Corns on a Cob

Corns on a Cob

An original play by A.L.Martin

4/13

CHARACTERS

DORA: a sixteen year old vegetarian, teenage girl. First child of Serra. 

SERRA: a late thirties, early forties year old woman married to her second husband, Seth. A people pleaser.

SETH: a man in his early forties. A prestigious car salesman/advertiser. Overweight, abusive. Has type two diabetes. Married to Serra.

SELMA: a woman in her late seventies to eighties. Seemingly senile, playful, taking advantage of the privileges of old age. Likely to fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

CHILD: (alive) a seven to ten year old child. Speech impediment, poorly educated, lacking in emotional expression or depth (autistic?). Correct spelling of his mispronounced words placed in brackets   [ ] (dead) a Ghost, no longer linguistically challenged, would go so far to say he’s even intellectual.

CHICKEN: a Ghost played by a man in a chicken suit, preferably one with a full chicken head, however the face of the man should be visible, but only the face. He is sarcastic, arrogant, casual, and flaky. Like a lucky, charming, handsome gambler. Like the other Ghosts, he is “invisible.”

PIG: a Ghost played by a man in a pig suit, again fully depicting the exterior appearance of a pig but allowing the face of the actor to be visible in its entirety. He is skittish and self conscious. He is by all means a “stereotypical gay pig”, whatever that may mean to the actor in the role.

PEANUT: a Ghost played by a woman in a cow suit, similarly crafted so the whole of the cows physical appearance is intact, but the face of the actor is visible. Udders should be plain for any to see. She is a sassy, proud female, a feminist and PETA advocate combined. But intelligent.

Janitors: a collection of men or women, no less than five, no more than ten, who perform a wide variety of tasks. They are stagehands, they play the Janitors, they play the Hobos, they play all the various characters seen in T.V. show reenactments onstage. If there is a minor role to be filled, they will be substituted freely.

Gran, Lunch Lady, Game Host, Unknown Man, Young Dora, Young Serra, Infant Dora, Elderly Minister &etc.: this vast collection of brief or one time roles can either be given to those casted as “janitors” or can be individually casted. The infant must be of infantile size, a doll maybe, but no larger.

*Note, when a forward slash / is placed within dialogue, an interruption by the following / ensues.

SETTING

Dora’s room: unless specified otherwise, it is painted all in black. Everything should be black except the window frame and the collection of bright flowers set there. Oftentimes a coating of flour will be spread over the room. A bed, a dresser, a desk, shelves for picture albums. There is a shelf directly above Dora’s bed.

Dining room: has a large, thick, unadorned table set downstage. Five similarly styled chairs, one on each end, three behind table facing audience. Dishes of a similar, plain nature.

Living room: containing one large, old, musty, worn sofa center downstage facing audience. An armchair or two can be placed near the wings, similar condition. An old, T.V. with rabbit ear antenna, facing couch, on some kind of table or shelf, paired with VHS player. Stage right a window. Upstage should be raised somewhat higher for viewing purposes, can be implemented in other scenes if necessary. Action seen in television/VHS recordings takes place upstage in whatever detail and style deemed necessary.

Act I

Scene i. (Lights up on large, heavy dining table, center stage. Seating for five. The table is weighed down by piles of every desirable food. Folky, “barnyard” music plays softly. A large, overweight, middle aged man, SETH, walks onstage and quickly adds food to his plate. He digs in. Sounds of barnyard animals play over the tune, one at a time adding on to overall drone of sound. A teenage girl, DORA, walks onstage, also quickly piling food in front of her and eating. A paunchy, middle aged woman, SERRA, a young boy, CHILD, and an elderly woman at deaths door, SELMA, pour in quickly one after the other and begin to dig in, eating the food directly off the platters. The animal sounds increase in number and power, becoming more jumbled and violent as the family eats. As DORA and SETH climb onto the table to fight over scraps of food, the rest of the family eggs them on, throwing fistfulls of food and the animal sounds become the sounds of the slaughterhouse. As the riot reaches its climax the action suddenly freezes and silence ensues for a few brief seconds. The entire family opens their mouths up wide, and a wild, booming mishmash of all the sounds blare in unison as the lights go out except one, which follows DORA who leaves the table. The other family members remain frozen in their seats. She snaps pictures of the scene, placing the polaroids in her pocket.)

DORA: I feel like this would be the moment where I’d go off on a poetic introduction of the events to come, like in Romeo and Juliet. It’s a shame iambic pentameter and Shakespeare’s styles went out the window in modern theater… I think they could be combined. I never did study iambic pentameter though, knowing the name of the style of Shakespeare’s poetry is enough to make me look smart in high school. I think something poetic would be nice to start out with. The illusion of intellectuality will be shattered soon enough. Eh hem.

Ours is akin to the tale;

Of a man imprisoned with no bail;

You ought to have heard of his name;

Sisyphus, Greek king of fame;

Here we forget his deeds in life;

In death he faces eternal strife;

His punishment, his torment is quite common;

Reflected in a bowl of broth and ramen;

You see, in the 21^st century;

Food can send us to the penitentiary;

We may battle against our fatty cravings;

But our complaints are ignored as mad ravings;

Eat to live, live to eat;

CEO’s have us beat;

Morality and health take a backseat to revenue;

So if you’re hungry, join the queue;

Rich figures control what you consume;

But if this makes you growl and fume;

There is another path to take;

Open your eyes, I say, awake!;

Big Business dies without your money;

They depend on you so much it’s funny;

But still they do what’s best for them;

While we idle, haw, and hem;

Anyway, this is my story;

One of failure, not of glory;

I’m just like that aforementioned king;

Walking in circles inside of a ring;

When I think I’ve progressed I fall back down;

In Earth’s history, Man is a clown;

We’re condemned to repeat what we forget;

And since our appetites we cannot whet;

The food industry will always have power;

Indeed it increases each passing hour;

I have the chance to change that forever;

Unfortunately I will pass up the endeavor;

I hope you can pick up where I left off;

It’s not a job at which you can sneeze or cough;

My rhyming skill doth now fade;

A goodbye must now be bade;

Hear my tale, though it be tart;

And leave here tonight with a goal in your heart!

(DORA bows and rejoins family at table.)

SELMA: (extending cane toward DORA, turkey speared at the end) Here, hon, try this. It’s goooood.

DORA: No, thank you, Grandmother. I, uh, lost my appetite for meat.

SETH: Oh no. No, no, no. Don’t you tell me your mad old Gran has come back from the grave to haunt your food again?

DORA: No, father. I just never got used to eating meat after Gran died.

SELMA: You’ve been eatin’ it on and off for years. Just stuff your pie hole and get over it!

SERRA: Please, Selma. Not tonight. Please just eat and be well.

(SELMA continues to wave the turkey in DORA’s face. DORA swats it away until SELMA pokes her in the face with the meat. DORA pinches a bit off and eats. SERRA smiles all around and pats uselessly at the food smeared on her face with a napkin, then dabs uselessly at CHILD’s face with the same napkin. The family exits from any which way and a janitorial squad walks on stage. They push the food and dishes off the table into a garbage bag, sweep, and remove the furniture. The garbage bag is left at the edge of the stage.)

Scene ii. (Janitors scatter various produce across the floor upstage. DORA is on the couch watching black and white home videos from SERRA’s childhood. A projection of the film is played onto the couch, and upstage the action is enacted by GRAN, SERRA, and an unknown MAN, young, in his 20’s. White noise plays overhead. SERRA is a small girl and she helps GRAN and MAN gather produce from a garden. DORA watches with blank focus until SERRA leaves the action to confront DORA, at which point DORA turns her head and faces SERRA defiantly. SERRA slaps DORA across the face and turns off the T.V. GRAN and the MAN leave the garden empty handed. SERRA ejects the VHS and exits. DORA lies down on the couch and sleeps. The janitors sweep up the produce and place it in a garbage bag. The bag is placed downstage next to the former. Two homeless men enter, walking on all fours and circling the garbage bags. They rip and tear at the plastic with their nails and teeth until food is scattered everywhere. They fight over a turkey carcass. HOBO 1 wins, the other settles on smaller scraps.)

HOBO 1: (savoring taste) Ummm, relatively fresh, too! Can’t be more than a day or two old, eh?

HOBO 2: (irritable) You got the meat, YOU tell me.

HOBO 1: (wafting meat under 2’s nose) Ah, see? No stench, not even a maggot. (HOBO 2 grabs a hold of HOBO 1’s hand with his teeth.) AHHH! AH! (HOBO 1 kicks HOBO 2 off). What’d’ya do that for?

HOBO 2: Thanksgiving’s such a rotten holiday. They celebrate with white meat. What we need here is some good, bloody, red meat. Ummm the stringy fat sticks like gelatinous spider webs, capturing all the flavor of the beast from whence it came. Aww why do folks always cut off the lard, man?

HOBO 1: Christ man, the beatniks are long gone, don’t make me sit through anymore of your poetic bullshit.

HOBO 2: (snapping his fingers) Hah-cha-cha, brother. Haaaaah-cha-chaaaaa.

HOBO 1: Let’s get outta here before the Man comes.

HOBO 2: The Man doesn’t care what we do.

HOBO 1: Man, I mean the garbage man, man! Quick, load up!

(HOBO 2 rests on all four limbs again and HOBO 1 slings a pack across HOBO 2’s back, like a mule. HOBO 1 fills the pockets with the food and HOBO 2 bats an apple back and forth between his hands. HOBO 1 gives HOBO 2 a whack on the behind and 2 takes off like an abused animal. HOBO 1 slinks offstage behind 2. Janitors return and place the mess into a new garbage bag which is again left on the edge of the stage.)

Scene iii. (Living room. The meatloaf should be visibly different each time. The CHILD sits in the center of the couch as characters come in and out. He holds a lunch tray onto which the food is dumped. The Lunch Lady enters with a ladleful of glop.)

CHILD: What is it?

LUNCH LADY: Meatloaf. (drops lump onto tray)

CHILD: Youwuh meatwoaf don’t wook wike mom’s… [trans: your meatloaf don’t look like mom’s.]

LUNCH LADY: It’s meatloaf. Shut up and eat it.

(Enter Serra with casserole dish.)

CHILD: What is it?

SERRA: Meatloaf. (drops lump onto tray)

CHILD: Youwuh meatwoaf don’t wook wike the babysitters…

SERRA: It’s GOOD meatloaf. Just eat it.

(Enter babysitter with paper plate.)

CHILD: What is it?

BABYSITTER: Meatloaf. (gives CHILD plate with lump on it)

CHILD: Youwuh meatwoaf don’t wook wike gwandmas [grandmas]…

BABYSITTER: It’s leftover meatloaf. Shut up and eat it.

CHILD: Why can’t nobody tewuh [tell] me what it is? Don’t dey know? I know what is meatwoaf… I ain’t stupid or noffink [nothing]. But why is all da meatwoafs diffwent [different]? The wunch wady said, (Lunch Lady walks back onstage for line)

LUNCH LADY: Listen, kid, I don’t know what this is, it comes to me in a box and I warm it up.

CHILD: Wike she don’t care or noffink. Mom’s meatwoaf don’t come in no box… do it? Why don’t she know what is meatwoaf? I dunno. (picks up fork) I just fink is weird, is awl [all].

(CHILD starts to eat the Lunch Lady’s meatloaf as the family enters, holding plates. SERRA and SELMA sit on the couch on either side of the CHILD. DORA and SETH take up the armchairs. They all take forkfuls of the various meatloafs [excepting DORA] and eat. DORA turns on the T.V. A projection plays onto the couch, meanwhile, lights up upstage, CHICKEN, PIG, and PEANUT come dancing onstage singing a little ditty each, CHICKEN to the tune of “Yankee Doodle”, PIG to the tune  of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” and PEANUT to the tune of “Home on the Range”.)

CHICKEN: (carrying a bucket of CHICKEN wings) Chicken Little hopped to work; Carrying a musket; Walked into the slaughterhouse and now he’s in your bucket; Chicken Little lick ‘im up; Chicken Little’s yummy; Family size is good and cheap to fill up every tummy!

(Lights up on couch. Everyone stares open mouthed at the T.V.)

SETH: Oh my god we’re ordering in tomorrow.

SERRA: Who wants chicken? Say aye!

CHILD, SELMA, SETH: (simultaneously with DORA) AYE!

DORA: (simultaneously with others) Ew!

(They all glare at her. Lights down on couch, up on upstage.)

PIG: (swinging a leg of ham like a baseball bat) Feed me at Meaty Meat House; Feed me flesh off the bone; If it’s not bleeding then take it back; Pitch me a meatball I’ll give it a whack; I will eat, eat, eat, steak or pork roast; Good food will oink, moo, or cluck; For it’s here! That! You will get food that is bang for your buck!

(Lights down upstage. Lights up on couch. Family is still picking at meatloaf, DORA sits, mouth agape. She points the remote at the T.V.)

SETH: (holding out his hand) HEP HEP HEP, pass that over here.

(DORA slides the remote to him grumpily. SETH stuffs it between his legs and continues to eat. Lights down on couch, up on upstage.)

PEANUT: (wearing a soda drink hat with glasses of milk instead of cans) Oh pour me a drink; Serve it up with a wink; Make it fresh and creamy and cool; It comes from us cows; And this is our vow; Your mouth will fill up with drool.

(Lights down upstage. Lights up on couch. The tune continues overhead. Animals dance upstage)

SELMA: Hey! I think I know this one… oh damnit, it’s on the tip of my tongue…

(SELMA and the CHILD hum along to the tune, unsure of the words. SETH is irritated.)

SELMA: (singing) Where Salem is bird, dislodging a bur, and the kites are not pouty or grey.

CHILD: (singing) Hooome, home awn da waaange. [the range]

SERRA: (to CHILD and SELMA) Okay you two, it’s getting late.

SELMA: It’s hardly 20:00.

CHILD: (shocked) Da cwock goes to twenny? [trans: the clock goes to twenty?]

SERRA: (consoling) Grandma grew up in a different time…

SELMA: Oh? Well where I’m from I have four more hours!

(There is a sound of a clock tolling eight o clock. SELMA and CHILD promptly fall asleep where they sit. SERRA picks CHILD up.)

DORA: Wow. Like clockwork.

SERRA: It’s the curse of the very young and the very old.

(SERRA exits with CHILD on her back. SETH follows, gesturing at DORA to take care of SELMA. He exits. DORA pushes SELMA onto her side and throws a blanket over her. The blue screen of the T.V. illuminates SELMA’s sleeping face as DORA exits. Lights down.)

Scene iv: (Industrial chicken coop, floor covered in feathers, stuffed chicken toys, a man in a chicken suit, CHICKEN, writhes face down on the floor. Clucking/gobbling sounds)

FARMER: Chicken house numbuh one.

CHILD: (pointing to man in suit) Dat one’s dying.

FARMER: Nope, nope, that’s just how they sleep.

DORA: Its face is buried in the chicken shit.

SERRA: Dora Winifred! Language! (She smiles at the Farmer, embarrassed)

CHILD: (pointing to CHICKEN) Is meatwoaf?

