Joshua Todd James's Blog, page 4

Seeing The Dream

One of my martial arts students, John, gave me this wonderful T-shirt yesterday.

Forgive my unkempt chin hair; I’m working on it.

What a great metaphor for the BJJ journey.

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There’s a definite argument to be made for non-belt systems in martial arts (and they exist, Sambo, for example, and there are others), but one manner in which it definitely helps is that with that system, a student can visualize the journey before them… and seeing it makes it somehow more believable.

A white belt often cannot think of a day when they are worthy of wearing a black belt. It seems too far away, too difficult, too much to accomplish. It’s foreboding.

Considering it can take eight to ten years to earn a black belt in BJJ (and oftentimes, it can take longer; it took me nearly fourteen), it’s hard to see that far ahead and justify the work. One can, but it’s very challenging.

But one can visualize being a blue belt (the next rank in BJJ). It seems very possible.

Then, one can see the next step from blue is purple and work accordingly. And you can tell yourself, I’m chasing my dream. I’m chasing my future. But the longer the journey, the more important it is to visualize the end result. Otherwise, one can get lost. See the steps, and take the steps.

This doesn’t only work in martial arts* but in many other arenas.

I have a great writer bud, Dave, who writes novels. One of his tricks is to type out the title page of the book he’s going to write. Then he gets a sheaf of paper, at least three hundred blank pages, and lays it on his desk. He puts the title page on the stack of black paper. And imagines that’s what his book will look like when it’s finished.

He’s creating a dream image that he’ll spend the next year or longer chasing.

Until he catches it and makes it his today.

I do something similar but with covers. I’ll sometimes create a book cover before I write it. The cover helps me visualize the finished product. See the dream. Plus, considering that I have to hire someone to create that cover means I spent money, and if I don’t finish the novel, that money is wasted.

I generally use word count for fiction to mark my journey.

It’s hard to imagine writing a novel that’s 100,000 words long. Really hard. My goal is 1000 words a day. That’s not difficult at all. Help, I probably write more than 1k words via emails and texts alone every day. It’s very doable.

And if I write 1k words of fiction every day for a hundred days (little more than three months), I’ll have a 100,000-word book by the end. And I use the cover, finally.

Humans differ from animals in that we can see a far future and that we can see things that don’t yet exist. We can see life when we’re old, we can see a time when we can create a house from wood, a car from metal that we melted from ore, we create things that don’t exist. Movies are dreams made real, in fact.

That is our superpower. BJJ didn’t exist hundreds of years ago. It was created from something else, someone had a dream, a vision, and chased it until they caught it.

It was always my dream to be a good father, to live the life of a martial artist, and to make movies and write novels, as best I could.

And that’s what’s interesting about the T-shirt. The Pac-Man doesn’t stop once it eats all the belts. It keeps going. My buddy Dave (and I) didn’t stop writing novels after we finished our first ones. We kept going. Inventors don’t stop inventing once they hit a big one, nor do actors stop acting once they win all the awards.

So the belts, like awards and applause, are markers of the journey, nothing more, nothing less. Getting a graduate degree, winning a trophy, traveling to the other side of the world - all markers of specific experiences of one’s individual journey.

But the journey one embarks on in pursuit of a dream, that’s what matters.

You must find a way to see that dream first to realize it and continue living it even after you have captured the future and made it there today; that’s what truly counts.

What’s the dream you see before you?

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Tip the writer!

*I know, I know, I need to write more about martial arts in this space. I will, I promise. The writing life has consumed much of my time on my substack, but that day shall come.

GLANCE

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GLANCE

the fresh breath

of morning

is

sweeter

and

sharper

by far

when

my

first day's

glance

is

of

you

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AMBIVALENT

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Published and available in THE JOSHUA JAMES PROJECT

CHARACTERS:

SAM:  A man in his late 40s, very dry and fatalistic.

GINNY:  An actress in her 20s, prone to outbursts.

MOOG:  A hipster musician.

BEVERLY:  A woman in her late 40s, early 50s, a voice of reason.

SETTING:  Gate 13 at JFK.

TIME:  Present.

GATE THIRTEEN AT JFK.

(Scores of people sit waiting to board. One man, SAM, clad in a suit and tie and carrying a briefcase, stands and catches people’s attention.)

SAM:  Excuse me, I’m sorry, but excuse me, everyone, can I have your attention? Please? Before they allow us to board, there is something very important I need to share with all of you. My name is Sam Hunnicut, I’m forty-four years old, I’m an account associate with Bristol-Meyer, I have a wife, two children, three cats and a large mortgage. I’m an ordinary man living an ordinary life, and I just want to say, before we all get on this airplane, that I have been suddenly overcome with an overwhelming sense of doom, and I’m absolutely convinced that we’re all going to die. Thank you.

(SAM sits down. GINNY, a young woman, jumps up.)

GINNY:  What the HELL is wrong with you?

SAM:  I just thought everyone should know.

(MOOG, a hip young guy, chimes in.)   

MOOG:  You’re saying this plane is going to crash?

SAM:  This plane will crash, and we’re all going to die.

GINNY:  Are you crazy! Stop trying to scare us!

SAM:  I’m not deliberately trying to scare you or anyone. I simply thought you’d want to be informed.

GINNY:  If you’re NOT trying to scare anyone, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it, you fucking psycho.

( A middle-aged woman, BEVERLY, stands.)

BEVERLY:  Listen, everyone, let’s all just calm down, please. It’s quite natural to feel nervous. We’re going to be fine; you’re going to be fine, sir. You’re just afraid of flying.

SAM:  I’m not afraid of flying. I fly all the time.

MOOG:  So what’s the big deal, man?

SAM:  This time it’s different, this time I have a premonition, a vision or what-have-you, that this plane we are about to board is destined to go down screaming in a twisted fiery ball of death and destruction.

GINNY:  Oh my GOD!

BEVERLY:  Please, this isn’t helping any of us—

SAM:  Of course, I could be wrong, I’ve been wrong about other things.

MOOG:  Like what?

SAM:  Reagan, I was really wrong about Reagan and Reaganomics, a huge miscalculation.

BEVERLY:  See? None of us is omnipotent, I myself never thought rollerblading would be as popular as it turned out to be.

SAM:  Enron, really wrong about Enron. Beanie babies. The euro-dollar, took me by surprise. Rap music, never thought that would cross over. The DeLorean. The XFL. My marriage, big mistake. So, I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.

GINNY:  Why is it every time I leave my apartment all I run into are lunatics?

SAM:  I should add, however, that those were mistakes in judgment, I never had the premonition I have now about any of those things. I’ve had a premonition like this only ONCE before.

GINNY:  Oh really. You’ve had this “psychic email” before? When?

SAM:  2004 American League championship, Sox down three games to none to the Yanks. That’s when it hit me for the first time, the premonition, I somehow knew the Sox would pull it out and win it all in spite of the odds. I almost called my bookie and put down a thousand dollars on Boston at twenty-to-one. But I didn’t damn it. I should have bet ten or twenty grand but I didn’t, I was afraid of getting my legs broken if they lost. I didn’t know at that time how right my premonition was.

MOOG:  Fuck me, man, this is freaking me out.

BEVERLY:  Listen to me, please. Everyone. THERE IS NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF. We are all going to be fine. My cousin was a stewardess for fifteen years and was never in a crash. You are safer on an airplane than you are in a car on the freeway.

GINNY:  Which is why I DON’T DRIVE! Oh God, oh God oh God. Oh good God, why does this happen? Why oh why did I agree to an audition in LA, I should have just sent a tape, it’s not even a real show, it’s on the fucking food network! I’m an actress, why should I have to audition for something on the FOOD NETWORK? Why should any self-respecting actress have to audition to be a CO-HOST for a FUCKING COOKING SHOW? This is insane, I’m not going to DIE FOR A COOKING SHOW!

