. He inhales deeply and holds it for a few seconds, again pushing his hair out of his face. He leans his torso forward and backward, repeating the same way of breathing and, once he’s calmed himself down, he comes back to downstage center.)
Sorry. Again. It… it happens.
But yeah. They’d know in an instant if I was drunk… but they don’t know I smoke pot. I cover that up well enough, I guess… eye drops, spray-on deodorant, breath mints… it’s crazy…
Story Time
(Light, airy voice) Crazy… I was crazy once. They put me in a padded cell with worms. Worms… I hate worms. They drove me crazy. (Slightly louder and more solid) …Crazy. I was crazy once. They put me in a padded cell with worms. Worms… I hate worms. They drove me crazy. (Even louder, just over a speaking voice, and more solid) …Crazy… I was crazy once. They put me in a padded cell with worms. Worms… I hate worms. They drove me crazy. (Loud and firm) Crazy. I was crazy once. They put me in a padded cell with worms. Worms. I hate worms. They drove me crazy. (Louder, firmer) Crazy. I was crazy once. They put me in a padded cell with worms. Worms. I hate worms. They drove me crazy. (Shouting) Crazy! I was crazy once! They put me in a padded cell with worms! Worms! I hate worms! They drove me crazy! Crazy!
(Pause, deep breaths. Speaking again in a soft voice) …Why are the pretty ones always crazy?
(Pause. He aimlessly meanders about the stage until finally stopping at center center-stage and turning out to directly face the audience.) Okay, I need a minute to go off from the topic, but I swear I have a point! Seriously! I do! …Yes, potheads have points occasionally. I know it’s a bit of a stretch, but we do.
Actually, I’m quite intelligent, when I want to be. People tell me I am, sometimes. It’s always the same thing.
(Imitating the typical overly nice, too soft, kindly voice of a teacher, school counselor, or other sort of official) You know, Kevin, you have… a lot of potential. It’s amazing how much… potential you have - but you never use it! What’s going to get you to use it, Kevin? If you don’t use it, why have it? It’s like you don’t have it at all, right? …Right. So we agree on that! Good, good. I feel like we’re really making some… progress, don’t you?
You know, your teachers speak very… highly of you, but they all say the same thing: that you don’t… use the gifts that you obviously have. Now, we don’t want you to think that this is your fault, because it’s not! If anything, we’ve failed you. We have let you down, left you out in the rain, so to speak. We haven’t provided the right… motivation for you, Kevin, and we just want to know what that motivation is so we can help you be the best that you can be.
(Normal voice) Yeah fucking right.
See, the worst thing about that kind of rant is that you just know that everything they’re saying is a complete lie. They lie right to your face and call it “academic concern.” I’ve seen cesspools that were more concerned. Really, what the people who say that are thinking goes a little more like this.
(Same official voice) You… are a pothead, Kevin, and you don’t hide it well at all. I’m telling you that you have potential to make you feel… better about your dependency, and… maybe guilt you out of lighting up. But it won’t work, and we both know it. It’s never worked on any pothead who’s come through my office door. I can’t wait until the end of the year, when I can retire to Florida with my wife. Take our grandkids to Disney World while my son and his wife recline on a beach and drink Piña Coladas and soak up the… UV radiation. They’ll probably get… skin cancer, but at least they went to college, which you… won’t.
You need to… straighten up your act if you want to get anywhere. And I want to smack you so hard right now. Just hit you until you can’t… see straight. Because it’s kids like you that keep me employed and make my life… hell at the same time. Do you think that I like coming in here every day, trying to tell the anorexic girl that she’s prettier when she eats or make the thug boys realize that they’re not underprivileged urban youth? They’re from the suburbs! The nice suburbs! They have laptops, ipods, new cars, and hundred-fifty-dollar… Nikes! In… my day, I’d’ve been… grateful to get new sneakers every new school year! And I wouldn’t have replaced them when they got a little… dirt on them.
You kids. You… fucking kids.
(Normal voice) See how easily I say that? I could take it if they’d just say it… or maybe not… doesn’t matter. They won’t day it. Ever. No one ever says what they mean and that’s just the way it is.
…What was I talking about? …Anything interesting? Something… oh, right. Crazy. “Why are the pretty ones always crazy” or something like that…
Oh yeah! Crazy girls, pretty girls, hard to tell ‘em apart sometimes.
Like this one time. I’m like fourteen, fifteenth birthday’s in a few weeks, and I’ve been home from school for like… a week. Oh. Yeah. My parents, see… my dad went to this fancy prep school in Massachusetts, so, naturally, I have to go there too. I hate it, but I don’t get a choice.
So anyway, I’ve been home for like a week, and Mike has a party - okay, my friends first, since it’s quick and you need to know them. Mike is my brother… or he should be, since I love him and hate my brothers. A fucking nutjob sometimes. And he thinks it’s cool to try doing Jackass stunts in the gas station parking lot… I think he got banned from the Mobil, so we had to move to the Sunoco, which is further, but bigger, and the owner just ignores us, so it’s cool. He’s been to the hospital more than anyone I know.
Jamie’s a math genius, and a good boy, and I think he actually a license. …Yeah, yeah, he does. And he gets to take out his dad’s old Caddy, so we put the top down, and crank up the music, and like do “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and “Another Brick in the Wall,” and that Tequila song from Peewee’s Big Adventure. And then there’s Danny Boy… he’s our mascot. The chicks love him, and the gay guys, which is cool because he likes all of them. He’s a sensitive guy, which is like the biggest turn on ever.
And then there’s Jake. He’s our diplomat, like… all the adults we know trust him because he’s responsible, and he openly reads Sartre, and he’s just a really good kid. He’s why we get away with most of the shit we get away with, honestly.
So, anyway. We’re at this party in Mike’s basement. And Mike’s older brother, Sam, gets the best weed ever. Seriously, that is some good shit. We’ve got Queen’s greatest hits on because Mike is a total Queen head - we don’t call him Freddie Mercury for no reason - and there are some girls that I haven’t seen since last summer, and there’s this one who’s like… kind of making eyes at me, kind of. I don’t really recognize her, but it’s hard to tell anything because everything looks kind of pink and my head feels funny - really good shit, what’d I tell you - but she’s cute, and she looks interested, so I sit down next to her on this mangy-ass sofa that’s been in Mike’s basement for forever. He was probably conceived on it, but who cares?