(DORA steps forward, other characters play in the feathers behind her)

DORA: Suffocation. To die from lack of air. Not oxygen… ‘cause the bulk of what we breathe is actually nitrogen… so yeah, dying from lack of air. Kinda like drowning, only without water, but same effect, y’know? So I guess you could have a pillow pressed against your face… real hard, so there are no real air pockets to breathe through. First, dizziness. Next, a burning. You feel it in your throat and it moves down to your lungs, an inexplicably horrible feeling. It’s like someone turned on an infrared sauna in the pit of your stomach and it’s sucking the life out of your lungs, drying them into tiny, crunchy walnuts. I wonder if someone can suffocate themselves like that… with a pillow… I mean, could your willpower stand against your instincts? Nah, you’d probably faint before the deed was done. I wouldn’t choose suffocation. Not unless I wanted someone to do it for me, and get arrested for my murder. (smiles, returns upstage. Other characters stand up, covered in feathers.)

FARMER: So that’s where you get your chicken.

SERRA: It’s just amazing how far we’ve come as a country! We can feed everyone with this technology! Isn’t it amazing, hon?

CHILD: Nuh uh. I don’t wanna be no chicken.

DORA: What do they eat?

FARMER:  Oh, you know, chicken things… corn and seeds.

DORA: Oh. They’re awfully fat.

FARMER: Our chickens have a ‘specially big appetite, that’s why ya’ll get such great meat. Now if we move on toward the egg roostin’ chickens…

DORA: (to SERRA, quietly) This is kind of warped.

SERRA: You wanted to come here.

CHILD: Yeah, you finked [“thinked”] a this idea.

DORA: You were supposed to bring Seth.

SERRA: Seth is out of town.

DORA: Well then that defeats the purpose.

SERRA: We’re here to learn.

DORA: (louder) What I’m observing and what I’m being told are different things.

FARMER: Hey. Who’s the expert here?

(Farmer guides family out of coop. CHICKEN still writhes on floor. The stage lights change from day to dusk and CHICKEN slowly stops moving. As the lights change to night, a crew of men comes onto stage with push brooms, efficiently sweeping feathers and stuffed chickens offstage. When they get to CHICKEN, they pick him up by his wrists and ankles and toss him offstage with a thud.)

Scene v. (Dinner. Everyone seated from left to right: SERRA, CHILD, DORA, SELMA, SETH. Platters of unidentified fried foods and a massive pork roast are scattered on the table. SETH is eating with gusto, the CHILD eats slowly. DORA doesn’t eat, she wears her polaroid camera around her neck. SERRA skims a magazine and eats well. SELMA eats little, falling asleep in her chair.)

SERRA: What’d you kids do at school today?

CHILD: Learned.

DORA: Skipped class.

SERRA: That’s nice. What’d you learn?

CHILD: Stuff.

DORA: How many hairpins it takes to open the staff room door.

SERRA: (reaching over to pat CHILD on the face) That’s my baby.

(DORA snaps a picture of the assorted food. She tucks the photo in her pocket.)

SETH: It’s the 21^st century. What are you thinking, using a polaroid camera.

DORA: I like the way it looks.

SETH: (girly voice) Oooo, vintage! Sooo hipster! …Ha!

SELMA: If you like polaroids I’ll go dig up my first Argus Ilex Precise.

DORA: Grandmother, I don’t even know what that is.

SETH: (suddenly to DORA) Why didn’t you come home after school today?

DORA: I am home.

SETH: It’s 6:30. Where were you at 3:30?

DORA: Walking home.

SETH: It took you three hours to walk two blocks.

DORA: I stopped by Regina’s house.

SETH: Who is Regina?

DORA: My friend.

SERRA: Have you turned in your portfolio to the school paper?

SETH: What’s her last name?

DORA: Yes.

SETH: That’s not a last name.

DORA: I was talking to my mother.

SETH: And?

DORA: Guthrie.

SETH: That’s her name? Is her dad’s name Arlo?

DORA: (monotone) That’s funny. You’re funny, Seth.

(CHILD throws some fried something at SELMA. It bounces off and she snoozes through it.)

SETH: Excuse me?

DORA: (quickly, sarcastically) Father.

SERRA: (trying to change the subject) What did they say, Dora?

SETH: What does Regina look like?

DORA: Aren’t you a little old to be chasing skirts, Seth?

SERRA: Dora Winifred!

SETH: (growling) Answer the question.

DORA: They didn’t want my photos.

SERRA: (simultaneously with SETH) Oh, I’m sorry.

SETH: (simultaneously with SERRA) What use does a school paper have for pictures of flour? (to DORA) And why aren’t you eating? Your mother made this meal for you.

DORA: I’m a vegetarian, father, I can’t eat this crap.

SETH: Your mother made broccoli.

DORA: Yeah, FRIED. FRIED IN LARD. LARD IS ANIMAL FAT.

SETH: CHRIST, then just starve.

DORA: (pause) I don’t have a friend named Regina.

SELMA: (snapping to attention, awake, pointing at DORA) AHA!

(Everyone looks up at SELMA who takes a mouthful of food, pegs a fried something at CHILD, and dozes off again.)

CHILD: Where do babies come fwom [from].

SETH: (mouth full, startled) Harumff?

SERRA: (also surprised) Baby, why do you ask?

CHILD: Wanna know.

SERRA: Dora never asked such questions…

DORA: Not that you would know.

SERRA: (clearing her throat) Uhm, Seth?

SETH: (annoyed) Whaaaaaat?

(SERRA gestures to CHILD. SETH shrugs. More gestures between them. Confusion. Whispers/murmurs play softly overhead, but apparently only DORA hears. She looks around, irritated. SETH bats away the question and continues eating. CHILD stares at SERRA. Whispers stop.)

DORA: (disbelief) Really? No one else heard that?

SETH: The point of communicating with gestures is that you don’t have to make sound.

CHILD: Mom?

SERRA: Well. When a mommy and a daddy love each other a lot… they have to be married… they… make a call to God… God plants a seed in the mommy’s belly and the seed becomes a baby.

CHILD: How does it get out. Bewybuttons [bellybuttons]?

SERRA: (relieved) Yes, honey, bellybuttons.

CHILD: How’d Dowa [Dora] get borned?

SERRA: (tense) What do you mean?

CHILD: Dowa says daddy’s not her daddy.

SERRA: Dora’s lying.

CHILD: ‘Cause you can’t a had a baby wiffout a daddy.

SERRA: That’s right. Dora’s teasing you.

(SERRA shoots an angry look at DORA. DORA stares defiantly back and stands up.)

SETH: Where are you going?

DORA: I’ll get my own food.

(DORA exits. SERRA picks up a napkin and pats uselessly at CHILD’s face, smiling all around. Lights down. Between scenes Janitors throw away the food and place the garbage bag by the others downstage.)

Scene vi: (Downstage. Living room. The couch and floor are covered in flour. The T.V. turns on, a projection is played onto the couch and the action is performed upstage. Upstage lighting makes the scene pale, almost black and white. A bucket and two low stools are carried on. DORA and Gran enter, Gran leading a goat. DORA dressed as a young girl. She is six. They sit on the stools and Gran milks the goat. They sing an old Irish folk song. Gran lets DORA try milking. She knocks the milk bucket over, making a mess, but Gran smiles. SERRA enters downstage and looks at the T.V., then looks around the empty living room, confused and irritated. She pops the VHS out of the T.V. and exits. All goes dark.)

Scene vii: (Morning. SERRA is in the living room watching television and knitting a hat. DORA enters in pajamas, snapping quick photos of the marks left in the flour from the previous night. The couch is downstage. Upstage on a raised platform a talk show set can be seen. A woman in a cow suit, PEANUT, sits and talks with the host, Lunch Lady. The scene switches between the couch and the show set, the set representing what is on T.V. A projection plays onto the couch.)

SERRA: Oh I love this talk show.

DORA: Is that Peanut?

SERRA: What, the cow?

DORA:  Her name is Peanut.

SERRA: (laughing) You take that seriously?

DORA: It’s her name.

SERRA: Yes, it’s that cow.

(DORA is silent. Lights up on talk show.)

LUNCH LADY: How’s the tea? It’s from California.

PEANUT: Needs some milk. (Lunch Lady offers creamer) No, no, local tea calls for local milk. (squirts udder. Audience erupts in laughter. Lights up on couch.)

SERRA: (laughing) Ah, the morning news is a great way to start my day.

DORA: (mumbling into her hand) Political puppetry.

(Lights up on show set.)

LUNCH LADY: Fresh milk! I’ll have what she’s having.

(PEANUT aims a shot of milk at Lunch Lady’s cup. Audience laughs.)

PEANUT: Best stuff in the U.S.

LUNCH LADY: What makes your milk best?

PEANUT: You know what they say, happy cows make happy milk. Can’t be any happier than a cow in California.

LUNCH LADY: Permanent vacation, huh?

PEANUT: (squirts milk) Bullseye.

(Audience laughs. Lights up on couch.)

DORA: I can’t believe this.

SERRA: What?

DORA: She’s so much better than this.

SERRA: (flat, in disbelief) Dora. She’s a cow.

(DORA exits. CHILD enters and sits next to SERRA.)

SERRA: Hey, baby, ready for school?

CHILD: T’Sunday.

SERRA: Oh, of course, of course.

(They are silent. The sounds of the talk show heard overheard.)

CHILD: I don’t wike da [like the] cow.

SERRA: Oh! You want me to change it?

(CHILD digs out remote from cushions and puts on cartoons. The janitorial squad, dressed as any assortment of brightly colored characters, dances upstage while pushing the talk show set off. SERRA tests the hat she’s making on the CHILD’s head. Content, she pinches his cheek and continues. CHILD doesn’t react, but stares vacantly at T.V. Lights down.)

Scene viii: (Living room. Nighttime. CHILD is asleep on couch when a figure covered in a sheet climbs in through window stage right. As the figure falls, CHILD wakes up to look. T.V. is on but muted, the light cast there illuminates the scene [or the stage lights create such an effect])

CHILD: What is you doink [doing]?

CHICKEN: Oooooo I’m a ghost!

CHILD: You is a chicken. I see chicken wegs [legs]. You is a chicken in a sheet.

CHICKEN: (takes off sheet) Yes, but I really am a ghost.

CHILD: You is a dead chicken. Ghosts fwy [fly] and is see-fwoo [through].

CHICKEN: Chickens can’t fly.

CHILD: Ghosts do.

CHICKEN: If I could fly I wouldn’t have climbed in through your window.

CHILD: (pause, thinking) Chicken zombie?

CHICKEN: No! Ghost. I’m a GHOST, goddamnit!

CHILD: (crawls off couch and plucks feather from CHICKEN) I can touch you.

CHICKEN: (grabs feather) Gimme that! I’m a ghost! Chicken ghosts have less… privileges.

CHILD: What is “pwiviges”?

(The CHICKEN starts to climb out the window)

CHICKEN: I won’t stand here and be disrespected by a five year old.

CHILD: Not five.

(CHILD comes over to window and closes it on the CHICKEN’s neck. The CHICKEN flails and gobbles, in its distress the head pops off. The CHICKEN is still, the CHILD picks up the head and opens the window, handing the head back.)

CHICKEN: (taking the head) Thank you. Where is your sister?

CHILD: Is a pwetty window. Dere is fwowers [flowers].

CHICKEN: Great. Go to bread.

CHILD: Bwead?

CHICKEN: Eh… farm joke.

(CHICKEN closes window and exits. CHILD returns turns off T.V.  Lights down, scene change during which DORA reads from her diary.)

DORA: I dunno why they call it pessimism. It’s realism, really. Like seeing dark clouds in the sky and bringing along an umbrella in case it rains. It’s just being practical. Realistic. Just because I see reality doesn’t make me a sad person. I am not in denial. If reality is inherently depressing I’m not going to run from it, I’m going to expose it. The concept of darkness is not exclusively synonymous to sadness, it is synonymous with ignorance as well. To be enlightened is to bring intellectual light to the mind. You cannot have night without day. You cannot have life without death. And you cannot have light without dark.

(DORA’s bedroom. A white window frame, colorful, large flowers on the sill. The rest of the room is black. Everything is painted black. Black sheets, black books, etc. DORA is using a sieve to sprinkle flour all over the room. Every surface is slowly coated in dust. She corners herself into her bed and covers the blanket with flour. She wears an old Polaroid camera around her neck. The man in the CHICKEN suit climbs in through the window, smashing flower pots and falling onto the floor. The flour makes a cloud.)

CHICKEN: (coughing) What the hell?

DORA: Why are you coughing? You don’t have lungs.

CHICKEN: Kid, that’s rough. You know what it’s like to be told that you’re not human? No, you wouldn’t, because you’re a human. You’re a human with lungs.

DORA: I’m sixteen.

CHICKEN: What?

DORA: I’m not a kid, I’m sixteen.

CHICKEN: Well sixteen, I’m not a cold, emotionless, brick wall. I have a soul.

DORA: Isn’t that all you have?

CHICKEN: Aren’t you scared? I am a ghost.

DORA: A chicken ghost. Hardly a threat.

CHICKEN: Oh for fucks sake, what is the point of being a ghost if everyone can see you? Jesus, I wouldn’t have elected to be a ghost if I knew I’d be walking around plain as day.

(DORA snaps a photo of the CHICKEN with her camera and quickly places the photo into an album.)

DORA: You elected to be a ghost?

CHICKEN: You took a picture of me?

DORA: How often do you have a ghost chicken covered in flour on your bedroom floor? You look cool. A chicken shaped, floury silhouette. A halo.

CHICKEN: So, you… can’t see me?

DORA: I can. I can see the flour.

CHICKEN: But you can’t see ME.

DORA: I can, too.

CHICKEN: No, listen, you said you see the flour that is on me. So you see the flour?

DORA: You elected to be a ghost?

CHICKEN: (pause) I can’t believe I was given the option, me, a lowly industrial chicken.

DORA: I didn’t know one had a choice. Is it nice?

CHICKEN: Well not so nice if people can SEE YOU.

DORA: I can’t, I can’t see you. So is it nice?

CHICKEN: For me… yes. I’m not really missing out on the pleasures of the flesh or anything I had in life. The food sucked, the company sucked, the boss sucked.

DORA: You mean the farmer?

CHICKEN: Yeah, yeah, the paunchy guy with the overalls and the John Deere baseball cap. Sure, the farmer. Christ, some farmer. (takes out a pack of cigarettes from his “pocket” and lights up) We just called ‘im the boss.

DORA: What’s the difference?

CHICKEN: A farmer is a person with a skill in tending to and nourishing other organisms. A boss is a beer-bellied tyrant who considers employees and animals tools to make a profit.

DORA: You can’t smoke in here.

CHICKEN: I’m not really smoking. I don’t have lungs, remember, boss?

DORA: So “boss” is a derogatory term where you come from.

CHICKEN: Sixteen, it’s a derogatory term wherever you come from. Just gotta speak to the right people. The real people.

DORA: My father is the boss where he works.

CHICKEN: Must be a real prick, your pops.

DORA: He sells cars.

CHICKEN: Don’t they always.

DORA: He earns the living for our family.

CHICKEN: They say that’s what men do.

DORA: He’s gone on business trips for weeks sometimes.

CHICKEN: Oooh, important.

DORA: He’s a real prick.

CHICKEN: Your pops.

DORA: Seth.

(DORA climbs under the blankets. The CHICKEN stubs out his cigarette on the windowsill watches her. A moment of silence passes when a faint whisper can be heard from overhead. The voice sounds like CHICKEN, but DORA can’t make out any words.)

DORA: What was that?

CHICKEN: What?

DORA: You said something.

CHICKEN: No, I didn’t.

DORA: Yes, you whispered.

