The Calling Card Confessions Elba Memory Man The Calling Card Two strangers meet at a bench outside a cemetery gate. STRANGER 1.  Hello. May I sit here? STRANGER 2.  Of course. (He moves over.) STRANGER 1.  Whew. It's hot out. What God thought of these kinds of temperatures? STRANGER 2.  (He looks uncomfortable.) I... STRANGER 1.  Honestly—I could fry an egg with my head. (He wipes his brow with a handkerchief, glances at the other man.) You hot in that? STRANGER 2.  No, I'm fine. (He shifts away, almost visibly.) STRANGER 1.  (He glances around for a moment, then turns toward the other man again.) So what are you here for? (He pauses.) No, don't answer, I'll tell you first. My mother died a week ago. Cancer. I've been looking for a grave site. (as an afterthought) She's already been cremated. STRANGER 2.  (He looks distracted.) I'm sorry. STRANGER 1.  Oh, it's all right. What about you? STRANGER 2.  (He pauses, as if hesitant to say something.) My wife passed away half a year ago. STRANGER 1.  Half a year! And you're looking for a site now? STRANGER 2.  No, I'm trying to find someone else. (He looks uncomfortable again.) STRANGER 1.  A relative? A sibling? (He thinks of something.) Don't tell me—you've had a love affair. STRANGER 2.  It's not like that. STRANGER 1.  (He laughs.) What else is there? STRANGER 2.  We were never together. STRANGER 1.  (He stops laughing.) Oh. There is an awkward pause. Just then, they see someone walking toward them from the other side of the gate—both relax noticeably in relief. CARETAKER.  Hey, fellas. Bin waitin' long? (He seems out of breath.) Good ol' Daisy wouldn't start this mornin'. (to their confused faces) That's ma' car. (He unlocks the cemetery gate.) Anyway, here. Sorry to be any trouble—(He glances at the gate.)—but damn kids bin vandalising the graves these days. STRANGER 1.  Not a problem. (He furrows his brow.) But, wait—what if we want to visit when our loved ones are buried here? How do we get in? CARETAKER.  They giv' you a key fer a monthlee charge. Bunch of hogswash, I tell you, but what do I know. (He nods toward the graves.) Go 'head and take a look around. Stranger 1 walks off. STRANGER 2.  (to Caretaker) I was wondering—do you know where—(He whispers the name.)—is buried? CARETAKER.  Gee, I don't know. It's bin years. STRANGER 2.  (A pained look crosses his face.) All right. I'll take a look. Thank you anyway. CARETAKER.  Sure thing. Stranger 2 begins walking toward a grove of trees, deep in thought. On the other side of the graveyard, Stranger 1 comes to a plot of land, and stops. STRANGER 1.  (His voice is soft.) Remember when you taught me how the sun rises, mama? I thought you were crazy. (He laughs, almost bitterly.) I still do. (He rubs at his eyes for a moment.) I never got a chance to tell you—I gave it to her. I gave her the card. Just like you wanted, mama. Stranger 2 has unconsciously walked up behind him as he scans the tombstones. STRANGER 2.  (He realises that he's there, coughs uncomfortably.) I'm sorry—I didn't mean to overhear. STRANGER 1.  (He turns.) You—(He almost becomes angry for a moment, but a wave of defeat sets over him, and his shoulders collapse.) What are you doing here? Doesn't matter. STRANGER 2.  I—(He pauses as if he's struggling to say something.)—well, I just wanted to let you know that I found her. Her grave—it's right here. STRANGER 1.  (His eyes brighten for a moment as he steps toward Stranger 2.) Really? STRANGER 2.  She died fifteen years ago, while I was in Iraq. (He collapses to his knees.) When I got back, they told me she'd moved away, left me, that I was too good for her. My parents wanted me to marry someone else. So I forced myself to forget about her—for years... Half a year ago, my wife and my two beautiful sons died in a car crash at the edge of an old highway, right next to the slaughterhouse. (He points wildly into the distance.) That's when they told me she died in a car crash, with my best friend, lonely because she was thinking of me. God, what do I believe now? STRANGER 1.  (suddenly, quietly) This isn't the first time I've been by this cemetery. It's where I met her—her—the one, you know? We kissed on this very hill. And I gave her the calling card I'd been saving for so many years. STRANGER 2.  The one your mother gave you? STRANGER 1.  One and the same. STRANGER 2.  I wish I'd had a card to give—(He glances at the grave.) STRANGER 1.  Maybe you did, in your own way. Suddenly, Caretaker comes up the path. He taps the Stranger 1 on the shoulder. CARETAKER.  You find what yer lookin' for? STRANGER 1.  (He glances at Stranger 2.) Yeah, I think I have. The three of them begin walking out of the cemetery. STRANGER 2.  So did she ever call you? STRANGER 1.  (He chuckles.) No, not that kind of calling card. It was...it was a blank sheet of paper with a couple of words on it. STRANGER 2.  (It finally hits him.) "I love you." STRANGER 1.  Exactly. Confessions A man and woman sit at a small, round white table. They are having afternoon tea. WOMAN.  (with no conviction) I love him. MAN.  (aside) We were familiar enough that I could tell she only liked the sound of the words in her mouth. I smiled grimly over the rim of my cup and nodded slightly at her. (to her) Why. WOMAN.  Because of the way he feels. MAN.  (aside) A muscle in her cheek twitched slightly, as if the nerve had been tapped by a hammer, or a word. On the table, my hand was inches from hers, shaking with the vibrations of her fist through the table. She sucked her breath in slightly through her teeth. For a moment, I fought the urge to raise my eyebrow. (to her) You like bricks. WOMAN.  The harder, the better. MAN.  (aside) Her eyes were green with flecks of gold, and they shone at that word, defiantly, better. I said nothing as I drained my cup. We were familiar enough that I could tip my head back, that I could let off the mufflers so the tea screeched as it passed my lips. (He drains the cup noisily.) But only sometimes. She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, then shook her head slightly and sighed with half the passion of somebody in love. WOMAN.  (She stands.) It was nice talking to you. MAN.  As always. See you next week, then. (aside) She extended her hand to me. I shook it gingerly, wary of the bruises around her wrists though I did not look down. Elba Taganrog Psych Ward. A man and a woman are in adjacent cells, separated by a wall in the centre of the stage. She is sitting on a bench in the left cell, and he is pacing in the right. MAN.  There was once a little boy, Napoleone. (He holds up a small tin soldier.) He was brave, graduated from le École Militaire at sixteen. Became a lieutenant colonel, then brigadier general at twenty-four. (He makes motions with the small soldier.) He conquered Italy, Egypt, defeated the Ottomans and Austria. He made himself the Emperor of France! WOMAN.  Poor Neill, always getting into trouble. And Laura—can't walk. I remember we were at the park one day, and the poor fool was stumbling around, trying so very hard to stumble correctly, and I didn't have the heart to dash her little dreams. MAN.  (He shakes his head.) Ah, but they were afraid, the British and the Russians and the everybody else. They were afraid and they became jealous of all Napoleone had done. The cowards! (He throws the tin soldier across the room.) WOMAN.  (She sobs.) I can't see my babies—I can't tell them that I love them. I don't belong in here. (She slams her fist into the wall.) I belong with little Neill and Laura! I deserve to be happy. MAN.  But Alexander was the biggest coward of them all, hid in his little ice fortress, like he was king. Czar. (He picks up the tin soldier.) Remember Alexander? (He nods to it.) Alexander was friends with Napoleone. (He scoffs.) Friends. He stabbed Napoleone in the back. Just goes to show you can never trust a Russian. WOMAN.  There's got to be some sort of mistake, accident that I'm here. MAN.  But they're all going to pay. (He staggers slightly, as if drunk.) They're all going to pay! Especially Alexander. Alexander...is an imbecile. WOMAN.  (She struggles to remember something.) What happened? What happened to...Neill and Laura, because something was wrong all along. I wouldn't be here if they were all right. If things were all right. MAN.  I will...I will cut out his tongue and make him eat it. I will destroy him. WOMAN.  And if I knew the answers, the problem would still be there. (She touches her face.) Is there a mirror around here...somewhere? MAN.  For imprisoning me on this goddamned island—nobody does this to Napoleon! Nobody! Napoleon is the ruler of all, and the conqueror of everyone! Napoleon will win! WOMAN.  (Her face suddenly grows twisted and haggard. Her voice comes out as an odd scratching.) Little children... (She laughs wildly.) Little children, I licked your bones clean when I buried you by the old oak tree. The taste of your screams, ah—(She pulls out a locket.) MAN.  People will pay, people will pay... WOMAN.  (She snaps to, turns her head wildly.) No. I loved them! I loved them! I always loved them! (She clutches the locket to her chest.) They're all I had. A voice is heard from backstage, right. GUARD.  Mr. Badenweiler? It's time for lunch. MAN.  Who is this...Badenweiler? I am Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France! Backstage, left— GUARD.  Mrs. Badenweiler? Lunch. WOMAN.  