And… for you visual people, she’s… average height. Not really chubby, but… like curvy. Hourglass-y. Total Aphrodite look, but her hair’s black and cut in this really floppy bob.
(Teenage girl voice) Oh, you like Pink Floyd? That is so interesting, oh my god. I, like, heard The Wall once and The Dark Side or whatever its name is - is it The Dark Side? Oh, no, no, no, that’s the thing from Star Wars, isn’t it? I can’t believe I’m like… actually talking to someone, I’m like so socially retarded normally, I mean… I only really came tonight because my BFF said that I so had to. I think she like fucked Mike once, but she’s really after his brother, which is so stupid because… isn’t he in college or something? I mean… she’s pretty and smart and stuff, but he’s like way out of her league. And it’s completely illegal, and kind of gross because he’s like twenty-two and we’re like fourteen or fifteen and stuff… and, like, I love Johnny Depp and stuff, and he’s like… forty-two or something, but… he’s like a celebrity, so it’s… it’s like okay…
But you… I like haven’t seen you in like so long, oh my god, it’s weird. Like you went off to that weirdo school, right, and you were okay then, but you came back and it’s like… wow. You got like… hot. …You don’t mind me saying that, do you? Because I’m not trying to be mean or anything, I’m just saying, it’s kind of true. …But you’re like… really hot now. Then, you were like, “eh, whatever, it’s Kevin.” And now you’re like… wow! Amazing. Fucking hot, you know? …Yeah, you know what I’m talking about, totally.
…This is like… really good shit, isn’t it? I don’t have a lot of experience, so I don’t like know for sure or anything, but I’m like… I’m like so stoned right now, I just feel so happy, and everyone’s so awesome… and you’re so hot, I could like jump you right now! (Laughs.) I mean, not like I’m a slut or anything, but… like… like you, and everything, and… it’s just so right, you know?
(Normal voice) I only kissed her to shut her up. But… one thing led to another, and… and I’m on top of her… and it’s so fucking tacky, but “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy” is on, and… and…
You know… your first time’s kind of supposed to be special. Least I thought so. That’s like… it’s a complete myth. Just another lie the Disney movies told me.
The Dream
…I kind of hate that I’m up here whining at you guys because… really, it could be worse. Couldn’t it? I mean, I’ve got it bad. Wretched. Terrible, even. But I’m not a starving kid in a third world country, and I’m not a rape victim or an abuse victim, and I’m not dead, even though I’ve done some things that should’ve killed me… I drink enough that it should kill me sometimes, but nothing ever comes of it. I vomit before I get the full effect. …It’s like… the more I try to do to block everything out, the more my body makes me aware of… everything. Not fair. Totally, completely unfair.
…I could be David…
My cousin, David. Just a little bit older, closest to me in age… he’s the one I relate to best. …Was. …Still do, even though I shouldn’t.
…We were so unhealthy for each other. Made complete messes of each other. More than our parents already did, anyway, and they did a pretty fucking good job without our help, let me tell you. Take me as an indication. And he was so much worse… sensitive to begin with, and then his parents… God fuck it, his parents…
David was a cousin on my mother’s side, named for some Biblical king. I knew what he did once, but who the Hell cares, really? Do you? I don’t. He had the same name as my dad, but my dad was Dave - this loose, kind of never-outgrew-the-frat-boy-phase-of-life guy - when David was always, always, always David. Formal? Well, so was he… with everyone but me. Pretentious? Yeah, he could be that too. Mature? He was fifty when he was five, if you get what I mean.
He… he knew when I started getting high. But he didn’t hate me for it because he did too. We used to get high together, actually. Hole up in his room, put on Revolver, kick back, and space out for a few hours. Somehow, he still got a license and perfect grades, and he probably shouldn’t have, but… he was like… he was magic like that.
And when we weren’t holed up in his room, we used to go over to my dad’s office building and ride the elevators. Scottish junkies go train spotting; we rode elevators. It was always a pastime of ours… just now it involved drugs. Later on, after he got into heroin, this activity stayed the same. Just us, our choice poisons, and forty-two floors to ride up and down. Sometimes, we’d go to the top, then down into the parking deck levels. Other times, and usually when there were a ton of people in the building, we’d push every button, hit up every floor, and laugh as we held up the businessmen and got glared at.
…Sometimes, one of them would tell us off, like, (gruff, businessman voice) Boys, I do hope you know that this is an office building, and it is to be treated as such. Some people, unlike you, have work to do, people to see, places to be, and meetings to go to, and I would appreciate it - I’m sure I speak for everyone on this elevator when I say this - if you would refrain from doing this in the future. I can’t reverse that you have now, but if you’d just… not do it ever again, that would make all of us very happy. Thank you.
(Normal voice) As if we’re supposed to be persuaded by that shit. Yeah. Right. Totally made us stop.
…The last time…
The last time we went there… it was Christmas. Well, December 21st. Christmas time, officially, for our families, and we needed to get the hell and gone out of there. I just turned sixteen in July. He was seventeen. Turning eighteen on the twenty-second. …It was something his mom never really got over, his birthday. He was born a month early, total emergency situation; my aunt Elizabeth’s water broke while she was baking Christmas cookies and my mom and uncle Joe’s ex-wife had to get her to the hospital. She spent a good ten hours or more in labor, and she couldn’t make it down to the hospital church for Christmas mass. The doctors wouldn’t let her.
…And, of all of us, she actually tried to be spiritual. She tried to believe in God and listen to the Pope, even though she disagreed with him back when he was a feeble old man instead of a Nazi. …It was a bigger thing for her than she’d ever admit, but, really, that was more perverse than telling him would’ve been.
(He picks up the vodka and sits on the block, crossing his legs; as he speaks, he takes periodic drinks. Speaking as his aunt - an alto voice, often sighing, with a bit of an affected, rich-woman drawl) David, honey, you know that I love you, and your father loves you very much… we both do! …No, I do not resent you for something so silly as missing church on Christmas. Why, when I think of how many times your father has missed church on Christmas, it’s… it’s simply barbaric! It is, it’s barbaric how many times that man has failed to go and celebrate with us, because that’s what it is! It’s a birthday party for Jesus, and he gets very, very sad when someone has to miss it. …No, it’s never your fault that he misses church. Honestly, David, you must stop blaming yourself for everything. …And don’t wear the purple shirt to church, please. …Please, just don’t wear it. We don’t want people to know about you do we?