CHICKEN: No…

DORA: Fine. But do me a favor and keep your thoughts to yourself so I can sleep.

(She rolls over, her back to CHICKEN, and promptly falls asleep. CHICKEN looks at the audience, gestures at DORA, and shrugs. Lights down.)

Scene ix: (DORA is alone on the couch. It is still nighttime. The T.V. is on, and PEANUT is again on the talk show, but this time she is alone on the set. DORA speaks to the T.V.)

DORA: Me and this little, spitfire Japanese girl Azusa were living in a massive house with dozens of random people and our stepmother. It was like a take on Cinderella, only not at all. I was having an affair with my stepmother’s young boyfriend, and one day, when I was out in the back yard, he told her about me. I looked up to the top floor of the house and saw them talking through the large, glass doors leading to the balcony. I heard her yell. I heard things break. I saw her pacing the room, screaming. She saw me through the door and spun out of sight. I knew she was coming for me. The world ended in the back yard, so I had nowhere to run. I went back into the house, where I heard her steps rapidly descending the stairs. I knew she only had a few flights to go before she would be upon me, so I went down. I went down and down and down into the old rooms far below the house where we used to play as kids. The old furniture seemed to breathe with me, threatening me, telling the stepmother where I was hiding. I don’t know how she knew, but I could hear her running behind me. Azusa was there suddenly, and I grabbed her hand and told her to run. We left through a cellar door and kept running up the street. The street wasn’t there before. We had bags slung over our backs. We were prepared to run away, but every car that passed ignored us. There was a traffic jam up ahead. We banged on a tractor trailer until the man opened his window. I told him my stepmother was going to kill me and he had to save us. The man laughed and rolled up his window. The stepmother found us. She dragged us home. I will take your youth, is what she said. I will have your beauty and your lives. I thought we had been running forever but the house was right behind us, as if we never left. I told Azusa, there is no other way. We have to kill her. Azusa agreed. When the stepmother came to get us from our room we ambushed her. We tied her up and poured poison down her throat by the gallons. It poured out and over her chin and clothes. Then I took a pen and I rammed the pen as deep as I could into her stomach. The poison came pumping out of the hole, a geyser of yellowish, gel like fluid. She died fast.

The next day everyone in the house threw a party. Azusa decided she would return to Japan and start a new life. I said goodbye to her, I hugged her and told her to be quick and be safe, to get home before something bad happened again. I watched her leave through a door leading out from the elaborate, high ceilinged hall where the party was about to take place. A man with bushy moustaches closed the door behind Azusa. The party was loud and people were everywhere. I didn’t know them and I was scared. I huddled close to the door where Azusa had exited. I thought the nightmare had ended. A crooked, lopsided, clumsy body fell through Azusa’s door. It looked like Azusa. It had Azusa’s hair. But it wasn’t Azusa. It wasn’t even alive. It stumbled a few feet away from the door, walking sickeningly on two disproportional legs: one was short, clad in Azusa’s black, buckled shoe. The other was long and discolored, wearing a red stiletto that I had buried beneath the house mere hours before. Azusa’s white, porcelain skin was stretched over the corpse’s body. Azusa’s right arm and left leg hung small, helpless, and forlorn from the staples that pinned them to the corpse. The head, Azusa’s long black hair and petite ears spun on the corpse’s neck like a top until Azusa’s black, glassy eyes were level with mine. Azusa’s eyelids drooped clumsily over the eyes, blood rimming the eyelashes and hairline. Tiny, childlike teeth grinned eternally out of the massacre, painstakingly pulled and reset in the corpse’s mouth. I could see Azusa, the real Azusa. I could see a trail of blood leading to the mound of flesh that was all that remained of her; I could see the trickle of blood as her skin was lovingly sliced from her body. I could see her eyes bursting from their sockets in a red firework. I could see the slow end of Azusa’s beauty. Death stood before me, now, erasing all I loved in this world. The party raged on. The stepmother spoke to me. I didn’t hear. She approached me, flopping left and then right on her uneven legs. Azusa’s blood began to drip out from under the skin. The stepmother collapsed in a pool of Azusa’s blood, but the head was still backward, grinning up at me, mocking me, that I was unable to save my Azusa.

PEANUT: (pause) The nature of dreams.

DORA: I can’t sleep. I’m scared.

PEANUT: There, there. (singing a song from Peter Pan the musical) Tender shepherd, tender shepherd, let me help you count your sheep. One in the meadow, two in the garden, three in the nursery. Fast asleep. Fast asleep. Fast asleep. Fast asleep. Fast asleep. Fast asleep.

(PEANUT continues to repeat this line and prepares a cup of tea. DORA folds herself into fetal position and trembles. PEANUT brings the tea downstage and sets it on a coffee table, still singing. PEANUT exits and her voice fades offstage. DORA sits up, cradles the tea, and picks up singing the song, softly. The lights grow dimmer until the stage is black, but DORA continues to sing. Behind her, upstage, the janitors roll in a line of industrial pig pens on a gurney. Each pen holds one pig, into which the janitors throw stuffed pig toys. One pen is kept empty, and a man in a pig suit, PIG, walks onstage, considers the pen, and attempts to stuff himself into the cell. His bottom is too big and the janitors stomp and shove it between the metal bars of the pen until he is packed in. As DORA sings, the janitors remove stuffed pigs from the stalls one by one and place them in the feeding trough of the man in the suit. He eats greedily, face first. The other pig stalls are emptied and the pens are rolled offstage with PIG still trapped within. DORA gulps down her tea and walks off, singing.)

(Scene ix. Breakfast. Pancakes and bacon and eggs. The whole family sits at the table as before, eating messily. SETH wears a bib. DORA sips at a cup of tea.)

SERRA: You were up late last night.

DORA: I went to bed early.

SERRA: I heard you downstairs at three this morning.

DORA: I had a bad dream.

SERRA: There was white noise. You were watching television, one of the dead channels. I could hear the static, and you were talking to it.

DORA: I was practicing for the school play.

SERRA: You’re in a play?

DORA: Yes. I’m the tragic hero who can’t save her friend from evil.

SERRA: You were singing.

DORA: It’s a musical.

SERRA: You’re a terrible singer.

DORA: Will you come see it?

SERRA: I’m busy, Dora.

DORA: Good, because I was lying. Father, did you take your insulin?

SETH: Did you take your happy pills?

DORA: Don’t I look happy?

SETH: Don’t I look insulated?

DORA: As a hog in a barrel of lard.

SETH: As a bitch in menopause.

SELMA: As molasses running uphill in winter.

SERRA: As blind as a bat.

(CHILD vomits. As SERRA uselessly pats at the mess with a napkin, the lights start spinning and a 1980’s game show theme plays overhead. The stage lights up with colors and blinking lights. Seth looks up at the lights with disgust. A smiling man in a bright, stiff suit walks onstage with a microphone and the lights point at him and SELMA.)

HOST: Hello, and welcome to another round of the “Foreshadowing Trivia” show! Please give a warm round of applause for our first contestant, Grandma Selma!

(Applause track plays, SELMA looks irritated. Host pulls a card from his pocket.)

HOST: Your first question today, Mrs. Selma, is this: What are symptoms of an E. coli infection?

SELMA: (mouth full) Bloo-ey hih! Mo-hun hih-iss! (translation: Bloody shit! Motion sickness!)

HOST:  Is it, A. Bloody stools. B. Vomiting. C. Cramps. or D. Yes.

SELMA: (spitting food) YESHH!

HOST: Oooo, I’m sorry, the answer must be stated as a question using the letter choices provided. Good luck next time on, “Foreshadowing Trivia!”

(Host exits while applause track and game show music play overhead. The colored lights blink move across the stage before returning to normal lighting.)

SERRA: (still patting CHILD’s mouth) Poor baby.

SETH: (looking up at the lights irritably) Why did we waste my hard earned money on a vaudeville, neon light system?

DORA: Why did we waste your hard earned money on a self-induced, fat-ass disease?

SETH: What was that, young lady?

DORA: I said I’m glad you have money to stave off your disease.

SETH: It’s diabetes (pronounced dia-beet-us), not AIDS. Stupid kid.

DORA: It’s a disease, father.

SERRA: Don’t make it sound worse than it really is.

DORA: It’s a helluva lot worse than he treats it! Look at him!

SERRA: Dora Winifred, I will not have you insulting your father at the table.

DORA: Well when he DIES I’ll feel too guilty to insult him anymore, so everyone wins!

SETH: I AM NOT GOING TO DIE UNTIL I’VE SEEN YOU OUT OF MY HOUSE.

DORA: AND I’M NOT GOING TO BURY YOUR SORRY, FAT ASS UNTIL I CAN AFFORD A CRANE TO LIFT IT.

SETH: GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SIGHT.

(DORA exits promptly. CHILD vomits. SERRA pats useless at the mess with a napkin and smiles all around. SETH continues to shove food into his mouth with his bare hands, greedily licking his fingers. He loses interest after a moment, slams down his bib, and exits. SERRA carries the CHILD offstage. SELMA continues to eat, very slowly. PIG enters. He sits in SETH’s chair and picks up a half eaten piece of bacon. He presses it onto his chest and tries to smooth it in. SELMA watches this, amazed, but still eating. PIG sighs, cradles the bacon to his breast, and walks back off. DORA enters. The same whisper/murmuring plays overhead, louder.)

DORA: (rubbing her temples) What the fuck?

SELMA: (chewing) You seen that bacon walk out, too?

DORA: What?

(Whispers stop.)

SELMA: A piece of bacon. Jumped up and took a stroll.

DORA: Grandmother, bacon doesn’t walk.

SELMA: I know, right? But this bacon just floated on out. Happy as a peach.

DORA: Bold as brass.

SELMA: Clear as day.

DORA: Busy as a beaver.

SELMA: Dead as a doornail.

DORA: It’s a good day for similes.

SELMA: Very useful when bacon ups and walks away.

(DORA smiles and pats SELMA’s hand.)

SELMA: Do look after that bacon, won’t you?

DORA: Where did it go, Grandmother?

(SELMA points. DORA salutes and exits in the opposite direction.)

SELMA: Poor girl. Dumb as a box of rocks.

(SETH enters and sits again to eat.)

SELMA: Why didn’t the oak tree shed its leaves?

SETH: (weary, putting down fork) I don’t know, mom, why?

SELMA: It’s not a riddle. Have you noticed the oak trees always hold their leaves longest?

SETH: No.

(SERRA walks in but stands at the edge of the room/stage, listening.)

SELMA: There’s one in the backyard that doesn’t shed until spring when the buds come in and push the old leaves out.

SETH: Really.

SELMA: Yup. I can’t figure out why. With the leaves still on the branches there’s a better chance the snow will weigh down and break off limbs…

SETH: Must be an adaptation we don’t know about.

SELMA: And how have you adapted?

SETH: (pause) I’ve gotta pack. There’s a convention in Miami this weekend. I’ll be back Monday.

SELMA: If oak trees could run would they go to warmer climates?

(SETH goes to exit, sees SERRA, reaches out but changes his mind and waves away the gesture, grunting. He exits. SERRA and SELMA place the remaining food and dishes in a garbage bag and place it downstage next to the others. Lights down.)

(Scene x. DORA’s bedroom. DORA sits on her bed looking across the room at PIG. He is coated in flour and still clutches the bacon. CHICKEN sits on the windowsill. The broken flower pots and cigarette butt from earlier still litter floor.)

DORA: Hi.

PIG: Hi.

DORA: Bacon?

PIG: Yeah.

DORA: Why?

PIG: It called me back.

DORA: Yours?

PIG: Yeah.

DORA: That’s sick.

PIG: Yeah. Just this slice though.

DORA: Oh?

PIG: Yeah. The others weren’t mine.

DORA: Oh. Ew.

PIG: Yeah.

DORA: I get why you took it, but don’t do it again. Lucky it was only Selma this time. She’s far enough gone that nothing surprises her anymore. I actually think you made her day.

PIG: I saw a little boy, too. He looked right at me. Asked me if I could fly.

DORA: Can you?

PIG: No.

CHICKEN: Me neither.

PIG: But you’re a chicken.

CHICKEN: Chickens can’t fly.

DORA: How long are you here for?

PIG and CHICKEN: I dunno.

CHICKEN: Until something happens.

DORA: What?

PIG: I dunno.

(CHICKEN pulls out a cigarette, offers one to PIG. They smoke on the windowsill. DORA gets her polaroid camera and snaps a photo of the two animals. The flash scares the PIG and he jumps up, knocking over furniture and knick-knacks with his large bottom.)

PIG: You took a photo of me?

DORA: (placing picture into album) How often does a girl have a smoking ghost-pig in her room?

CHICKEN: She said something like that to me, too.

PIG: You took a photo of me?

DORA: You’re handsome.

CHICKEN: Are you coming on to a pig?

PIG: You took a photo of me?

DORA: Oh c’mon, you guys looked really cool.

CHICKEN: You didn’t even look at the picture before stuffing it / into a…

PIG: (hysterical) / YOU TOOK A PHOTO OF ME?

(PIG has a panic attack and cradles the bacon. The CHICKEN looks at him and back at DORA.)

DORA: No, stop, quiet, please. I dunno if anyone can hear you… listen to me. Hey, Pig.

PIG: I HAVE A NAME.

DORA: Alright! I’m sorry! What’s your name?

PIG: I DON’T REMEMBER. 151778923309973544…12237760059….

(PIG keeps repeating numbers in whatever order and CHICKEN pats him on the back.)

CHICKEN: We didn’t have real names. We had numbers. I was 00491.

DORA: Why can you remember yours?

CHICKEN: Oh, mine is typed on this band around my leg. (holds up leg)

DORA: Where is his?

CHICKEN: Probably on his ear. He can’t see it. HEY, PIG. (PIG still recites numbers) PIG. HEY. GIMME YOUR EAR.

(CHICKEN grabs PIGs ear. PIG squeals… like a pig.)

CHICKEN: Your name is 52295.

PIG: 52295? I don’t think I like that name.

CHICKEN: Well it’s tattooed on your ear. That’s what they called you.

PIG: (hugs bacon) They didn’t call me at all. I don’t remember my name. I had a name. My mom gave me a name. I think? What’s in a name?

DORA: Shakespeare?

CHICKEN: Always heard pigs were smart.

DORA: But if Pig thinks having a name is significant it’s not exactly the most pertinent quote.

CHICKEN: It gets the audience thinking all the same. What do you remember, Pig?

PIG: A light.

DORA: Typical.

PIG: No… a bunch of lights.

CHICKEN: Must’ve been the slaughterhouse.

DORA: How would you know that?

CHICKEN: I was dead long before my body was brought to the slaughterhouse. I got to watch.

(Footsteps are heard offstage. SERRA calls to DORA. DORA panics and tries to dust off the flour from the Ghosts. SERRA enters.)

SERRA: Hi.

DORA: Hi.

SERRA: Whatcha doing?

DORA: (still holding photo album, shrugs) Just what it looks like.

SERRA: Oh. (pause) It doesn’t do well to live in the past, Dora.

DORA: Okay.

SERRA: (looking around, suspicious) Were you… talking to them?

DORA: (uneasy) To whom?

(SERRA gestures to the album uncomfortably. DORA rolls her eyes and sighs.)

SERRA: Your dad and I are here when you need to talk.

DORA: My dad will never come here.

(SERRA takes a breath to calm herself, puts on a strained smile, and briskly leaves the room.)