BEVERLY:  It’s okay, honey, I swear to you, there is nothing to be afraid of. Thousands of planes crisscross this country every hour of the day with no incident-

MOOG:  Some planes DO crash, though, right?

GINNY:  Planes crash, don’t try and tell us they don’t crash, we see it on the news! Planes crash or they’re hijacked, engines fail, the toilets don’t work and sometimes passengers get food poisoning, shit like that happens, don't try and tell us it doesn’t happen because WE KNOW IT HAPPENS!

BEVERLY:  Please calm down, there are incidents, yes, but statistically-

GINNY:  Oh God, I’m freaking out, I’m going to have a breakdown, I swear I’m having a heart attack right now!

SAM:  I knew this stockbroker during the crash of eighty-seven, he jumped out of a twenty-story window and the autopsy revealed he died not from the fall but from a heart attack he evidently suffered prior to impact.

GINNY:  That’s it, fuck it, I’m not doing this. I’m outta here.

BEVERLY:  Wait a second, please wait. I will admit that bad things do happen from time to time. Plane crashes, tidal waves, preemptive wars, and fixed elections, unfortunate events do happen. They can happen on a plane, in a cab, or in a bathtub. Bad things can happen to us anywhere at any time. It’s important for us to take precautions and be safe, but neither can we run from the possibility of unfortunate events. If we hide, if we cower in fear, afraid to take two steps from our caves, well, that may not be dying, but it’s not what I call living, either.

(Pause.)

GINNY:  Fuck you, I’m outta here. Who else is going? (to MOOG) Are you coming?

MOOG:  Fuck, man, I can’t. I can’t. I gotta get on the plane.

GINNY:  You don’t think looney-tunes here could be right?

MOOG:  I hope to God he ain’t, but even if he is, I still gotta get on the plane, man.

GINNY:  Are you nuts?

MOOG:  I gotta go, it’s my band, man, they’re waiting for me in L.A. We have a private audition with a major label, it’s tonight, and if I don’t show … this is our big break, this is what we’ve been working for, for ten years, me and my band have grinded it out, pinching pennies for demos and headshots, playing shithole dives at four in the morning for no money in front of a few drunks and our girlfriends, we ate shit and paid our dues until we finally got a manager and now we got a chance, a chance to do this for the Big Time. If I don’t show, they’ll kill me. I hope he ain’t right, but even if he is, I still gotta go. This is my dream, I let this go, I let it slip through my fingers and have to go back to waiting tables, no health insurance, sponging off my folks and girlfriends, I don’t know if I even want to live anyway. I’m getting on this motherfucker no matter what happens.

(Brief pause.)

GINNY:  You’re a MUSICIAN? A MUSICIAN? I am definitely not getting on this fucking plane NOW!

SAM:  She’s right, you know, a lot of musicians have died on airplanes.

(Many other passengers, silently watching, get up and immediately leave.)

MOOG:  Fuck me. Dude, I’m telling you, if this is some kind of sick reality TV show prank, I want you to know I’m not signing any release, and you won’t be able to use ANY of this footage, for real.

(Very brief pause.)

GINNY:  Wait a minute, I’ll sign a release, is it a network show?

SAM:  This isn’t a reality show, I’m not messing with you, I’m totally serious, I really did have a premonition and you should use this chance to change flights if you can.

BEVERLY:  If what you’re saying is true, then why are you still here?

SAM:  What?

BEVERLY:  Why are you still here, why haven’t you changed flights?

SAM:  Well, I could be wrong—

GINNY:  But you don’t think you’re wrong, do you? You believe this plane is going to crash!

(Very brief pause.)

SAM:  I don’t really have much to live for, anyway. That’s why I’m not afraid.

BEVERLY:  You’re saying that you’re suicidal?

SAM:  Not suicidal, I’m not nearly that ambitious. I guess you could say I’m just ambivalent on living or dying. It wouldn’t really matter to me, either way.

BEVERLY:  Why not?

SAM:  Well, I’ve done pretty much everything I can do, up to this point. I got my college degree, got married, and bought a house. I’ve worked for the same company for twenty years as an account associate, which is fancy talk for salesman. A man of twenty-eight was promoted over me, just recently, he has no experience in the job, he’s just younger and prettier and now I report to him. I’m basically being put to pasture, in no uncertain terms, even though I’m twenty years from retirement I’ve been deemed unnecessary to management and pretty soon I’ll be forced out. With the mortgage I’m carrying, that’s basically a quick trip to extreme poverty. So it doesn’t matter what happens, not really.

MOOG:  Shit on a stick, I don’t believe this. I hope to Christ you’re not seated next to me for the whole flight.

BEVERLY:  What about your family?

SAM:  What about them?

BEVERLY:  Don't you think they’ll need you, that they’d miss you?

SAM:  My wife despises me, she won’t admit it but it’s true. I know because I read it in her journal last week. It takes all her willpower just to look at me in the morning without screaming. Twenty-one years of marriage, and she’s hated me since year two. She was just too afraid to leave me. In her eyes, I am good for only two things: paying the bills and impregnation. Paying the bills will soon be out, and impregnation is now past us. She’d been badgering for children for years, and I finally gave in. We have two.

(SAM stands up and stretches.)

SAM:  My son, Brandon, he’s five and a homosexual. My five-year-old son is homosexual. I know because he told me, he said, “Daddy, I think I’m a homosexual.”  Not only does HE know he’s a homosexual, and I know he’s a homosexual, but anyone that’s ever MET him knows he’s a homosexual. He came out of the womb a homosexual and knew it when he opened his eyes. I love my son, but I thought I’d have years to prepare for the possibility of a homosexual teen-aged son, not a homosexual five-year-old son. It’s too much to even rationally consider, and one thing I know is that there is nothing I can say or do that will in any way help him with the truly shitty adolescence he’s about to embark on. I’ve got nothing and as a result, if he lives, he’ll be sure to hate me for not being able to at least give him one decent piece of advice on anything. Add to that, I’m about to be unemployed, so the dance lessons he wants will be out of the question, and he’ll never forgive me for that.

(SAM loosens his tie and undoes the buttons of his shirt collar.)

SAM:  Christine is the youngest, she’s three and a monster. I mean, really, she’s a monster. She’s not human. She’s a serial killer in progress. She enjoys causing pain. She once drove a corkscrew into my foot and giggled when blood came out. I’m totally serious, she kills things, we have to keep the cats separate from her, she tried to put one in the microwave. She tried to cook one of my cats. My wife insists it’s just a phase, but she also said that about our lack of sexual intimacy, and that phase has lasted eighteen years. Short of electroshock therapy, Christine is certain to end up on a federal watch list someday. She’s my wife’s favorite, of course. She hates me. I know because she told me, she said, “I hate you, Daddy.”  Someday, she’ll grow up and kill me, and you’ll be able to see the whole sordid tale on cable late at night.

(An announcer rings out over an intercom, can also be done live by a person.)

ANNOUNCER: Ladies and Gentlemen, sorry for the delay, but the problem has been fixed, and we are now prepared to board Northwest Airlines Flight 113 from JFK non-stop to Los Angeles. Please have your boarding passes ready.

(Nobody moves for a moment. SAM picks up his bag and looks at everyone.)

SAM:  The one thing I did have was baseball. Now that the Red Sox have beaten the Yanks and went on to win the World Series, now that the curse of the Bambino has been lifted, I am for certain sure that I’ve seen everything life has to offer, and so, even if this plane does crash, it will just be saving me from a dismal existence of poverty, anger, embarrassment and extreme boredom. So I’m not afraid of dying, I’m pretty much ambivalent about the whole thing.