(Normal voice) She, of course, wasn’t speaking about his addiction. She never knew about his addiction until she saw the needle marks, and she never managed that while he was… while he was alive. (He takes a drink.) Undeniable evidence. …Coroner told her. Her husband, uncle Joe, asked me later if I’d known, and he believed me when I lied. It was part of how we understood each other. What went on in our rooms, stayed in our rooms.
But no, no. Here, she wasn’t talking about addiction. She was talking about his sexuality. Gay as a three-dollar bill. He only ever came out to me and his one real boyfriend. Even his shrink didn’t know. Didn’t suspect about anything. The only reason anyone else found out about it was because they got walked in on during a “study session.” Studying biology, you know. …They had biology textbooks out and open too, actually… but they were making out.
It goes without saying, though, that my aunt Elizabeth left too many things unsaid.
(Elizabeth voice again, and taking periodic drinks) I hate that you’ve made my life Hell ever since you were born. Every day, I think at least once about how I could’ve gone to church that Christmas. I missed Father Patrick’s last Christmas mass with us because you had to be born early. Your sister wasn’t born early. None of your brothers were born early. Just you, David, just you. It’s reassuring to know that, at the very least, they won’t follow the terrible example that you set for them. Honestly… nothing but trouble since before you could think about it.
And you were such a dependent baby, too. And your grades! Absolutely ghastly! You’re getting a B+ in Pre-Calculus. A B+! Harvard will never let you in with that on your transcript. And what about extracurriculars? What are you doing? Why don’t you get into the GSA or whatever that… gay people club is? You have an excuse now, seeing as you’re rather out of the closet. Get involved in your “community”… thing… do something with them; colleges love seeing that in applicants! You’re involved, and you’re a flaming liberal! They’ll eat you up completely, if you do that.
…No, it’s not good enough to get into NYU. It’s a good school, of course it’s a good school, but you have to go to Harvard. You know, your father went to Harvard. He actually met your uncle Dave there; it’s how Kevin’s parents met. All that love because of Harvard… well, not true love, but a beautiful friendship, and, honestly, would you want to go without Kevin? As long as I don’t find out that you… molested him like one of those Boston priests or something. Of course I don’t think that you would, but he is uncommonly devoted to you, it raises questions… no, I am not accusing you! I am merely stating a fact… indisputable.
He’s such a good boy. Why can’t you be more like him? Why, David, why? …Besides, I know you’re not so fond of Harvard, but you’ll grow to love Massachusetts! There are lots of nice girls yet. Maybe you’re not really gay and you just haven’t met the right girl. You just have discerning tastes is all, that’s it. You’re just so picky, I should’ve guessed it before your little boy toy went and made his parents send him to that… that ex-gay camp. They tried to talk him out of it, you know. Failed, obviously, but… some boys are just crazy. It’s rather unfortunate; he was a nice boy. Anyway, I should’ve guessed it! It’s so obvious that you’re not really gay. You’re always so picky about everything; it makes perfect sense…
And no wonder no one’s interested! Makes perfect sense too, really. Take a look at yourself: you’re too skinny, and that hair… and your little… homemade David Sedaris shirt. You just look like a fag. It’s ridiculous. Your little brother has more muscle mass than you, and he’s eleven years old. Start taking care of yourself and maybe you’ll find someone else. …No, I do not care whether it’s a boy or a girl. I just wish that you didn’t look so… unhealthy…
(A little uneasily, he gets up from the block. Normal voice) I… I lapsed into things she actually said for a minute there… or most of it. …I guess she said more than I give her credit for, but I’ll be damned if I let her think so.
…And the last time… the last time we rode elevators together, me and David… that last time, he really did look terrible. He’d cut his hair a day or two after I’d gotten home from school… went from waist-length ponytail to chin-length… just this chin-length flop. And he was skinny, and so pale… he hadn’t slept or eaten in a few days, so he probably shouldn’t have been driving, I mean… aside from being doped up on heroin, but I don’t have a license and I was more distracted than usual, so I couldn’t. …And we went over, got in the elevator and hit every floor about four times before we got bored and started mixing it up.
(As David. A far-off, exhausted, and condescending voice.) Virginity… virginity, as a rule, is entirely tedious. I mean… for some people, it’s best to wait, but, for most of us, we’ve got culture on one end and biology on the other, and we just wake up every, single, boring-ass, same as the one before it day, wondering somewhere in our heads when we’re going to get it over with. It’s a rite of passage, and everyone wants to belong.
…But see, nuns still want it. And priests too. That’s why there was the whole altar boy scandal, and it’s why they always put nuns in charge of orphanages. …Yeah way! That way, if Sister Mary Joseph and Father What’s-His-Name get busy - and they can’t use condoms, ‘cuz they’re Catholic - but, if they get busy and something happens, they put the baby in the orphanage, confess their sins to someone who won’t tell, and happily go back to being a nun and a priest, just like nothing ever happened.
(Normal voice) This wasn’t just him on drugs; he said shit like that before he started getting high.
…And, after Christmas, his dad, my uncle Joe, pulled me aside… I was so high the two visitation days, it’s a wonder no one noticed then, complete miracle. I went to the service as sober as I could’ve been… respect, you know? Joe pulled me aside the next day, before I could light up, and he just asked if I’d known anything about it. And, if I had, I would’ve told someone, right? I nodded… I said yes when I wanted to say no… or point out that even I didn’t see it coming… He said he loved me, and I couldn’t see it coming, and…
I saw the scene in dreams… still see it sometimes. I didn’t see all of it, but what I saw was enough. A limp hand… splayed feet in mismatched socks… the smallest hint of silver, or something that looked enough like it.
I wish I didn’t remember my dreams, but they’re clear. Like movie screens. The worst of them… the worst of them is recurring. And it’s a bitch. They’re vivid, all of them, this one moreso. And the worst part is that it is so amazingly clear, but it can never happen.