DORA: I can’t stand her! I feel like a stranger in another country, and the one friend I have who can speak English won’t do it. Like she’s embarrassed of me or something.

PIG: What do you want from her?

DORA: I dunno… an argument! Confrontation! She’s so bland! So… vanilla!

PIG: I like vanilla.

CHICKEN: Maybe we can get her to open up.

DORA: I’d like to see that.

CHICKEN: Pig and I are here because we need something from you. So… a little give might get us closer to a little take.

PIG: All right! Operation torture Serra / begins at dawn!

CHICKEN:  / No, Pig, it’s her mother. We can’t do that.

PIG: Oh.

(PIG gives a thumbs up. CHICKEN lights another cigarette. DORA takes another photo. Lights down.)

 Scene xi. (The dinner table. SELMA, SERRA, and DORA are already seated. A plate sits in front of the two empty seats. SETH enters and sits at the head of the table, as per usual. A murmur of voices plays overhead. DORA rubs her temples and taps her forehead as if to clear a memory.)

SETH: (gesturing at CHILD’s seat) Who set a plate there?

(DORA starts serving herself as if she didn’t hear him.)

SETH: (slapping her hand) We start dinner when I say. Now tell me, who. Put. A. Plate. There.

SERRA: I just / thought…

SETH:  / Get rid of it.

(Everyone is still. The murmur of voices overhead gets louder.)

SETH: Dora, put it away.

DORA: (wincing uncomfortably) I didn’t even -!

SETH: Put. The. Plate. A. Way.

(DORA pushes the plate off the table and it smashes on the floor. She continues to serve herself food. SERRA whimpers a little but puts on a smile and beams all around. The murmurs grow dim.)

DORA: Didn’t have any fun at the convention, Seth?

SETH: Excuse me?

DORA: Father.

SELMA: So what’s for dinner? Steak? Mm, my favorite.

SERRA: Mom, do you really think your doctor would approve of you eating steak?

SELMA: Do you think I approve of you calling me mom?

(The murmurs stop.)

SERRA: (softly, to herself) Old crone… still at it…

SELMA: Old crone? Damn right! And this here old crone wants a steak!

SERRA: Please, mom… not tonight…

SELMA: (calling offstage) HEY. HE-EY-EYYY! MAY-TER-DEE! (maitre d’)

DORA: Grandmother, there’s no maitre d’, we’re home.

SELMA: OH-HO MAY-TER-DEE!

DORA: Grandmother –

SERRA: Dora, please?

(DORA sighs and exits. SELMA continues to gripe and moan for the waiter. SETH fills his plate and eats irritably. DORA enters with a moustache and a uniform.)

DORA: Madam?

SELMA: Shit. Finally. Service here… I swear, every time! I want a steak!

DORA: Madam, I believe a woman of your age should avoid –

SELMA: Shit! Shit! Since when did I pay a waiter to lecture me on my diet? A STEAK. A STEAK.

SERRA: Now, mom –

SELMA: YOU’RE NOT MY DAUGHTER. GET. ME. A. STEAK.

(DORA walks around to the right side of SELMA and grabs a steak with her hand, throwing it on SELMA’s plate. She returns to SELMA’s left.)

DORA: Voy-la. (Voilà)

SELMA: Shit. Worst presentation. (she confides to SETH) We are NOT leaving a tip.

(DORA exits again. She returns dressed as per usual.)

SELMA: Honey, did you see that waiter? He was dreadful. Awful sense of style, greasy moustaches, feminine figure… d’you think he’s one of those homosexuals? (pronounced hah-ma-sexual.)

DORA: Yeah, Grandmother, rotten fella.

(The CHILD enters, a Ghost. No one sees him. He puts his hand on DORA’s wrist. DORA looks “at” him and goes back to her food. He sits next to her. SERRA habitually goes to serve food at the CHILD’s place, and SETH catches her.)

SETH: Serra!

SERRA: (as if out of a dream) What? Oh, oh! I’m sorry. So sorry… (She sets the serving spoon down.) It just… it felt like he was hungry and ---

SETH: OH for the LOVE of god!

SELMA: I’ve had about enough of this family. I’m going. MAY-TER-DEE! I NEED MY FOOD TO GO. HEY-AYYYY, MAY-TER-DEE!

(SERRA looks at DORA, hopeful.)

DORA: Oh for fucks sake! No! NO! I’m sick of being the one who humors her insanity! Christ!

SETH: DORA WINIFRED –

DORA: DON’T YOU USE THAT NAME FOR ME. IT’S NOT YOUR NAME TO USE.

SETH: YOU TAKE CARE OF YOUR GRANDMOTHER NOW, OR SO HELP ME GOD –

DORA: WHAT SETH, WHAT? YOU’LL USE YOUR RING HAND? BRING IT ON LARD-O!

(DORA sweeps dishes off the table with her arm. She exits and quickly enters again with a box, in which she puts SELMA’s food. She is not dressed as a waiter this time. The CHILD stands and moves back, observing.)

DORA: VOY-LA, MOTHER FUCKERS.

SELMA: (smiling) What a nice waitress.

(SELMA exits with her food. DORA flips the table over and exits. SETH throws down his silverware and pursues her. SERRA pursues SETH.)

SETH: (exiting) Oh no, NOT IN MY HOUSE.

SERRA: (following, frantic) SETH! Please! Not tonight!

DORA: (offstage) Christ, SETH!

(SETH pulls DORA back onstage, hand wrapped tightly around her forearm, SERRA trying to pull his arm away.)

SETH: You’re not making a mess for your mother to clean up.

(DORA pulls back and he wrenches her arm around and pushes SERRA away.)

DORA: For fucks sake! This is harassment!

SETH: And throwing my furniture around? That’s just having a little fun?

DORA: Fine! I’ll pick up the fucking table!

(DORA pulls away again and SETH lets go. He exits and SERRA follows. DORA massages her arm, wincing, and exits without touching the table. The janitors enter and sweep the mess into a large garbage bag. They place it next to the others downstage. The CHILD exits. They remove the dining room furniture and bring out the couch. During the following they continue to carry in props for the upstage scene. DORA enters and sits. She turns T.V. on.  A projection is played onto the couch and the action is enacted behind her, upstage. SERRA enters, napkin in hand and dabs at DORA’s bruised arm uselessly.)

SERRA: Why do you have to be so difficult?

DORA: (pulling away sharply) I’m not difficult, he’s an ass. You married an ass.

(DORA exits. SELMA enters and sits on couch.)

SELMA: (watching television) What is this crap?

(Lights down on couch, up on action upstage. Picket signs have been carried in and placed around the stage. Stuffed cows are lined up like an army. PEANUT carries a sign that says, “Don’t eat my baby” and chants. The janitors have dressed as policemen. They carry batons and hand guns, entering stage right and threatening PEANUT.)

PEANUT: Down with veal! Down with servitude! (she repeats this again and again.)

(Lights down upstage, up on couch. Projection of news broadcast play onto couch. )

SERRA: Dora put it on. It’s some sort of radical news program.

SELMA: Isn’t that the cow she likes?

SERRA: Peanut.

SELMA: You know I’m allergic.

SERRA: No, that’s what Dora calls the cow.

SELMA: What kind of name is that?

SERRA: It’s a food.

SELMA: It’s a food I’m allergic to. Would I be allergic to the cow?

(Lights up on action upstage. The police fire and PEANUT attempts to charge through the bullets. She knocks the policemen offstage.)

SELMA: In my day cows stayed in the pasture. Now / cows on talk shows! Cows in New York!

SERRA: / Oh! Those poor men! In the line of duty! I can’t take much more of this propaganda…

SELMA: Oh, wait, don’t change it yet, this is a great commercial.

SERRA: Oh, mom, no, it’s so old…

SELMA: (singing) Valley of the Jolly Green Giant!

(SERRA changes the channel.)

SERRA: This is a little more progressive. (singing) Once you pop, you can’t stop! Ah, the 90’s bring me back.

(SETH enters, takes remote, and turns on sports channel. He sits between the women on the couch)

SETH: Crap commercials.

(Lights upstage, two janitors come out dressed in football uniforms and pass a ball. One takes out a bottle of Crocaid [play on gatorade] and pours it all over his face, catching drops here and there in his mouth. He walks downstage and slams a full bottle down on the coffee table in front of the couch. Water sprays up around the bottle. Football players exit.)

SETH: Ah, Crocaid! (grabs bottle and chugs, spilling drink down his chest)

(BeerBrilliance commercial comes on. Upstage, a bunch of janitors carry out a sofa, a six pack, and an old T.V. set. They sit, drink, and cheer. The sound of the opening can is exaggerated.)

SETH, SELMA, and SERRA: (together) Mmmm, beer.

(SETH reaches behind couch and pulls out a six pack. They drink. Lights out.)

Scene xii. (DORA is in her room. She sprinkles flour over the CHILD. The CHICKEN and PIG watch the CHILD from a distance. DORA sits on her bed. There is a moment of awkward silence. DORA prepares her camera, shaking her head slightly, blinking hard, and pressing fingers to her head.)

CHICKEN: (to CHILD) So. Kid. (Pause) Can you fly?

(PIG sniggers into his hoof.)

CHILD: Fuck you.

CHICKEN: Oooo such a mouth on one so young.

PIG: It’s easy, just flap your arms. Like this. (PIG flails like a windmill.)

CHICKEN: Hey, let’s not pressure him. Maybe ghosts WILL fly someday. Like when pigs fly!

(CHICKEN and PIG snigger like school boys.)

PIG: I get it, I get it! Because that’s what humans say about impossible things!

CHICKEN: Humans also say pigs are real smart.

(DORA takes a photo of the three ghosts and quickly slips the photo into an album. The flash startles PIG again and he clutches his bacon strip in fear. The CHICKEN offers him a cigarette. They smoke.)

CHILD: (to CHICKEN) Hey, you guys can’t / smoke…

CHICKEN: (simultaneously with DORA)  / We’ve been over this already, kid.

DORA: (simultaneously with CHICKEN) / Why did you stay? Why did you come to me?

CHILD: You’re the only one who listens.

DORA: I’m the one least likely to care about what you have to say.

CHILD: No, I mean, you’re the only one who really listens. Who can hear us.

DORA: Why are you talking like that?

CHILD: Like what?

DORA: …Well.

CHILD: Well what?!

DORA: WHY ARE YOU TALKING WELL?!

SETH: (from offstage) HEY.

CHILD: No need to raise / your voice.

DORA: (talking down to floor, “downstairs”) / HAY IS FOR HORSES.

SETH: (offstage) NO FARM TALK IN THIS HOUSE.

CHICKEN: DON’T COUNT YOUR CHICKENS BEFORE THEY HATCH.

DORA: IT’S A SAYING, SETH. / Shut up, clucky.

SETH: (offstage) / DON’T MAKE ME COME UP THERE.

DORA: OOOH I’M SO SCARED.

CHILD: Don’t push his / buttons, D.W.

SETH: (offstage) / AW TO HELL WITH YOU.

DORA: NOT BEFORE YOU. Don’t call me that, squirt.

CHILD: Don’t call me that, Amazon.

CHICKEN: Don’t call me clucky, sixteen.

DORA: Don’t call me sixteen, poultry!

 (PIG cries and cuddles bacon. CHILD awkwardly pats PIG’s behind, considers, and sits on it. PIG doesn’t seem to notice.)

CHILD: You hear things.

DORA: Do Seth and Serra even know you’re dead?

CHILD: That was blunt.

DORA: They don’t, do they.

CHILD: Just listen!

CHICKEN: She listens best when she’s asleep.

DORA: What??

PIG: (cheering up) Yes! It’s always easy to get through to her when she’s sleeping.

DORA: You talk to me when I’m sleeping??

CHICKEN: She’s a lot more sympathetic when most of her mind is shut down.

CHILD: Yeah, she grew a hard shell when Serra made her move back home.

DORA: What did you tell me? What did you talk about while I was asleep?

CHICKEN: Our deaths.

PIGs: Our lives.

CHILD: I actually haven’t had the chance to ruin your dreams yet.

DORA: Well stop it!

PIG: I never stopped eating. I don’t know why I didn’t stop… it seems logical now… to stop. I was so fat I couldn’t fit in my stall.

CHILD: You’re a pig.

PIG: PIGS DON’T HAVE TO LOOK LIKE THIS! (he gestures to his behind)

CHILD: THEY DO IF THEY WANT TO BE DELICIOUS.

PIG: I DIDN’T WANT TO BE FOOD AT ALL.

CHICKEN: I did stop eating. My legs gave up on me. I couldn’t even pick myself up to get to the food. Listen, my breasts got so big…

DORA: TMI.

CHICKEN: What?

DORA: Too much information.

CHICKEN: My breasts were so big they dragged my face down into the shit and food and water and mud and feathers. The others didn’t notice. Not that they could have helped… they were all as fat as I was. They were too stupid to know or care that someone was dying, right there, beneath their feet.

CHILD: Something.

CHICKEN: What?

CHILD: Something, not someone. You’re not a person.

CHICKEN: I’m here, aren’t I? I’m communicating, aren’t I? I have feelings, don’t I?

CHILD: You’re not here. Not really. Not entirely.

DORA: You said you saw your body until the very end.

CHICKEN: They slit my throat, to pump out the blood. But no blood pumped out.

DORA: Beheading. To pierce through skin, veins, muscle, bone, and nerves. If in one fell swoop your head is separated, life would end in a "whoosh". A brief swooping sound, lasting not more than a fraction of a second, and maybe, just maybe the initial sound of metal on flesh. If you are unfortunate enough as to have a poor executioner, or a dull blade, the end may be less simple. If the blade does not immediately cut off the nervous system, you may suffer a moment of intense pain. A neck ache like a searing hot metal necklace biting into your spine. What if the blade skims at the spine, playing the nerves like a violin? Will you feel an agonizing electric jolt pass through your body, will your limbs flail involuntarily, the body's final pathetic salute to the living world? A moment where the line between man and animal is so fine, the audience forgets that they are witnessing the demise of one of their own. To be hacked to death thus is less artful than the death of livestock in a slaughterhouse.

PIG: Debatable.

CHILD: You can’t have gone in a more ugly way than I did.

PIG: What? Do you have any idea what a slaughterhouse is like? You died in your own vomit. On clean, white sheets. Probably with a nickelodeon cartoon playing on the television hanging above your bed. You don’t know what is ugly in this world.

CHILD: No, the old man in the next bed put on Bill O’Reilly. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t have scared you, too.

CHICKEN: Enough arguing over who suffered more. We’re wasting precious time here.

DORA: What do you want me to do? Write down your nonsense and hold a press conference? That’s a laugh. “Citizens of America, I come bearing the final testaments of slaughtered livestock!”

CHILD: (to Ghosts) Why are you here?

CHICKEN: The same reason you are. The same reason anyone turns their back on a blissful haven that transcends the pleasure found in earthly devices.

CHILD: Revenge?

PIG: Advocating for quality of life.

(PIG and CHICKEN look at each other and pull out cigarettes. They light up. DORA walks over and stubs out the cigarettes.)

DORA: Second hand smoke. I’m advocating for my quality of life.

CHICKEN: (picks up stubbed cigarette) You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. (He lights up.)

DORA: Listen, when I want something, I kill it. I kill what I love. I fear what I want. I fear it until I break it. I may not seem sympathetic… or loving, but I’m just hiding. I hide because to be free is to be a monster.

CHICKEN: Maybe what this world needs is a monster.

PIG: Or something that can make an impact.

