Cell 41

                                                                        
 A spare stage. Perhaps a bed or 
cot (or blocks). Perhaps a projection 
of bars, elongated, angled - not realistic. 
Perhaps a sound - water dripping?
PERSON sits, or crouches, or paces, 
notices the audience and moves downstage.


 

Hello, good to see you.

Yeah, I'm still here.
No idea for how long - as always.  Of course, my latest appeal has gone off to the Governor.

So they tell me.
As always.
***
But you know, whether I die in here or get released, I'm not sure it really matters.
I mean, I can't imagine being outside - what that would be like, to actually be there.
***
Whenever I flutter my eyelids - like this - I go into this sort of trance, or whatever.
And first thing I know, I can see it... In all its - um, yeah, glory... and hear it, and smell it, and feel it, and taste it ... as real as if...
But then I catch a reflection, or  I follow a thought, and bang -

I'm back. In here.
Cell 41.
As always.

 

 

I used to think, "Damn! If I could only stay 'out there' and not lose it,

not be forced back in here..."
But you know... I don't know.
It can be exhausting, paying attention to all that, all the time...

To be honest, there are moments I'm glad I can close my eyes, breathe, and be back in here.
Here's quiet, mostly. And not so full of surprises.
So I wonder. If I was released, what would it be like? Would I get exhausted by all the... the world of it, overwhelmed?
And would I have no place to go, to get away?
***
Hey, here's something crazy.
I mean, it's real, but it's crazy.
You're lookin' at me, and I'm lookin' at you, and we see each other, right?
Only get this - your eyeball - my eyeball - is just that, a ball. With a hole in it, to let in the light.
[sings]

"There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in"...

But just a crack - like a cat's eye has - or a hole.
See, if it was just half a ball, wide open, all the light would go everywhere,

and what you'd have would be a mess. Like one of those paintings

[mimes]

Pollock? Jackson Pollock?

 



But the crack, or the hole, that's the trick. It only lets a little light in...
So the light bouncing off YOUR face [aud., house left, back] gets in,

and gets bent right to here [down left, low]...

And the light from YOUR face [aud., house right, back]

goes to here [down right, low]...

And YOURS [aud. house left, front]

goes here [down left, high]

And YOURS [aud. house rt front] here [down rt, high] ...

So...
It's organized - but it's crazy!
What our eyes get - what we "see" - is an upside down, backwards world!

Up is down, left is right...
AND we don't just have one eye, but two, most of us. So we're getting this funhouse picture twice!
Now, this eye [left] gets your face [house rt. back] and yours [house rt. front] nice and clear, but you guys [house left] not quite so good - bad angle, a little farther, blurry...

So the other eye [right] balances it out.
But now what've we've got? Two images of the world, some parts clear, some blurry, all of it flip-flopped...
I mean, how'd we ever survive?!

 



I see a tiger [house left, back] comin` at me, I grab my spear and stab! [house rt., low]...
Oops. Sorry.
In order for this to work - and here's the craziest part - our brains have to know:

"Picture incoming, looks good, okay, a little fuzzy, correct for this, for this...

a-a-nd flip it it [top to bottom]... a-and flip it [left to right]... And there we are!"
And it's gotta be instantaneous, or that tiger...

And a million times a day!
And here's the punch. HOW does our brain know that?
Yeah.
Well...
***
Okay, here.
Be here.

Now.

[breathes]

***
So... About this number. "41." I've wondered about this for years.
At first I thought, "How can that be, with so many people, how isn't this one taken?"
But then, I realized, people get out. Of course they do.

One way or the other. All the time.
So.

 

 

Then, after a while, I began to think - you can get a little crazy in here all alone, you know -

I began to think maybe it means something. "41."
Like, right there [stage right], next door, would be 40 --

and, hey, they used to say, "Life begins at 40." So, I don't know... Was I maybe put in there first, and just don't remember? And then got transferred here, and…?
I know. Silly.
But I can tell you this:

Most of the time, that wall between here and 40? It's warm. Like they got heat in there or something. Yeah. So I... I like to lean against it, sit up like this.

