Wake In Reverse by Dennis Goza

This Play is the copyright of the Author and must NOT be Performed without the Author's PRIOR consent

Lights up on the living room of McKinley's flat. It's going to be impeccable and fastidious once he's settled, honestly. But give him time; he's just moved in, and he's been quite busy. At present, many of his belongings are still packed in boxes, which mostly are stacked against or near the US wall. Note that some of these are solid enough to support weight; and once the guests see the host using them in this manner, they feel comfortable doing likewise. Thus, they may serve as makeshift furniture.

On the SR side of this US wall is a doorway leading into the kitchen. The bedroom is off SR, and the main entrance is SL. At DSL is a little alcove containing an L-shaped sofa and a coffee table neatly covered with magazines. Also among the few items unpacked are a card table and chair at SR.

Enter MCKINLEY from the bedroom. He is slim and handsome, and smartly groomed, perhaps with a mustache. Whistling as he readies himself for an outing, he pauses before an imaginary mirror on the DS wall to adjust his hair and clothing. Then, as if he's forgotten something, he abruptly turns and starts back toward the bedroom. But he is interrupted by a knock at the door, which surprises him.

MCKINLEY: (flinging the door open) Early is pearly!

But the person standing in the doorway just offstage is not the visitor he was expecting.

MCKINLEY: Sylvia. Judge Larue. Your Honor.

SYLVIA: (now partially visible) No, you were right the first time. I'm not here on business. At least not my business. May I come in?

MCKINLEY: This is really not... I mean, I'm sort of...

SYLVIA: Please, Dr. Shepard. It's urgent, or I wouldn't have barged in like this.

MCKINLEY: If we're exchanging corrections, my name is McKinley. But my friends call me Kin. I like to think I'm everyone's kin. But that's a very little joke, and you're under no obligation to chuckle even a little. Well... if you're not offended by well-manicured chaos, do come on in.

SYLVIA enters. She walks with a limp, and carries a cane, which she rarely uses.

SYLVIA: Thank you. I certainly wouldn't mind if my own chaos were manicured, even slightly.

She begins looking around the room suspiciously.

MCKINLEY: Apologies about the place not being a real place yet. My new furniture is late getting here, and most of these cartons just arrived this morning, and I've had a really raw-ass schedule lately.

SYLIVA: So I gather.

She continues looking in a manner that borders on snooping.

MCKINLEY: The, uh... the smell is... well, I was practicing a trick with some hemp rope, and I dropped it on the stove, and...

SYLVIA: (indifferently) Yes, of course.

She continues looking around.

MCKINLEY: So, welcome to the fun house. Or the pun house, as the case may be. We'll take your coat in the check room, but not your check in the coat room. (Pause.) The house is not bugged, I assure you.

SYLVIA: Huh? Oh, forgive me. I just... had to make sure they're not here.

MCKINLEY: What's not here?

SYLVIA: Not what. Who.

MCKINLEY: Who's on first. What's in the outfield. And how. Bada-bing. But none of them came home. (Pause.) There's nobody here but us "toikeys". Cross my heart. Total confidentiality.

SYLVIA: The thing is... you might not know.

MCKINLEY: Oh, I believe I would, unless someone stowed away in one of these crates. Look, why don't we sit down over there, and have a little chat.

She reluctantly makes her way to the sofa and sits, picking through the magazines absentmindedly.

SYLVIA: The old lie-on-the-shrink's-couch bit, huh?

MCKINLEY: Well, you don't really have to lie – in either sense. You can sit on it or kneel on it, or stand on it – with shoes removed, of course – or whatever you like. This is a cliche-free zone. If I really wanted to get traditional, I'd put up a barber pole.

SYLVIA: I'm afraid that reference is lost on me.

MCKINLEY: Well, in the olden golden times, doctors doubled as barbers, or vice versa. Which is awfully convenient if you ask me. You nick a customer while shaving him, and you can just claim that you're treating frostbite or impotence.

She smiles in spite of herself.

SYLVIA: Are you still entertaining children at the hospital?

MCKINLEY: Whenever my schedule allows. Maybe a couple of times a month. There's something about a clown that just melts away your distress. Or else scares the shit out of you. Either way, it's so transformative. And I really love doing it. Kids are such fun to be around.

SYLVIA: That's the rumor. (awkward pause) I really apologize for intruding like this. I wanted to phone you, but –

MCKINLEY: Ohmygod the phone. (He starts searching for the phone behind and between the boxes.) Where the devil did I bury it? (He finds it and frantically dials a number.) Pardon me, I'll just be a minute.