CHILD: Something that can fight back.

DORA: Fight back against what?

CHICKEN: Ignorance.

(Multiple voices, garbled, play overhead. Louder than before. DORA covers her ears and closes her eyes. The Ghosts look at her, unsurprised but interested.)

DORA: Fuck fuck fuck! Stop!

(The voices get louder and suddenly stop altogether. DORA breathes hard and shakes her head.)

PIG: …Well, now.

DORA: How did that not bother you! They’re so loud my head feels like it’s splitting in two!

(The Ghosts look at each other, uncomfortable.)

CHILD: Who?

DORA: I dunno who! At first it sounded kinda like Chicken. I dunno who! They come and go, but they didn’t start coming until Poultry got here, so it has to be you.

(PIG and CHILD look at CHICKEN accusingly.)

CHICKEN: (unconcerned) Don’t look at me! I haven’t… I don’t know what she means! Besides, she said, THEY, she probably means you guys, too!

PIG: (aghast) The last thing I’d do is hurt Dora!

CHILD: I just got here, leave me out of it!

CHICKEN: Well I’m not the only Ghost around here, so share the blame.

PIG: Blame? You were the first one here! We just followed YOU.

CHICKEN: (theatrically) What! We were all drawn to Dora it has nothing to do with ME…

DORA: Okay! Okay okay okay. Whatever. It’s done now. I hear enough arguments around the dinner table. And now I have those voices… I don’t need to put up with your noise as well. Just leave me alone.

(DORA sits on her bed and takes out a notebook. As she writes, she reads out loud. CHICKEN and CHILD play cards. PIG plays with bacon like it’s a doll.)

DORA: All I can think of to do with my free time is write letters to you. When I sit here by myself… everything that comes to mind is something that I want to share with you. And you’ll never write back. You’ll never think back. You know how you used to give me crystallized ginger after dinner? I eat it all the time. Memories get stuck in flavors. I love it. I love being transported back to that moment when I taste something powerful. I wake up every day wanting my childhood back, and the only thing that returns you to me is that ginger. I still make my own, you know, like you taught me. Those long winter nights when it got so cold and so dark so early… it’s that time of year again. I dug up so much ginger before the first frost. It’s all sitting in jars on my windowsill. I know you said the sun will ruin it, but it looks so pretty during the day, during our few hours of sun.

PIG: What are you always writing?

DORA: Didn’t I tell you to fuck off?

PIG: (hurt) It’s just a question.

DORA: Nothing.

PIG: You’re writing something. You do it whenever you don’t think anyone is looking.

DORA: Everyone is always looking. You guys are always here.

PIG: But you still write.

DORA: Yes.

PIG: What?

DORA: Thoughts.

PIG: You always think this much?

DORA: Don’t you have things to do?

PIG: I can’t do anything… no one notices me, except you. I need you.

DORA: Then why are we talking about me? What do you want me to do for you?

PIG: You can’t help me if you can’t help yourself.

DORA: I can. That’s why I write.

PIG: Well I’m still here. I can leave once I’ve accomplished what I stayed for. I can’t accomplish anything without your voice.

DORA: I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.

PIG: What do you write?

DORA: (pause) I write to my Gran. I can’t relate to anyone else about the things that really matter to me. If I pretend I’m writing to her, I can imagine how she would respond.

CHICKEN: (pitching in) Then she’s already within you and you don’t need to channel her like some spirit. Just take all your experiences and wisdom and put them to work! (to CHILD) Your turn, kid.

DORA: Butt out.

(PIG bursts out crying. The murmuring voices play overhead at a medium noise level. DORA tries to ignore it.)

PIG: What is it with you people!

CHICKEN: You really have no tact at all, do you, sixteen?

DORA: (massaging her temples as the murmurs get louder) Don’t call me that!

CHICKEN: THEN DON’T USE SLURS REFERRING TO ASSES AROUND PIG. (to CHILD) Your turn, kid.

DORA: (covering her ears, yelling over voices) SHIT I didn’t ASK him to be here at all! I didn’t say anything offensive! Christ! I can’t speak as I like in the privacy of my own room! You guys are just like my parents.

CHILD: (to CHICKEN) / What is she screeching for?

PIG: (pause in crying) / Really? Who am I? Oh, oh please tell me I’m Selma!

(The murmuring stops. DORA composes herself as if unaffected.)

DORA: Definitely not.

CHICKEN: I’m Selma.

DORA: Why do you all want to be Selma?

CHICKEN: (shrugging) She’s the least predictable.

CHILD: If anyone’s Selma, it’s me. I’ve got her genes. (to CHICKEN) Go.

PIG: I’VE got her jeans. (holds up a pair of stretch, maternity jeans)

DORA: Jesus, give those back! / Why do you have her pants??

CHICKEN: /  That was a terrible pun.

PIG: They just fit so well, I never / got to wear pants before.

DORA: / What are you saying about Selma?

CHILD: We can’t fly… we can’t be seen… but we can wear pants… isn’t there some ghost rulebook? I feel like there’s some overlap here. Is it my turn?

CHICKEN: Yeah, shoot. Listen, Dora, it’s the fate of old humans… they turn into pears. / Don’t take it personally. Even though that will be you in fifty years.

PIG: (perking up, excited) / Pears?

CHILD: Not literally, Pig. Go, Plucky.

DORA: My Gran died just as beautiful as she was when she was born.

CHICKEN: Is that really for you to say? You weren’t at her birth. Humans are just as pruney then as they are eighty years later.

DORA: How is any of this going to help me help myself so I can help you??

CHICKEN: Lighten up, sixteen. That’s how you start.

PIG: I guarantee you pears would cheer you up.

CHILD: You can’t eat pears, Pig.

PIG: I said pears would cheer HER up! I didn’t say I wanted them!

CHILD: You can’t eat anything, Pig.

(PIG sighs, holds bacon to breast, and begins to climb out the window.)

CHICKEN and DORA: Where are you going?

PIG: Out! I’m going to find pears!

DORA: And then what? You’ll stare at them? You’ll just be tormenting yourself.

PIG: No! Sometimes… if I just like… put things in my mouth… I can sort of, kinda… like feel… smell… taste… the thing I put in my mouth. IT’S BETTER THAN NOT HAVING ANY PEARS, ALRIGHT.

(He quickly descends ladder and drops out of sight [going offstage in reality])

CHILD: Really? Dora, go get us something to eat.

DORA: You can’t eat!

CHICKEN: Dora, go get us something to push through our ectoplasm.

DORA: You don’t have ectoplasm. I don’t even know what ectoplasm is, really.

CHICKEN: I’m perfectly capable of going to the kitchen and getting food myself.

DORA: Not a chance! I’m not letting any more family members witness the phenomenon of floating food.

CHICKEN: Well then. I believe this discussion has concluded. Thank you, Dora Winifred.

DORA: Don’t…!

(DORA sighs irritably and exits. SELMA enters.)

SELMA: (looking around) Where’re my pants??

CHICKEN: (whispering to CHILD) How would she know to look here?

SELMA: (hearing the whisper) HEH? WHAT? Oh, my pants!

(SELMA picks the pants up off the floor. She looks up and notices the thin veil of flour on CHICKEN, seemingly floating in midair. She blows some off, considers, and exits. CHICKEN breathes a sigh of relief. PIG climbs back through the window, arms full of pears. DORA enters with a plate of bread and fruit.)

DORA: Selma wasn’t… oh my god.

CHICKEN: (snatching food from DORA) Yeah she was, but it’s okay, she just left. (seeing pears) Where’d you find so many pears so fast?

PIG: (dropping pears) Aw I missed Selma?

CHILD: (picks up a pear) Came looking for her pants.

PIG: Why’d she look for her pants here? It’s not like you two have similar fashion taste… (he takes DORA’s food and rubs it over his face)

DORA: How’s the food?

CHICKEN: (also smearing food on face) Oh, god, can’t you guess?

DORA: I’m guessing that you’re… making a mess.

PIG: I can’t say it’s like eating, but… oh! Oh I can tell it’s tasty. You didn’t give us very strong flavors, though.

DORA: Serra shops at Shelf-Smart. Everything is lacking in flavor. It’s just shitty, enriched white bread and preserved bananas. Honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if your chicken and pig feed was tastier.

CHICKEN: Sure, if you like eating hormone enriched corn with a side of ground up meat byproduct. I kinda like this stuff.

DORA: That’s because it’s loaded with sugars.

PIG: I like sugar. It makes me fun.

DORA: It’s like a drug.

CHICKEN: I like drugs. They make me fun.

CHILD: (taking what’s left of food, daintily wiping it on his face) Eh, tasted better in real life. This isn’t much more satisfying then smelling it.

DORA: I’m surprised anyone would be truly satisfied by / this crap.

CHICKEN: (to CHILD) / Based on your death, I’m surprised you’re interested in food at all.

CHILD: Based on your death, I’m surprised you sought out the company of more humans.

CHICKEN: Based on your present company, I’m surprised you’re mounting an attack against me.

(DORA climbs into bed, stuffing plugs into her ears and turns her back to the animals.)

CHILD: Based on our state of being, I’m surprised you’re threatening me.

CHICKEN: Well, based on / your age…

PIG: / Guys I dunno what you’re talking about, but I’m recognizing some repetition and it’s annoying. (lowering his voice) Dora’s sleeping.

(The CHICKEN pulls out cigarettes for everyone, and CHILD takes one. They light up. DORA instantly sits up and stares at CHILD.)

CHILD: What? It’s not like I have a future body to preserve.

(DORA grumpily turns over again. The Ghosts smoke for a moment before the murmuring plays overhead, no louder than before. DORA curls into a ball and hums loudly to herself. The Ghosts look at her. The murmuring fades slowly and stops. DORA stretches out and sleeps.)

Scene xiii. (Breakfast. Only SERRA and DORA are present. SERRA works through the coupon section of the newspaper and DORA sips tea.)

SERRA: Grandma tells me she found her pants in your room last night.

DORA: Cool.

SERRA: She says there was some flour just floating around, mid-air like.

DORA: Weird.

SERRA: Dora Winifred, use your words.

DORA: Odd. Strange. Queer. Questionable. Peculiar. Unordinary.  / Abnormal. Unusual.

SERRA: / Don’t be smart with me.

DORA: I can’t be anything other than I am, mother. I wasn’t raised by Seth, after all.

SERRA: Your Grandmother saw something unexpected.

DORA: Why are you acting like that’s new?

SERRA: I’ve heard you talking a lot more lately.

DORA: If you bought me that phone I asked for maybe I wouldn’t have to yell out the window at strangers for decent conversation.

SERRA: Grandma’s pants and floating flour?

DORA: Forgetfulness and breezes.

SERRA: Really.

DORA: Oh, really. So, mom.       

SERRA: Hmm.

DORA: Tell me about dad.

SERRA: Ask him yourself.

DORA: My dad.

SERRA: Seth is your dad.

DORA: He’s not.  

SERRA: The man who fathered you and the man who is your dad can be two different things.

DORA: Sounds the same to me.

SERRA: A dad is someone who can support and love his children.

DORA: Yeah I’m sure Seth is a much better “dad” than the man who gave me life.

SERRA: I’m not arguing with you this morning.

(DORA swigs the rest of her tea and exits, leaving cup on table. SELMA enters, disheveled, mumbling and in a large night gown. She carries a cup of coffee and sits in DORA’s seat.)

SERRA: You know she denied everything you said.

SELMA: (mumbling) Tell ME what’s what… can’t be tamed… a pear? A pear. I’ll show you… pear. MY pants.

SERRA: Mom?

SELMA: YOU’RE NOT SETH. WHERE’S MY SON. YOU’RE NOT MY DAUGHTER.

SERRA: Selma, it’s a little early. Seth has work.

SELMA: YOU CALL THIS A PRISON?

SERRA: He’s gone for / a week or two.

SELMA: / I’VE SEEN WORSE THAN THIS.

(SELMA flips over the table and uses it as a barricade. Her enemy is the audience and she is suddenly wearing a colander as a helmet. A spatula serves as a weapon. She peers out over the table at the audience. Her coffee cup and DORA’s tea cup are shattered on the floor. SERRA’s coupon clippings scatter.)

SERRA: SELMA. SELMA.

SELMA: D’ya see ‘em?! Ya see ‘em? All of ‘em?! (she gestures to audience) The commies! The chinks! The japs! The abba-dabbas! The froggies! The Aryans! The blood suckers!

(SERRA gives in and ducks behind table, reappearing beside SELMA with a pot helmet and can opener. SERRA is a poor actress. She does not play along convincingly.)

SELMA: I think it’s time for some biological warfare.

SERRA: How are you gonna do that, lieutenant?

(SELMA holds up spinach and steak.)

SELMA: Don’t worry, private, it’ll work itself out.

(She tosses the food toward the audience like a bomb and takes cover out of sight. The sound of an explosion plays overhead. SELMA peeks out hopefully over the table. She stands, panicked and jittery.)

SELMA: Private! Run!

SERRA: (peering over table, then up at SELMA) Uh… oh! No! What happened, Captain!

SELMA: Lieutenant!

SERRA: Yes, lieutenant!

SELMA: The enemy… they’ve… they’ve undergone a gene mutation!

SERRA: What does that mean?!

SELMA: IT MEANS RUN. RUN UNLESS YOU WANT TO HAVE FIFTY TENTACLES AND TWO EYES ON EACH ONE.

SERRA: WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST SAY A HUNDRED EYES?

SELMA: POETRY DEMANDS CREATIVE WAYS OF EXPRESSING QUANTITY.

(SELMA runs out. SERRA waits until she can no longer hear SELMA, then picks up her coupons and exits. The janitors enter, setting table upright and sweeping debris into a garbage bag, which they place downstage next to the others. Meanwhile, a phone rings offstage. SERRA’s voice is heard answering, pausing, gasping. SERRA crosses the stage quickly, purse and car keys in hand wearing a winter coat and scarf. Lights down.)

Scene xiv: (Living room. Empty. A screen is pulled down upstage, upon which a projection of an old home video, circa 1980s, is played. Silent film. SERRA, perhaps seventeen years old, dressed as a bride. A wedding, perhaps taking place in an apple orchard. She stands hand in hand with an unknown MAN, in his thirties. There is no audience. An elderly man, shabbily dressed seems to perform the ceremony. SERRA and the unknown MAN kiss, wave at the camera. They are happy. Scene switches to a farmhouse. SERRA is out on the porch, obviously pregnant. She churns butter with one hand, a book in the other. She looks bored. The camera zooms in close to her and she smiles. The camera is set down on the ground, looking up. The unknown MAN, SERRA’s husband, walks out from behind the camera and kisses her, his hand on her belly. Light fades to black.)

Scene xv. (CHICKEN stands on chair behind PIG and acts like PIG’s puppet master, pulling invisible strings attached to PIG’s legs and arms. CHILD is “blowing” flour about the room in clouds of dust… “blowing” because ghosts don’t move air in the traditional fashion, considering they have no lungs. Refer back to scene vii.)

CHILD: She hardly eats. Except that nasty ginger…

CHICKEN: (shrugging, making PIG shrug) That’s the fad these days, right?

PIG: We all just want to be skinny… (CHICKEN turns PIG sideways and emphasizes PIG’s rear)

CHILD: She’s paranoid. Not about weight, though.

PIG: Good, that girl’s gotta figure to make Carmen Electra jealous.

CHILD: I read it.