[sits against stage right wall]

Yeah. It feels good, to get a little warmth.
I even sleep here.
And of course, when I'm here, I'm lookin' right at that other wall [stage left], number 42.

And I start to wonder - is that maybe… where life ends? 
Then one day I remember -
"42. The meaning of life and everything." I heard that once, or read it...
And, okay, this is crazy, but...
I must have blinked my eyes, because suddenly that wall opens up, kinda fades away, and I see... this… person. This... amazing person.

So beautiful, so kind, and I can hear and feel and... it's true! The meaning of life - this is it! And we've got it, and oh, it is so good, so easy it feels like forever, so beautiful…

 

But then -

Snap - it fades.

And I'm back here.
Like always.
***
Took a long time gettin' over that, gettin' used to bein’ here again.
I gotta admit, there were some bad times, times just lyin’ here curled up against the wall...
Cryin'.

Askin', "Why?" "What's the point?"
Thinkin', "How long is my sentence, anyway?"
Then I realized, I don't know.
I guess I could've kept count, you know, markin’ on the wall.
Shoulda started markin’ that first day, I guess, but I didn't know...
And now, why start? It's no good countin’ from the middle.
And anyway, when's it supposed to end?

I don't know that either. If somebody told me, I don't remember...
So I was pretty down, confused. Depressed, you might say.
***
Yeah, depressed.

Been there a few times.

It’s like quicksand -- or a tar pit:

easy to fall in, damn near impossible to get out.

And nobody wants to stay there. Nobody.

Which, by the way, is the thing about suicide --

the thing I think most folks overlook,

at least folks who haven’t been there --

What suicide is about, far as I can tell, is depression:

How to get the hell out.

There’s no way to pull yourself up -- no slippin’ out sideways --

and even if you’ve been there before, many times,

it always feels like you can’t wait it out.

So, the rope. Or the poison. Or a bare bodkin. Whatever you’ve got.

And if you don’t, then you do hafta wait. Wait it out.

You know, somebody famous said, “If you’re walking through hell, keep walking.”

But I say, if you’re walking through hell, stop.

Lie down.

That’s what I do.

I lie down right next to my warm wall,

and I pull my blanket over me, 

and I wait….

***

 

Anyhow, one day --
Listen, this is, uh ... but ...
One day I'm sitting here, okay?

Lying here curled up on the floor feeling lonely, pointless, kinda wishing, you know?
And then suddenly, outta nowhere... it happens again!
Not the same person, but it starts again... this new person, the feeling, the happiness -

like I'm about to burst and become sunlight or stardust, and we've got it, we're...
And then it ends.

Just breaks up and fades away and...
***
Well, I fell for it again. Pretty sad, huh?
And there's worse.

I still, ah...

Even though I know it's an illusion, I...
I sometimes find myself wishing you know, just one more time...
But I know.
I do.

[breathes]
***

So yeah. Alone.
In here.

Like always.

 

And I'm not gonna be released. No pardon.
It's not me, you understand, not anything I've done. No.
I know it from the others. The ones I hear going by.

In the time I've been here, I've heard more than a few.
And I've gotta say... They're all going the same.

I mean, sure, some are walking quietly, some are saying prayers...

a couple've been shouting and struggling, practically have to be dragged...

And one was preachin' some private gospel, all the way down the hall...
But they've all been goin' the same way.

No "Hallelujah!" or "I told you" or thanking their lawyer and laughing -

"How's my suit? Will they recognize me?"
None of that. Not once.
So I guess I know where I'm goin'. Just not when.
And until then...?
Yeah - here, like always.
Which is why I'm so glad you came.

It really makes a difference.
Thanks for coming.

 

-- END OF PLAY --


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My life in theatre began
when I was 12, but I didn't try writing a play until I was 30. Since then, I've written them as they've arrived (which isn't terribly often)...
I like telling everyone (actors, director, audience) only as much as they need
to start their own imagining - and then being surprised by the results.