Deceptions
The scene: a bedroom. A boy, Tim, sits at a desk at the center of the stage, facing the audience. A girl, Claire, is seated next to him. They are both doing math problems from an open book placed on the center of the desk. In the back corner, stage left, a man is sitting on a big cushioned chair, smoking a cigarette. The man, Chester, is 25 years old, while the boy and girl are both 17. Claire: Forty-two. Tim: Forty-two? Claire: The answer is definitely forty-two. Tim: (scribbling something on paper) If you say so. (Sighs) I just don’t get this stuff. Claire: (immersed in her own calculations) I wouldn’t say that, Tim. Tim: And why not? Claire: (looking up from her work) I think the answers are there, somewhere deep in your mind. You just need a little help getting them out. Tim: Maybe. Claire: Well, it’s either that or you’re retarded. Tim: (timidly) Hey, I’m not...I’m not retarded. Claire: Tim, it was a joke. Tim: Yeah, I...I knew that. Claire: And you really need to stand up for yourself more often. I mean, what if I wasn’t joking? What would you do then? Tim: I don’t know. I’d say...um... (timidly) "Hey, don’t...say that." Claire: (sighs) Tim. That’s pathetic. Tim: (embarrassed) I know. Claire: You’ve gotta learn to be more assertive. People are just gonna walk all over you. Tim: (somewhat defensive) Why do you care, anyway? Claire: (awkwardly) I don’t know...cause you’re my friend, Tim. Chester: I think she’s got the hots for ya, Tim. Tim: (annoyed) Shut up... Claire: What? Are you talking to me? Tim: (embarrassed) Oh, no, never mind, it’s nothing. Claire: (a little confused) Okay... Tim: (trying to change the subject) So...when’s this math test, anyway? Claire: Friday, I think. Tim: Friday? Man, that’s like...only 2 days away. Claire: If I were you I’d study a lot for this one. It’s going to be a big test. Tim: Yeah... Claire: I mean, if you do badly on this one, it’ll really mess up your average. Chester: Average, shmaverage, it’s all bullshit, Tim. Tim: What? Claire: Huh? Chester: You know none of this matters, Tim. Tim: But it does matter. It’s my grade we’re talking about! My life! Claire: Who are you talking to, Tim? Chester: (gets up out of the chair, races to the desk and slams his hands down on it, glaring at Tim) You are not your grade, Tim! You are not your grade! (grabs math book, shoves it off the desk) Claire: Tim, what are you doing? Chester: You think any of this matters, Tim? You think in twenty years anyone’s going to give a shit about what you got on that test? Tim: (visibly shaken) I...I...I don’t know...I guess not... Chester: (suddenly calm) That’s right, Tim. No one’s going to care. Claire: Tim, are you feeling all right? Tim: I don’t know...I...I...think I need a glass of water. (Tim gets up and walks to the door, he twists the handle and pushes. The door won’t open) Tim: What the hell... Claire: What is it, Tim? (Tim tries again, putting his full weight on the door. It refuses to budge) Tim: The door won’t open. Claire: What? Why won’t it open? Tim: I don’t know, it just won’t open... Claire: (beginning to panic) Well, what should we do? How are we supposed to get out of here? Tim: (still pounding away at the door) I don’t know, I don’t know... Chester: Just give it up, Tim. It won’t get you anywhere. Tim: (suddenly angry, turning to Chester) You did this! You locked us in here! Chester: How could I have locked you in here, Tim? I don’t even exist. If anyone locked us in here, it was probably you. Tim: Me? Why would I have locked myself in a room? Claire: Tim, you’re really starting to freak me out. Tim: Look, Claire, I can explain. Chester: Go ahead, Tim, explain everything. (sarcastically) I’m sure she won’t think you’re fucking insane! Tim: Claire, sometimes I...see things. Claire: Things? Tim: You know, like, people that aren’t there. That whole deal. Claire: Oh. So, does that mean you’re... Tim: I don’t know what it means. All I know is that these people...they say things, they do things, but they’re not real, they’re not actually there... Claire: So...you’re schizophrenic. Tim: If you say so. Chester: Don’t listen to her, Tim! She’s full of shit and you know it! Tim: Stop it! Claire: Tim, maybe if you ignore the voices they’ll go away... Chester: Your reality is defined by what you believe in, Tim. You believe in me, don’t you? Tim: No, I don’t! I don’t! Claire: Ignore them, Tim! Chester: You can’t ignore me because you believe in me, Tim! Tim: (firmly) No! You’re not real! Chester: Your dreams are the true illusion, Tim! I’m more real than they’ll ever be! Claire: Tim- Tim: (screaming) SHUT UP! (Everyone freezes. The room is silent) Tim: I just need...to think...for a second. (Tim walks over to the bed and sits down, puts his head in his hands. Claire sits down next to him) Claire: (concerned) Tim, how long has this been going on for? Tim: (picks his head up) I don’t know...lately I’ve been...losing track of time. Chester: Time is fluid. It’s nothing but a word. It spirals backwards and forwards like a crazy carnival ride. Claire: Do your parents know about this? Are you on any medication? Tim: I don’t know... Claire: You don’t know? Tim: Everything’s a blur...it’s so confusing...