(He sits down on the block again and braces himself with his hands, like he’s going to be sick.) Mom…? Dad…? …Look, I know you’re busy, but the kids are asleep - Karen, Jason, you’re great and all, but… could you please? I need just my… Karen, please. …I’m not going to call you mom because you’re not my mother. She is my mother, not you, and, right now, I need to talk to my parents. Just my parents. Alone. …Yes, without you. Just… please, for God’s sake, I don’t ask you for a lot.
…Thanks, Jason. …Fine. Thank you, Karen.
…Okay. So… mom? Dad? I have your attention now, and it’s a good thing that you’re sitting, I… this is… kind of big news right here. …I’m not trying to be funny. If I was trying to be funny, I wouldn’t have made them leave, would I? That’s right, I wouldn’t have. (Sighs heavily.) Can I please talk now? Please?
Look. I know that… I know we don’t really get along. I mean… there’s not a lot of trying on either end, is there? You’ve got the kids, I’m gone nine months out of twelve… we don’t see each other a lot, do we? And, then, when we do… well. …There’s a reason behind it. And I’m not joking. …No, this is not like the time I said I had ADD, mom, and I do have ADD. But this is a lot bigger than that.
…No, I am not gay! I am not coming out to you, and, trust me, that would be a lot easier than telling you this! I could accept that, but I’m trying to get you to accept something that I don’t even accept, so could you please… please, just let me say it?
Mom… dad… I’m a drug addict. …Yes. Yes, I am. It’s taken me longer than I should have to come to this place - I’m sure not sure if I want to admit it, but… there it is. …Marijuana. …Yes. …I know it’s not common, but it is what it is! …Please! Let me finish!
…I know it’s not common. I know it’s not serous, but… please. Please, I don’t ask for a lot, and you can tell everyone whatever you want to tell them, but… I want to go to rehab. That’s all I want… please.
(He comes back to downstage center and kneels there, bathed in a spotlight.) …But it’d never work. Never.
…Please?
Type: Gen
Genre: ANGST
Characters: Kevin, though he plays others.
Rating: R
Warnings: Language, drugs, sex
Prompts: "Why are all the pretty ones insane?" (though I mangled it a little)
Word Count: Erm... long.
Summary: Kevin monologues. Yay.
Disclaimer: Mine, except some pop culture.
A/N: Written for this week's AWDT prompt, but mostly for my awesome summer program thing. Yay monologues.
Intro
(Lights come up. We are in a student lounge, early in the morning. A large, center block is decorated with three or four empty beer bottles, an ashtray containing the butt of a join of marijuana, and an open bottle of Stolichnaya vodka. Enter Kevin, a boy in his late teens. He is unkempt-looking, with longish brown hair, ripped jeans, and a dirty Pink Floyd t-shirt. He moves lethargically and absentmindedly checks all the beer bottles for a drink; when he finds none, he takes a swig out of the vodka. Finally, he looks out at the audience, but doesn’t put the vodka down.)
KEVIN: It looks like there was a party here last night, doesn’t it? Not like some huge, wild thing with a ton of people, but something fun. Small. Gathering between friends. Maybe be watched The Wizard of Oz with Dark Side of the Moon playing. Maybe just the Dark Side of the Moon part. Maybe we watched The Wall. You’ve gotta be high to watch The Wall, and there’s a joint right over here. …You’re thinking to yourselves that everything I’m saying makes perfect sense. So it must be true.
Well, you’re wrong. It makes sense, I’ll give you that, but none of it’s true.
Truth be told, this whole fucking mess is mine. The bottles of cheap beer I got with a fake ID. Empty, go figure. The pot I bought off the soccer team’s star goalie - maybe you know him. Nice guy, at least he acts like it. The Stoli… that’s my parents’. They’ll never notice it’s gone. Kind of sad, in a way, but they’re true blue suburbanites and so help them God, nothing is at all wrong with their perfect little lives.
Except me. But I’m easy enough to ignore. (imitating a parental voice) Oh, it’s just Kevin. Don’t bother with… (normal voice) Oh. Right. You have no idea who I am, do you?
(He crosses to downstage center.) Kevin Connolly aged seventeen. Middle name Michael, confirmation name Atticus. Forever known in the eyes of God with the same name as a Harper Lee character. If you believe in God. My mom picked the name out, at my step-mom’s advice. It’s “different.” Not like all the Matthews, Marks, Lukes, Johns, and Jameses. But I’ll get to that seemingly questionable relationship in a minute. It’s really not so weird, but I digress.
I’ll do that a lot - digress. It’s part of my parents’ denial. I’ve never been to a psychiatrist, ever, even though I probably need it. A counselor once, but never a real shrink. But I still know that I have ADD. You’ll agree with me, after a while, if you don’t already.
Anyway. I’m Catholic by raising, and pretty much an atheist on my own. Family’s pretty much just in it for the greeting cards anyway. Big, Irish Catholic family on mom’s side. Big, Protestant family on dad’s side. And then Karen and Jason’s families, but no one cares about them. Everyone loves everyone else, in a superficial way. We’re ridiculous… I try not to be. I fail, miserably, but they always give you points for trying, right? Yeah. I take advantage of that. I take advantage of a lot of things.
When I was a kid, really young, six or less… not even six, maybe… the details escape me, but at some vague age around six, this is not how I would’ve imagined myself turning out. I’d probably kick my ass if I met me, but it wouldn’t do anything. It was kind of inevitable, really, all things considered. Oh, right. You need to know all the facts first, or some of them, or the important one, I - whatever!
I smoke pot! There you go! There it is! In plain English! I. Smoke. Pot!
You probably guessed it, from before, but I need confessional if I’m going to go through with this, and I could leave right now… yeah, yeah. I could leave right the hell now…
You know what? I think I will. …Later. (He exits, stage left.)
(Enter Kevin again, from the same place he just left.)
No… that wouldn’t be fair to you, would it? Here you are, you paid to see me, though I really don’t know why, and I couldn’t, in good conscience, take your money like that. It’s not going to me anyway. Besides, I want this so-called opportunity. It’ll “be good” for me. Or… Oprah and Jerry Springer say it will be. Like… if I talk about my feelings, everything will be okay. It won’t. It never really is. But, if you can pretend, then I’ll get some satisfaction, and that’s what counts.
