Disparate Voices: Spectral Sisters Productions Short Play Anthology

By Spectral Sisters Productions

DISPARATE VOICES (Spectral Sisters Productions Short Play Anthology) contains 25 exiting original short plays (usually in a ten minute format) by local and regional writers from Central Louisiana.

Topics range from the sexual orientation of Klu Klux Klan members or Tweedledee and Tweedledum, to steroid use among athletes, with lots of unexpected subjects in-between. Some of the plays will make you laugh, some make you cry, while others make you ponder the universality of the human condition. Each work was accepted and produced in the context of the Spectral Sisters Productions Ten-Minute Play Festival, a developmental theater project going on for over a decade in Alexandria, Louisiana.

These short plays, very different in subject matters and writing styles, offer something for the actor, producer, educator, sociologist and, of course, the casual reader to enjoy. While the Heart of Louisiana may not have a reputation for progressive creativity, these works prove that remarkable creativity can be nurtured in the most surprising of locations and yield a dramatic harvest that the whole nation and the entire English-speaking world can enjoy. Please share in our inspiration!

Support for DISPARATE VOICES was received through a grant from the Louisiana Division of the Arts in cooperation with the Louisiana State Arts Council as administered by the Arts Council of Central Louisiana.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504947398

Spectral Sisters Productions

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© 2015 Spectral Sisters Productions. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/18/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4740-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-4739-8 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION AND DISCLAIMER

DISPARATE VOICES (Spectral Sisters Productions Short Play Anthology) has been over a decade in the making. SPECTRAL SISTERS PRODUCTIONS (SSP), the brainchild of Tammy Killian in 2004, has morphed from a small production company of women specializing in existing cutting edge plays, to a developmental theater model. For the last 12 years, SSP has sponsored a Ten-Minute Play Festival, which has attracted growing attention from local and regional playwrights.

From the first year in 2004, the quality and number of entries has grown and the process now includes outside readers that grade the works, determining which plays will be produced that season. This is associated with an annual play writing workshop that features noted regional and national playwrights, all in an effort to provide guidance to local writers.

Although such festivals are common in larger, urban communities (such as with the Southern Rep in New Orleans), it is almost unheard of in a small community in the rural South where per capita incomes hover around $25,000 and only 12% of the population attains a college education. So this miracle on the Red River, which flows by Alexandria, Louisiana, continues to generate original plays with a delightful mix of the highly local and the decidedly international.

My thanks to the authors who chose to contribute their works, all of which had to have been produced in the context of either our SSP Ten-Minute Play Festival, or the more recent SSP One-Act Play Festival. Some authors have come and gone, and others have demonstrated remarkable staying power, with multiple creations over the years. Once again, the quality and community interest has risen with time.

In past years, we have also been supported by grants from the Martin Foundation, a local philanthropic organization as well as private donors.

Since all inspiration is personal and local, we would also like to thank the many persons that have intentionally or unintentionally provided inspiration for these many plays. That being said, any resemblance to the living or the dead is strictly fortuitous. Although it has been my privilege and honor to assemble this works in this publication, the credit belongs to the many creative people who have contributed. It is hoped this work will provide a larger audience with an appreciation of what our region has to offer as well as provide an inspiration to those communities, both large and small, which strive to nurture the creative possibilities of their citizens.

Cover Design by Joshua Goodnight.

David J. Holcombe

July 1015

GRAVE LOVE

BY

JARROD ABRAHAM

CHARACTERS

MAW: An elderly Southern woman in her 70s

PAW: An elderly Southern man in his 70s

SETTING

MAW and PAW’s back porch. The evening of Halloween, almost dusk.

Lights up to reveal MAW, an elderly southern woman, seating in an old rocking chair, gazing out, away from the porch. To her right is an empty rocking chair.

Sound of footsteps coming toward the porch.

MAW: (Calling off the porch.) Oh, there you are, I was starting to get worried. I thought you might miss the trick-or-treaters.

(Enter PAW, her husband, with a dirty shovel in his hands.)

MAW: Where you been, Paw?

PAW: You know exactly where I’ve been, Maw. (PAW drops the shovel with a clatter, but remains standing at the stairs of the porch.)

MAW: Darn, Paw, you look like death warmed over.

PAW: Death? Ha, maybe I should have married death, at least it knows how to warm something up.

MAW: Maybe if you remembered how to warm me up, I just might remember to warm something up for you.

PAW: Oh, I know how to warm a woman like you up. With a nice big fire, just like they did back in the day. Where was it, that famous place? Right, Salem!

MAW: More like infamous. That was a terrible place, and a terrible time, and you should be ashamed of yourself for making light of it! (MAW stands up, wags her finger at PAW.)