(puts his head back in his hands, begins rocking back and forth) Claire: (putting her arm around him) Hey, hey, come on. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. Chester: (suddenly behind Claire and Chester on the bed) You like it when she touches you, don’t you? You love the way her skin feels, all soft and silky. You want to kiss her. Tim: (picking his head up, trying to ignore Chester) So, uh...Claire...how are we going to get out of here? Claire: I don’t know...what about the window? Can’t we just climb out the window? Tim: No, I don’t think that’ll work. Claire: Why not? Tim: There are bars on the windows. Claire: Bars? Why would you have bars on your windows? Tim: (defensive) I don’t know...to keep criminals out...or something. This neighborhood isn’t exactly the safest place around, you know. Claire: Great. This is ridiculous. Why won’t the goddamn door open? Tim: I don’t know, I don’t know...go try it again. Claire: (A little annoyed at being ordered around) Fine. (goes to the door, starts tugging on the handle) It’s still locked! Chester: Keep working at it! Claire: (sighs) Fine... (continues tugging at the door) Tim: Hey, how come she heard you? Chester: (crawling forward and sitting beside Tim) She didn’t hear me, man, she heard you. Tim: But I didn’t say anything! Chester: Of course you did. You just imagined that I said it. Tim: (putting his head back in his hands) Oh, this is crazy... Chester: Nah, man, this is great! Now we can finally get some quality time together. Tim: (picking his head back up) Quality time? Chester: (lies on the bed, picks up a cigarette, lights it) You know, have a man-to-man talk. (starts smoking the cigarette) Tim: About what? Chester: How should I know? It was your idea. Tim: No, it was your idea. Chester: (frustrated at having to explain it) But I am you. If it’s my idea then it’s your idea. Tim: You’re so confusing. Chester: Isn’t everyone? Tim: What does that mean? Chester: Everyone’s confusing, Tim. They all say one thing and mean another. Everyone’s got a secret agenda. Tim: (skeptical) Everyone? Chester: Everyone. There’s no such thing as a selfless act, kid. It’s all about satisfying yourself. Tim: That’s not true. Chester: Like take that girl Claire, for example. Why’d you invite her here? Tim: (somewhat confused) Uh...to help me with my math homework? Chester: But why her? She’s not the smartest girl in the class... Tim: I don’t know...because I’m friends with her. Chester: No, because you have feelings for her, Tim. You like her and you know it. Her silky hair and those pretty eyes... Tim: Okay, okay, I get the picture! Chester: (laughing) Yeah, you see it now. It’s all sexual competition, kid. Up until you say those two little words, "I do"...even after that, sometimes. It’s why we do what we do. It’s even why you want that grade so badly. Tim: What? That has nothing to do with it. Chester: I wouldn’t say that. Why do you want good grades, Tim? Tim: Um...so I can get into a good college? Chester: And why do you want to get into a good college? Tim: (thinks) So I can get a good education. Chester: Bullshit, man. You don’t give a flying fuck about learning. Tim: No, that’s not true... Chester: Dude, you’re arguing with yourself. Don’t be a moron. Tim: (sighs, reluctantly) Okay, okay, so maybe I don’t care that much about learning. Chester: So, I’ll ask you again...why do you want to get into a good college? Tim: I don’t know...to...uh...get a good job, I guess. Chester: Exactly. Good education works wonders for a résumé. You wanna be able to stamp "Ivy League" school all over that job application. Tim: Okay, fine, you’re right, what’s your point? Chester: My point? My point is this: it’s all about money and sex. You think a girl is going to go for a guy with a low-income loser job at McDonalds? No, she wants to go for the assertive successful businessman who’s got enough money to fill five swimming pools. Tim: People aren’t that shallow, Chester. Chester: Oh, I think people are more shallow than you’d expect. Like, that girl Claire, for example. Tim: (looks over at Claire, still fiddling with the door) What about her? Chester: She doesn’t have any feelings for you. Tim: You don’t know that. Chester: I do know that, and you know it, too. You can feel it in your gut, that sickening realization creeping up on you. You don’t want to admit it, but you know it. You know it way too well... Tim: (depressed by the realization, puts his head back in his hands) Oh man... Chester: And you know why she doesn’t like you? Because you’re ugly, man! That’s why! Tim: (picking his head up, weakly defensive) Hey...I’m not ugly...not...too ugly, at least... Chester: (ignoring Tim’s statement) And it’s bullshit, you know? ‘Cause I know you, Tim. You’ve got a great personality. You’re fun to be around...well, when you’re not acting like a fucking psycho... Tim: Hey, that’s your fault, man. Chester: Stop blaming yourself. Tim: Very funny. Chester: So anyway, my point is, they always tell you that it’s who you are that counts, not how you look. But that’s bullshit, man. Idealistic naïve