(BEVERLY stands and picks up her bag.)

BEVERLY:  I’m getting on this plane to visit my sister in Los Angeles. She’s in the hospital with breast cancer. She never smoked, drank, or ate bad food, and still she got cancer. She taught yoga and ran marathons, and she still got cancer. She’s been fighting it for three years, she’s had two mastectomies and countless rounds of chemo and radiation treatments. She’s lost all her hair, half of her body weight, and quite a few of her teeth. In spite of all that, she smiles every time I see her. Every time I see her, she smiles because she’s happy just to be alive.

(BEVERLY takes her bag and walks to the boarding gate.)

BEVERLY:  She’s faced things that are much worse than a dead-end job, an unhappy wife, and two problematic children. She’s faced pain and agony far worse than any of us here can imagine, and she’s smiled through it all. She’s currently in the last stage. She’s dying soon, and if I don’t get on this plane, I won’t see her, hold her, or get to share that smile of hers ever again. I’m more afraid of that than dying myself.

(Very calm and collected, BEVERLY stops right before she enters the boarding gate. She looks right at SAM.)

BEVERLY:  So I’m getting on this plane, and shame on you, sir, for airing your fears as irresponsibly as you have and scaring everyone here, shame on you for making a scene here because you’re too scared to go to parent counseling or couples therapy or make a career change. Most of all, shame on you for being afraid and acting ambivalent about it. You may not fear death, but you are certainly scared of life. I’ll tell you this much. There are things in the world much worse than getting on an airplane. One of those things is being as AFRAID of life as you are.

(BEVERLY boards the plane. MOOG glances at SAM and then picks his bag up and enters the gate, boarding the plane.

GINNY, torn, finally picks her bag up and follows. She boards the plane.

SAM sets his bag down and slowly sits, unable to move.

Lights fade.)

END OF PLAY.

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AMBIVALENT NOTES:

This play was developed as part of a playwrights group with The Barrow Group. It was later produced as a showcase there in 2005 as part of THE FEAR PROJECT, but ultimately, this work was left out of that show’s move to Off-Broadway.

It later received its professional premiere at Miami’s City Theatre in 2007 to good reviews, though I wasn’t able to attend that performance.

I’m proud of much in this play, not the least with what Beverly finally says at the end and how it sums up. It reflects what took me decades to learn for myself. And in the readings leading up to the workshop and showcase, it was electric.

The first workshop production at The Barrow Group, however, was problematic. We had a first-time director. The actors playing Ginny and Moog were great, but the actors playing Sam and Beverly decided, once the play was on its feet, to just do their own thing and interpret things how they saw fit, regardless of what the director or I thought.

“Sam” had already told me that he didn’t believe in memorizing lines or doing the same thing the same way twice, so he was all over the place with no consistency. I had no idea what “Beverly” was doing when she was onstage, perhaps because she didn’t either. She was in her own world and wanted to do things the way she wanted to do them.

The performance of the play suffered greatly, as a result. There were times I wanted to slit my own wrists, all the more maddening because the next night might be good.

That’s the thing, as a playwright, you give someone a play of yours to do, and it is literally out of your hands from that point on. Once you give it to them, it’s theirs and out of your control. They either do right by it, or they don’t.

That’s the theatre biz, man. But the play remains one of my favorites.

Add-on to the notes (first writ when published in 2013) above: I caught some flack for writing the above in the published book. Thing is, playwrights are never supposed to criticize productions of their work, theatres that do the producing, and especially not criticize the choices made in staging and casting. Everyone else is free to criticize the writer and the play (oh Lordy, do they love to tell a person what’s wrong with the play you just wrote, even tho they don’t write themselves) but the writer should never complain. I get it. It’s seen as ungrateful.

Thing is, gratitude, like respect and appreciation, is a two-way street. It needed to be present from the other side of the production, too. I’m neither the first nor the last playwright to have a show fail to realize its vision. I’ve had it happen a legion of times. I forgive when it’s due to circumstances beyond a person’s control. It’s much harder to forgive when all a person had to do was memorize lines. I am still very proud of this play. When it was tight, the audiences enjoyed it, too. Laughed and laughed. But so it goes. Like I said before, that’s the biz, man.

CONVERSATIONS WITH VAN DAMME - Part 3

(For the reader, I wrote a movie that JCVD starred in called POUND OF FLESH. I’ve also written a few other projects for him that have yet to be made, so I’ve got a ton of voicemail and video messages from him, in addition to occasional phone calls out of the blue. It’s a surreal experience to have a guy you once had posters of decorating your college dorm room call you. But that’s the biz. JC is a unique, eccentric man. Conversations with him cannot truly be described, only experienced. What follows may have or have not happened, per se, but it is true to the spirit of JCVD interactions. Consider this fiction with a dose of the real, and you can decide for yourself which is which. Myself, I ain’t saying except where specifically noted.)

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Phone rings. 3 PM. I answer.

JCVD: Joshua! I have three words for you. Three words. Are you ready?

ME: Yes. I mean, unless those were the three words-

JCVD: Qua-druple Impact!

ME: Quadruple Impact? But that’s only two-

JCVD: Quadruple Impact! Finally, the long-awaited sequel to my huge hit—

ME: Double Impact. Ah. Okay. But-

JCVD: Twice the action of Double Impact! And you will write it for me!*

ME: But don’t you already have a script, Triple Impact** that you haven’t shot yet?

JCVD: Ah, fuck that script, yes, but I don’t like it anymore. They try to fuck me on that deal, Joshua, you know? No one fucks Van Damme over, no one. And besides, do you know what is better than Triple Impact?

ME: Quadruple Impact?

JCVD: Yes! You get it! This is why I love you, Joshua! It’s Double the Triple Impact of Van Damme!

ME: But double of the triple is-

JCVD: So here’s the idea for the movie, are you ready? In Double Impact, I played Chad and Alex, twins separated at birth, yes? We hate each other, but we must work together to avenge those who killed our family, yes?

ME: Right, I remember.

JCVD: So in Quadruple Impact, Chad and Alex both get married, and both have twins themselves! Two sets of twins! Because it runs in the family, twins, it’s generic-

ME: Genetic, yeah, I read that somewhere-

JCVD: And the two sets of twins, they hate each other. They really do. Because one set grew up poor in Hong Kong, the other grew up rich in Belgium. Chad’s twins, named Andrew and Artis, they run a chain of karate schools in Paris and are pampered and spoiled. Alex’s twins, Charlie and Chase, they run a street gang and are very tough, rough guys. You see where I’m going?

ME: Uh, yeah. (I have no idea, dear reader, none.)

JCVD: Chad and Alex are kidnapped by the Triads who want them to sign over the rights to the tunnel*** and torture them for it, but Chad and Alex resist the torture because they know-

ME: That their sons will rescue them?

JCVD: Quadruple Impact!

ME: Okay, that works. Who’s gonna play your sons?

JCVD: Well, they’re twins and must look like their fathers, yes? So I will play them.

ME: You’re going to play Chad and Alex and their two sets of twin sons-

JCVD: Andrew, Artis, Charlie, and Chase. All played by me.

ME: I see. But-

JCVD: I know, I am older now, but we can take me back, they did that to Harrison Ford for Indiana Jones, they can do it for me. Movies can do that these days. Van Damme back in action! Van Damme times four! Four times!

ME: So… six Van Dammes in one movie-

JCVD: Joshua, no, four, please pay attention, these notes are important. Quadruple means four, double the double impact, double the double action, double the double fun! I’ll call (REDACTED) and (REDACTED) while you get started on the script, yes?

