Open Mic--Presented by the All You Can Eat Waffles Writing Group

I wrote this piece and submitted it to a local theater, but, alas, they didn't want it. I'm hoping they didn't want it because it just didn't fit and not because it sucks. Who knows? This piece was designed to be broken up into three sections and presented during an evening of one act plays. Sooo....if anyone out there ever wants to perform some of these for real, or needs some material for short films, let me know. You can read all the Open Mic Scenes here.

CHARACTERS 

CONNIE—in her 60s or so. Still connected with the hippie generation. Believes words have the power to heal and transform.

CARL –30-?? A burly truck driver. A man’s man. Likes to write inappropriate haiku while he drives his big rig.

MELODY— Connie’s teen granddaughter who is being forced to live with Connie while her mom’s in rehab.

PART ONE

CONNIE: Hello. Hello, everyone and welcome! Now, I know you’re here to see some plays and that’s great, but I’m not actually a part of that. No. I’m here with my troupe of writers from the Open Mic And All You Can Eat Waffle Night Writing Group. Sadly, due to some errors in pyrotechnics the last time, iHop will no longer allow us to present our poems there. So we have been forced to make a desperate move of our own, in the hopes that we can continue our soirée with words, and each other. Thankfully, this theater was presenting some work tonight and said we could squeeze in here when the stagehands were resetting with a few readings…as long as there were no fireworks involved. Or drugs. Fireworks and drugs are strictly for the after party.

Tonight, we have a few readers for you to illuminate your minds and transform your spirit. My granddaughter Melody is in the audience and will perform a piece she has written about recovery. She is thrilled…

MELODY (offstage): Fuck you grandma!

CONNIE: (collecting herself)…to be here and I am thrilled to have her with me. All the time. Under my constant supervision. We were supposed to have Mabel with us as well, but Mabel was attacked by her precious tomcat and is recovering at home. However, I will read one of her pieces. First though, I’d like to begin by introducing Carl. Please welcome Carl.

(Carl enters. He’s not a great performer. He’s wearing jeans, boots, a flannel shirt, and an inappropriate baseball cap. He takes the mic, while Connie watches uncomfortably from the sidelines.)

CARL: Hi. Hi there. Hi. I’m Carl. I’m a big man and I drive a big rig, but I’ve got poetry in my soul. I like to write words, haiku mostly, while I travel the country. I’m inspired by beauty, hookers, and pancake buffets. I’m self-publishing a book of haiku and you can buy that on my website. Here’s my poem. It’s a poem from Spring to Winter.

From Spring To Winter Winter, I want to Lick your cold cleft with my tongue Til your waters gush

That there was a hai-ku. I like hai-ku most of all because it really gets my thoughts across. Here’s another one. This one is about one of them there roses or the like.

To One Of Them Roses Your moist petals … I want to nestle my nose In your bloom and breathe

And then I have one about a peach. A nice ripe peach. I call it Peach.

Peach Your pink succulence- Warm juice dribbling down my chin- My tongue lives in you

I’ve got bout a hundred more or so of these. When I’m on the road, this is what I like to think about. You know. Nature. Womany nature. I could go on and on…

CONNIE: Uhm. Thank you. Thank you Carl. That is quite enough. We will leave you momentarily and be back with more poetry to take you to the edge and transform you.

PART TWO

CONNIE: Well. That was certainly a play with notes of sadness, and desperation. My favorite notes of all. While we take this interlude, I would like to introduce my lovely granddaughter, Melody. Like her name, her words are a song. Melody?

MELODY: (offstage) No!

CONNIE: Come on, now, Melody. We agreed.

MELODY: I didn’t agree to shit, Grand-ma.

CONNIE: (containing her anger) You did agree to this.

MELODY: Give me twenty bucks.

CONNIE: What?

MELODY: Twenty bucks. This bird doesn’t sing without some seed.

(Connie tries to pay her quickly without making a scene. Melody approaches the mic reluctantly. She is wearing all black, dark makeup, and looks generally disgruntled. Piercings would be a plus.)