SYLVIA: Sure, make yourself at home.

MCKINLEY: (to the person who isn't answering) Come on, come on, grab the bone already. Don't tell me you've done left.

SYLVIA: No answering machine, huh?

MCKINLEY: I suppose I'll be getting one. But I despise them. Last thing we need is more gadgets to come between people, eh? I'd rather rip out my tongue with a curling iron than talk to a box full of circuits. (giving up on the call) Guess that's a dead-end tunnel. (sits on the sofa beside her) Good to see you. I understand you've been taking a little leave.

SYLVIA: For the good of everyone. It's hard to hold the scales of justice steady when your brain is a basket full of Tasmanian devils.

MCKINLEY: Indeed. So... what's the scoop and the score?

SYLVIA: I wish I knew. God, I wish I knew.

She bursts into tears.

MCKINLEY: Now, now. You're among friends -- friend. Singular. You just cry as much as you need to. Who knows, I might soon have reason to join you. Would you like to hold my hand?

SYLVIA: Not right now.

MCKINLEY: Can't say I blame you. You never know what kind of straws it's been grasping at. Okay, I guess the place to begin is... the beginning. Whenever you feel like it.

SYLVIA: The beginning of the beginning was years ago. But the beginning of now was first thing this morning. As I was getting ready.

MCKINLEY: Getting ready to go out?

SYLIVA: You might say. I was sitting at my dresser preparing to...to... I'm not even sure I can tell you.

MCKINLEY: Can you show me?

SYLVIA: I can try.

MCKINLEY: Splendid. (He gets up and moves a box DSC.) Here we have your chair before your dresser. Please be seated, won't you? (Hesitantly, she gets up and has a seat facing the audience.) Now whenever you're ready, please hit replay.

She stares into the imaginary mirror, and mimes brushing her hair. Then she mimes picking up a bottle, unscrewing the cap, and taking a gulp.

MCKINLEY: Liquid logic, huh?

SYLVIA: Brandy. Blackberry brandy. Nasty shit.

MCKINLEY: On an empty stomach?

SYLVIA: You only die once.

She continues her reenactment, tilting her head at a couple of different angles to scrutinize herself in the mirror. Then she sighs, removes an imaginary gun from a drawer, and begins examining it.

MCKINLEY: Is... is that what I think it is? (By way of reply, she inserts the gun barrel in her mouth.) No, you didn't! Oh. Of course you didn't, or you wouldn't be here.

JINX pops out from behind the boxes. Though physically she is age 21, her mannerisms are those of a child.

JINX : Ring around the rosie!

Sylvia slowly removes the gun from her mouth.

SYLVIA: Don't you know better than to startle a neurotic with a Luger in her maw?

JINX: Whatcha trying to suck out of that thing, huh?

SYLVIA: Oblivion. One little hole to swallow up all the big ones.

JINX: You don't mean you're gonna do one of those... sewer-sides?

SYLVIA: Or die trying.

JINX: You can't do that! I don't know how to play by myself.

MCKINLEY: And this... other person...

SYLVIA: I'm getting to that.

MCKINLEY: Of course. Please continue.

SYLVIA: (to Jinx) Congratulations, you've won. You've dug your nails into my spine for twenty-one years, and I've worked all the sorcery I can muster to shake you loose. Finally, I realize that all it takes is giving you the finger. (mimics pulling a trigger) Finger meets trigger, trigger meets firing pin, firing pin meets powder, powder meets lead, lead meets skull – and I'll leave it to the boys at the lab to sort out which was damaged most. My part of the experiment will be over.

JINX: Is this some more of that... bitch talk?

SYLVIA: I'm going to blow out my fucking brains!

JINX: If you do, you'll have a big mess to clean up.

SYLVIA: Whoever tries to clean up my mess is going to have their work backed up all the way up the conveyor belt. But for me, it's a simple and elegant solution. I eliminate myself... and that eliminates you.

JINX; I bet you're always like this before you've had your coffee.

SYLVIA: Today's caffeine withdrawal is truly going to be one for the ages. (She puts the gun to her mouth again.)

JINX: No, Mama! You'll be sorry!

SYLVIA: (yanking the gun out of her mouth) I'm not your mama! I'm not anybody's mama!

JINX: You can't fool me. I know you're not my daddy.