ME: Uh, okay.

JCVD: Think about a really good villain, too. Maybe we bring Bolo**** back?

ME: Oooh, I like that.

JCVD: We can let the computers make him younger, too.

ME: And maybe he has twins, who also have twins, so then your two sets of twins have to fight his two sets of twins in an epic showdown-

JCVD: Joshua, Joshua, please. Four sets of twins? Don’t be so silly, it’s a movie, not a cartoon. I like that you have big ideas always, yes, but they must be a LITTLE bit grounded in reality. Come on.

ME: Uh, okay.

The actual ending shot of DOUBLE. IMPACT

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*Full disclosure, I was never asked to write a sequel to Double Impact by JCVD or anyone else, for that matter.
**There does exist a script for Triple Impact. I have not read it, but have verified it does exist somewhere on someone’s hard drive.
***The ownership of the tunnel was the McGuffin of Double Impact.
****Actor who played the main villain in Double Impact and Bloodsport.

THE RACE

THE RACE

CHARACTERS

JOHN – a husband.

MARCIA – a wife.

SETTING

A Bedroom – present.

NOTES

The following action takes place entirely in a black-out, though it is fine to see the actors take their places, once the play starts, it is important that we do not see them, only HEAR them.

To be absolutely clear, the whole play happens IN THE DARK.  In the DARK, man, not shadows, completely and utter darkness!

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(JOHN and MARCIA, a married couple, stumble home after a night on the town.  They collapse in bed.  Lights go down.  The following action takes place entirely in total darkness.)

JOHN:  Ohh.

MARCIA:  Me too.    

JOHN:  I’m a little drunk.

MARCIA:  Me too.

JOHN:  Drunk and tired.

MARCIA:  Me too.

JOHN:  Maybe more tired than drunk.

MARCIA:  Me too.   

(Short pause.)

JOHN:  Uh-oh.

MARCIA:  Uh-oh, what?

JOHN:  I think I want to have sex.

MARCIA:  Uh-oh.

JOHN:  Uh-oh.

MARCIA:  You think you want to have sex?

JOHN:  I think I want to have sex.

(Very short pause.)

MARCIA:  Me too.

JOHN:  Uh-oh.  She wants sex.

MARCIA:  Uh-oh.  I want sex.

JOHN:  You really want to have sex?

MARCIA:  I could have sex.  I could.

JOHN:  Well.  All right then. Let’s have some sex.

MARCIA:  All right then. (Short pause.) Aren’t we going to have sex?

JOHN:  Maybe.

MARCIA:  I thought you wanted to have sex.

JOHN:  I think I do want to have sex.

MARCIA:  Well, get over here and sex me, baby.  Sex me up!

JOHN:  Well …

MARCIA:  Well, what?

JOHN:  Well, I’m pretty comfortable over here.

MARCIA:  So?

JOHN:  So why don’t you come over here?

MARCIA:  Over there?

JOHN:  Come on over here and sex me up.

MARCIA:  Why don’t you come over here?

JOHN:  I always go over there, why don’t you come over here.

MARCIA:  You brought it up, you should come over here. (Short pause.)  Well?

JOHN::  Well, there seems to be a small problem.

MARCIA:  What’s the problem?

JOHN:  The problem is, I don’t think I can move.

(Short pause.)

MARCIA:  Me too.

JOHNL:  You too?

MARCIA:  Me too.  I’m pretty comfortable, lying here.

JOHN:  Me too.  My brain wants sex, but my body doesn’t want to move.

MARCIA:  Me too.  If we have sex with each other, that’s going to involve some exertion, some pushing, pulling, different kinds of positioning, all of which is good …

JOHN:  Very good.

MARCIA:  It is good. It’s just that I’m pretty comfortable.

JOHN:  Me too.  So what do we do?

MARCIA:  What else can we do?  Wait until we pass out.

(Pause.)

JOHN:  But I’m still thinking about sex!

MARCIA:  Me too.

JOHN:  I can’t stop thinking about sex.

MARCIA:  Me too.

JOHN:  But I still don’t want to move.

MARCIA:  Me too.

JOHN:  What if I were to suggest a way in which we can both achieve sexual ecstasy without upsetting the current balance of our present equilibrium?

MARCIA:  What was that?  Can you say that again?

JOHN:  Not without throwing up.

MARCIA:  Wait a minute, wait a minute.  You’re proposing that we have sex …

JOHN:  The two of us, sex …

MARCIA:  Without having to move at all.

JOHN:  Yes.

MARCIA:  You stay there, and I stay here …

JOHN:  Yes.

MARCIA:  And we have hot sex.

JOHN:   That’s it, yes.

(Short pause.)

MARCIA:  I’m intrigued.

JOHN:  I’d hoped you would be.

MARCIA:  Please elaborate.

JOHN:  We have a “Race.”

MARCIA:  A “Race?”

JOHN:  A “Race.”

MARCIA:  You’re not suggesting that we …

JOHN:  Absolutely.  We let our fingers do the walking.  You do your thing, I do mine …

MARCIA:  Oh my God.

JOHN:  And Bing!  Sexual Satisfaction.  And the great thing about it is, no matter who finishes first, we both win!

MARCIA:  You can’t be serious.

JOHN:  I am completely serious, come on, let’s go.

MARCIA:  I can’t!

JOHN:  Why not?

MARCIA:  Because!

JOHN:  Because why?

MARCIA:  Because I don’t … do that kind of thing.

JOHN:  What?  What are you talking about, of course you do!

MARCIA:  No, I do not!

JOHN:  I’ve SEEN you do it, just last Christmas, before all the Yuletide sex, you put on a little preliminary show for me.

MARCIA:  John …

JOHN:  You put me on the other side of the room, sat yourself right by the fire in lace and garters, and went to work, tuning the engine and racing away all on your lonesome, don’t you remember?

MARCIA:  Of course I remember, but that was different!

JOHN:  How is it different?

MARCIA:  Because that was for YOUR benefit, NOT mine.

JOHN:  You mean to tell me that you’ve never RACED your engine strictly for your own benefit?

MARCIA:  Oh no, no.  No.  Not since I was a teenager.  Since puberty.

JOHN:  What!  You haven’t raced since you were a kid?

MARCIA:  That’s right.    

JOHN:  Why not?

MARCIA:  Well.  It just seems so silly.

JOHN:  I don’t believe this.

MARCIA:  Why don’t you just go on ahead and … run your little race, and I’ll try to get some sleep.

JOHN:  What?  By myself?  No way.

MARCIA:  Why not, go ahead, I don’t mind.

JOHN:  I MIND.  It’s not as much fun unless you do it with me.

MARCIA: Oh, COME ON, John.

JOHN:  It’s true, you know that a woman’s pleasure is very important to me.

MARCIA:  John.

JOHN:  It’s true, I’ll feel bad if I get off and you don’t, I always do.

MARCIA:  But you have my permission.  Go ahead, have sex without me, I’m giving you my blessing.  Fire away.

(Very short pause.)

JOHN:  No, no, I don’t want to now.

MARCIA:  Oh, come on.  Honey …

JOHN:  No, it’s okay.

MARCIA:  You’re upset, I can hear it, you’re mad.

JOHN:  I’m not mad …

MARCIA:  Sweetie, if you want to masturbate, it’s perfectly all right with me, believe me.

JOHN:  No.

MARCIA:  John, I’m begging you, please masturbate, do it, you know you want to, pull on that pony, tease that weasel …

JOHN:  Marcia, no!  Masturbation just won’t be as much fun if you’re not doing it with me.