MELODY: I’m Melody. But you can call me Pain. Here’s my ‘whatever’ poem. You think you know pain? You don’t know shit. Pain is me on the bathroom floor crying my eyes out The wind whipping through the busted-in window While mom is passed out on the couch. Too much booze and blow Too much hope snorted and released into the ether Too much regret and oblivion. I have regret too. You want to think life is poetry? There is no poetry here. Poetry is for the dreamers, the believers, the Justin Biebers. Poetry is for the demented, the escapers, the matinee crowd. I’ve got my boots firmly planted In the dung heap of reality. And when I’m old enough, When I can get out on my own I will climb this dung heap and make reality My Be-otch.

(She crumples her poem up and raises a fist then tosses it in the air and stomps off.)

CONNIE: Well. Okay. That was…just…lovely. I liked…the part…about the dreamers? The, uhm, idea, that poetry…can transform? And make…er…people…dedicated. Yes. We will return in a few moments with a final piece. Uhm. Thank you. Thanks.

PART THREE

CONNIE: (somewhat harried and downtrodden at this point)

Wonderful! Wonderful! I am so inspired by all of these words that your playwrights have penned. It’s, well, why I started my little poetry group in the first place. To inspire and encourage people to use words to express their soul…out loud!

CONNIE: And now, the piece from Mabel, who unfortunately was attacked by her Tom Cat when she was holding him and he scratched her retina. Both retinas. With his demon claws. Ah. And, ironically I guess, her poem is TO her Tom Cat. Here it is:

(Connie reads dramatically as if savoring every word.)

TO TOM, MY CAT

Tom Cat, Tom Cat Sit on my lap fat I love you so much That I have a hunch We will be Together Forever.

Tom Cat, Tom Cat Sit on the front mat And I will…

(Connie looks at the paper, half of which is shredded.)

Ah. It appears this is where the attack occurred and frankly…frankly it’s not a very good poem. There! I’ve said it. That was a terrible poem. I would’ve scratched her eyes out too! And you know…most of the poems people read at our Open Mic nights are awful. In fact, they’re so awful that I question the very validity of reading anything out loud. I question the whole point of any of this. I mean, Carl, and his cunnilinguist haiku is just…absurb! And Mabel! Your poem of despair is so…so…common! I could write a better poem without any words at all. In fact, I’ll do it right now. Here is my poem to every one who has given me such crap over the years, who’s made me work so hard to get words out there, who’s ignored my poems and books and collection of essays on the feminine spirit, who’s closed your eyes and ears to me and my words and my passion. Here’s my poem to you!

(She victoriously holds up her middle finger.)

In fact, here’s another poem!

(She holds up her other finger. Freezes for a moment. Withdraws her hands. Looks around. Collects herself.)

(Melody approaches Connie and does a slow clap, encouraging the audience to join in.)

MELODY: Grandma, that was…

CARL: Cunnalovely.

MELODY: Amazing. Just fuckin’…like…wind beneath my wings worthy. I’m sorta proud we share DNA.

CARL: (to Connie) It makes me want to share DNA with you too.

CONNIE: Well. Okay then. Thank you. (Realizes the audience is still there). So. All right. Even though we only have three members, one of which is forced to be there, we will be holding an Open Mic night at Pal’s Indian Lunch Buffet next month. I hope…I hope you’ll join me there. Thank you.

#

A Moment At The Susten Pass

In case you missed the Grand Rapids Art Musuem Friday night of one-acts, here's the play that I wrote. It was directed by Lisa Nowak and performed beautifully by Laura Michels and Matt Jansen. A big thank you to Austin Bunn for creating the event and Kerri Vander Hoff for letting us explore the GRAM in a new way. Here's the scene:

A Moment at the Susten Pass

a one-act play based on the painting by Durand

written by Tanya Eby

JUSTIN is a GRAM guard, standing in front of the Durand piece. He is wearing an earpiece, which he occasionally seems to listen to. He can be standing ‘guard’ even while people come into the room.

