The Tale of Several High School Freshmen Theatre Students as Performed by Furniture With the Aid of Mimes, a Title Which is Not Metaphorical So As Not To Confuse Any Freshmen Who Might Not Even Know What Metaphorical Means: A Play in One Act

A Stage Play by Michael Keene

Title says it all, really. It's a little over ten minute play for my theatre class. I was forced to write about teen issues, which I hate, so... here's what came out of that.

List of Characters:

MENTAL PATIENT, a boy in his late teens.

A CHAIR

A LAMP

A COFFEE TABLE

A COUCH, as played by two persons.

A RUG

A BOY, a freshman of many identities.

SUE, a freshman girl of a flirtatious nature.

AN IRATE TEACHER

ANNE, a senior hottie with a passion for young blood.

A JOCK, the senior boy toy of Anne’s.

THE BOY’S BROTHER, an older teenager.

DEATH

AN INDIAN

Stage is black. Spotlight on center stage.

[Enter lone MENTAL PATIENT]

MENTAL PATIENT

I was never sure why people ate sushi. It was confounding, to say the absolute least. Perhaps it’s the smell, that smell of rice and dead, recently skinned fish that seemed bizarre to a novice such as myself.

[beat]

I’m sorry, I should explain myself. Firstly, my name: it’s Gavin—which is a strange name—Mulligan—which just sounds silly and in the end, quite foolish. So please, don’t use it. Secondly, my situation: I recently—and by “I”, I mean my family, as this is an adult matter and I am only seventeen. That is to say, “I” as in myself, not “I” as in my family, which is not made up of seventeen-year-olds. Not to say anything about teen pregnancy, but I could hardly be walking and talking and delivering a monologue without a parent who was at least fourteen at the time of my birth. Not to say my mother was fourteen, because she most definitely was not… she was twenty-nine, at the time of my birth… from her… She’s forty-six… she’ll be forty-seven in July, on July 12, to be precise. Oh, but don’t think my father was fourteen, as he was actually thirty. Neither was fourteen, I suppose that’s what I’m getting at, as that would be pedophilia, which is a taboo I would never advocate as having anything to do with my family, myself, or my audience, though I don’t pretend to knowing anything about the psychology of those individuals, though you might, I suppose. That’s really none of my, nor my family’s business…

[beat]

But yes, I—as in my family with the cooperation of myself—recently obtained a grand total of eighteen million four hundred thousand sixty-seven dollars and forty-two cents, with taxes calculated in. This was via the death of a relative, rather than any illegal or otherwise sinister means which may or may not be perforating in your mind. This is, of course, not to say you are of the devious or distrusting nature to believe we as a poor American family would go so far as to find ourselves in any situation that would break the laws and codes that make up the legal system of the United States of America. Not that you would be wrong in thinking so, as there are morally bankrupt souls in this world we as the human race occupy. Not that I’m advocating any form of religion, mind you, as that would be presumptuous and terribly rude on my part.

[beat]

Anywho, with this large sum my family—that is, my forty-six year old mother and my forty-seven year old father and myself—have decided to introduce to you, the speculative audience, to a number of characters otherwise known as high school freshmen. No one persons enjoys their short, bug-eyed presence, as they can neither be called truly human, nor monsters. They are, simply, freshmen.

Lights flood the stage. The MENTAL PATIENT is surrounded by furniture, as portrayed by actors. They are: a COFFEE TABLE, a LAMP, a CHAIR, a COUCH, and a RUG. ALL remain still.

MENTAL PATIENT

As well as furniture.

[The MENTAL PATIENT walks over to and sits in the CHAIR.]

CHAIR

Hey! Come on, get off that!

MENTAL PATIENT

Oh! Very sorry good sir, who is in fact a chair rather than an actual flesh-and-blood organism, otherwise known as a Homo sapien.

[The MENTAL PATIENT jumps up after a short delay. He walks to the far stage left to narrate the rest.]

CHAIR

Everybody’s always friggin’ sittin’ on me and… gah… I can’t stand it any more! What do people want, a revolt! Gah!

MENTAL PATIENT

Our first subject, Mr. C.H. Air, a most detestable chair, finds himself distinctly rattled, seeking judgment on those he has battled, in the arena of social life, which he feels is loaded with unparalleled strife.