MARCIA:  Sweetie, masturbation was originally intended as a solo exercise.

JOHN: Yes, I know that, but we’re married, and we do everything together, right?

MARCIA:  Yes, but . . .

JOHN:  And we promised each other to always be open to new things, right?

MARCIA:  Yes, yes, we did promise that.

JOHN:  And I just think … that you should give some consideration to a race.

MARCIA:  But don’t you think it’s a little silly?

JOHN:  What in the world of sex ISN’T silly?  It’s all silly, penis, vagina, they’re all silly! Why stop now with this?  Just give it a shot.  Who knows, you just might like it.

MARCIA:  I might, I just might.

JOHN:  It could be really great, it could become our NEW thing.

MARCIA:  You’re right.  It just might.  All right, you talked me into it.  Honey, I’m sorry I was such a pill.

JOHN:  You are not a pill, you’re never a pill.  I love you.

MARCIA:  And I love you.  Okay.  Let’s masturbate.

JOHN:  All right!  Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines!

(Rustling of clothing is heard.)

MARCIA:  Okay.  Here we go.  Here we go.  We’re masturbating.  A masturbating we go.  Master . . . Bation.  Masturbation.

JOHN:  Marcia …

MARCIA:  (sings) Here we come … walking down the street … get the funniest looks … from everyone we meet.  Hey, Hey, we’re masturbating!

JOHN:  Marcia!

MARCIA:  What!

JOHN:  What are you doing?

MARCIA:  I’m … I’m singing.

JOHN:  Do you have to do that?

MARCIA:  Yes, I do.  It’s what I do.  Do you have a problem with that?

(Short pause.)

JOHN:  No, I do not.   

MARCIA:  Very well.  Shall we continue?

JOHN:  Yes, please.

(Pause.  Some movement is heard on the bed.  MARCIA is still humming the Monkey’s song.  JOHN starts moaning.  His moans get louder and louder.)

MARCIA:  John . . .

JOHN:  Oh . . . Oh  . . .

MARCIA:  John!

JOHN:  Ahh!

MARCIA:  John!

JOHN:  What!  What is it, can you see I’m close?

MARCIA:  It’s that noise you’re making . . .

JOHN:  What about it, these are my sex sounds . . .

MARCIA:  Those aren’t your USUAL sex sounds . . .

JOHN:  What are you talking about, these are the sounds I always make.

MARCIA:  No, they are not!  Your usual noise is kind of a uh-uh-uh … THIS sex sound is more like a oh-oh-oh …

JOHN:  SO??

MARCIA:  So it’s subtlety different, almost … almost like you might be enjoying it  … more.

JOHN:  Oh my God.  You’re singing super songs of the sixties, and you’re giving me a hard time about MY sex sounds?

MARCIA: You like masturbation BETTER than sex with me, don’t you!!

JOHN:  Can we stop this?  Can we?  I thought we were trying to do something NEW together here.  Can we just focus and jack off together, can we?

MARCIA:  You’re right, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  Touching myself always makes me a little neurotic. I’m sorry. Please continue.   

(Movement is heard.  MARCIA goes back to the humming.  JOHN moans again.  He moans louder.  MARCIA hums louder.)

JOHN:  Oh.  Oh.

MARCIA:  Oh honey.  You close?

JOHN:  Yeah, baby, oh yeah.

MARCIA:  Go sweetie.  Go for it.

JOHN:  Oh baby.  Oh. Oh, oh, oh, OH!  AHHH! Oh.

MARCIA:  Oh honey.  Nice.  Very nice.  How was it?

JOHN:  Great.  That was great.

MARCIA:  Great?

JOHN:  Not really great.  Good.  It was just good.  Good enough.  It was … How are you doing?

MARCIA:  I’m doing all right.

JOHN:  Are you there yet?

MARCIA:  Not quite.

(Short pause.)

JOHN:  You there yet?

MARCIA:  Not yet.

(Pause.)

JOHN:  How about now?

MARCIA:  John!

JOHN:  I’m sorry, it’s just, I’m sleepy now.  Is there any way to … pick the pace up a little?

MARCIA:  John, some of us in this race are sprinters, and some of us run marathons.  But we all get there.

JOHN:  Yeah.  Yeah.  Sorry.

(Pause.  MARCIA hums along.)

JOHN:  Maybe if you sang a more up-tempo song …

MARCIA:  John!

JOHN:  I’m sorry, sorry.

MARCIA:  Why don’t you take a nap and I’ll wake you when we get there?

JOHN:  No, I can make it.  I can make it.

MARCIA:  (sings) There she was a just a walking down the street … singing do-wha-ditty-ditty-dum-ditty do.  Holdin my hand and looking real purty … singing do-wha-ditty-ditty-dum-dum ditty do.  She looks good, she looks good, she looks fine, she looks good she looks fine and I nearly lost my … my … MY MIND! OH!  Oh.  Oh my.  Oh my goodness.  That was wonderful, that was … John?

(JOHN snores loudly.)

MARCIA:  I win.   

End of Play.

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NOTES:

First produced by The Defiant Ones as a part of the evening titled CLOSE ENCOUNTERS at Manhattan Theatre Source, featuring Chuck Bunting and Luisa Battista, directed by Ato Essandoh.

Later presented at The Actor’s Playground by the All You Can Eat Theatre Company, in the evening SMORGASBOARD - plays by Joshua James, featuring Michael Elian and Berda Gilmore, directed by Jamie Taylor.

THE RACE received its Southwestern professional premiere at City Theatre’s 2004 SUMMER SHORTS FESTIVAL (PROGRAM B) featuring Elizabeth Dimon and Stephen Trovillion, directed by Gail Garrison.

Published by Original Works Publishing in the following collection:

The THE Plays

If you enjoyed this, please go leave a review!

And HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

LASTLY

LASTLY

a poem by

Joshua Todd James

tis

a pity the bright flower

should fall into sad silence

forever stilled by selfish human will

or

that the dancing butterfly

should drop into sudden death

pretty prey to stubborn human pride

or even

that our strong sensual sun

should lapse into untouchable ice

dumbly frozen by foolish human fear

worse

that the innocent little boy and girl

stranded alone on an empty playground

will grow and lose their dreams

victims

of

human disinterest

and immaturity

yes

it is sad

it makes me mad

but I too

am frozen and still

thru and thru

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CONVERSATIONS WITH VAN DAMME - Part 2

(For the reader, I wrote a movie that JCVD starred in called POUND OF FLESH. I’ve also written a few other projects for him that have yet to be made, so I’ve got a ton of voicemail and video messages from him, in addition to occasional phone calls out of the blue. It’s a surreal experience to have a guy you once had posters of decorating your college dorm room call you. But that’s the biz. JC is a unique, eccentric man. Conversations with him cannot truly be described, only experienced. What follows may have or have not happened, per se, but it is true to the spirit of JCVD interactions.)

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Phone rings. Eight in the morning. It’s JCVD.

JCVD: Joshua! How are you, my friend, how are you!

ME: I’m good, JC, I’m good, how are you?

JCVD: I am (kisses his fingers, gives mmm-pop) beautiful, Joshua, beautiful! IT IS A BEAUTIFUL DAY. Do you know why?

ME: Why?

JCVD: Because I read your script!

ME: You did? You read (REDACTED)*?

JCVD: No, no, not that one, not yet, I read the one with the guy, the character we talked about, his life is all fucked up and-

ME: Oh, you mean (REDACTED)**?

JCVD: No, no, not yet, the other one, with the (REDACTED) who then has to (REDACTED)***, that one, what was that called again?

ME: Oh! You read (REDACTED)? Really?

