31 Plays in 31 Days: #13 - "Explain"

Today's piece is the first day so far I had to toss something out because I couldn't muster the focus or the subject matter sufficient to get invested in the piece. I'm surprised it took thirteen days to get to that point; I'm kind of impressed with myself, really. But I spent all weekend finishing the homework assignment due today, as well as getting off-book for the rehearsal period that began tonight. Unfortunately the end result is that the piece isn't very deep or good. When I'm not invested in what I'm writing, it's very rare that the product comes out well. (See my really failed one act play from two semesters ago, The Waiting Room, for an example of that phenomenon.) But at least I have yet to miss generating a piece for each day. This one's about a boy who's been arrested being visited in juvenile hall by his foster mother.

Day #13 - "Explain"

(A teenaged boy, GREG HART, sits at a table wearing a prisoner’s gray jumpsuit. After a moment ELIZABETH BARCLAY, a nicely-dressed middle-aged woman, enters.)

GREG: Elizabeth!

ELIZABETH: Hello, Gregory.

(She sits down at the table across from him.)

GREG: I was starting to think you weren’t coming.

ELIZABETH: I would have told you if that were the case.

GREG: I— I’ve been waiting for you to come.

ELIZABETH: Did you enjoy the pecan pie I sent you?

GREG: Oh— it was confiscated before I could eat any.

ELIZABETH: I see.

GREG: But it looked good.

ELIZABETH: Now, you’ll have to be careful while you’re in here. I want you to report it if anything happens to you. Your safety might depend on it.

GREG: Yeah, I will. I wanted to tell you—

ELIZABETH: Do you need anything? Books, underwear, a toothbrush?

GREG: I have to tell you what happened.

ELIZABETH: I think that would be a bad idea.

GREG: I want to explain.

ELIZABETH: Anything you tell me I could be obligated to disclose if I speak as a witness at your trial.

GREG: Don’t be my witness, then, I don’t need you to be.

ELIZABETH: I won’t have a choice if the prosecutor should call me to the stand.

GREG: It doesn’t matter. I didn’t— there’s nothing that could hurt me.

ELIZABETH: What you did hurt you, Greg.

GREG: Please, Elizabeth— why won’t you let me explain?

ELIZABETH: Explain? Explain what, dear? That despite the fact that I have spent the last year as your foster mother trying to teach you that decent people don’t resort to violence to solve their problems, you lost your temper so completely that you beat another boy unconscious? And now you’re in here, waiting to see if you’ve ruined your life forever?

GREG: I didn’t mean to— I’m sorry, Elizabeth.

ELIZABETH: You should be.

GREG: I want to explain so you understand.

ELIZABETH: I understand enough.

GREG: I don’t want you to hate me.

ELIZABETH: Gregory. If I hated you, you would have no power to hurt me like this.

(ELIZABETH rises from the table and leaves the room.)