NOT OMAHA (excerpt) by Paul William Kruse

Not Omaha by Paul W. Kruse

Š2020 Paul W. Kruse paulwkruse@gmail.com www.paulwkruse.com Represented by Samara Harris Robert A. Freedman Dramatic Agency, Inc. (773) 852-2262 samara@robertfreedmanagency.com www.robertfreedmanagency.com

Characters Henry - (47) - (he, him, his) Sarah’s brother Shay - (30's) - (he, him, his) Priscilla’s son, a trans-racial adoptee Jesse - (17) - (they, them, their) bookstore employee Sarah - (30's) - (she, her, hers) Henry's sister Priscilla - (70’s) - (she, her, hers) Shay's mother, a white adoptive parent Peter - (30's) - (he, him, his) Henry’s ex Impossible Forever - (she, her, hers) everyone’s mother Duchess (7) - (she, her, hers) a golden retriever

Setting two days during early fall 2019 in Viroqua, WI in a children’s bookstore a hospital room in the ICU A Note on Setting and Tone Viroqua is the seat of Vernon County in southwest Wisconsin. As part of the Driftless Area, Vernon county is renowned for its natural beauty, attracting tourists from surrounding mid-sized cities. In this part of the world, bacon, cheddar, and beer batter are culinary staples. The people who live here are immersed in the complex social matrix of Midwestern politeness, a system that demands you never take yourself too seriously and the cardinal sin is to be a burden to anyone. As a result the characters in this play speak with levity and speed until it is impossible to continue. In service of this levity, I use line breaks to indicate a new thought or turn in conversation. More often than not, a line break indicates a slight increase in speed.

1.

VERY HUNGRY CATERPILLAR A children’s bookstore at night. [OMITTED—SHAY and HENRY have just had sex.]

HENRY It's my birthday.

SHAY Happy birthday.

HENRY I hate my birthday.

SHAY I take it back.

HENRY But this was great.

SHAY How old are you?

HENRY I actually had a pretty good day.

SHAY That’s good.

HENRY I’m forty-seven.

SHAY Congrats.

HENRY What about you?

SHAY What?

HENRY How old are you?

SHAY Younger than forty-seven.

You don’t remember me HENRY Should I? SHAY I took you sister to homecoming.

HENRY Holy shit. Shay... Seamus? Little Seamus?

2.

SHAY I guess.

HENRY Little Seamus! Holy shit. I just assumed you were one of those— like from Madison or something.

SHAY A bed and breakfast gay.

HENRY Did you know it was me the whole time?

SHAY Your profile picture. You haven’t changed much.

HENRY Sure. Now this feels creepy.

SHAY You just came all over an Eric Carle illustration and now it’s creepy?

HENRY Have you always been gay?

SHAY No. I caught it from seeing a production of Cats in Minneapolis.

Shay laughs. Henry Joins in.

HENRY Where have you been?

SHAY Chicago, mostly. You? HENRY Just here in Viroqua.

SHAY Really?

HENRY What?

SHAY That’s great.

HENRY Chicago must be amazing.

SHAY I couldn’t wait to get out of here. This fucking town.

HENRY It’s not that bad.

3.

SHAY Where’s Sarah?

HENRY Still here, does real estate with my dad.

SHAY How’s your mom?

HENRY She died. Three weeks ago.

SHAY Oh, God. I’m so sorry.

HENRY She was sick for a long time.

Pause.

SHAY SHAY

I was in here all the time as a kid. It’s exactly the same.

Did she still do story time?

HENRY Every day at four until the last year or so.

SHAY Right over here, we’d sit in a little circle. She was special.

HENRY Why are you back in town?

SHAY I’m driving out west. I thought I’d stop, just for the night, maybe see my mom tomorrow.

HENRY How’s she doing?

SHAY Still alive, I assume. We don’t really talk.

HENRY I don’t remember your mom.

SHAY That’s good.

HENRY Where out west?