All right. (She kisses the locket, whispers) Mummy loves you, children. You'll be all right. Memory Man An old man is sitting on a park bench. A little girl walks toward it, pauses, sits down beside him. OLD MAN.  (He turns and looks at her.) You've never been to this park before. GIRL.  (She tries to ignore him and shift away, but she can't resist answering excitedly.) Yeah, I just moved here. How did you know? (She claps her hands over her mouth as if she's said too much.) OLD MAN.  (He smiles.) Can you keep a secret? GIRL.  Of course. OLD MAN.  Not very many people know who I am. I have to be careful who I tell. GIRL.  You can tell me, I promise. OLD MAN.  (He leans toward her and speaks in a soft voice.) I'm the memory man. GIRL.  (whispers back) The memory man? OLD MAN.  Yes. GIRL.  (She furrows her brow.) What does that even mean? OLD MAN.  (He chuckles.) Well, let me tell you a story. (pause) When I was a young man, I was sent to prison. I behaved badly, got into fights with people. They put me in something called solitary confinement. There's where they lock you up in this little room with no light and no sound, nothing, and nobody talks to you, ever. GIRL.  Like the silent treatment? OLD MAN.  Yes, like the silent treatment. Worse, because you can't go anywhere. It's like you're locked up forever. And you know what I remember about solitary confinement? GIRL.  What? OLD MAN.  Absolutely nothing. I went insane. GIRL.  You mean like...crazy? (She shifts away from him.) OLD MAN.  (He chuckles.) You could say that. (at the look on her face) No, I'm perfectly fine now, don't worry. But, you know, I learned something there. I learned (He leans towards her.) that people can't make memories without other people. If there's nobody else around, you can't remember anything, and, what's worse, you forget how to live. People are constantly drawn to each other because they want to make memories together. They want to smile. They want to laugh. You can't do that by yourself. GIRL.  (defiantly) Yes, you can. (She lets out a loud, fake laugh.) There. OLD MAN.  (He looks sad for a moment, then speaks in a quiet voice.) Can I ask you something? GIRL.  (She sobers down a little.) I guess. OLD MAN.  Why did you move here? GIRL.  Something happened to my daddy. He didn't come home one day, and mommy said we had to move away. OLD MAN.  I see. GIRL.  (Her lip trembles.) I miss him. OLD MAN.  So do I. (He hugs her.) But you don't have to miss his memory. It's right here with me. (He touches his chest.) GIRL.  What do you mean? OLD MAN.  We're just two people, but we're discovering pieces of each other. What you'll remember when you're all grown up is more than the memory of us talking. It's the memory of my memories, and of your memories. Memories within memories within memories. That's what I've spent my life doing to show myself that I'm not alone anymore. That's why I'm the memory man. So you keep this moment in your heart, and we'll meet again. GIRL.  I hope so. (pause) Hey, wait a second. You want to know a secret? OLD MAN.  Sure do. GIRL.  Well... (She leans closer and speaks in a soft voice.) I'm the memory girl. OLD MAN.  Why, yes. (He smiles.) You definitely are.

Pandora The Sandbox What Lies Buried Pandora By a tree, fairly distant from society, in a brightly lit forested area. A man digs hurriedly beneath it with his bare fingers. He uncovers a box. ARTHUR.  I knew it was still here. (He opens it, pulls out a gun.) A single bullet... (He closes his eyes, then opens them and looks inside the chamber.) Yes. (pause) This gun brings back bad memories, but I suppose that's fitting. You've got to be ready for anything in a world like this. Arthur sees Grace and Husband approaching and hurriedly ducks behind the tree. ARTHUR.  (mutters) What is she doing here? Grace is walking at a quick pace, while Husband trails behind reluctantly. He is carrying a small shovel. GRACE.  (excitedly) Just a little bit farther. It was right here, I know it. HUSBAND.  Slow down! Don't see why we have to walk this fast, the damn box'll still be there tomorrow. GRACE.  (She turns and glares at him.) What did you say? HUSBAND.  Well, it's a box. What do you expect— GRACE.  We're here because I love you! Can't you understand that? HUSBAND.  What the hell does that have to do with anything? ARTHUR.  (aside) "I...love you"? (He opens the box again, pulls out the letter.) So this is what she— GRACE.  (She has been struggling angrily for words.) I wrote you a letter! God, I wrote you a letter. (She is crying.) HUSBAND.  Stop crying. Jesus. I'll dig. (He walks up to the tree but stops at the base and turns back towards her.) Hey, someone's already been here. GRACE.  (She covers her mouth with her hands.) Arthur. (pause) He has the letter. HUSBAND.  