bullshit. Tim: You know, you’re pretty damn pessimistic. Chester: Nah, I’m a realist, man. You’re just too damn optimistic. You see the glass of water and you say, "Yay, it’s half full." Tim: And what does the realist say? Chester: The realist says, "Fuck water, bring me a Coke." (Claire returns from the door, frustrated) Claire: Nothing’s working, Tim. The door just won’t open. Chester: (growing sinister) I’ll bet it was her, Tim. I’ll bet this is all her fault. Tim: (To Claire) Did you do this? Claire: What? Chester: It all makes sense now, doesn’t it? I didn’t lock the door...and you didn’t lock the door...it must’ve been her. She did it. Tim: (becoming paranoid) Why would you do this? Claire: Do what? Chester: She doesn’t need a reason, Tim. She’s insane, just like the rest of us. In the end we all go nuts. Tim: (Standing up) Claire, I need you to unlock the door. Claire: What are you talking about? I can’t, I told you! Chester: She needs to be taught a lesson, Tim. She’s a shallow conceited whore and she needs to be taught a lesson. You know it, Tim. Tim: (moving towards Claire) A lesson. You need to be taught a lesson. Claire: (backing away) Tim, what’s gotten into you? Chester: I’ve gotten into you, Tim. It’s time we showed this bitch how assertive we can be. Tim: Chester’s right. Claire: Chester? Is this your imaginary friend? Chester: Don’t listen to her, Tim! I’m more real than she is! Claire: Tim, Chester isn’t real. You know that. You’ve gotta stop this. Chester: (following Tim) What is real, Tim? How can you tell if anything’s real? Tim: I didn’t lock the door, Claire. It must’ve been you. Claire: (scared) Wh-what if it was someone outside the door? Maybe it was someone on the outside... Tim: That’s impossible, Claire. Nobody else is home. Chester: Your reality is defined by your senses, Tim. Your senses are easily deceived. Your entire reality could be one big deception. Claire: Tim, what are doing? What are you going to do to me? Tim: You’re holding all the answers, Claire. Chester: Forty-two. The answer is definitely forty-two. Claire: (backed up into the corner) Tim, please, it’s me, Claire, your friend. You have to listen to me. Chester: You have to listen to me, Tim. You have to kill her. Tim: (turning around) What? Chester: That’s right...you have to kill her. She’s been holding you back, Tim. (holds out a revolver) Tim: Where did you get that? Chester: Some things you just can’t explain. (Tim takes the revolver and turns back to Claire) Claire: (freaking out) Tim! What are you doing? Tim: Some things you just can’t explain. Chester: You can’t explain life, Tim, any more than you can explain death. In the end it’s all a fantasy. Tim: (cocking the gun) Claire, I’m sorry... Claire: (near tears) Don’t do this, Tim...please... Tim: I have to. This is the way things have to be. Chester: Fate is mathematical, Tim. It’s a billion equations all at once. You can’t deviate from it, Tim. It’s the rules of the Universe. Claire: There’s another way out of this, Tim! There’s gotta be another way out of this, Tim. (a beat) Claire: Right, Tim? (a beat) Claire: Tim? Tim: You’re right, Claire. Claire: I am? Tim: Yes. There is another way out of this. (puts the gun to his own head) Chester and Claire: (simultaneously, screaming) TIM! (There is a loud pounding at the door. Tim drops the gun and turns around. The door opens. A nurse enters with a tray.) Nurse: Time for your medication, Timothy. Tim: (incredibly confused) Wh-wh-what? Nurse: Your medication, Timothy. It’s time for your medication. Tim: Wh-what are you talking about? What medication? Nurse: Why, the medication for your schizophrenia, of course. Tim: Who are you? Nurse: I’m Nurse Kendall. Don’t you remember me? We play cards together every Thursday...you’re always such a cheater...(chuckles) Tim: What are you talking about? What are you doing in my house? Nurse: Your house? Tim: Yes, my house! Nurse: This isn’t your house, Timothy. This is the psychiatric ward of St. Mark’s Hospital. You’ve been here for over 3 years. Tim: (in shock) No! You’re lying! This isn’t possible! Nurse: Please, just calm down, Timothy. Calm down. Tim: Wait, what about her? (points to Claire) What’s she doing here? Nurse: What’s who doing here? Tim: Claire! The girl! Standing right there! Nurse: Timothy, I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about. Tim: (backing into the corner) This isn’t happening. Chester: (softly) Your reality is defined by your senses, Tim. Your senses are easily deceived. Your entire reality could be one big deception. Tim: (going mad) Shut up! SHUT UP! Nurse: (calling out the door) I may need some help here... Chester: You can’t explain life, Tim, any more than you can explain death. In the end it’s all a fantasy. (Several male nurses enter the room, one holding a straitjacket. They slowly approach Tim) Male Nurse: Please calm down, sir... Tim: (crying) Get away from me! GET AWAY! Chester: Fate is mathematical, Tim. It’s a billion equations all at once. You can’t deviate from it, Tim. It’s the rules of the Universe. Tim: (one last anguished scream) NO! (blackout)
Copyright © 2002 Matthew Diamond |