CHICKEN: There’s only one “it” in this room worth snooping into.

CHILD: She has like five pages on her fear of grease alone.

PIG: My bacon! (CHICKEN moves PIG’s hooves protectively over bacon, which is taped to his chest. CHILD goes to desk and takes out journal.)

CHICKEN: You’d think she’d hide something like that… (CHICKEN moves PIG around throughout journal entry.)

CHILD: Listen. (reading) “They FRY broccoli! They FRY it! How else can my family be persuaded to eat vegetables?”

CHICKEN: Oh, I’ve seen the old fat man. He needs a vat of ranch dressing to swallow anything, fried or not.

CHILD: (reading) “The day Seth brought home that vile contraption I knew I was going to be following in Gandhi’s footsteps. On a smaller scale, but certainly not insignificant! “

PIG: A girl comparing her anorexia to Gandhi’s peaceful resistance. Mm, mm, mm!

CHILD: How does a pig know about--- whatever. (reading) “I swear, if it fits, they fry it. I swear I can feel it. I can feel it in my skin. I can feel it around my mouth, on my cheeks, my fingertips, my forehead, my heart. That gooey, sticky, greasy, slimy, slippery, pore clogging substance. It stays on you. It’s sick and I can’t think straight. Go to the bathroom. Soap up my hands. Rinse. Lather. Rinse. Lather. Rinse. I can still feel it though. It’s sunk in deep. It’s a layer of my soul now. Second hand grease should be public concern.”

CHICKEN: What is her problem with second hand things?

PIG: That’s just how the world identifies something as a problem. Slap a “second hand” in front of anything and wham-o, public issue number one.

CHILD: I’ve been wearing second hand clothes my whole life.

PIG: Well, all humans have two hands, so does that mean one of them is bad?

CHICKEN: That’s a lot of unlucky hands. I’m not entirely sure the human population has made up for all that bad karma yet.

CHILD: Dora’s lost it. (reading) “The best way to remove grease is to use a pumice stone. It’s like removing all the layers hiding your real, good skin. It gets rid of the parasites of every new day.” Christ, someone has demons.

PIG: Does she see anyone?

CHICKEN: She couldn’t maintain a boyfriend, les’ be honest.

CHILD: Serra used to make her go to a therapist. I’m sure Dora lied every time.

CHICKEN: And came home to scrub off the lies with a fucking rock.

PIG: Pumice stones are good for skin exfoliation; they’re so much more than just rocks!

(CHICKEN makes PIG hit himself in the face. PIG squeals.)

CHICKEN: Well she can’t lie to us. We’re not so transparent.

PIG: Dreadful pun.

CHILD: Really was.

CHICKEN: Trans… parent. (pause) That’s it. I’m a genius.

PIG: Oh goody! I’ll be the therapist!

(CHICKEN walks PIG over to the closet and pulls out an elastic tutu.)

CHILD: I had no idea Dora had a feminine side.

CHICKEN: To her credit, it’s still black. I’m going to need you too, kid.

CHILD: For what, plucky?

CHICKEN: We’re gonna make her talk.

(PIG punches one hoof into the other, threateningly, nodding. CHICKEN shakes his head. As CHICKEN and CHILD struggle to stretch the tutu over PIG’s behind, PEANUT climbs through the window, shattering the glass and falling in a flour-dust cloud. Everyone looks up, frozen.)

CHICKEN: Oh, what the hell? Who the hell are you?

CHILD: That’s the cow Dora likes.

PEANUT: Peanut.

PIG: (expecting more) Peanut…?

PEANUT: Peanut. Just Peanut.

PIG: Peanut 2.0?

PEANUT: Pea. Nut.

PIG: So… Peanut .5?

PEANUT: (pause) What’s with the pig?

CHICKEN: He’s going to play Serra.

CHILD: He’s not very bright.

CHICKEN: He thinks you have a number for a name, like us.

CHILD: He’s probably jealous ‘cause he doesn’t have a name / like you do.

PIG:  / I do too have a name!

CHICKEN: Right now your name is Serra.

PEANUT: He can’t wear that tutu.

PIG: Can’t I just be Selma? I like Selma. Her pants fit me.

CHICKEN: We don’t have Selma’s pants.

PIG: Kid?

CHILD: Fine. Pants. Right. (he exits)

PEANUT: (to CHICKEN) And you are?

CHICKEN: Call me Seth. Now I need a new wife. (he looks at her udders)

PEANUT: (boldly jutting her udders forward, like breasts) My face. (miming quotation marks with hooves) “Seth”. Is up here.

CHICKEN: Then why are you flaunting your teats.

PEANUT: Gimme that skirt.

(PEANUT pulls the skirt over her udders, which peek out beneath the hem. CHICKEN finds a black blazer in the closet and pulls it on, then throws a handful of flour over PEANUT. CHILD enters with SELMA’s pants, which PIG eagerly pulls on.)

CHILD: Who am I?

CHICKEN: You’re the spoiled little brother.

CHILD: Dora doesn’t have a spoiled little brother.

CHICKEN: Well, she dodged a bullet, eh?

CHILD: What do I get to do?

CHICKEN: Hide in the closet and scream boo.

CHILD: What? Come on… (pleading) Piiiiiiiiiiig!

PIG: Honey, can’t we give him something to do?

PEANUT: I’M Serra!

PIG: You don’t even know Serra.

CHICKEN: Kid? Closet. Pig? Selma. Cow? Serra. Here’s your angle: Pig, you’re a desperate old woman, clinging to the roots that hang beneath the tree of life. You hate Serra and have fits of… senile… ness. Right. Okay. Cow, / you’re Serra.

PEANUT: / Peanut.

CHICKEN: Whatever. You’re Serra. You’re a worn, middle aged housewife, desperate for recognition and closure. Your only skills involve using a fryer on all your food, pandering to those around you, and hiding your past.

PEANUT: What am I hiding?

CHICKEN: Foreshadowing says something about Dora’s dad.

CHILD: Chicken, you’re Seth. You are a heartless, dick / who is eating his way into hell.

CHICKEN: / No! NO. I’m the director. Go to your closet!

(CHILD mumbles and walks into closet, slamming door behind him.)

PIG: (watching CHILD) Ooo, yeah, that was creepy. I see where you’re going with this, Chicken.

CHICKEN: I’M Seth.

PIG: I’M Selma.

CHILD: (bursting out of closet) BOOH!

CHICKEN: (simultaneously with PIG) NOT YET.

PIG: (simultaneously with CHICKEN) WAHHH!

(CHICKEN covers his face and groans. CHILD returns to closet. PEANUT thinks, then tries to comfort CHICKEN by rubbing him on his back. She thinks again, pulls out a napkin, and uselessly pats at CHICKEN with napkin, smiling all around.)

PIG: (to PEANUT) Ooo, you’re good.

PEANUT: (proudly) I read the script.

CHICKEN: (to ceiling) Oh holy mother of god…

(Footsteps heard offstage, getting louder. Animals spring anxiously to attention. DORA enters the room, running. Door slams behind her.)

DORA: What the HELL are you thinking?? Do you have ANY idea of how loud you all are??

(DORA notices the new Ghost and the costumes.)

PEANUT: Don’t use that tone with me, young lady!

CHICKEN: Inside voices.

CHILD: (peeking out of closet) Seth would never say something like that.

CHICKEN: FOLLOW THE SCRIPT.

PIG: No, please… my constitution can’t / take anymo--- WAHHH!

CHILD:  / (sighs) BOOOH!

DORA: No! Get out of those clothes! Don’t you get it; humans can SEE you like that.

CHICKEN: C’mon Dora, can’t you just play along?

DORA: I have no idea what it is you think you’re trying to do.

PEANUT: (steps forward) Hi, honey. (Pointing to herself and shaking DORA’s hand) Peanut.

DORA: Oh my god! Peanut! Here! Hi! Wow… I never expected… you! Of all people!

PIG: Of all cows.

CHILD: She was trying not to discriminate.

CHICKEN: A cow is a cow.

PEANUT: We’ve grown past calling African Americans a sub species, why not cows?

CHICKEN: Because you aren’t of the genus homo therefore you are indeed a sub species.

DORA: I KNOW THIS WAS YOUR IDEA, POULTRY.

CHICKEN: I don’t see why we can’t just play this out… it’s like you’re trying to ruin the ending of a good book.

DORA: START TALKING.

PIG: Dora, honey…

DORA: SIT DOWN. (pronounced like “siddown”)

(PIG puckers mouth closed and collapses in a heap loudly on the floor. SERRA calls from offstage)

SERRA: DORA WINIFRED ARE YOU TRYING TO DROP CEMENT BLOCKS THROUGH THE CEILING?

DORA: Fuck. NO, MOM. CLEVER GUESS, THOUGH.

SERRA: I AM IN NO MOOD FOR YOUR SASS.

(DORA waits a moment, listening. She looks back at the Ghosts, wagging her finger.)

DORA: They might be morons, but my family can hear.

PIG: We were just trying to… (he trails off, unsure)

DORA: Yes? To? TO?

CHICKEN: Listen, sixteen, it’s like this. Think of us as pieces of a psychological study. We are tools to help you dig up your emotions regarding your family. We’re like those toys psychiatrists ask their patients to use for reenacting real life scenarios.

(DORA walks around the room slapping all the Ghosts across the face. They are shocked.)

DORA: There. I’ve done to you what I’ve always wanted to do to them. You’ve fulfilled your purpose. Now get out of those clothes before someone sees.

PEANUT: I’m actually quite comfortable like this.

PIG: Ah! You too?! I know! To think I lived my whole life without a pair of maternity stretch jeans.

DORA: I’ve had enough.

(DORA reaches out to rip the blazer off CHICKEN. He smacks her hand away.)

CHICKEN: You’ve had enough? You think it’s easy for us to lounge about a teenage girl’s room all day in total silence? We’re here because no one else can help us. You seem totally incapable of helping us until something in your life changes. If you’re convinced that no one cares enough to listen to you or understand you then you’re not only blind to the gift you’ve been given, you’re also missing out on the opportunity to turn it all around. Now we here have all made the choice to remain in this world until our problems have been recognized. You can help us, and help yourself, or you can condemn us, and condemn yourself.

(DORA stands with her back to the Ghosts. They wait a minute before exiting through the closet. They all remove their clothing and hang them up before going offstage. DORA turns and is surprised to see her room empty. She goes to the window, then to the closet, and sees all the clothes hanging there. She slams the door, picks up her camera, and begins photographing shapes left in the flour when the murmuring starts up again. Much louder. Booming overhead. The sound echoes. DORA cannot ignore it and falls on the ground covering her ears. She starts screaming in pain. SERRA runs in, confused. SERRA tries to help DORA up.)

SERRA: Honey, Dora, Dora Winifred… what’s the matter? You have to talk to me!

DORA: TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF. CAN’T SOMEONE MAKE IT STOP.

(SERRA pulls her up, DORA’s hands still cover her ears. SERRA helps DORA offstage. Her screams continue. The Ghosts return through the closet. PEANUT starts knitting, PIG, CHICKEN, and CHILD sit near the window and pass out cigarettes.)

CHICKEN: (lighting up) That’s enough.

(DORA’s screams wane and subside. The Ghosts smoke. Lights down.)

Scene xvi: (DORA’s room. All surfaces have been decorated with knit doilies, the black bedspread has been replaced with something frilly and pastel colored. Flour has been cleaned off floor and furniture. CHICKEN, PIG, and PEANUT are as before, smoking and knitting, but there’s a jar full of cigarette butts and PEANUT is almost finished with a pink sweater. CHILD climbs in through the window.)

CHILD: They’re bringing her now.

PIG: How does she look?

CHILD: (shrugs) Like normal.

CHICKEN: Of course she does.

PEANUT: I don’t know how you can act so confident. We haven’t seen her in days.

CHICKEN: Humans are over dramatic. When they saw she was in no physical danger they probably went overboard with the psychological tests. Dora would make Freud giddy.

PEANUT: And this isn’t a problem.

CHICKEN: Physical damage would be a hindrance. We just messed with her head.

PIG: I don’t think you really understand how humans work.

(SERRA has DORA by the hand and walks her into the room. They both look at the new decorations, confused.)

SERRA: I didn’t know Selma could knit. Not a bad change of pace though, hm?

DORA. Hm.

SERRA: Well, just rest a bit, hon. I’ll call you down for dinner.

(SERRA exits. DORA sits on the bed, looking at the Ghosts who are motionless.)

PIG: I think she’s looking at us.

CHILD: She can’t see us, Pig.

PIG: No, I really, REALLY think she’s looking at us.

PEANUT: I am unsettled. Haven’t felt that since my first artificial insemination.

CHICKEN: Let’s get her some flour.

DORA: No need.

CHICKEN: Why not?

DORA: I don’t need to see you. I can feel you.

PIG: (wincing) Ah… feel?

DORA: Yes. It’s like your hands slipped under my skull. Between the bone and the membrane. Poking, bouncing, sliding, digging. (she speaks gradually faster, fearful) There are claws behind my eyes. Squealing in my ear canal. Something is trying to climb down my spine. Someone is rafting through the rifts in my brain. An itch I can’t scratch. Mice in the walls. Termites in the floor boards. (she scratches at her head) Weevils in the rolls. Fleas in the carpet. Mmmmmm…

(Ghosts look at each other uneasily as she continues to hum.)

CHICKEN: (to PEANUT) Did you…?

PEANUT: I’m the newest character, not an incompetent nincompoop. (to CHILD) You…!

CHILD:  Me, what? …Pig?

PIG: Er… we’re talking about Dora, right?

(DORA trembles and digs a finger into her ear. She composes herself.)

DORA: I know you did it. I get it. Now I want it to stop.

CHICKEN: We can’t do that.

DORA: (twitches as if electrocuted) What?

PIG: (tearing up) I’m sorry!

PEANUT: (resigned, cold) We came here to accomplish one of two things. You can be the victim or the hero.

CHILD: What memo did you get?

CHICKEN: I think it’s a dramatic element… gradually adding more condemning information as the story progresses. (thinking on it) What is that?

PEANUT: Suffice it to say that I was informed of our ultimate duty.

PIG: (wiping away tears) Celebs… they’re always getting preferential treatment…

DORA: You have something else to do besides making me write out your sob stories?

(SERRA calls from offstage, “Dinner is ready” or the like. The Ghosts look at DORA, who reluctantly exits, turning once more in suspicion before leaving.)

Scene xvii. (SERRA, DORA, SELMA, and SETH at the dinner table. SETH’s right pointer finger is a dark purple. They eat a jumbo size bucket of chicken wings. DORA munches on the side dish celery and carrot sticks. Every time SETH reaches across the table for food someone winces and draws back in disgust of his finger. CHILD sits next to DORA. SELMA seems unusually chipper.)

SERRA: (patting DORA’s hand) Glad to have you back, hon. You too, Seth. The table seemed empty without you guys and… (she trails off, looking to the “empty” seat where the CHILD sits.)

(SETH grunts and grabs a chicken wing. DORA is obviously irritated by the CHILD’s presence and tries not to lean too close toward him.)

DORA: Two weeks in Dallas didn’t treat you well, huh, Seth?

SETH: Three days in the loony bin didn’t treat you at all, huh, sixteen?

DORA: (pause) What did you call me?

SETH: Huh?

DORA: (shaking it off) Whatever. Mom, did you see the newspaper took Gran’s photos I sent? They want to do a series of stories from the ‘80s.

SERRA: I saw.