So, I smoke pot. A lot of pot. It’s probably unhealthy, but that’s just going on everything I’ve ever heard. My own experience is that intoxicants, even something as simple as nail polish, make everything infinitely more interesting and easier to put up with. People aren’t boring, but the things they do are. (Shudders.)
And then there’s life to deal with, but that’s another story. Life’s bad enough without people.
People are the worst inventions ever, if you buy into that whole ineffable… infallible… that… whatever the hell, oh fuck it, what’s the - oh! Intelligent! Intelligent design! If you buy into that shit, then do me a favor and kill yourself, because you make no fucking sense. Look at us! Our respiratory track crosses our digestive system! Where does that make sense? How can you look at us and think that something intelligent came up with us? But you… if you believe in intelligent design, you are so much worse than that. And if you can suspend your better judgment for a little while, then accept that we, as a species, are the worst invention ever. We’re not even interesting. Like did you know that…
See what I mean?
And the bitch doesn’t believe that I have ADD. Shit, man. I tried to tell her once. I was like… thirteen, maybe… just started smoking pot - I’ve been using all sorts of shit since I was twelve… paint thinner, nail polish, Clorox… tell you about that in a minute - and I got a brochure on it from Mike, my best friend. Brother by another mother, you know? He’d just gotten put on Adderall or whatever the hell they put ADD kids on, and he took the pamphlet from his parents. Gave it to me because I was interested, So I read it, and yes, I can read - and I read it, and it had this list of symptoms, right? Like, “How to tell if your kid needs pills.” I read it, and it sounded just. Like. Me. Just like me, swear to God. So I showed it to my mom and… well…
Okay, first it took a while for her to put that goddamn cell phone down. Then to get her to put the kids down. Then to get her to put the phone down again. Finally! It’s eleven-thirty at night, and I’m dead fucking tired, and I’ve been trying to get this woman to listen to me for three fucking days, and she just hangs up from talking to Yvonne or Julia or whatever vacationing friend she was talking to, turns to me, and says in the most sickly sweet voice ever, “I’m sorry, sweetie. What were you saying?”
…I wanted to kill her! And it would’ve been justified too! But I didn’t. No, no, I’m a good enough kid to not do that, so I just show her. “Mom, well… Mike just got put on this stuff, and… and I’m not saying that I have what he has, but, you know, I might, and these… these symptoms, they… they really sound like me!”
And she reads it, and nods… taps her foot in that kind of sort of semi-annoyed way that she does, and she says, “Oh, no, sweetie, you don’t need to worry. None of this sounds like you at all. Honey, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
…EXCUSE ME?! What the FUCK?! There’s nothing wrong with me? There’s everything wrong with me! Why am I the only one who knows it?
(Pause. He rocks back and forth, alternating between balancing on his heels and the balls of his feet. He sets the vodka down on the stage and takes a few moments for meditative breathing, occasionally shoving his hair off his face.)
I’m sorry. It’s just… really frustrating. But I’m okay! Really! I just… got caught up in the magic of theatre, or something. I’m fine… just fine.
…I never got around to telling you about my family arrangements, did I? Well, let’s do that then.
My parents had a shotgun wedding and I’m the only one they ever had together. Yeah. They split up before they could turn it into Kramer Vs. Kramer. And they’re still friends. Each showed up when the other got remarried… made me sit through it all. Their brats play together, and then they double date and leave me alone with said brats…
Oh my god, the brats. There are tons of little brats. Six of them. Half-brats and step-brats and… god! And I have to baby-sit them, without pay, whenever the parents want to go out. Mostly, they stay out of my way and I let them do whatever. So it’s a way to get high. Not drunk. Never drunk with the kids. No, no, parents would know about that. They’d come home, take one look at me, and state the truth in that perfect, suburban way.
(imitating a parental voice) Kevin… Kevin, you’re drunk. Blind, stinking drunk. I… I just can’t believe this. You’re supposed to be the role model, Kevin. Think about your brothers and sisters, Kevin. What kind of example are you setting for them, Kevin? If Eric grows up to be a drunk, you’re partly responsible, Kevin. I hope you know you’re throwing you life and brain cells away, Kevin. You used to be such a good kid, Kevin. What the hell happened to you, Kevin? Everything’s your fault, Kevin! Everything in this house comes back to your negativity, Kevin! You’ll never amount to anything at this rate, Kevin!
(normal voice) BULL! SHIT! FUCK THAT! IF YOU WANT THE BRAT TO NOT GROW UP LIKE ME, THEN TRY BEING FUCKING PARENTS FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIVES!
(Pause. He inhales deeply and holds it for a few seconds, again pushing his hair out of his face. He leans his torso forward and backward, repeating the same way of breathing and, once he’s calmed himself down, he comes back to downstage center.)
Sorry. Again. It… it happens.
But yeah. They’d know in an instant if I was drunk… but they don’t know I smoke pot. I cover that up well enough, I guess… eye drops, spray-on deodorant, breath mints… it’s crazy…
Story Time
(Light, airy voice) Crazy… I was crazy once. They put me in a padded cell with worms. Worms… I hate worms. They drove me crazy. (Slightly louder and more solid) …Crazy. I was crazy once. They put me in a padded cell with worms. Worms… I hate worms. They drove me crazy. (Even louder, just over a speaking voice, and more solid) …Crazy… I was crazy once. They put me in a padded cell with worms. Worms… I hate worms. They drove me crazy. (Loud and firm) Crazy. I was crazy once. They put me in a padded cell with worms. Worms. I hate worms. They drove me crazy. (Louder, firmer) Crazy. I was crazy once. They put me in a padded cell with worms. Worms. I hate worms. They drove me crazy. (Shouting) Crazy! I was crazy once! They put me in a padded cell with worms! Worms! I hate worms! They drove me crazy! Crazy!
(Pause, deep breaths. Speaking again in a soft voice) …Why are the pretty ones always crazy?
(Pause. He aimlessly meanders about the stage until finally stopping at center center-stage and turning out to directly face the audience.) Okay, I need a minute to go off from the topic, but I swear I have a point! Seriously! I do! …Yes, potheads have points occasionally. I know it’s a bit of a stretch, but we do.
Actually, I’m quite intelligent, when I want to be. People tell me I am, sometimes. It’s always the same thing.