Arthur? Well, that's commitment right there, the fucking irony of it. Is this some kind of joke or something? GRACE.  (still crying) It's not like that! He's...he's just a stupid, arrogant kid I knew when I was younger, always trying to be tough because his dad died and left him a gun. I thought he was...I thought he was my hero, my best friend. We buried a time capsule by this tree, one item each, promised to dig it up in fifteen years. (She closes her eyes, swallows hard.) But, as I grew older, I started to see through his masquerade, and, you know, he was completely full of himself. (pause) We haven't seen each other in ages. ARTHUR.  (aside) Is that how it is? I'm just a stupid, arrogant kid? Yeah, I must have been pretty stupid to let my dad die. I must have been arrogant to think I could take on that guy who attacked you. It's sick how much I cared for you, enough to pick up the object that killed my dad (He looks at the gun, weighing it in his hand.) and use it on somebody else. (He steps out from behind the tree, shouts) You have got some kind of nerve! After I saved your life! (He smiles, says quietly) Or don't you remember? GRACE.  (confused) Arthur? HUSBAND.  (surprised) Arthur! ARTHUR.  (He slowly raises the gun, speaks softly and slowly) You ever wonder what I did with the gun? (He waves it.) Well, here it is. HUSBAND.  Hey, put the damn thing down, nobody has to get hurt! ARTHUR.  (screams) Shut up! (quietly, to Grace) Who's this guy? (He waits for her response.) Answer me! GRACE.  M-my husband. ARTHUR.  Hah. (It comes out as a sarcastic snort.) So that's what you've been doing with yourself. There is a pause, as Arthur smirks bitterly and the other two shift uncomfortably. HUSBAND.  Like I said, put down the gun. ARTHUR.  Stay out of this! GRACE.  Please, Art, I...I'm sorry we're here. Just let us go home, please, we won't bother you anymore. HUSBAND.  Yeah, put down the— Arthur swings the gun toward him. GRACE.  No! (She lets out a choked cry.) Art, please, please don't bring him into this! He didn't do anything. ARTHUR.  No? (A look of utter despair crosses his face. He whips the gun toward her suddenly and shoots her between the eyes.) HUSBAND.  (with shock and disgust) My God! What have you done? ARTHUR.  (under his breath) Get out of my sight. Husband hesitates. ARTHUR.  (He points the gun at him.) Get out! Husband drops the shovel and takes off at a run. ARTHUR.  (He throws the gun to the side carelessly, smirks) Bastard. (He stands over the body for a moment, anger written on his face, then walks back to the box and pulls out the letter. He looks from the letter to the body several times, then begins to read.) "Dear [blank]. I wish I knew your name. That is...I think I do, but maybe I'm afraid to tell you. I'm afraid you'll laugh at me if I say that I think you're strong, and you make me feel safe. I don't want to thank you for saving my life because I don't think I'm ready to owe you everything. I'm afraid...that you're going to leave me. Love, Grace." (His face softens.) This is my letter. Isn't it, Grace? He stands over her, looking down at the body. Then he folds the letter carefully and places it back into the box. He takes the shovel and digs for a bit, then reburies the box and the woman and walks away. [Exit Arthur] The Sandbox Woman is sitting on a playground bench. Girl is sitting in the sandbox before her. Enter Man and Boy. MAN.  Hello. May I sit here? WOMAN.  Sure, of course. BOY.  [sits down] You want to play? GIRL.  I guess...do you have any toys? Boy shakes his head. MAN.  Ah, it's a lovely day. WOMAN.  It is. MAN.  What's that you're working on? WOMAN.  Some sketches. I'm designing a playground. MAN.  May I see? GIRL.  Don't touch my sand castle! BOY.  I wasn't touching it, I was just looking. WOMAN.  It's...in its early stages. I don't know if you can make out where everything is. [points] That's the jungle gym, the slide, a tunnel leading to the slide... [She withdraws the sketch quickly.] GIRL.  Well, you're just going to mess it up, so stop looking. BOY.  Yeah? I'm going to make my own sand castle. It's going to be better than yours. [He begins pushing up a mound of sand. ] MAN.  I'm actually an architect myself. I designed The Needle downtown. WOMAN.  I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with...The Needle. MAN.  It's a bar. Best one you'll ever go to. WOMAN.  Ah, that's...that's great. GIRL.  That's not a sandcastle! You don't know how to do anything. BOY.  Can too. MAN.  The bar also doubles as a motel. It's the cheapest place in town. WOMAN.  ...I'll be sure to keep that in mind...if I ever need to stay in a motel. BOY.  Maybe we can put the sandcastles together into one big sandcastle. GIRL.  And mess up mine? Are you crazy? MAN.  