DORA: Well?

SERRA: We’ll talk, okay?

(DORA smiles slightly and dips her celery into peanut butter. While everyone eats, CHICKEN enters and walks behind the table, observing. He reaches over CHILD and gropes his “hand” around the bucket of chicken, pulling out a wing. He examines the meat for a moment then clucks loudly in terror, dropping the wing on CHILD’s head. The family reacts to the seemingly floating chicken wing, watch it bounce to the floor. CHILD turns around in his chair and makes gestures for CHICKEN to leave. DORA tries to ignore the interaction, but stops eating, staring at her plate.)

CHICKEN: (whispering) We just wanted some food!

CHILD: (whispering) Well obviously we don’t have any for you!

CHICKEN: No kidding! That’s nothing like a real chicken wing!

CHILD: Okay! Then get out of here!

CHICKEN: I’ll just take some of Dora’s carrots…

DORA: (whispering) Don’t you dare.

SERRA: What was that, Dora?

DORA: I… found some hair…? In my peanut butter?

SERRA: (to SETH) See? I told you we should stop ordering from them.

(SETH grunts and reaches for another chicken wing. When his hand goes in the bucket, a crunch is heard. Everyone goes silent and watches. He withdraws his hand and his pointer finger has broken off. SETH drops the chicken he’s holding and brings his hand close to his face in disbelief. He starts to hyperventilate.)

CHICKEN: Alright we’ll just raid the kitchen later tonight. (he exits)

CHILD: (gets up, whispering to DORA) I’ll see you upstairs… (he exits.)

(Murmuring voices play overhead, gradually getting louder. DORA starts to panic.)

DORA: (pressing her temples) I’ve eaten enough!

(DORA quickly exits, and SERRA reaches out as if to stop her. SELMA is suddenly crotchety. She reaches into the chicken bucket and pulls out SETH’s finger, disgusted.)

SELMA: I didn’t live to see the millennium just to go back to eating like this. Pull yourself together! (she tosses the finger on SETH’s plate and exits slowly.)

SERRA: (stuttering) Seth… I… (she vomits and runs offstage.)

(SETH picks up his finger. He looks up, as if appealing to God. He suddenly realizes he’s alone.)

SETH: Muh… mah… MOMMY!

(He stumbles offstage and the sound of a phone being dialed is heard. He says, “Hello? 9-1-1?” and lights go down.)

Scene xviii. (Living room. Upstage a screen has been pulled down. A projection plays onto the screen of a recording. Silent film. SERRA and an unknown MAN are playing outdoors with an infant. They all look happy. Gran enters, picks up infant, and exits the shot. SERRA helps the MAN up with some difficulty, he looks in pain, she looks concerned. Setting switches to a big field. Earth has been plowed, seeds sown, and the MAN spreads fertilizer on the dirt. SERRA wheels infant in on a wheelbarrow. They wave at the camera. SERRA picks up infant and exits shot. MAN puts tools into wheelbarrow. MAN picks up cane from ground and limps slightly toward the camera. Projection fades to black.)

Scene xix: (DORA’s room. DORA is getting ready to go outdoors, coat in hand. Ghosts sit around the room, playing cards, knitting, etc. CHICKEN wears the blazer, PIG wears SELMA’s pants, PEANUT wears the tutu, and CHILD wears sneakers.)

DORA: I’m going with my mom to see Seth.

CHILD: Voluntarily?

DORA: Funny.

CHICKEN: No, really.

DORA: He’s an ass but my mom cares about him. I can at least keep her company when she goes to check up on him. One more disaster and god knows what she might do to herself.

PEANUT: Well… that’s an improvement, hm? (hopefully looks around the room, nodding)

PIG: I agree! Give your mom this. (PIG pulls out a pink sweater and hands it to DORA.)

DORA: What is it?

PIG: It’s a sweater Peanut and I made for her. To make her feel better. Well Peanut did most of it… I just embroidered the flowers on the neck.

PEANUT: Aw, hon, don’t demean yourself… that’s hard work. Beautifully done, really.

(PIG and PEANUT exchange smiles. DORA holds the sweater and looks at them with disgust.)

DORA: Just stay here. Okay? No trips to the kitchen. No singing. No smoking. Be quiet.

(She points a finger threateningly at them and exits. CHICKEN lights a cigarette.)

CHICKEN: I actually think I’m starting to like it here.

PEANUT: I could open up my own knitting shop. Even teach classes!

CHILD: No one would take classes with a ghost.

PEANUT: That’s what Dora is for, isn’t it? Making our dreams a reality?

PIG: She’s not making any progress regarding our past… I guess I could look to the future.

CHICKEN: We’ve been given a second chance, boys.

PEANUT: Eh hem!

CHICKEN: And woman. We have all the tools to remake ourselves in the world of humans. Hell, we could remake the entire system, do it the right way this time.

CHILD: I dunno about that.

PIG: You really don’t know the truth of the evils in the world of men.

CHILD: I know just as much as you. Maybe more! Technically you’re all younger than me!

CHICKEN: Age is determined by experience, kid. Not years. One month in our shoes would dwarf the so called struggle of your entire life.

CHILD: I dunno what you’re planning, but Dora shouldn’t have to be a part of it. She’s always been on your side. Don’t make her suffer.

PEANUT: She’s our only mediator.

PIG: Yes! Like a… a… voodoo witch doctor!

PEANUT: A medium. A channeler of spirits.

CHILD: She didn’t volunteer herself for that job.

CHICKEN: When you’re given a gift like this, you use it, or it devours you from the inside out.

CHILD: We came to her… can’t we make the decision to leave her alone?

CHICKEN: Out of the question.

CHILD: Why??

PEANUT: The voices won’t stop now that we’ve put them into play. Not until we’ve succeeded.

PIG: I wanna open a bakery!

CHILD: Succeeded at what?

PEANUT: You haven’t figured that out?

(Footsteps are heard offstage. The Ghosts run into the closet, the door cracked so they might peek out. PIG hides behind the others, gripping the waistline of SELMA’s pants anxiously. SELMA enters cautiously, peeking around the door. PIG, anxious, releases the waistband which makes a loud snap, the others sush him. Hard of hearing and seeing no one, SELMA walks about the room for a turn and sits on DORA’s bed.)

SELMA: (speaking to the ceiling) Hi.

(The Ghosts are silent. They look at each other.)

SELMA: I know you’re there.

(PIG squeals slightly before covering his mouth. SELMA just smiles in response.)

SELMA: I don’t know what you are, but I’ve known you’ve been there for a month or two now. But it’s okay, your secret is safe with me. No one would believe me even if I did talk about ya.

(The Ghosts look at each other and start gesturing, trying to communicate. SELMA laughs.)

SELMA: And now I know where my favorite pants have gone to… but you know, it’s been exciting having you around. When your friends have all passed you start finding yourself looking for the supernatural. You’re much more willing to believe that ghosts exist if someone you loved could now be a ghost. I almost convinced myself a few times that I’d had a paranormal experience, but now I know it. I might have hoped you were my sister or my cousin or my husband, but you don’t smell like ‘em. Though I do catch a whiff of something familiar every so often when I know you’re around… (Ghosts look at CHILD) yes, familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.

(SELMA sighs and lies down, content.)

CHICKEN: (from the closet, menacing) We have your grandson.

PEANUT: (quietly) Stop that! Come across as a kidnapper… who do you think you are?

SELMA: You’re talking… but it’s just a murmur… I can’t hear it. It’s nice, though. White noise. Makes one quite drowsy.

CHICKEN: Christ can’t we get rid of her? I don’t want to be crammed in here all day. LADY, DORA’S NOT GONNA LIKE IT IF SHE / SEES YOU IN HERE.

PIG:  /  Don’t yell! She might hear.

PEANUT: She just said she couldn’t make out anything we said.

CHILD: (childlike) Gramma?

CHICKEN: That’s it! She definitely can smell the kid… he can lure her out.

(CHICKEN grabs the CHILD and tosses him into the room. CHILD looks at SELMA and slowly scoots closer to her. He climbs on the bed next to her and places his face close to hers.)

CHILD: (tearful) Gramma?

CHICKEN: (coaxing) That’s it… real sweet like.

CHILD: (looks up at closet) She’s not breathing!

PEANUT: I don’t believe it!

(The Ghosts topple out of the closet in a pile and rush over to the bed. SELMA is dead. CHILD cries silently. CHICKEN goes to window and lights a cigarette. PIG and PEANUT comfort CHILD.)

PEANUT: It looks like she didn’t stay… good for her. Means she was happy. Baby, she was ready to go.

CHILD: (reverting to childish talk) I dinnit wanna be here wiffout her. [didn’t want to be here without her]

PIG: That’s not why you stayed, is it?

CHILD: (shaking head) Dunno, dunno, dunno, dunno…

CHICKEN: (carelessly) Didn’t know you liked the ol’ bag.

CHILD: She may’ha been crazy and sleepy and smewwy [smelly]… but she treated me smart a’cause we were da same… nobody treated us fair. She’s old and I’m da baby. I couldna left’er! She canta left me… yeah. We need each other.

(CHILD stands up and walks toward the exit. He turns to the Ghosts.)

CHILD: Yup. I’ma find her.

(He waves and runs offstage, seemingly going through the wall since he doesn’t use the door. CHICKEN stands up and goes to the bed.)

CHICKEN: Aw he found his saving grace. Good for him.

(CHICKEN picks up SELMA’s arm and makes her hand wave. He chuckles.)

PIG: Seems kinda mean… moving her body around.

CHICKEN: (spitting) Pft, no different than what we got. Say! I have an idea…

(CHICKEN props SELMA up against him, holding her up.)

CHICKEN: Pig, put Selma’s pants over hers and my legs.

PIG: Do I have to take the pants off?

CHICKEN: No way in hell we’ll all fit. Come on!

(PIG whimpers and puts pants on SELMA and CHICKEN. CHICKEN tries to walk and fails, nearly dropping the body. SELMA’s head flops around. PEANUT shakes her head and picks up her knitting.)

CHICKEN: Ah, screw this.

(He takes the pants off, which PIG promptly puts back on. CHICKEN props the body up against the headboard of the bed, crosses SELMA’s legs and arms and tilts her head back. He chuckles and goes back over to the window, looking out and smoking. PIG starts applying makeup to SELMA’s face.)

PEANUT: (to PIG) What are you doing?

PIG: You know… like at a funeral. Humans decorate dead people to make them look better. I’d just feel bad if Dora came back to see her all sad and grey…

(PIG finishes with the gaudy makeup and tries on whatever clothes he can fit into. He poses in front of a mirror. CHICKEN switches between watching PIG and looking out the window. Time passes. The light in the room dims, as if the sun is setting. When the room has darkened significantly CHICKEN perks up.)

CHICKEN: She’s back. Everyone in the closet.

(The Ghosts go into the closet. Footsteps heard rapidly approaching and DORA bursts through the door clearly expecting disaster. She sees SELMA and looks like a tired mother sick of dealing with her children’s shenanigans. The lights are still low.)

DORA: Grandmother, why are you in here?

(CHICKEN makes snoring sounds. DORA turns on the light, irritated.)

DORA: SELMA, WAKE UP.

CHICKEN: (imitating SELMA as best he can, not too shabby) Oh no, don’t get between an old woman and her nap.

DORA: Nap in your own room.

CHICKEN: Nap here? Aw, thanks, sixt- ahh, kiddo.

DORA: (suspicious, walking over to bed) No, I said nap in your OWN room.

(DORA shakes SELMA. She notices the makeup.)

DORA: What…? (she takes SELMA’s pulse; nothing) Shit! MOM.

SERRA: (from offstage) Dora, please don’t shout!

DORA: Mom, can you get up here!

SERRA: (from offstage) Dora Winifred, now is not the / time…

DORA:  / SELMA IS DEAD.

(SERRA enters, running. The murmuring voices play overhead, gradually becoming louder. DORA sits on floor, pressing her temples. SERRA goes right to SELMA, shaking her briskly.)

SERRA: Oh my god! Mom!

DORA: (eyes closed, in pain) You’d best go call someone.

SERRA: Ah…! Oh… oh, who? Dora, who?

DORA: (irritated) I dunno, mom! You’re the adult here! A coroner! The police! An ambulance! The funeral parlor!

(SERRA falters then runs back out. The murmuring has become quite loud. The Ghosts come out of the closet and watch DORA.)

DORA: Oh my god! Can’t you stop it?! Can’t it stop?! Jesus fucking christ!

PEANUT: (worried) We’ve been here too long.

SERRA: (from offstage) Dora?

DORA: (teeth gritted) I’M FINE, MOTHER.

(DORA curls up and keens to herself, rocking slightly, hands over her ears. Lights down.)

Scene xx: (Dining table. Another order-in meal. Pizza and side dishes. SETH sits in usual position at head of table, but he is in a wheelchair. He’s tied to IVs and respirators. He appears to have lost a leg [perhaps a prosthetic leg is present] and he is in a vegetable like state. Perhaps suffered a stroke. DORA eats slowly, uninterested. SERRA fiddles with a thick, plastic tube next to SETH.)

SERRA: Do you know how to use a feeding tube?

DORA: No, mom. Didn’t they teach you at the hospital?

SERRA: I couldn’t watch…

DORA: Can he eat regular food?

SERRA: (sitting in her seat, poking at food) They said we can try.

(DORA walks over to SETH, pizza in hand. She tries to open his mouth, it’s clamped shut.)

DORA: Seth? Seth, it’s Dora.

SETH: Doh… Rah…

DORA: Yes… like the first two notes on a scale. Do, ra, mi… Dora, me. Kind of funny, huh?

(She forces a laugh and dangles the pizza in front of his face. His eyes follow it.)

DORA: Seth… uh… dad. Look, we’re eating pizza. One of your favorites. Won’t you have some?

(SETH opens his mouth slightly and DORA slides the pizza in a bit. He clamps down on it and she pulls away, somewhat startled. He is still. DORA tries to move his jaw.)

DORA: Okay, good. Now, can you chew? Try chewing if you can hear me… (she swallows back her disgust) …dad.

(SETH is still for a moment then his jaw slides a bit and he swallows.)

DORA: (forcing a smile) Guess we’ll just stick to the feeding tube, huh?

SERRA: (wincing) I guess.

(DORA sits again, watching SETH. SERRA eats, watching her plate.)

SERRA: (jumping up, plate in hand) I think I’ll take care of these dishes and turn in.

DORA: (grabbing her hand) Mom, wait. Can you just sit a while?

(SERRA thinks for a moment and sits again. She looks at her lap.)

DORA: We can just talk, right?

SERRA: Of course, hon.

(They are silent. The Ghosts enter. CHICKEN rolls SETH’s chair offstage with one foot and takes up a chair. SERRA notices but makes no move to go after SETH. PEANUT sits in CHILD’s seat and PIG sits in SELMA’s. They all start taking pizza and carrot sticks. DORA is astonished, fighting rage.)

PIG: (elbowing DORA) Nice, isn’t it? Us eating a meal together?

PEANUT: It’s been a while since I’ve had a family meal.

CHICKEN: Yuck. They bought chicken again.

PIG: You know I bet chicken tastes good.

CHICKEN: Don’t you dare, fatty.

DORA: (trying to remain calm) What. Are. You doing.

PEANUT: Well we’ve been upstairs with the body all day…

SERRA: (in awe) Dora. The food is moving.

DORA: I don’t care if you’ve been ground and baked in a pie.