(Imitating the typical overly nice, too soft, kindly voice of a teacher, school counselor, or other sort of official) You know, Kevin, you have… a lot of potential. It’s amazing how much… potential you have - but you never use it! What’s going to get you to use it, Kevin? If you don’t use it, why have it? It’s like you don’t have it at all, right? …Right. So we agree on that! Good, good. I feel like we’re really making some… progress, don’t you?
You know, your teachers speak very… highly of you, but they all say the same thing: that you don’t… use the gifts that you obviously have. Now, we don’t want you to think that this is your fault, because it’s not! If anything, we’ve failed you. We have let you down, left you out in the rain, so to speak. We haven’t provided the right… motivation for you, Kevin, and we just want to know what that motivation is so we can help you be the best that you can be.
(Normal voice) Yeah fucking right.
See, the worst thing about that kind of rant is that you just know that everything they’re saying is a complete lie. They lie right to your face and call it “academic concern.” I’ve seen cesspools that were more concerned. Really, what the people who say that are thinking goes a little more like this.
(Same official voice) You… are a pothead, Kevin, and you don’t hide it well at all. I’m telling you that you have potential to make you feel… better about your dependency, and… maybe guilt you out of lighting up. But it won’t work, and we both know it. It’s never worked on any pothead who’s come through my office door. I can’t wait until the end of the year, when I can retire to Florida with my wife. Take our grandkids to Disney World while my son and his wife recline on a beach and drink Piña Coladas and soak up the… UV radiation. They’ll probably get… skin cancer, but at least they went to college, which you… won’t.
You need to… straighten up your act if you want to get anywhere. And I want to smack you so hard right now. Just hit you until you can’t… see straight. Because it’s kids like you that keep me employed and make my life… hell at the same time. Do you think that I like coming in here every day, trying to tell the anorexic girl that she’s prettier when she eats or make the thug boys realize that they’re not underprivileged urban youth? They’re from the suburbs! The nice suburbs! They have laptops, ipods, new cars, and hundred-fifty-dollar… Nikes! In… my day, I’d’ve been… grateful to get new sneakers every new school year! And I wouldn’t have replaced them when they got a little… dirt on them.
You kids. You… fucking kids.
(Normal voice) See how easily I say that? I could take it if they’d just say it… or maybe not… doesn’t matter. They won’t day it. Ever. No one ever says what they mean and that’s just the way it is.
…What was I talking about? …Anything interesting? Something… oh, right. Crazy. “Why are the pretty ones always crazy” or something like that…
Oh yeah! Crazy girls, pretty girls, hard to tell ‘em apart sometimes.
Like this one time. I’m like fourteen, fifteenth birthday’s in a few weeks, and I’ve been home from school for like… a week. Oh. Yeah. My parents, see… my dad went to this fancy prep school in Massachusetts, so, naturally, I have to go there too. I hate it, but I don’t get a choice.
So anyway, I’ve been home for like a week, and Mike has a party - okay, my friends first, since it’s quick and you need to know them. Mike is my brother… or he should be, since I love him and hate my brothers. A fucking nutjob sometimes. And he thinks it’s cool to try doing Jackass stunts in the gas station parking lot… I think he got banned from the Mobil, so we had to move to the Sunoco, which is further, but bigger, and the owner just ignores us, so it’s cool. He’s been to the hospital more than anyone I know.
Jamie’s a math genius, and a good boy, and I think he actually a license. …Yeah, yeah, he does. And he gets to take out his dad’s old Caddy, so we put the top down, and crank up the music, and like do “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and “Another Brick in the Wall,” and that Tequila song from Peewee’s Big Adventure. And then there’s Danny Boy… he’s our mascot. The chicks love him, and the gay guys, which is cool because he likes all of them. He’s a sensitive guy, which is like the biggest turn on ever.
And then there’s Jake. He’s our diplomat, like… all the adults we know trust him because he’s responsible, and he openly reads Sartre, and he’s just a really good kid. He’s why we get away with most of the shit we get away with, honestly.
So, anyway. We’re at this party in Mike’s basement. And Mike’s older brother, Sam, gets the best weed ever. Seriously, that is some good shit. We’ve got Queen’s greatest hits on because Mike is a total Queen head - we don’t call him Freddie Mercury for no reason - and there are some girls that I haven’t seen since last summer, and there’s this one who’s like… kind of making eyes at me, kind of. I don’t really recognize her, but it’s hard to tell anything because everything looks kind of pink and my head feels funny - really good shit, what’d I tell you - but she’s cute, and she looks interested, so I sit down next to her on this mangy-ass sofa that’s been in Mike’s basement for forever. He was probably conceived on it, but who cares?
And… for you visual people, she’s… average height. Not really chubby, but… like curvy. Hourglass-y. Total Aphrodite look, but her hair’s black and cut in this really floppy bob.
(Teenage girl voice) Oh, you like Pink Floyd? That is so interesting, oh my god. I, like, heard The Wall once and The Dark Side or whatever its name is - is it The Dark Side? Oh, no, no, no, that’s the thing from Star Wars, isn’t it? I can’t believe I’m like… actually talking to someone, I’m like so socially retarded normally, I mean… I only really came tonight because my BFF said that I so had to. I think she like fucked Mike once, but she’s really after his brother, which is so stupid because… isn’t he in college or something? I mean… she’s pretty and smart and stuff, but he’s like way out of her league. And it’s completely illegal, and kind of gross because he’s like twenty-two and we’re like fourteen or fifteen and stuff… and, like, I love Johnny Depp and stuff, and he’s like… forty-two or something, but… he’s like a celebrity, so it’s… it’s like okay…
But you… I like haven’t seen you in like so long, oh my god, it’s weird. Like you went off to that weirdo school, right, and you were okay then, but you came back and it’s like… wow. You got like… hot. …You don’t mind me saying that, do you? Because I’m not trying to be mean or anything, I’m just saying, it’s kind of true. …But you’re like… really hot now. Then, you were like, “eh, whatever, it’s Kevin.” And now you’re like… wow! Amazing. Fucking hot, you know? …Yeah, you know what I’m talking about, totally.
…This is like… really good shit, isn’t it? I don’t have a lot of experience, so I don’t like know for sure or anything, but I’m like… I’m like so stoned right now, I just feel so happy, and everyone’s so awesome… and you’re so hot, I could like jump you right now! (Laughs.) I mean, not like I’m a slut or anything, but… like… like you, and everything, and… it’s just so right, you know?