[Beat]

Oh, dear.

CHAIR

I recall a time, long ago, when I was but a little stool. There was a boy, a bright young lad—

[A BOY hops out from stage right.]

CHAIR

—who made do with a baseball bat—

[A baseball bat is thrown to the BOY from off-stage.]

CHAIR

—and was joined in his daily activities by a girl, whose name was Sue.

[SUE hops out from stage left.]

CHAIR

Both were emotionally unclear as to why they wanted to smother each other in a heat of passion—

[The BOY and SUE skip to each other. The BOY grabs SUE by the hips and SUE grabs the back of the BOY’S head. They stare longingly at each other in mock-passion.]

CHAIR

Of course, being high school freshmen, they were not as ignorant as many parents may concur. They were fully aware of the acts they wished to participate in, and as it was a part of their world to be raunchy in word and every so often in deed, there was plenty of, in a sense… understanding…

[SUE grabs the BOY by his collar and drags him behind the COUCH.]

COUCH

Huh. That’s a freshman all right.

CHAIR

Ahem! Anyway, things happened and stuff was done, etcetera…and then, one day, something peculiar occurred.

[SUE walks out from behind the couch, six months pregnant. The BOY walks after her, weeping like a little girl. BOTH exit stage right.]

CHAIR

Long story short: lunch money and alimony.

ALL

Ha!

MENTAL PATIENT

Very well said Mr. Air. Hopefully you can all see the lesson learned from that little misadventure. Up next, we have the lovely Miss Lucy Amp, a most peculiar tram—er, champ, in the world of social discussion, dating back to the eye-patched Russian.

[Cough]

There it is again.

LAMP

Ladies and gentlemen, I know a turn-off when I see it.

[Beat]

All joking aside, I too once knew a boy. He was a theatre kid, nothing too extraordinary.

[The BOY enters stage right. He is dressed differently.]

LAMP

He desperately liked cabbage.

[A cabbage is thrown at and hits the BOY’S head. He falls to the ground.]

LAMP

One day, the boy found himself unable to understand the goings-on of the class he was at the time attending…

[An IRATE TEACHER enters stage left carrying a desk. The TEACHER slams it down in front of the BOY, who climbs into the seat. The TEACHER points to an imaginary board and mimes yelling and explanations.]

LAMP

It may have been the cabbage…

[Beat]

The boy was further surprised to find that, unlike the simplicity of junior high the previous year, some things are just impossible to understand about high school teachers.

[The TEACHER slams a test in front of the BOY.]

LAMP

It seems that in his haste to fit into the groove of the adult world, to flirt and to find the nicest wheels for his book bag, and to eat cabbage, he forgot the most important part…

[The BOY mimes screaming, he tears the test to shreds, stuffs them into his mouth, and runs at and tackles the TEACHER. BOTH exit stage left.]

LAMP

Keep your cool.

ALL

Ha!

[An INDIAN enters stage right and removes the desk.]

MENTAL PATIENT

My, oh my, what a statement. What a statement! Ladies and gentlemen, I dare say that I doubt any piece of furniture could weave a more epic tale of desperation and heartache, coupled with a truly captivating look at our present economic and semi-socialistic conditions. It took my breath away…

[Beat]

Nonetheless, we shall move on. Up next, we have the ever-glorious Miss Coffy T. Abel—named of course after the phenomenal 1973 classic Coffy directed by Jack Hill and starring the forever radiant Miss Pam Grier.

[Beat]

Oh, wow, I didn’t rhyme that time!

[Beat]

Oh, muffins…

COFFEE TABLE

Ladies and gentlemen, it is a difficult decision as to which story I should tell you. I have found myself in the middle of many, so narration comes almost as a second nature. I suppose my favorite would have to also be the most violent, something I’m sure any and all Americans in the audience will love to pieces. I knew a boy who—in his ninth grade year, mind you—had the unique ability to do something many freshmen could not…

[The BOY enters stage right, once again having changed clothing. He is followed by ANNE. She trails him in a loving fashion.]

COFFEE TABLE

Land a bombshell.

[The BOY and ANNE embrace, center stage. A JOCK enters stage left, catches the sight of the two, and walks their way.]