SYLVIA: I don't care if you call me pukeface, nutcracker, fluff girl, or Bermuda triangle, but “mama” is the last thing I don't want to hear from you.

She places the gun against her temple.

JINX: No, no! Mama! Mother, mummy, ma, old lady, sugartit, diaper wiper!

SYLVIA: (angrily pointing the gun at her) That's more than enough from you.

JINX: (amused) Oh wow, do you think you're gonna use that on me? You're so silly when you're serious.

SYLVIA: I guess... I'm just not thinking anymore. You've totally rooted out my cerebral cortex. You started in my gut, and worked your way up like an insidious worm, until you've totally hollowed me out. I need filling.

She takes another swig of brandy.

MCKINLEY: If I may... what is your dau-- what is your visitor's name?

SYLVIA: She never really had one. I always just called her... Jinx.

MCKINLEY: And does she live with you?

SYLVIA: Not if I can help it.

MCKINLEY: So how did she happen to be in your home this morning?

SYLVIA: Simple. She wasn't really there.

MCKINLEY: Like she isn't really here now.

SYLVIA: No. No, quite different. This morning, she wasn't really there, yet she was present. Now, she's not here either. And she's gone.

MCKINLEY: I... see. Jesus, I should be taking notes. (searching for pen and paper) Do you mind?

SYLVIA: You can etch hieroglyphics on ice cubes if it will help.

MCKINLEY: And what about... Jinx? Does she object?

JINX: I'm not really here, silly.

MCKINLEY: I forget these things. That's why I need to take notes.

JINX: (to Sylvia) What's your raggedy rash? I only come around once a year.

SYLVIA: Even so, you're with me all year long. I have to deal with your absence and your presence at the same time. Every Christmas. Every Thanksgiving. Every Fourth Of July. Last week, I went shopping, and when I got home, I discovered I'd bought two boxes of sugary technicolor breakfast cereal.

JINX: Don't worry, your leg will probably be better soon.

SYLVIA: That's beside the point. And it's not going to get a hell of a lot better. They amputated my foot, remember?

JINX: As long as they made it better.

SYLVIA: I lost it, damn it! Just as I've lost everything else.

JINX: How do you lose a foot? Don't they follow wherever you go?

SYLVIA: There's only one way to stop all the loss.

She puts the gun to her head again.

JINX: No! It's not fair!

SYLVIA: That's supposed to be my line.

JINX: Stop it!

She grabs Sylvia's arm and tries to pull the gun away. They struggle.

SYLVIA: Let go of me, you little butt scab!

She manages to send Jinx sprawling on the floor.

JINX: (as if calling to someone in another room) Gee-Gee! Gee-Gee!

SYLVIA: What the hell are you doing?

JINX: Gee-Gee! I need your help!

SYLVIA: You just have to cause agony one way or another, don't you?

She takes another drink. Out of nowhere – or somewhere – enters LETTIE. She is the ghost of Sylvia's grandmother at 65, the age she died. But her frumpy attire suggests that she was a couple of decades behind the times even then. She carries a purse on her shoulder. She has a habit of addressing people indirectly, as if she is talking to herself but wants to be overheard. In particular, she makes a point of avoiding looking at or talking to Sylvia.

LETTIE: I would have hoped that by this age, my great-granddaughter would not be still crawling in the floor.

JINX: (jumping up) Gee-Gee! She wants to put that thing into places and pull the trigger.

LETTIE: In my day, we had a simpler way to saddle the bull. We prayed.

SYLVIA: Right. You just prayed for the pain to go away, and it did.

LETTIE: We prayed for the strength to bear the pain.

JINX: She wants to scramble her head all to bits.

LETTIE: Some people think only of themselves.

SYLVIA: Just what in holy hell are you doing here this time?

LETTIE: I think if I was about to climb Jacob's ladder, I wouldn't want to be dragging my tongue through the gutter.

JINX: Her foot died, and she wants to die too. She thinks she has to do whatever her foot does.

SYLVIA: She knows perfectly well what happened. She's the one who caused me to ram my Harley into a lamp post.

LETTIE: A lady can expect to take a tumble now and again if she keeps forgetting she's a lady.

SYLVIA: I've never lived my life according to gender roles. Biology itself is enough of a prison without adding the ball and chain of custom and tradition. I hope you're proud of yourself. You caused me to lose my foot.

LETTIE: Sometimes the little sacrifices teach us what we need to learn.

SYLVIA: Little??

LETTIE: They might even cause a body to settle down and do what's right.