(Normal voice) I only kissed her to shut her up. But… one thing led to another, and… and I’m on top of her… and it’s so fucking tacky, but “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy” is on, and… and…
You know… your first time’s kind of supposed to be special. Least I thought so. That’s like… it’s a complete myth. Just another lie the Disney movies told me.
The Dream
…I kind of hate that I’m up here whining at you guys because… really, it could be worse. Couldn’t it? I mean, I’ve got it bad. Wretched. Terrible, even. But I’m not a starving kid in a third world country, and I’m not a rape victim or an abuse victim, and I’m not dead, even though I’ve done some things that should’ve killed me… I drink enough that it should kill me sometimes, but nothing ever comes of it. I vomit before I get the full effect. …It’s like… the more I try to do to block everything out, the more my body makes me aware of… everything. Not fair. Totally, completely unfair.
…I could be David…
My cousin, David. Just a little bit older, closest to me in age… he’s the one I relate to best. …Was. …Still do, even though I shouldn’t.
…We were so unhealthy for each other. Made complete messes of each other. More than our parents already did, anyway, and they did a pretty fucking good job without our help, let me tell you. Take me as an indication. And he was so much worse… sensitive to begin with, and then his parents… God fuck it, his parents…
David was a cousin on my mother’s side, named for some Biblical king. I knew what he did once, but who the Hell cares, really? Do you? I don’t. He had the same name as my dad, but my dad was Dave - this loose, kind of never-outgrew-the-frat-boy-phase-of-life guy - when David was always, always, always David. Formal? Well, so was he… with everyone but me. Pretentious? Yeah, he could be that too. Mature? He was fifty when he was five, if you get what I mean.
He… he knew when I started getting high. But he didn’t hate me for it because he did too. We used to get high together, actually. Hole up in his room, put on Revolver, kick back, and space out for a few hours. Somehow, he still got a license and perfect grades, and he probably shouldn’t have, but… he was like… he was magic like that.
And when we weren’t holed up in his room, we used to go over to my dad’s office building and ride the elevators. Scottish junkies go train spotting; we rode elevators. It was always a pastime of ours… just now it involved drugs. Later on, after he got into heroin, this activity stayed the same. Just us, our choice poisons, and forty-two floors to ride up and down. Sometimes, we’d go to the top, then down into the parking deck levels. Other times, and usually when there were a ton of people in the building, we’d push every button, hit up every floor, and laugh as we held up the businessmen and got glared at.
…Sometimes, one of them would tell us off, like, (gruff, businessman voice) Boys, I do hope you know that this is an office building, and it is to be treated as such. Some people, unlike you, have work to do, people to see, places to be, and meetings to go to, and I would appreciate it - I’m sure I speak for everyone on this elevator when I say this - if you would refrain from doing this in the future. I can’t reverse that you have now, but if you’d just… not do it ever again, that would make all of us very happy. Thank you.
(Normal voice) As if we’re supposed to be persuaded by that shit. Yeah. Right. Totally made us stop.
…The last time…
The last time we went there… it was Christmas. Well, December 21st. Christmas time, officially, for our families, and we needed to get the hell and gone out of there. I just turned sixteen in July. He was seventeen. Turning eighteen on the twenty-second. …It was something his mom never really got over, his birthday. He was born a month early, total emergency situation; my aunt Elizabeth’s water broke while she was baking Christmas cookies and my mom and uncle Joe’s ex-wife had to get her to the hospital. She spent a good ten hours or more in labor, and she couldn’t make it down to the hospital church for Christmas mass. The doctors wouldn’t let her.
…And, of all of us, she actually tried to be spiritual. She tried to believe in God and listen to the Pope, even though she disagreed with him back when he was a feeble old man instead of a Nazi. …It was a bigger thing for her than she’d ever admit, but, really, that was more perverse than telling him would’ve been.
(He picks up the vodka and sits on the block, crossing his legs; as he speaks, he takes periodic drinks. Speaking as his aunt - an alto voice, often sighing, with a bit of an affected, rich-woman drawl) David, honey, you know that I love you, and your father loves you very much… we both do! …No, I do not resent you for something so silly as missing church on Christmas. Why, when I think of how many times your father has missed church on Christmas, it’s… it’s simply barbaric! It is, it’s barbaric how many times that man has failed to go and celebrate with us, because that’s what it is! It’s a birthday party for Jesus, and he gets very, very sad when someone has to miss it. …No, it’s never your fault that he misses church. Honestly, David, you must stop blaming yourself for everything. …And don’t wear the purple shirt to church, please. …Please, just don’t wear it. We don’t want people to know about you do we?
(Normal voice) She, of course, wasn’t speaking about his addiction. She never knew about his addiction until she saw the needle marks, and she never managed that while he was… while he was alive. (He takes a drink.) Undeniable evidence. …Coroner told her. Her husband, uncle Joe, asked me later if I’d known, and he believed me when I lied. It was part of how we understood each other. What went on in our rooms, stayed in our rooms.
But no, no. Here, she wasn’t talking about addiction. She was talking about his sexuality. Gay as a three-dollar bill. He only ever came out to me and his one real boyfriend. Even his shrink didn’t know. Didn’t suspect about anything. The only reason anyone else found out about it was because they got walked in on during a “study session.” Studying biology, you know. …They had biology textbooks out and open too, actually… but they were making out.
It goes without saying, though, that my aunt Elizabeth left too many things unsaid.
(Elizabeth voice again, and taking periodic drinks) I hate that you’ve made my life Hell ever since you were born. Every day, I think at least once about how I could’ve gone to church that Christmas. I missed Father Patrick’s last Christmas mass with us because you had to be born early. Your sister wasn’t born early. None of your brothers were born early. Just you, David, just you. It’s reassuring to know that, at the very least, they won’t follow the terrible example that you set for them. Honestly… nothing but trouble since before you could think about it.
And you were such a dependent baby, too. And your grades! Absolutely ghastly! You’re getting a B+ in Pre-Calculus. A B+! Harvard will never let you in with that on your transcript. And what about extracurriculars? What are you doing? Why don’t you get into the GSA or whatever that… gay people club is? You have an excuse now, seeing as you’re rather out of the closet. Get involved in your “community”… thing… do something with them; colleges love seeing that in applicants! You’re involved, and you’re a flaming liberal! They’ll eat you up completely, if you do that.