JCVD: Yes, yes, (REDACTED) that was the title, yes, great title. Very memorable. So yes, I started reading it, and I must tell you, Joshua, I must tell you something very important.

ME: What’s that?

JCVD: This is the best script ever written.

ME: Wow? Really?

JCVD: I am serious, Joshua, I promise you. When you first told me your idea for (REDACTED), I must say, I was not convinced it could work, but now that I started reading, you really made this work. It’s both homage to (REDACTED) and goes even further than that movie, Joshua, this is the film I want to end my career on, I’m telling you. I was shaking while reading. Shaking, Joshua, with the excitement!

ME: Wow, I don’t know what to say.

JCVD: We are going to MAKE THIS MOVIE,**** Joshua, I promise you. I am going to call (REDACTED) to direct, we’ll get (REDACTED, REDACTED, REDACTED) as my co-stars, this will be the best martial arts movie EVER MADE!

ME: Whoa. You really think (REDACTED) would consider (REDACTED)?

JCVD: Trust me, (REDACTED) has always wanted to work with me. Tomorrow, I will call (REDACTED) and (REDACTED), and we will make this movie. This will be another BLOODSPORT but bigger, better, with more excitement, more fights, more drama and it will win awards, every award there is, it will win it. I promise you. I have to call (REDACTED) and send him the script tomorrow, probably.

ME: Okay, should I call my reps—

JCVD: No, no, they always come in and fuck everything up. Wait until I send it to (REDACTED) tomorrow. It has to be tomorrow because I haven’t yet finished the script. I started reading it and had to call you before I even got to the end. Let me finish the script tonight, call you again, then I call him tomorrow and send script, then we plan to make this movie this year. This year, Joshua, this year!

ME: Okay, yeah, finish the script, of course, then we can talk.

JCVD: It’s already the best script ever written, and I am not even at the end yet!

ME: (laughing) I guess that’s a win for me. How far are you?

JCVD: Pretty far, let’s see… uh, I am on… Page 12.

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*Titles redacted because I don’t own them, JC does.

** This often happened, as I’ve written a few projects for JCVD, in fact, sometimes we’d spend a long time on the phone, and he’d be giving me notes for a script, only to discover at the end he meant an entirely different script I’d written for him.

*** In addition to the titles, I’d often be required to sign an NDA, which means specific details to each script must also be non-disclosed.

**** This was a few years ago, and as of yet, this film has yet to be made. But he did, in fact, finish reading it and professed his love for the ending, too. He even did some of his character’s speeches to me over the phone, which was as awesome as it sounds. But he moved on to other things after awhile, which is another story for another day.

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CONVERSATIONS WITH VAN DAMME - 2

(For the reader, I wrote a movie that JCVD starred in called POUND OF FLESH. I’ve also written a few other projects for him that have yet to be made, so I’ve got a ton of voicemail and video messages from him, in addition to occasional phone calls out of the blue. It’s a surreal experience to have a guy you once had posters of decorating your college dorm room call you. But that’s the biz. JC is a unique, eccentric man. Conversations with him cannot truly be described, only experienced. What follows may have or have not happened, per se, but it is true to the spirit of JCVD interactions.)

Subscribe now

Phone rings. Eight in the morning. It’s JCVD.

JCVD: Joshua! How are you, my friend, how are you!

ME: I’m good, JC, I’m good, how are you?

JCVD: I am (kisses his fingers, gives mmm-pop) beautiful, Joshua, beautiful! IT IS A BEAUTIFUL DAY. Do you know why?

ME: Why?

JCVD: Because I read your script!

ME: You did? You read (REDACTED)*?

JCVD: No, no, not that one, not yet, I read the one with the guy, the character we talked about, his life is all fucked up and-

ME: Oh, you mean (REDACTED)**?

JCVD: No, no, not yet, the other one, with the (REDACTED) who then has to (REDACTED)***, that one, what was that called again?

ME: Oh! You read (REDACTED)? Really?

JCVD: Yes, yes, (REDACTED) that was the title, yes, great title. Very memorable. So yes, I started reading it, and I must tell you, Joshua, I must tell you something very important.

ME: What’s that?

JCVD: This is the best script ever written.

ME: Wow? Really?

JCVD: I am serious, Joshua, I promise you. When you first told me your idea for (REDACTED), I must say, I was not convinced it could work, but now that I started reading, you really made this work. It’s both homage to (REDACTED) and goes even further than that movie, Joshua, this is the film I want to end my career on, I’m telling you. I was shaking while reading. Shaking, Joshua, with the excitement!

ME: Wow, I don’t know what to say.

JCVD: We are going to MAKE THIS MOVIE,**** Joshua, I promise you. I am going to call (REDACTED) to direct, we’ll get (REDACTED, REDACTED, REDACTED) as my co-stars, this will be the best martial arts movie EVER MADE!

ME: Whoa. You really think (REDACTED) would consider (REDACTED)?

JCVD: Trust me, (REDACTED) has always wanted to work with me. Tomorrow, I will call (REDACTED) and (REDACTED), and we will make this movie. This will be another BLOODSPORT but bigger, better, with more excitement, more fights, more drama and it will win awards, every award there is, it will win it. I promise you. I have to call (REDACTED) and send him the script tomorrow, probably.

ME: Okay, should I call my reps—

JCVD: No, no, they always come in and fuck everything up. Wait until I send it to (REDACTED) tomorrow. It has to be tomorrow because I haven’t yet finished the script. I started reading it and had to call you before I even got to the end. Let me finish the script tonight, call you again, then I call him tomorrow and send script, then we plan to make this movie this year. This year, Joshua, this year!

ME: Okay, yeah, finish the script, of course, then we can talk.

JCVD: It’s already the best script ever written, and I am not even at the end yet!

ME: (laughing) I guess that’s a win for me. How far are you?

JCVD: Pretty far, let’s see… uh, I am on… Page 12.

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*Titles redacted because I don’t own them, JC does.

** This often happened, as I’ve written a few projects for JCVD, in fact, sometimes we’d spend a long time on the phone, and he’d be giving me notes for a script, only to discover at the end he meant an entirely different script I’d written for him.

*** In addition to the titles, I’d often be required to sign an NDA, which means specific details to each script must also be non-disclosed.

**** This was a few years ago, and as of yet, this film has yet to be made. But he did, in fact, finish reading it and professed his love for the ending, too. He even did some of his character’s speeches to me over the phone, which was as awesome as it sounds. But he moved on to other things after awhile, which is another story for another day.

Share

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LOUD MAN SELLING

LOUD MAN SELLING

poem by Joshua Todd James

I watch

the pushy man

complete with

loud tie

half a head of hair

combed up

and

protruding gut

over in the corner

as he spins his game

on a client

trying to feed himself

I watch

and wonder

is this what I have to do

to eat

is this the action in front of me

because

while my stomach is growling

and my pride gone

I gotta do something

I don't know

so hungry

so poor

teeth falling out

eyes sinking

the deal

they tell me

it's all about the deal in this world

you wanna live

you wanna have the things that make livin' living

you wanna eat

you gotta put on the uniform

choke yourself with a tie

and

become part of the machine

I don't know

I don't know if I can do it

so hungry tho'

and tired

very

tired

think I'll just lie down

for awhile

nap

for awhile

I have to close my eyes for a little bit

as I listen

to the loud paunchy man

spin successfully

hyper

obese

rich

and

corrupt

I sleep

as he lives

the good life

I

sleep

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THE FIGHT - a short play

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THE FIGHT - A short play

CHARACTERS

MARCUS – Large dude with a Buddha attitude, in a suit, holding a newspaper.

SHERMAN – A short man with issues and an umbrella. Also in a suit and tie.