SHAY Santa Barbara, California.

4.

HENRY Nice. Business or pleasure?

SHAY Pleasure, I guess.

HENRY Maybe we can do this again before you go.

SHAY Maybe.

HENRY Will you do something for me? It's a little weird.

SHAY Uh-oh.

HENRY Not that weird. Just—Will you touch my back?

SHAY Touch your back?

HENRY I miss someone touching my back. Just for a little bit. No worries, if it's too weird.

SHAY Under or over the shirt?

HENRY Over, just over.

SHAY Like this?

Shay touches Henry's back.

HENRY Perfect.

SHAY Should I scratch?

HENRY No, just your fingertips, like that.

SHAY You know what you like.

HENRY Thank you.

SHAY It is your birthday. You should have someone to touch your back.

5.

HENRY He left.

SHAY When?

HENRY About three weeks ago.

SHAY Oh. HENRY Same night mom died.

SHAY Shit.

HENRY Yeah.

SHAY Where did he go?

HENRY I don't know.

SHAY How long were you together?

HENRY Eleven years.

SHAY And he didn’t tell you?

HENRY We took care of Mom here at the end. It’s all one level—closer to the hospital.

We had her setup there in the office. I was helping her back from the bathroom.

And she looked me in the face and said, “I want strawberries and cream.”

Pete offered to go, but I needed a break. I ended up at Kwik Trip.

And then Pete called and told me to hurry back.

When I got back, Mom was dead, and Pete was gone.

SHAY Shit.

HENRY Peter hated Viroqua. We talked about leaving. They lost her heart.

SHAY What?

HENRY My mom. She was on the donor list.

They told me there must have been some mix-up at the hospital, but when they did the—when they looked, she was missing her heart.

6.

SHAY That’s fucked up.

HENRY Yes. Shay touches Henry’s back in silence for a bit.

HENRY Sorry.

SHAY Why are you sorry?

HENRY None of this is hook-up conversation.

SHAY I quit my job yesterday.

HENRY Congrats?

SHAY Yes. Congrats. I think.

HENRY What was the job?

SHAY I’m a patent lawyer.

HENRY Sounds boring.

SHAY Yeah. But I’m rich.

HENRY Why did you quit?

SHAY I was sitting at my desk. This was yesterday. And out of nowhere this song popped into my head. My mom used to sing to me from the top of the stairs, when I was really little so I wouldn’t be afraid walking down into the basement alone.

I hadn’t thought about her in forever. Then, I’m sitting at my desk. And this song.

Suddenly I’m watching myself from outside the window, twenty-seven storeys up, looking at this guy, sitting in the same place that he’s been sitting for the past ten years, twelve hours a day, next to a saggy jade plant. And it all felt wrong.

I watched myself from outside my office window.

I watched myself walk into the partners' office.

I watched myself tell them I’m leaving.

They asked me how much notice. I say five minutes.

I don't remember anything else until I’m outside the building with my plant.

HENRY Shit.

7.

SHAY Not hook-up conversation.

HENRY Most people would just take a vacation.

SHAY Yeah. It’s just, lately—Do you feel like everything is tired?

HENRY That’s getting older.

SHAY Sure. And also no. It’s like everything is tired.

I’ve been thinking about where I want to die.

HENRY Are you dying?

SHAY No. No, but the thought of dying in Chicago. I want to be somewhere better.

HENRY Santa Barbara, California.

SHAY Santa Barbara, California. Where would you choose, if you had to pick right now?

HENRY I have no idea. Right here, probably.

SHAY You should come.

HENRY Sure.

SHAY I’m serious. Let’s drive to California tomorrow.

HENRY I wish I could.

SHAY Why not?

HENRY I have a job.

SHAY There’s jobs out there.

HENRY I'm not driving to California tomorrow.

SHAY Well, it will take a few days.

8.

HENRY Shay.

SHAY You seem—I know I don't know you at all, but you seem stuck.

HENRY What if we annoy each other?