SYLIVA:You mean what's old. Age is good for wine, but not so good for eggs – or for norms. And a sacrifice is something you kill and burn. The only thing I've ever sacrificed is myself. One piece at a time.

MCKINLEY: So this is your grandmother. And I take it it's been some time since she was with us.

SYLVIA: Twenty-three years, officially. But...

JINX: (seeing something on the imaginary dresser) Oh Mama, something's wrong with this book. It's all creased and spotted. Like you.

SYLVIA: You don't have to put your grimy paws on everything I own.

JINX: I ain't gonna wipe my tail on it or anything.

LETTIE: It was her favorite book when she was a girl. It's a wonder she still has it.

SYLVIA: (snatching the book and sticking it into a drawer) I don't know why it's still around. It just... turned up in a pile of junk when I did my final cleaning.

Jinx opens the drawer and removes the book again, then scampers a few feet away, as if believing she is out of reach.

JINX: Wow, your very own book. Do all the pages work?

SYLVIA: Don't you know better than to snoop?

LETTIE: A person can't expect the child to show no respect. That's the kind of thing she'd learn from having a proper mother.

MCKINLEY: (as his pen runs out of ink) Don't suppose anyone has an extra pen? (silence) Never mind, it probably wouldn't really be here, anyway. Well, everyone try not to say anything really illuminating until I find another one.

JINX: (looking inside the book) What a pretty gown! Who is she?

SYLVIA: The Tooth Fairy. (glancing contemptuously at Lettie) She was never allowed inside our house. It would have made Jesus jealous. But thanks to my Uncle Arthur, I at least had a book with her picture in it.

JINX: I wish my hair was that color. It's what the light would look like if cheese could glow. Is the Tooth Fairy the one who gives us our teeth?

SYLVIA: No, that's the prosthodontist. The Tooth Fairy is the one who takes them away.

JINX: I thought that was the Sugar Plum Fairy.

SYLVIA: That'll teach you to ask so many foolish questions.

JINX: (to Lettie) How come you didn't let the fairy visit? She looks really nifty to me.

LETTIE: We live in a world of bricks and bones. A child needs to learn that's all there is – with no room for fairies.

SYLVIA: (seeing that Lettie is, as per habit, inspecting the housekeeping) I haven't dusted in a while, obviously. What's the point.

JINX: (looking at the illustration again) Is this what she really looks like?

SYLVIA: Oh, I'm sure she's had a few makeovers like the rest of us. And she probably has to send that gown to the cleaners, and have it resized. And of course, she gets crow's feet and sun spots. Hell, she's probably a meth addict by now.

JINX: Have you seen her?

SYLVIA: Huh? Oh, sure. She dances the Charleston on the window sill every time I have my period.

JINX: What's a Charleston? What's a period?

SYLVIA: Never mind. Bad joke. I never saw the Tooth Fairy. There is no Tooth Fairy now, there was no Tooth Fairy then, there has never been a Tooth Fairy. Except in some stupid book.

JINX: (moving across the room, sulking) It's not nice to tell the truth about a lie.

SYLVIA: (moving over to her) Consider yourself lucky. A big part of life is trying to hang onto our dainty little lies. That's why the two words are so much alike – a lie is just a life with the “f” knocked out of it. You cling to your delusions until they become embedded in your flesh like hooks. But at some point, the mailman stops bringing catalogs from Chicago and starts bringing parking tickets from the other side of town. You start noticing the stubble on Santa's chin and smelling the tobacco on his

breath. Sooner or later, people will rip the delusions away from you, and chunks of your flesh will come along with them. And I just don't have any more flesh to spare.

LETTIE: A person who does away with hisself is headed to eternal damnation.

SYLVIA: That's herself. And it's easy to be smug from a safe distance. But if you ever had to walk in the shoes of someone who's feeling suicidal, you might not be so judgmental. It's crazy to think a person who's lost all self-control would be punished for it by a just God. That kind of belief is a holdover from the Middle Ages, when people thought that mental problems were caused by demons. On the other hand, maybe demonic possession is real. Maybe that's what all this is. (McKinley has found another pen and is scribbling frantically to catch up.) You always managed to be on hand whenever I took a spill. Including the big one. That's how I lost focus. I could tell you were there. You were already dead, but clearly that's not an insurmountable hurdle for you. People in our family know how to die – they practice for it their whole lives. But some of them haven't yet mastered the art of staying dead. I'm afraid that if even if I die, I'll still be around to see it.