SETTING

Present day, at a Bus stop

Lights up.

(MARCUS, a tall, muscular man holding a briefcase and a newspaper, waits for a bus.

SHERMAN, a very short despondent man, joins him at the curb. SHERMAN is dressed very well in a suit.  He also has a briefcase and an umbrella under one arm.

SHERMAN stares at MARCUS. Short pause.

MARCUS glances at SHERMAN.  SHERMAN glares as fiercely as he can.)

SHERMAN: Oh, just stop it.

(MARCUS glances around, trying to see who SHERMAN is speaking to.)

MARCUS:  Excuse me?

SHERMAN:  I said stop it.

MARCUS:  Are you speaking to me?

SHERMAN:  You know damn well who I’m talking to, so just back off and leave me alone, you big hairy asshole!

MARCUS:  Uh.  Okay.

SHERMAN:  I mean it, I fucking mean it!

MARCUS:  All right.

SHERMAN:  I’m not afraid of you!

(MARCUS slowly edges away a few steps.)

MARCUS:  Okay, okay.  I’m leaving you alone.  You are now left alone.  Consider yourself LEFT.

SHERMAN:  It’s big bullies like you that have ruined the world, you know that?  Big pricks like you just LOVE pissing all over normal people like me.

MARCUS:  Normal people like you, yeah.  Okay.

SHERMAN:  Asshole.  Son-of-a-bitching asshole prick cocksucker!

MARCUS:  Okay.

SHERMAN:  MOTHERFUCKER!

MARCUS:  Okay.

(Pause as MARCUS glances at his watch.)

SHERMAN:  That’s it?

MARCUS:  Excuse me?

SHERMAN:  That’s it, that’s all you’re going to do?

MARCUS:  Uh, yeah.

SHERMAN:  I call you every obscene name I can think of and you don’t do anything about it?

MARCUS:  Yeah.

SHERMAN:  What the hell is wrong with you?

MARCUS:  Listen, you’re the one that said you wanted to be left alone, so …

SHERMAN:  What kind of man are you, just to sit there and take abuse like this from a complete stranger?

MARCUS:  Well …

SHERMAN:  Don’t you think you should do something about it?   

MARCUS:  You’re right, I should.   

SHERMAN:  So what are you going to do about it?

MARCUS:  I’m going to ignore you.

SHERMAN:  Ignore me?

MARCUS:  Ignore you.

SHERMAN:  You can’t just ignore me!

MARCUS:  Oh, I can ignore you.

SHERMAN:  You can’t DO that, you have to do something, yell at me, hit me, take out a gun and shoot me, it’s the American way, meet violence with violence, you can’t ignore me, it’s not even fucking proper.

(MARCUS opens a newspaper and begins to read it.)   

SHERMAN:  I can’t believe this.  You’re going to stand there and do NOTHING.

MARCUS:  Doing nothing is doing something.  I’m doing nothing.

(SHERMAN looks at MARCUS a moment, then takes his umbrella and taps MARCUS on the rear. MARCUS looks at him, then goes back to his paper.  SHERMAN taps him with the umbrella again.)

MARCUS:  Stop it.

SHERMAN:  Stop what?

(SHERMAN taps him again.)

MARCUS:  Stop doing that.

SHERMAN:  Doing what? I’m not doing anything.

(SHERMAN taps him again.)

MARCUS:  Stop that, I mean it.

SHERMAN:  Oooo, you MEAN it?  Oh my, am I scared, I’m REAL scared of you, big man.

(SHERMAN moves to tap him with the umbrella yet again, but stops halfway when MARCUS points his finger at him.)

MARCUS:  Don’t do it.  I’m warning you.

(SHERMAN pokes him with the umbrella yet once more.)

MARCUS:  Okay, that’s it.

SHERMAN:  Oooo, here we go.

MARCUS:  You know, I was going to cut you a break because you’re in obvious mental distress, but you’re going too far.  So I’m telling you in no uncertain terms that you have to leave me alone, no touching, no talking, and no poking, and if you DON’T leave me alone, I’m calling the police, and I will press charges.

SHERMAN:  You can’t call the cops just because somebody POKED you with an umbrella.

MARCUS:  Sure you can.

SHERMAN:  That’s bullshit.

MARCUS:  It’s not bullshit.  It’s assault.  You touched me without my permission, that’s assault.

SHERMAN:  What kind of MAN are you?!

MARCUS:  A civilized man.

SHERMAN:  What kind of pussy-piece-of-shit-man are you?

MARCUS:  What kind of man are you, harassing strangers on the street?

SHERMAN:  Hey, I’m a man, I’m a real man.

MARCUS:  Really?

SHERMAN:  You think just because you’re bigger than me, that makes you more of a man, is that it?  Is that what you think, you cock?

MARCUS:  I’m calling the police.

SHERMAN:  Call them for what?  I’m not poking you anymore, am I?

MARCUS:  You’re bothering me.

SHERMAN:  So what?  You bother me, should I call the cops on you, too?

MARCUS:  How am I bothering you?

SHERMAN:  You’re big and tall and you just bother me, guys like you bother me, so fuck you, you big dripping asshole!

MARCUS:  Keep it up, and I’m dialing 911.

SHERMAN:  I can say what I want, I have the right to free speech, don’t I?  I’m guaranteed the right to say what I want when I want, and I say you’re a big, canker-covered COCK, that’s what I say, so there!

MARCUS:  You’ve got problems, don’t you?

SHERMAN:  You got a problem with me, take a swing.  Come on, big man, take your best shot.

MARCUS:  Okay, this is nuts, you’re nuts.  You are certifiably nuts.

SHERMAN:  Come on, I’m not afraid of you.  Hit me.  Hit me right in the face.

MARCUS:  I’m not going to hit you.

SHERMAN:  Hit me, come on, hit me!

MARCUS:  I’m not going to hit you.

SHERMAN:  Come on, you big pussy, take a shot!

MARCUS:  That’s it, game over, I’m calling the cops.

(MARCUS gets his cell phone out.)

SHERMAN:  Don’t do that, I mean it.

MARCUS:  Too late, I’m doing it.

SHERMAN:  I’m warning you, you dial that phone, I’m going to punch you right in the head.

MARCUS:  You’re going to do what?

SHERMAN:  I will, I will punch you right in the … I’ll punch you right in the stomach, I will go to town on you right here, right now!  I’m gonna hit you!

(SHERMAN pushes MARCUS.)

MARCUS:  Okay, all right, calm down …

SHERMAN:  I will hit you SO hard, I’ll hurt your whole family!

MARCUS:  Okay, calm down, calm down.

SHERMAN:  Lower that fucking phone right now.

MARCUS:  Okay, okay, I’m not dialing, I’m putting it away.

SHERMAN:  I fucking mean it.

MARCUS:  Listen, buddy, I …

SHERMAN:  I am not your Goddamn buddy, get it straight!

MARCUS:  Okay, all right.  What I’m trying to say is, what can I do to help resolve this situation?  There is obviously something disturbing you severely, so I’d like you to tell me what I can do to make the situation better.  Would you like me to not be at this bus stop?  What is it you need from me?

SHERMAN:  I need you to hit me.  Right in the face.

MARCUS:  I’m not going to hit you.

SHERMAN:  Why won’t you hit me?

MARCUS:  I don’t WANT to hit you, that’s why.

SHERMAN:  But I WANT you to hit me, so hit me, would you just fucking hit me already?

MARCUS:  Listen man, I don’t want to hurt you, all right?   

SHERMAN:  You can’t hurt me, you fuck, come on!  Hit me!  I’m not afraid of you, come on!

(SHERMAN starts circling around MARCUS, pushing him and holding up his fists.)