COFFEE TABLE

Of course, if there’s one thing an eighteen-year-old human meat puppet with the I.Q. and nature of a bulldozer can’t stand…

[The JOCK pulls ANNE away from the BOY, grabs him by the shirt, and punches him in the face. He proceeds to throw the BOY behind the couch, where he pummels him senseless.]

COFFEE TABLE

…It’s a freshman theatre nerd making kissy face with the most bodacious babe of his graduating class

COUCH

Oh come on, kill him on the rug!

RUG

Hey! Shush you!

MENTAL PATIENT

Now, now Mr. Ouch, Mrs. Ug, this is Miss Abel’s time, wait your turn.

COUCH & RUG

All right… okay…

MENTAL PATIENT

Ahem?

COUCH & RUG

Sir, yes sir, almighty sir, sir.

MENTAL PATIENT

Much better, now please, continue, Miss Abel.

COFFEE TABLE

Thank you, sir. As I was saying, as time slipped by and the girl ran for help…

[ANNE stands there, looking back behind the COUCH, worried.]

COFFEE TABLE

I said: “As the girl ran for help!”

[ANNE takes notice and runs off-stage left.]

COFFEE TABLE

Kids, I swear… Anyway, as the girl ran for help, the boy stayed behind, receiving the most brutal of lessons…

[The JOCK walks out from behind the COUCH, off stage left. After a beat, the BOY crawls out, bloodied and unable to move without a great deal of pain.]

COFFEE TABLE

Next time you’re in a metaphorical story about the terror and hypocrisy in life and the trials and tribulations which occur during its course that could only be called deep and poignant by the most pretentious of people, don’t mess around with the big guy’s girl.

[Silence until the BOY crawls off stage right.]

ALL

Ha!

MENTAL PATIENT

Well done! Well done indeed! Oh, bravo, a thousand—a million time bravo good table!

[Beat]

Up next, we have Mr. K. Ouch. He enjoys motor sports, TV marathons, bold retorts, and ugly swans.

[The MENTAL PATIENT realizes what he has said and exits stage right. He re-enters with the baseball bat and walks to center-stage. He screams and throws the bat stage left, which triggers a Wilhelm scream. He breathes heavily then looks up at the audience and walks back to his former position.]

MENTAL PATIENT

Go on, Mr. Ouch.

COUCH

Um, okay…

[Beat]

I once knew a boy, and he had a penchant for being, well, a freshman.

[The BOY enters stage right, once again dressed differently, and stands center stage.]

COUCH

So, accordingly, he hated life and life hated him. This, of course, leads to him being completely emo with his parents, who were in reality pretty decent folks, and to a greater extent, he was emo with his older brother—who was a complete, for lack of a better term, d********g.

[The BOY’S BROTHER enters stage left and stands next to the BOY.]

COUCH

And when I say he was a d********g, I mean he was a total jerk.

[The BROTHER smacks the boy.]

COUCH

Of course, being a freshman, the boy was on a whole other plane of d****e baggery.

[The BOY takes out a knife and repeatedly stabs the BROTHER. The BROTHER falls to the ground, miming crying in pain.]

COUCH

Being the brand of hit man that only a freshman can be, however, his ability to stab the living Swiss out of somebody was as awful as his ability to do anything remotely interesting, and his brother just lay there refusing to accept death.

[DEATH enters stage left and beckons the BROTHER to come with him. The BROTHER refuses. DEATH takes out a flashlight, points it at him, and beckons him further. The BOY just stands there, watching his brother intently.]

BOY

Bro? Patrick? It’s me, Gav—

MENTAL PATIENT

Shut up! Shut up! No talking! None! What part of pantomime don’t you understand! Leave! Now!

[The BOY and DEATH run off-stage in either direction. The BROTHER lies there, dying. The MENTAL PATIENT stares at him a moment, and then looks up at the COUCH.]

MENTAL PATIENT

Why would you do that? Huh? Why!

RUG

He was trying to help. We’re your furniture; we just want to help you.

MENTAL PATIENT

Then help me by shutting up! Ah!

RUG

But, Gav—

MENTAL PATIENT

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

[The MENTAL PATIENT takes the RUG—while repeating his lines—and drags it off-stage left.]

RUG