LYNNE enters. She hangs out with the crowd for a moment, checks her program. She moves a step forward, and seems very touched by the painting.

LYNNE: It’s beautiful, isn’t it?

JUSTIN does not look at the painting. He nods.

LYNNE: It’s funny…it reminds me…the way the clouds reach to the sky, the mountains…I…

LYNNE is struggling with some emotion. JUSTIN seems concerned.

JUSTIN: Are you all right? Do you want me to call someone?

LYNNE: No! No. It’s fine. I just…the picture reminds me of my dad. Isn’t that funny? It reminds me of a story he used to tell me when I was a girl. I haven’t thought about that in, oh, forever. Well, halfway to forever maybe. Oh, my dad….

LYNNE starts to cry a little, but tries to stop.

JUSTIN: Maam…miss? Do you…should I…you want a Kleenex. I’ve got one in my pocket but it might be…yeah. You probably don’t want that. You okay? You want to sit? You can you know. Take all the time you need.

LYNNE sits, fumbles in her purse, pulls out a handkerchief.

LYNNE: I am so sorry! I feel absolutely ridiculous. I don’t know where all this emotion is coming from. Is there a full moon or something?  (she laughs) Oh, man. It just…it’s silly…it just makes me think of my dad.

JUSTIN: Is your dad…I mean…has he…he passed away?

LYNNE: What? Oh, no. No! He’s in Albequrque. He lives there. I just saw him last weekend.

JUSTIN: Oh. Okay. Good.

LYNNE: I must look like such a freak. Crying about a painting! And I am not an emotional person. I’m really not.

JUSTIN: Don’t worry. It has that effect on a lot of people.

LYNNE: Really? People come in here, remember a story their father told them when they were a girl, and then they break down?

JUSTIN: Every time. (pause). No. No, everyone is different. Some people don’t even notice it. A lot of people like the more modern stuff, you know, bright colors, abstract emotion or no emotion, but something like this…something like this is quiet. Unassuming.

LYNNE: You make it sound like a girl at a party. The one that people don’t notice.

JUSTIN: (laughs). Yeah. Well. Or a guy. The one, you know, that people don’t notice.  The one that is sort of in the background but has stories to tell if someone would only…

LYNNE: Listen.

There is a beat when they look at each other, some kind of human connection.

LYNNE (brightly): The story my dad used to tell me was about the Land of Elnono.

JUSTIN: El…?

LYNNE: El. No. No. I had a stuffed animal, a grey elephant that I called Elnono, and I carried him with me everywhere, and at night my dad would tell me about a magical land where Elnono lived. In my mind, it looked just like that painting.

JUSTIN: Your elephant lived on a mountain? I hate to tell you this, but it sounds like your dad didn’t know much about elephants.

LYNNE: No. No, he didn’t. What he did know about, though, was magic. Creating something magical. Even in the darkest of times.  Like when my mom…Well. In the Land of Elnono, everything was perfect. Golden light, lush grass for Elnono to eat, a river for him to play in. Elnono had friends and laughter and everything he wanted.

JUSTIN: Sounds nice.

LYNNE: Yes. And then on one of our moves, I lost Elnono.

JUSTIN: One of your…

LYNNE: One of our moves. Yes. We didn’t stay in one place for long. My mom wasn’t in the picture, and we had to travel a lot for my dad’s work. And, well, that’s another story. But…I lost Elnono. Couldn’t find him anywhere and I went berserk. I must’ve been like five and I think it was the first time I really realized that things you love, people you love, they can leave you and never come back. Something about mortality. And I was just crying and crying, I was hysterical and that’s when my dad told me about the great mountain that reached to the sky. He pulled me on his lap and I remember he smelled like coconut lotion. Sunscreen or something. He pulled me on his lap and I snuggled into him, putting my face against the crook of his neck, you know what I mean, and he told me about what happened to Elnono.

LYNNE pauses, or grabs something from her purse or something.

JUSTIN: Well? What happened? Was he okay?