MARCUS:  I am not going to hit you.

SHERMAN:  You asked me what I wanted and I want to fight! Let’s go!

MARCUS:  I’m not fighting.

SHERMAN:  Let’s go, you cock!   

MARCUS:  I’m not fighting with you.

SHERMAN:  You have to!

MARCUS:  No I don’t.

(Very brief pause.)

SHERMAN:  All right then.  Give me your wallet.

MARCUS:  What?

SHERMAN:  Your wallet, give me your wallet.  I want the wallet, I want the cell-phone and that wrist-watch, give me that wrist-watch too.  Is that a Rolex?  Looks like a Rolex.

MARCUS:  You’re not serious.

SHERMAN:  I’m serious big boy, fork it over.

MARCUS:  You’re robbing me?

SHERMAN:  You either hand over your valuables or I will hand your ass a beating.  Got it?

(MARCUS takes out his cell phone again.)

MARCUS:  I don’t think so, I’m calling the police.

SHERMAN:  Hey, put that down or I will hit you!

(MARCUS turns his back on SHERMAN.)

MARCUS:  (into phone) Hello, I need assistance, I’m being mugged.  Corner of …

SHERMAN:  Don’t do it, I’m warning you!

(SHERMAN jumps onto MARCUS’ back.)

MARCUS:  Hey!  Hey, hey, calm down, calm down.

SHERMAN:  Give me the phone, give it to me!

MARCUS:  Okay, all right, okay, here it is, just get off of me.

(MARCUS hands the phone to SHERMAN, who climbs down off of MARCUS’ back.)

SHERMAN:  Aha! There will be no police now, no cops to the rescue, aha!  How does that make you feel, you big bastard, how do you like that?

MARCUS:  Are we done now?

SHERMAN:  Yes.  No!  I almost forgot, give me your wallet.  And your watch!

(MARCUS glumly hands over his wallet and watch.  SHERMAN takes them gleefully.)

SHERMAN:  This is great, this is SO great.  I’m pushing you around, I’m the boss of this situation, I am the MAN. I should have done this years ago, I can’t believe this. This is so awesome.

MARCUS:  Can I go now?

SHERMAN:  Yes.  No!  No, I’m not done with you yet.  I want your pants.

MARCUS:  You want my pants?

SHERMAN:  I want your pants.

MARCUS:  Why do you want my pants?

SHERMAN:  Just shut up and give me your pants.

MARCUS:  I’m not gonna give you my pants.

SHERMAN:  You give me your pants or otherwise I am going to strike you very hard several times in various places on your body.  As hard as I can.  Let’s go, drop ‘em and hand ‘em over.

MARCUS:  They won’t even fit you.

SHERMAN:  What is that, is that a comment on my size, are you making fun of me? Is that some kind of wise-ass crack?

MARCUS:  I’m not making fun of you, I only want to know why you want my pants.

SHERMAN:  You don’t need to know.  All that’s important is that you either give me your pants, or I will hit you.  That’s it.  Now.  Which is it going to be?

MARCUS:  All right.  Hit me.

SHERMAN:  You want me to hit you?

MARCUS:  I don’t want you to hit me, but I don’t want to give you my pants, either.

SHERMAN:  You’re sure about this?

MARCUS:  Pretty sure.  I like these pants.

SHERMAN:  Okay then.  I’m going to hit you.

MARCUS:  All right.

SHERMAN:  I’m going to smack you as hard as I can.

MARCUS:  Okay.

SHERMAN:  Here I go.  I am now hitting you.

MARCUS:  Fire away, Chief.

(SHERMAN tentatively steps forward, then swings and hits MARCUS in the shoulder. SHERMAN jumps up and down, holding his hand.)

SHERMAN:  Oww!

MARCUS:  Are you all right?

SHERMAN:  I’m fine, I’m fine.  You ready to give your pants yet?

MARCUS:  I’m not ready to give you my pants just yet.

SHERMAN:  I may have to hit you again.

MARCUS:  I’m aware of that.  I’m hoping that you’ll reconsider.

SHERMAN:  You can hit me back, if you want. That’s often how fights work.   

MARCUS:  I appreciate that.  Let me think about it.   

SHERMAN:  Are you sure you don’t want to give me your pants?

MARCUS:  I’m sure.  Are you sure you want them?

SHERMAN:  I’m not so sure anymore.  But I can’t let you push me around, you know, I have to make a stand for myself.  I have to fight.

MARCUS:  Why?

SHERMAN:  Why?  Why?  Are you serious?  If a man doesn’t know how to fight, if a man doesn’t make a stand for himself, then he’s not a man, he’s not anything but a smudge on somebody’s shoe.  If a man doesn’t fight, then all sorts of bad things happen to him, he gets called names like fag, pussy, asshole, he gets pushed around, he lets other guys take credit for work he’s done, he lets someone else take his parking spot, lets someone else take the promotion he deserves, all because he’s too scared to say anything, because he too scared to fight.  And then, because he won’t fight, he loses his job, he loses his … his wife, his family, everything he loves, he loses just about everything.  He becomes somebody’s bitch, just like in all those prison movies, a man who doesn’t fight becomes a bitch and gets fucked in the ass by life and everybody else bigger than him. You have to fight!  You have to!   

(Brief pause.)

MARCUS:  I think you’re right.

SHERMAN:  I am?

MARCUS:  Yeah, I do.  I think there are times to stand up for yourself and fight.

SHERMAN:  You do?

MARCUS:  Absolutely.  I myself try to avoid it whenever possible, but I do agree that there is a time and a place for it.  When it involves something worth fighting for. Can I ask you a question?

SHERMAN:  Sure.

MARCUS:  Why are we fighting?  Do you really want my pants that badly?

SHERMAN:  I don’t really care about your pants.

MARCUS:  So why do you want to fight with me?

SHERMAN:  Because you’re … because you’re taller than I am.

MARCUS:  I don’t think that’s a good reason to fight, do you?

SHERMAN:  Not really, no.

MARCUS:  Does that mean we’re done fighting?

SHERMAN:  I think we’re done, yeah.

MARCUS:  That’s great.  I think one of the toughest challenges a man has to face is knowing when it’s the right time to fight and when it’s the right time to walk away. Understanding the difference, that’s the key.

SHERMAN:  I’m not sure I know what the difference is quite yet.  But I’m working on it.

MARCUS:  My name is Marcus.

SHERMAN:  My name is Sherman, a lot of people call me Sherm or Shermy, but I guess I prefer to be called Sherman.

MARCUS:  Nice to meet you, Sherman.  It looks to me like you’ve had kind of a bad day.

SHERMAN:  It’s been a pretty bad day, yeah.

MARCUS:  Can I buy you a drink?

SHERMAN:  Yeah, that’d be great.  That’d be really great.

MARCUS:  In order for me to do that, you’re going to have to give me my wallet back, though.

SHERMAN:  Oh yeah, sure, I’m sorry.  Here you go.

(SHERMAN hands the valuables back to MARCUS.)

MARCUS:  I know a place right around the corner, let’s go.

SHERMAN:  Marcus?

MARCUS:  Yeah, Sherman?

SHERMAN:  That was my very first fight ever.

MARCUS:  Congratulations, man.  Good job.

SHERMAN:  Did I win?

MARCUS:  I think we both won.

(They walk off.)

Lights down.

The End.

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NOTES

First presented by THE DEFIANT ONES at Manhattan Theatre Source, featuring Taylor Ruckel as Marcus and Sam Zavieh as Sherman, directed by Joshua James.

Later produced by Invisible City, featuring Chuck Bunting as Marcus and Lou Carbonneau as Sherman, directed by Marci Phillips.

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