SERRA: (nervous) Dora? Who’re you talking to?

CHICKEN: Real mature.

PIG: (teary eyed) That really hit home, Dora!

DORA: (trying to maintain) Listen. Guys. I’ve been going through a lot. Not. Now. Get out.

PEANUT: I’m not going back to that tomb.

CHICKEN: If you don’t want to be around us, you get out.

(The murmuring voices start to play, softly. DORA panics and sings to herself, ears covered. SERRA tries to talk to DORA, reaching across the table.)

DORA: (standing up) Hey, mom, let’s just go rest in the living room, huh?

SERRA: Well, alright.

(DORA takes SERRA by the hand and pulls her offstage. The Ghosts continue to “eat” as Ghosts traditionally have in this play, making a mess. SETH rolls back onstage behind CHICKEN. Without turning around, CHICKEN shoves the wheelchair back offstage with his foot or wing.)

PEANUT: D’you think food policies will change now? I mean we DO have our first African American president.

CHICKEN: I don’t think it matters. Humans are humans.

PIGs: Well that’s not fair. There are always groups fighting for better food. The farmers market, for example. They have just the best pickles!

CHICKEN: I’m just saying that a black president isn’t going to change things for us. Even if his ancestors’ history is as messy as ours.

PEANUT: The socially accepted term is “African American”. I think we should recognize the possibility that he will acknowledge the struggle of the underrepresented, like us.

CHICKEN: Suit yourself, cow. But I’m telling you we can’t trust someone else to protect us.

PIG: But wasn’t that our goal when we first came here?

(The Ghosts laugh together, heartily, as if drunk. Lights down.)

Scene xxi: (Living room. SERRA sits on the couch and stares at the T.V. A projection plays the depicted home video onto a screen upstage. Video has sound. Four year old DORA [played by a child or the contemporary DORA, unimportant] sits in an electric wheelchair though she is obviously a healthy child. DORA plays, trying to wheel herself back and forth in the chair. GRAN enters and pushes DORA about the room.)

Dialogue for projection/ GRAN: Where next, miss?

                                    DORA: The moon!

                                    GRAN: Oh! The moon! That’s a long trip.

                                    DORA: I want the moon!

                                    GRAN: Alrighty, then, the moon it is!

                                    DORA: Gotta say bye to daddy!

(DORA hops off the wheelchair and runs off as GRAN tries to catch her, worried. Dora returns.)

                                    DORA: Where’s daddy?

                                    GRAN: (weary, tenderly) Dora…

                                    DORA: Where’s daddy?

                                    GRAN: Baby, we said to goodbye to daddy, / remember?

DORA: (panicked) / WHERE’S DADDY, WHERE’S DADDY,

WHERE’S DADDY?

(A shadow crosses GRAN’s face. She walks toward the camera but before she shuts it off DORA can be seen tearing the room apart chanting the same line again and again. The projection fades to black and the lights come up on the couch. At some point during the projection the Ghosts have slunk into the living room, PIG carrying a bag of pork rinds. SERRA shakes her head quickly and goes to the T.V., removing the VHS and stuffing it under the couch. PEANUT sits on the couch next to SERRA. PEANUT fishes the VHS out of the couch cushions and tosses it around to the other Ghosts.)

PEANUT: (singing) Hot potato, hot potato, who’s got the hot potato? If you got the hot potato YOU ARE OUT.

 (CHICKEN ends up with the VHS, and in a fit of rage he throws it on the floor, shattering it to bits. SERRA bursts into renewed tears and sweeps the pieces under the couch. At this point DORA enters carrying two tea cups. She knows the Ghosts are there immediately and draws back upon entering. Between her determination and seeing her mother cry DORA finds the strength to collect herself and she marches in. She awkwardly pats SERRA’s back and hands her a cup of tea. DORA pulls up an armchair and sips at her tea, since PEANUT still defiantly sits on the couch. When she sees CHICKEN reaching for the remote she quickly snatches it up and turns on the T.V. to such and such show.)

SERRA: Oh god! I was just so scared.

DORA: (misunderstanding) I know, mom. Walking in on a corpse in your own bedroom!

SERRA: (looking up, surprised to see DORA next to her) Oh! Yes. Yes, Selma. That’s right.

DORA: You said you had something to show me?

(SERRA takes a sip of her tea, doesn’t seem to hear.)

DORA: (pause) Mom?

SERRA: Hm?

DORA: Weren’t you going to show me something?

SERRA: (spacing out) Hm… oh, well, no. No I couldn’t find it.

PIG: Couldn’t find it my ass…

CHICKEN: No one has trouble finding your ass.

PEANUT: (motherly) Hen, you / know that’s not what he meant.

CHICKEN: / DON’T CALL ME HEN, I’M A COCK. A ROOSTER. HENRY THE COCK.

DORA: WAIT WAIT WAIT… HENRY?!

SERRA: (looking up at DORA, surprised to see her. Smiling) Oh! Dora! Hi! How’s your dad?

DORA: (confused and weary) I don’t have a dad.

SERRA: (shocked) Why, everyone has a dad! Go look for him!

DORA: What? No! Where?! Where in the world would I start?

SERRA: (teary eyed) You must look for him!

DORA: (shrugging) Okay. See ya, guys! (she salutes to the Ghosts) Take care o’ me ol’ mum while I’m gone! Chicken, behave yourself.

(DORA rushes offstage. SERRA continues to smile and stare at the T.V.)

CHICKEN: (calling after her) IT’S HENRY.

SERRA: He really was a good man… I did love him. But how does a young woman, practically still a child, handle the news that her husband is…that he’s… gonna…? He didn’t look like he was… then he just needed help to stand up… then he just needed a cane… then he just needed a wheelchair… then I… I just needed to get away! Can you blame me?

(SERRA smiles and appeals to the Ghosts, as if she can see them)

SERRA: I just got scared. I was still young.

(PEANUT and CHICKEN look at her, irritated but somewhat fascinated. PIG stares at the T.V. SERRA stands and chews her nails. She slowly walks offstage, blocking the view of the T.V., during which the Ghosts crane their heads around her to see the show. She sings The Hills of Connemara while she walks off.)

SERRA: Gather up the pots and the old tin can, the mash, the corn, the barley and the bran. Run like the devil from the exiseman, keep the smoke from rising, Barney. (exits)

CHICKEN: (pause) The hell was that?

PEANUT: Never mind her. Is there anything we can agree on?

(PEANUT presses the button on the remote and two men in pro wrestling suits walk on upstage. The Ghosts hoot and punch the air.)

PEANUT: Well, alright then!

(As the men start to stage a fight the lights fade to black. As the set changes to DORA’s room, DORA’s voice speaks overhead.)

DORA: Can anyone hear me? Tell me you can see me. Hear me. I’m too young to be the mom. (The lights come up on DORA’s room. DORA sits up on the bed speaking aloud, SERRA lies face up next to DORA, wakeful. Offstage occasional cries and cheers can be heard from the Ghosts in the living room.)

DORA: You’d frown to see me now. I wish I could’ve told you you were my world. But I didn’t live up to the life you set before me. (to SERRA) Gran would frown to see you now. Worms may look the type, but they don’t make good wedding rings. They eat earth, dig deep, help the plants grow, but we’re not plants. We live above ground, but they can’t. And we can’t join their world. We’re too different. You know when it rains and they’re all drawn out of the earth? That’s the time that they look for us to share their secrets. But we hide away indoors. If we’re forced outdoors, we run. Even though our heads are down, we can’t hear them. We’re too fast. Their whispers are trampled beneath our feet. Tiny corpses litter the sidewalks. And I’m just running through the din of the storm, too fast and loud to hear their secrets.

SERRA: A din. Sometimes it’s a din. It’s like a tuneless soundtrack to my life. The murmuring.

(DORA repeats the word “murmur” until it sounds like a heartbeat. Slow, dragging footsteps are heard offstage briefly when SETH all but falls into the room. He uses a cane and his IVs trail out of his arms. He seems to be “doped up”, very tipsy and uncharacteristically content. He smiles.)

SERRA: I didn’t mean for you to bear the consequences of my shortcomings.

DORA: None of it came from bad intentions.

SERRA: I was selfish.

DORA: Selfishness isn’t evil, it’s human.

SETH: Where is the line drawn between evil and human?

SERRA: (looking at SETH) Seth’s your dad. He was my first love. That disease he had was made famous by that one baseball player. I was just so scared. I think he died.

DORA: (looking at SETH) When did Seth die?

SERRA: You were just a child. I’m glad he got better. He takes care of this family.

DORA: He doesn’t get better. You don’t come back from that.

SERRA: It was just a stroke. Seth’ll get better.

DORA: Didn’t he die?

SERRA: Who?

DORA: (confused, trying to clear her head) Oh. No. My dad…

SETH: Lou Gehrig.

DORA: Isn’t that a disease?

SERRA: You don’t come back from that… I think he died.

DORA: My dad?

SETH: Her first love.

DORA: (awakening as if from a dream, seeing SETH.) Seth! Jesus fucking christ!

(DORA jumps out of bed and helps to lead SETH offstage. SERRA sits up and takes a photo album out from a shelf, flipping through the pages. Lights down.)

Scene xxii: (Dining table. Table covered in corn products. A pyramid of corn on the cob, canned corn, creamed corn, corn syrup, cornflakes, corn meal. SETH at his usual position, DORA is pouring bottles of corn syrup into the bag connected to SETH’s intravenous feeding device. SERRA stares wide eyed at the table, distant. The bags under her eyes have deepened and darkened. The Ghosts fill the empty seats, including DORA’s, DORA is standing. The Ghosts all wear clothing, perhaps one or two more articles than before, ex. PEANUT wears a necklace with her tutu, CHICKEN a tie with his blazer &etc.)

CHICKEN: Whose idea is this of a meal?

DORA: We’re being honest, tonight. We’re eating the most raw, watered down version of food.

PEANUT: As if I haven’t had enough corn in my first lifetime…

DORA: I just thought I’d cut out the middle man and give us the most direct form of energy. Come on, I don’t want to see any sour faces! Let’s all put on a smile for Seth here, hm?

(DORA smiles and looks around at everyone. She has an air of a crazed, unpaid intern at happy camp for delinquent children.)

PIG: (smiling back) Look at her, positively glowing!

CHICKEN: She’s beyond our reach at this point.

PEANUT: Has she completely turned off her consciousness?

CHICKEN: I certainly don’t see Dora in there.

PIG: And I certainly don’t see anything edible in here…

(CHICKEN contemplates a moment, picks up the bowl of corn meal, and starts flicking it at DORA. The first crumbs make her twitch in surprise, but she maintains a blank smile. She grabs some corn on the cob and eats messily, most of the kernels dropping out of her mouth as soon as she bites them off. PEANUT grabs the cornflakes and throws them at her in handfuls, like confetti. DORA is unaffected. PIG grabs a bowl of creamed corn and, snorting with glee, walks over to dump the entirety on DORA’s head. As the goo makes its way down her neck and clothes, DORA’s smile twitches and fades. Again, she awakes as from a dream. The Ghosts watch with interest. She only has a moment to look around, startled, before her face contorts with anger. The murmuring voices play overhead, quickly growing into a booming din that causes DORA to cover her ears in pain. She drops into fetal position, screaming. As the murmuring fades overhead, DORA’s writhing and screaming continue.)

CHICKEN: Serra, have you tried the canned corn?

(SERRA smiles and obediently opens her mouth. CHICKEN spoons some in and she chews happily. DORA’s screams have subsided into whimpers and moans.)

SERRA: What a lovely meal, isn’t it Seth? Dora turned out to be quite the cook.

(SETH does not respond. PEANUT walks to him and moves his jaw and arms, the puppeteer.)

PEANUT: (imitating SETH) Are you kidding? Piss and shit, this is! If I never have to see a kernel of corn again as long as I live it would be too soon!

(The real SETH grunts, looking like his peaceful state of vegetation has been disturbed.)

SERRA: (in tune to SETH’s change) Seth? Are you uncomfortable?

PIG: You know what we need here is a little meat.

(DORA has passed out. The Ghosts lick their mouths hungrily, fantasizing about grand meals.)

PEANUT: (behind SETH, thoughtfully) Something fresh…

CHICKEN: (has an idea) Something large…

PIG: (catching on) Something… helpless…

PEANUT: (knowingly) Yes, easy prey.

(PEANUT puts her arms around SETH’s neck, almost lovingly. They tighten. SETH makes hissing noises, like air being let out of a balloon.. SERRA notices as SETH chokes and calls out to him in concern. PIG scoots carefully around his chair, conscious of his large behind, and approaches SETH. CHICKEN moves last, but crawls quickly across the top of the table and jumps onto SETH’s lap. As PIG comes around to the front, blocking SETH from view, the animals attack. An unrealistic fountain of blood shoots upward. As the blood sprays the stage the Ghosts wheel SETH out of sight.)

SERRA: (surging forward across table, face catching drops of blood, terrified) SETH! OH MY GOD. DORA. DORA WINIFRED? YOUR FATHER… SETH. OH MY… CALL THE DOCTOR! CALL THE COPS! CALL THE SWAT TEAM! CALL THE C.I.A.!

(SERRA is frozen in terror atop the table, looking offstage where SETH exited. DORA awakens from her faint. She pulls herself up, unconcerned, blank smile again in place.)

DORA: Did you know corn is an essential ingredient in about 75% of all food processed in America?

SERRA: (still in shock) Children of the Corn.

DORA: A true American horror story.

SERRA: Death by corn.

DORA: The newest Ben & Jerry’s flavor.

SERRA: Why were we banned from paradise?

DORA: Cursed by curiosity. Damned by greed. Doomed by fear.

 (The screen upstage comes down. The stage lights go out and a projection of a home video is played onto the screen. Color and sound film. The camera shakes, adjusted by an unseen hand. Seventeen year old SERRA and GRAN are seen, GRAN is holding an infant swaddled in blankets and SERRA asks questions to the person behind the camera. They are in a field of corn. The camera settles and the unknown MAN runs out from behind to hold and kiss SERRA.)

            Dialogue in film/ SERRA: What are we doing, again?

                                    MAN: This is the future, Serra! Say hi to the camera.

                                    SERRA: (rolling her eyes) Oh, hi.

                                    MAN: Like you mean it, someday Dora will get to see this.

                                    SERRA: What should I say?

                                    MAN: Well… how old is she?

                                    SERRA: (pause, thinking) Okay. Hi, honey, this is mommy. You’re two

                                     months old today… um, we’re living with Mom… (the Man nudges her       

                                    with a smile) oh, I mean, grandma…

                                    GRAN: I never liked the idea of being called a grandma.

                                    SERRA: Fine. GRAN (she pauses to laugh) we’re living with Gran

                                    until this bum here (she bumps the MAN) finishes up the house he

                                    promised me. Not that I needed him to make me one from scratch.

                                    MAN: What? I wanted to make a real home for my lovely women.

                                    GRAN: Women are companions, not dolls, boy.

                                    MAN: I didn’t mean it like that… anyway. We love you, Dora.

                                    SERRA: We love you, Dora.

                                    GRAN: We love you.

(The infant starts to cry. GRAN shushes and cradles her. SERRA reaches out to take the infant. The baby cries louder in SERRA’s arms. GRAN sings an old Irish folk song, perhaps the Hills of Connemara. SERRA’s face is overcome with exhaustion and she look at the MAN, pleading. He runs toward the camera. Black out.)

FIN