PAW: Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. (PAW takes a few steps back and hangs his head in artificial shame and pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts.) Anyway, a cranky old crone is the same hot or cold.

(PAW starts to walk up to MAW and they both sit down in their respective rocking chairs.)

MAW: You know just how to talk sweet to an old gal, don’t you, Paw? (MAW reaches over to PAW and they hold hands, while they rock.)

PAW: Sure do, Maw, been doing it ever since we were kids. Back when we first meet at the local fair.

MAW: That’s when you first confessed your love for me.

PAW: Nah, the real first time I told you I loved you was when we got married, all them years ago.

MAW: No, you told me you loved me when we were in school, that’s the first time.

PAW: Ha, I was nothing but a stupid kid, just saying flowery words, to a pretty girl.

MAW: What about when we got married then? What was that!

PAW: I was a man in love! I gave my solemn oath, to a beautiful woman, one I’d spend all the rest of my life with.

MAW: You know what, Paw?

PAW: What’s that, Maw?

MAW: Sometimes, I really hate you. But—

PAW: But most of the time you really love me.

MAW: You know something else, Paw? (MAW stops, as she recovers from the catch in her throat.) You were almost late getting back this time.

PAW: You know the trick-or-treaters won’t be showing up here for another hour or so. We do this every year: you set on the porch fretting I’ll be late, while I’m working knowing I’ll be on time, like I always am. I make it up here with time to spare. We set and wait. The kids show up, they get a scare, we get a laugh. We eat, go to bed. And we do it again next year. It has always worked out, and it always will. I know Halloween is your favorite holiday, but try not to worry yourself to death over the little details.

MAW: I know, Paw, I know. It’s just we ain’t getting no younger, and I worry about you, is all. And you know it isn’t just my favorite time of the year, it’s the only time I get to see you. Truth is, we have been doing the same thing every year, you have always been on time, but each year you come in just a little later. One of these days you might not make it here in time, or even at all.

PAW: It’ll be all right, Maw, besides, kids these days are getting fatter and dumber. That’ll slow’em down a good bit anyway. Spiderman has been a favorite for years, the costume never really changes, he just gets a lil rounder and rounder each year.

MAW: Be nice, Paw, if our generation had raised our kids better, maybe this generation would have been raised with a little more grace.

PAW: Grace! Maw? You remember that one, the one from last year don’t you? I know it’s a grandma’s job to put meat on a kid’s bones. But he was all fat, no meat, hardly any muscle at all. That’s just not healthy! I never would have had a shot with you, if I was like that.

MAW: That’s not necessarily true, Paw. You were funny, romantic, and yes, handsome. Not looking like the shambling ghoul you do now. Besides, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.

PAW: What’s that, Maw, clogged arteries? All they do is set around eat junk food, watch TV, and play video games. That’s just not good for them, and it’s not good for us! (Then, realizing the passive aggressive insults his wife had almost slid by him.) And why were all those descriptions past tense? Ex—

MAW: Except for that last one.

PAW: Yeah, except for that last one! And you’re one to talk, a weathered old witch can’t say much.

MAW: Again with the witch theme?

PAW: (After a collecting himself for moment before moving on.) Bah! Well, it’s a good thing you loved—

MAW: Still love!

PAW: Still love my insides, since my apparent outsides are so terrible.

MAW: It’s not your decaying flesh, inside or out, that I loved, still love. It’s that spark of life you have.

PAW: Had! I lost whatever spark I might have had, those years ago.

MAW: Paw, you say you lost that spark, but you’re wrong… (With a sly smile) dead wrong. It has sadly faded, but it’s definitely still there. How else would we be able to meet on this, the hollowest of all the days?

PAW: Maw… (PAW pauses to wipe away a genuine tear.) You talk too much, you know that Maw…

(They both rock in silence for a moment. PAW grasps MAW’s hand.)

PAW: And that’s what I love about you. When death came, you kept on talking, always talking. (A hollow empty laugh) You never did know when to shut the hell up!

MAW: Paw, you know that’s not-

(The doorbell rings.)

MAW: Oh, trick-or-treaters!

(The doorbell rings again.)

MAW: … Paw?

PAW: Oh, all right. You know I could never say no to you…

(PAW slowly gets up, and shuffles toward the front door. The doorbell rings for a third time. PAW opens the door.)

PAW: RAWWWWr!!?… Huh?

MAW: (From her chair.): Paw? What’s wrong?

PAW: (Still looking out the door.): There’s no one here? Damn teenagers. I’ll bet it was those damn teenagers. Probably full of that pot-n-weeds, or some other rave drugs.

MAW: Paw, don’t be like that. You don’t know that. Maybe you were just too slow? The doorbell did ring three times.