…No, it’s not good enough to get into NYU. It’s a good school, of course it’s a good school, but you have to go to Harvard. You know, your father went to Harvard. He actually met your uncle Dave there; it’s how Kevin’s parents met. All that love because of Harvard… well, not true love, but a beautiful friendship, and, honestly, would you want to go without Kevin? As long as I don’t find out that you… molested him like one of those Boston priests or something. Of course I don’t think that you would, but he is uncommonly devoted to you, it raises questions… no, I am not accusing you! I am merely stating a fact… indisputable.
He’s such a good boy. Why can’t you be more like him? Why, David, why? …Besides, I know you’re not so fond of Harvard, but you’ll grow to love Massachusetts! There are lots of nice girls yet. Maybe you’re not really gay and you just haven’t met the right girl. You just have discerning tastes is all, that’s it. You’re just so picky, I should’ve guessed it before your little boy toy went and made his parents send him to that… that ex-gay camp. They tried to talk him out of it, you know. Failed, obviously, but… some boys are just crazy. It’s rather unfortunate; he was a nice boy. Anyway, I should’ve guessed it! It’s so obvious that you’re not really gay. You’re always so picky about everything; it makes perfect sense…
And no wonder no one’s interested! Makes perfect sense too, really. Take a look at yourself: you’re too skinny, and that hair… and your little… homemade David Sedaris shirt. You just look like a fag. It’s ridiculous. Your little brother has more muscle mass than you, and he’s eleven years old. Start taking care of yourself and maybe you’ll find someone else. …No, I do not care whether it’s a boy or a girl. I just wish that you didn’t look so… unhealthy…
(A little uneasily, he gets up from the block. Normal voice) I… I lapsed into things she actually said for a minute there… or most of it. …I guess she said more than I give her credit for, but I’ll be damned if I let her think so.
…And the last time… the last time we rode elevators together, me and David… that last time, he really did look terrible. He’d cut his hair a day or two after I’d gotten home from school… went from waist-length ponytail to chin-length… just this chin-length flop. And he was skinny, and so pale… he hadn’t slept or eaten in a few days, so he probably shouldn’t have been driving, I mean… aside from being doped up on heroin, but I don’t have a license and I was more distracted than usual, so I couldn’t. …And we went over, got in the elevator and hit every floor about four times before we got bored and started mixing it up.
(As David. A far-off, exhausted, and condescending voice.) Virginity… virginity, as a rule, is entirely tedious. I mean… for some people, it’s best to wait, but, for most of us, we’ve got culture on one end and biology on the other, and we just wake up every, single, boring-ass, same as the one before it day, wondering somewhere in our heads when we’re going to get it over with. It’s a rite of passage, and everyone wants to belong.
…But see, nuns still want it. And priests too. That’s why there was the whole altar boy scandal, and it’s why they always put nuns in charge of orphanages. …Yeah way! That way, if Sister Mary Joseph and Father What’s-His-Name get busy - and they can’t use condoms, ‘cuz they’re Catholic - but, if they get busy and something happens, they put the baby in the orphanage, confess their sins to someone who won’t tell, and happily go back to being a nun and a priest, just like nothing ever happened.
(Normal voice) This wasn’t just him on drugs; he said shit like that before he started getting high.
…And, after Christmas, his dad, my uncle Joe, pulled me aside… I was so high the two visitation days, it’s a wonder no one noticed then, complete miracle. I went to the service as sober as I could’ve been… respect, you know? Joe pulled me aside the next day, before I could light up, and he just asked if I’d known anything about it. And, if I had, I would’ve told someone, right? I nodded… I said yes when I wanted to say no… or point out that even I didn’t see it coming… He said he loved me, and I couldn’t see it coming, and…
I saw the scene in dreams… still see it sometimes. I didn’t see all of it, but what I saw was enough. A limp hand… splayed feet in mismatched socks… the smallest hint of silver, or something that looked enough like it.
I wish I didn’t remember my dreams, but they’re clear. Like movie screens. The worst of them… the worst of them is recurring. And it’s a bitch. They’re vivid, all of them, this one moreso. And the worst part is that it is so amazingly clear, but it can never happen.
(He sits down on the block again and braces himself with his hands, like he’s going to be sick.) Mom…? Dad…? …Look, I know you’re busy, but the kids are asleep - Karen, Jason, you’re great and all, but… could you please? I need just my… Karen, please. …I’m not going to call you mom because you’re not my mother. She is my mother, not you, and, right now, I need to talk to my parents. Just my parents. Alone. …Yes, without you. Just… please, for God’s sake, I don’t ask you for a lot.
…Thanks, Jason. …Fine. Thank you, Karen.
…Okay. So… mom? Dad? I have your attention now, and it’s a good thing that you’re sitting, I… this is… kind of big news right here. …I’m not trying to be funny. If I was trying to be funny, I wouldn’t have made them leave, would I? That’s right, I wouldn’t have. (Sighs heavily.) Can I please talk now? Please?
Look. I know that… I know we don’t really get along. I mean… there’s not a lot of trying on either end, is there? You’ve got the kids, I’m gone nine months out of twelve… we don’t see each other a lot, do we? And, then, when we do… well. …There’s a reason behind it. And I’m not joking. …No, this is not like the time I said I had ADD, mom, and I do have ADD. But this is a lot bigger than that.
…No, I am not gay! I am not coming out to you, and, trust me, that would be a lot easier than telling you this! I could accept that, but I’m trying to get you to accept something that I don’t even accept, so could you please… please, just let me say it?
Mom… dad… I’m a drug addict. …Yes. Yes, I am. It’s taken me longer than I should have to come to this place - I’m sure not sure if I want to admit it, but… there it is. …Marijuana. …Yes. …I know it’s not common, but it is what it is! …Please! Let me finish!
…I know it’s not common. I know it’s not serous, but… please. Please, I don’t ask for a lot, and you can tell everyone whatever you want to tell them, but… I want to go to rehab. That’s all I want… please.
(He comes back to downstage center and kneels there, bathed in a spotlight.) …But it’d never work. Never.
…Please?