LYNNE: Yeah. He was okay. See, Elnono climbed that mountain. I swear, it’s that mountain right there. He worked really hard and he made it to the top and on some days, when the light is just right, you can see him, dancing in the clouds with his friends. That’s what my dad told me, and I believed him. And when I look at this painting, I can see him.

LYNNE motions to the painting.

LYNNE: Can you see him?

JUSTIN looks. Really looks.

JUSTIN: Elnono or your dad?

LYNNE smiles.

JUSTIN: I almost think I can.  Right…there.

LYNNE: Yeah. Exactly. (pause) So. (LYNNE leans in and reads his nametag) Justin, what do you see? JUSTIN: What do I see?

LYNNE: Yes. Exactly. What do you see? Doesn’t anyone ever ask you that? JUSTIN: Uhm. No. I’m just a guard.

LYNNE: And are you the guy at the party that no one notices? JUSTIN: I’m pretty quiet, yeah.

LYNNE: There’s no…

JUSTIN: Girlfriend? No. Noooo. Not yet. Maybe. I mean, I don’t have a ton of…I don’t…

LYNNE: One is all you need.

JUSTIN: Yeah. One is sort of…uhm…all I want. I just. Yeah.

pause

LYNNE: I do want to know, though. What you see.

JUSTIN: No. You really don’t. I don’t know anything about art.

LYNNE: Even better. I don’t want to know what the experts see. I just want to know what you see. Unless you don’t…

JUSTIN: Oh, no. No! It’s totally okay. I’m just not used to, talking. Here. Where I work. Mostly I just try to be invisible.

LYNNE: You’ll have to try harder, I’m afraid, because I see you.

JUSTIN: You do, huh?

LYNNE: Yes. I do.

JUSTIN: Ha! Well…When I look at this painting? I see…well….you know…. Asher Durand, founder of the national Academy of Design, began painting about 1830. In 1836 he went on an expedition with painter Thomas Cole into the Adirondacks.

LYNNE: You don’t see that!

JUSTIN: No?

LYNNE: No! You memorized it. It’s on the placard right there.

JUSTIN: I have a lot of time on my hands. (he laughs) I don’t really see anything. I mean I see things, yeah. I see this god of a mountain and how fierce it is, but peaceful too, and if I really look, I see people, some shepherds or something, but they’re so insignificant. They’re just going about their lives, almost a part of the landscape itself, while in the distance, rolling hills, just…you know…the expanse of it. And the blue sky, and those clouds, man, those clouds that are either a storm or the passing of a storm. So I see all of that, but mostly, mostly I just feel…Oh, this might sound weird, I feel…peaceful. I feel like I’m almost standing where those people are, like all the problems in my life are so small, so insignificant that I can just look out at the world around me and feel like everything is going to be okay. I look at this painting and I just…I just breathe.

LYNNE: It’s a painting that reminds you to breathe?

JUSTIN: Yeah. I guess. The closer thing would be…not that it reminds me to breathe, but that the painting itself is somehow like a breath. Quiet. A swift intake of breath. A moment of stillness. And, I guess, a release.

LYNNE: Yeah. It’s like a breath. Or a secret.

JUSTIN: Or a story a father tells his daughter, a long time ago.

There is a moment.

LYNNE walks up to JUSTIN and holds out her hand.

LYNNE: Justin, I’m Lynne. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

They shake hands. They shake hands for a while.

JUSTIN: Yeah, yeah. It really is. A pleasure, I mean. Meeting you. At the Sustan Pass.

LYNNE: I like that. That’s what we’ll tell people.

JUSTIN: We’ll tell people?

LYNNE: When they ask where we met. We’ll say we met at the Sustan Pass. And then we’ll both take a deep breath. (pause) Which you should really do now. Are you breathing? Are you okay?

JUSTIN: Yeah. I’m breathing. I’m completely breathing.

LYNNE: Good.

They turn and look at the painting. LYNNE moves close enough so that their arms touch.

JUSTIN: It’s beautiful.

JUSTIN is looking at the painting, and LYNNE turns to look at JUSTIN.

LYNNE: Yeah. It is.

LIGHTS