So...you want to go out sometime? There's a fireworks show Saturday night. BOY.  Can I play with your bucket? GIRL.  No! [She gathers all of her toys.] I don't like you! [She starts walking away.] WOMAN.  I'm sorry, I'm busy that night. Otherwise, I would. [She looks at her watch.] I...really have to go now. It was nice talking to you. MAN.  Yeah, definitely. I've actually got somewhere to go, too. BOY.  [yells] Yeah, well, I don't need your bucket! I'm going to...get my own bucket. What Lies Buried A funeral home. Three men stand around an open casket. MAN 1.  He was my best friend, my closest confidant, my everything. I loved him more than I could ever love anyone else. MAN 2.  Loved him? He was my worst enemy. Every time, I was about to truly accomplish something, he was in the way. He fucked up my entire life, so yeah. Good riddance. MAN 3.  I guess I...I took him for granted. Maybe I should have spent more time getting to know him. MAN 1.  That's a shame, friend. He was a great guy. If you knew him like I did, you would have loved him, too. His resonant voice; his beautiful, luscious hair; the light in his eyes; his broad shoulders; his legs; his— [looks down] There is a long and awkward pause. MAN 2.  [bitterly] I don't care what you say, man. He was a nobody, and he wanted you to be a nobody, too. Back when I was a kid, when I was trying to do my homework or just do something right, he was there telling me homework was for fools, and what I should really be doing is showing everyone who's boss. He turned me into the worst bully in the neighborhood. MAN 1.  That's ridiculous. You must be thinking of somebody else. He helped me study and win all through school. I couldn't keep my eyes off him. He was absolutely amazing, and I was amazing. I won every kind of contest, and I ended up becoming valedictorian with a full scholarship to Yale. All because of him—I owe him everything that I am. I can't believe he's gone. MAN 3.  I remember hearing all kinds of stories about him. That he was cruel or brilliant or brave or generous or really kind of a bore. Me, I...I avoided him. I didn't want to find out what he was really like. MAN 1.  Well, it's just easier listening to stories, but they're not always true. MAN 2.  That's right. He wasn't "brilliant" or "brave." Hell if he was "generous." MAN 1.  Have you been listening to anything I've said? That's exactly how he was. I knew him better than anyone, I loved him better than anyone— MAN 2.  Bullshit. All love ever does is blind you. You don't see someone's mistakes. You think they're perfect. Well, they're not. Love just means you didn't know them nearly as well as you liked. You figure that out the day they walk out. No, I knew him far better than you ever will. I was willing to see all of his mistakes, his crimes and sins... MAN 1.  Yeah, what sins? MAN 2.  He was a high school dropout. He had no job, so he started dealing in drugs. One day, he found his best friend dead in the gutter, and he lost it completely. He tried to kill himself six times. Then he thought if he couldn't ruin his own life, he'd fuck up everyone else's. He raped thirty girls before he was caught. Their pictures are still up on his wall. MAN 1.  What are you talking about?! [hysteria building] I...I know what kind of person he was! He went to an Ivy League school and became a doctor. He saved patients that nobody else could. He was about to find the cure to cancer! MAN 2.  Are you sure about that? Someone like him, saving other people? He wasn't even happy with himself. MAN 1.  That's a...lie! He accomplished so much. He helped so many people. He had to be happy with himself. MAN 3.  No. They turn towards him. MAN 1 & 2.  What? MAN 3.  It's...not that he hated himself, or loved himself. He didn't feel anything at all. All his life, he let the world determine who he was and how he felt, and I didn't know that until now. Silence. MAN 1.  [softly] But his face is so angelic. Even if it's not true, I still want to believe that he was a good person. MAN 2.  [bitterly] All I see is a pedophilic smile. MAN 3.  ...I don't think he's thinking anything at all. Enter Undertaker. UNDERTAKER.  What are you all yelling about? We're fixing to close this place down for the night. [He walks up and looks inside the casket.] It's just a mirror. There's nobody in here. They look up at him with mixed levels of shock. UNDERTAKER.  Well, it's time to go, gentlemen. They turn and leave in unison.

Three Hours to Dawn (2013)
Collection of Plays

Jake's Speed Theater plays, written in three hours and performed in one day, have been collected for the first time in one volume with The Fallen, an original, unperformed full-length play.

Coming soon in 2013!