SHAY I'll drop you off in Omaha or something.

HENRY This is a terrible idea.

SHAY Yup. HENRY You might be a serial killer.

SHAY Very likely.

When was the last time you left Viroqua?

HENRY I don’t know.

SHAY We could have fun.

HENRY Can I think about it?

SHAY You have til tomorrow night. I’ll stop here before I head out. Alright?

HENRY Alright.

Shay draws Henry closer.

SHAY Alright.

HENRY Alright.

SHAY You're cute.

HENRY Thanks.

They kiss. Shay exits. Henry looks around the bookstore. After a moment, he exits out the front door, locking it as he goes.

9.

GOOD NIGHT MOON IMPOSSIBLE FOREVER glows like the moon. Her form doesn’t totally come into focus—like when a baby is just learning to see.

She regards the audience for an uncomfortably long period of time.

Suddenly, she begins to speak. Her voice is cool, reporting.

IMPOSSIBLE FOREVER The cats will be the first to know.

I wish I could say the dogs would be the first, but the truth is that they’ll be just as oblivious as the humans.

The cats will know.

At the same moment, every cat in the world will go outside and look down.

Some of them will hiss.

Some of them will make new sounds, for cats.

But most will just silently stare at the Earth for about ten minutes.

It will make the news in a few places, but generally it will be overshadowed by the mistakes of humans on that day and an earthquake.

Then the cats will leave.

We won’t know where they have gone, but it will take about a day for them to go, save for the few that are uniquely trapped or choose to stay for personal reasons.

This part will be more alarming than their staring at the ground, but it won’t be reported at all.

Silence will be a primary feature of the end of the world.

A whale will recite all of the Upanishads for a city’s worth of fishermen.

The fishermen will be baffled and charmed, but will tell no one.

The sky will turn slightly green.

Most visible at sunrise and sunset, this will give everyone an uneasy feeling.

Once again, Impossible Forever pauses for an uncomfortably long time, holding the audience in her gaze.

IMPOSSIBLE FOREVER But, even more remarkably, all humans will silently agree to not speak about it— some out of fear.

Many will assume that they alone can see it.

Many more— the vast majority— will be unable to see something that has not first been spoken into being.

There will be countless omissions towards the end, as the webs between us dissolve.

Every child will weep and laugh for the exact same hour.

Every chair in the world will be found on its side only to be quietly righted by our several billion human hands and then quickly forgotten.

(MORE)

10.

IMPOSSIBLE FOREVER (CONT'D) Another sighting, another extinction, disappearance, disaster, death.

Witnesses will shrug and say, “why bother.�

We will be like a couple in their final month of marriage, tired of our own business.

It will become harder to ignore when we start losing cities.

Sections of the world will fall, one slice at a time, not coinciding with any human time-keeping or geography, but rather it will have to do with that region's own readiness or unreadiness.

People will break their silence to discuss these endings, but only person to person.

We will agree that there is something vulgar about reporting them on the news.

Like how you look away when your cousin is changing into her bathing suit.

Or when your ailing father, whom you carried to the bathroom, and who, in a moment you must help clean, begins to urinate.

The death of our world conjures in us a patient embarrassment.

Those who do speak about it will be met with hard, knowing looks.

For those with loved ones in expired regions, this silence will be harder, but they too will maintain it until most of the world has ended.

Impossible Forever pauses one last time.

And then there will come a stage when we will see the end coming on the horizon.

Some will describe it as a wall or a wave, as impossibly dark or blindingly bright.

The truth is that very few people will dare to look at it long enough to say for sure.

In the face of the end, People will weep.

People will rage.

People will medicate and fuck and murder, set fires, leave children, find lovers before the end.

There will be a thrashing in some places of the world.

And there will be cities that swell with love.

There will be families who glow with soft light.

And there will be those who choose to leave before the death of our world.

They are beyond forgiveness.

They will become little worlds of their own.

They must learn to unlove the Earth.