PAW: We don’t need no teenagers, what with all those hormones raging in ’em like that. Young children are much better, sweet, kind, and easy… to scare. (PAW makes it back to his rocking chair.) It’s still too early for the trick-or-treaters anyway.

MAW: No, Paw. That’s what I was just saying. You only just made it here on time.

PAW: Bah! You’re always just sayin’ something. How I’m supposed to keep track of it all?

MAW: Well, just listen to me now. It’s time for the trick-or-treaters to start showing up. (MAW looks over at PAW with a playfully stern look.) So, get off your lazy butt and get ready to get those real trick-or-treaters.

PAW: Off my lazy butt!? Says the woman that’s been sitting on hers all day!

MAW: You know I have a condition!

PAW: Yup, it’s called being lazy, and it… ain’t… no… condition.

MAW: Hey. I stood up earlier, you saw me!

PAW: Yeah, I saw you, and I saw that ugly old finger of yours wagging at me too.

MAW: See? I got up though, didn’t I?

PAW: Yeah, yeah. A few seconds out of a whole day, big deal. Even the dead rise from their grave every once in a while, at least once a year. That don’t make them any less dead, now does it?

MAW: You watch your tongue now, Paw! You’re walking on thin ice!

PAW: (After a deep sigh) Yeah, Maw, yeah. I’m sorry. Sore subject.

(Another pause where they just rock.)

MAW: You know, Paw. I miss these moments like those with you. Our fighting, our bickering, our banter, our… repertoire.

PAW: Oh! Big, fancy sounding word there, Maw! You been studying in my absence?

MAW: (A little annoyed.) Paw, I’m trying to be serious here, and sincere.

PAW: Being too serious will… put you in an early grave. (Laughs)

MAW: PAW! Maybe I should put you in your not-too-early grave!

PAW: HA! You can try. In fact, I’d like to see you try! (PAW starts to sneak toward the front door.)

MAW: You get back here, Paw!

PAW: Shush! I hear little voices!

(MAW stops rocking, to be as quiet as possible. PAW makes it to the door, after a moment of looking through the peephole, returns without ever opening the door.)

MAW: What? What happened, Paw? (MAW then notices the sadness in PAW’s eyes.) What’s wrong?

PAW: (Very sad and solemn.) I’m sorry. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t do it. It was a mother of two, with another one on the way.

MAW: And?

PAW: I couldn’t even jump out to scare them.

(MAW looks up at PAW confused.)

MAW: Why?

PAW: The mother looked… the kids looked just like… (PAW wipes away a tear.) She looked just like you, almost a year after we got married. And the kids looked just like her too.

MAW: Oh, you big cry baby! She ain’t me, and I hadn’t looked like that in decades! You can’t remember to wash your muddy boots off before coming in the house, not ten minutes ago, but you can remember what I looked like, all swollen with child, as you liked to say, fifty some odd years ago?!

PAW: (Recovering from his gloom.) Why you yelling at me?! I thought you just said it was my kindness and good light that you feel in love with?

MAW: That light of yours is starting to look pretty dim, kinda like your head. And didn’t you just say you can’t keep up with all the stuff I just say?

PAW: Not all of it, but I manage a little bit from time to time. And I ain’t nobody’s fool—

MAW: —Except for me.

PAW: Like I said, nobody.

MAW: Aw, how sweet of you, just like an over ripened onion.

PAW: Better an over ripened onion, than a completely rotten prune!

MAW: Phew! Just get ready for the next batch of trick-or-treaters. And don’t let these ones get away. Be a man about it! You know what you got to do.

PAW: (Overly exaggerated.) Yes dear. My love, my sweet, my all-and-all, anything for you. (Back to his normal voice.) You know I can’t say no to you. (In a very dark tone.) Even if that means catching one of those little trick-or-treaters and bringing him to you.

MAW: You don’t have to sound so dark about it. It’s not like this is your first time doing it. We’ve been doing this for years now.

PAW: Yes, and it’s the only thing that has been allowing me to see you after all these years too.

MAW: And if you want to see me again next year, you know what to do.

PAW: Yes, I’ve already dug the new grave, the big pot is boiling—

MAW: All we need now, is at least one little trick-or-treater.

PAW: And you’ll be able to rise again next Halloween.

(The doorbell rings. PAW get out of his chair and starts toward the front door. The lights fade out. A child’s scream is heard.)

THE END

JARROD ABRAHAM

JARROD%20ABRAHAM.jpg

Jarrod Abraham is a native of Natchitoches, born in 1987. He graduated from Northwestern State University in 2011 with a Bachelor’s in Business Administration. Since graduating, Jarrod has helped manage both a local convenience store called 3-J’s Fourway, and started his own outdoor store named Cypress Knee Outdoors. In the past few years, he has decided to