Dark. Jangling keys. Voices from off.

Current Occupants
a short play by Aaron Kaplan

I believe that scripts are kits to create realities. I want to

see DIY theatre and I want to see theatre that has nothing
to do with illusions and I want to see theatre that doesnt
need state funding and Masters degrees. I want to see
theatre performed by people who are not theatre people. I
want to see theatre attended by people who are not theatre
people.
I want punk theatre and I want it now.
Anyone who can copy this play can read it and
perform it, as they will. I only ask that I be credited
in the performance.
Find me online at deathoftheactor.tumblr.com

GRETA. (Struggling with door) I can never, remember,

which fucking key it is.
SUSAN. Its always been like this. The whole house is
sinking towards the front. Squeezes the door to its
GRETA. (Suddenly managing it) breaking point?
Light pours across the basement floor from outside. Cardboard boxes
and central junk is now illuminated. Two women make their way
inside, and shut the door behind them. It gets dark again.
SUSAN. There we go. Its warm down here.
GRETA. I love it. This winter, Id honestly come down
here for hours to practice, and basically just huddle near
the heater.
SUSAN. What do you play?
Fumbling. Greta pulls on one of those light bulb chains, and is
standing under it, bass strung around her. Rock and roll pose.
SUSAN. Lovely.
GRETA. (Playing the riff from Seven Nation Army) I am a
truly devoted musician. I am dedicated only to my art.
SUSAN. Can we get some more light in here?
Greta flips the light switch and the whole basement is illuminated
dimly. She puts down the ax.
SUSAN. Oh my God.
GRETA. Sorry, I know, its a mess.
It is.
SUSAN. No, no, its exactly as I left it. Better.
GRETA. Ah, so the Snow St. Landfill predates you?

SUSAN. Frankly, Im glad to see it. The whole apartment

feels different now. You guys have, brightened up the place.
When I was living here it was dark, and dirty, and kind of a
punk house. Huge mice.
GRETA. Yeah?
SUSAN. Youve seen them?
GRETA. (Shrugging) We have a, cat.
SUSAN. I dont think they had been invented yet when I
was here.
GRETA. How long ago were you here?
SUSAN. It must have been God, 11, 12, years ago?
GRETA. Whoa.
SUSAN. A lot has changed since I left. Who knew Id been
living in the bougie part of town?
GRETA. Yeah, its gotten pretty
SUSAN. Yeah.
GRETA. I dunno, I like it. How much was rent when you
lived here?
SUSAN. It was $1,150 for my floor.
GRETA. Hey, thats what I pay!
SUSAN. Imagine that.
GRETA. Go Snow St.
SUSAN. Go Snow St. All right, I guess I could start
looking?
GRETA. Right. What are we looking for again?
SUSAN. Um, a box labeled MOM SHIT. A like, powder
blue plastic thing. Squat. About this wide. My guess is its at
the bottom of one of these piles of shit. If its here.
GRETA. Do you expect it to be?
SUSAN. Who knows? Its worth looking, to me.
GRETA. (Surveying the nonsense) Right. Like, which zone do
you think it would be in?
SUSAN. I honestly dont know.
GRETA. Ok. Im taking this side.
SUSAN. You dont need to help

GRETA. No, its fine! Ive been meaning to go through

some of this shit since I moved in.
SUSAN. (Smirking) Well, if you really dont mind.
Greta takes the right side. Susan takes the left. They work
wordlessly for a minute, beginning to move stuff around.
SUSAN. Greta?
GRETA. (Looking up) Yeah?
SUSAN. How old are you?
GRETA. Um Im 23.
SUSAN. Sorry. I just
GRETA. No, its fine. How old are you?
SUSAN. (Does that thing where she sucks in air through clenched
teeth) I just hit the 40 mark.
GRETA. Really? You look great.
SUSAN. Oh, shucks.
GRETA. Why dyou want to know?
SUSAN. Youre younger than I was when I was here.
GRETA. Lets see40 minus 12, you were 28 or so when
you were here?
SUSAN. Yeah.
GRETA. How long did you last?
SUSAN. (Swallows) Almost a year.
GRETA. Hm.
They go back to sorting through the boxes. Every so often, they pull
out a miscellaneous tchotchke and show it to the other. Susan
laughs, Greta chuckles through her nose or rolls her eyes.
GRETA. Sue-Susan?
SUSAN. Hm?
GRETA. While youre here can I ask you a question that
Ive always wanted to ask?
SUSAN. Shoot.

GRETA. Why do we still get your copy of Womens Health,

after all these years?
SUSAN. You still get that, ey? My mom bought that for me,
and I guess she kept renewing it. Thought I could use the
inspiration, I suppose.
GRETA. And a lot of other mail came for you.
SUSAN. Anything good?
GRETA. A whole envelope of it, apparently. They didnt
leave us with your address or number when you left, so I
guess people have been saving your stuff in one of those big
manila pockets.
SUSAN. (Genuinely surprised) Really?
GRETA. I was so excited to get that letter from you. Its
been sort of a long-running joke here, when someones
knocking at the door and we dont expect anyone, we say,
it must be Susan Long. Just one of those names that you
dont really have a face for, you know? My roommates
wished they could be here.
SUSAN. Im amazed I still get mail here.
GRETA. I am too. You must have left behind a
complicated life when you left.
Awkward silence.
GRETA. I, um, need to go outside for a cigarette. Want
one?
SUSAN. (Quick) No!
GRETA. Im sorry. Ill be back in a minute.
Greta leaves, and Susan breathes. She kicks a cardboard box and a
bunch of packing peanuts fall out. She scoops them up and in two
hands and puts them back. As she bends down, she sees something.
She reaches for it, pulls it out. Covers her mouth with one of her
hands. It the container, just as she describeddusty.
SUSAN. Shit.

Susan pulls out a chair from behind her, and sits down with the
blue box on her lap. She opens the lid and pulls out a baby dress.
Greta comes back in.
GRETA. (Excited) You found it?
SUSAN. (Ecstatic) I cant believe its here. This is nuts!
GRETA. Nice dress.
SUSAN. My mom made it for me, when I was a little girl
and now, Im going to give it to my little girl.
GRETA. (Only a little slack-jawed) Your little girl?
SUSAN. Mm-hmm. That babys gonna be born with
cobwebs. Knocked up at 40, isnt that a hoot? I just,
finally
GRETA. Congratulations!
SUSAN. (Going through the box) Im just so happy this stuff is
still here. Look, this was my favorite book my mom read to
me. The Little House. And, thanks.
GRETA. Sweet.
SUSAN. (Pulling out a cassette tape, under her breath) Oh Jesus.
GRETA. This is amazing. I didnt know this was down
here.
SUSAN. I didnt think it was either.
GRETA. Its like you never left.
Susan starts to cry.
GRETA. Oh, oh
Susan continues to cry.
SUSAN. I dont knowIm sorry. Its just
GRETA. Its ok! Its ok.
SUSAN. No, its not
GRETA. Susan, why did you leave? What happened?

SUSAN. My mom was dying. I had to go take care of her.

AndI didnt tell anyone, not even
GRETA. A boyfriend?
SUSAN. A girlfriend. I tried writing but no one ever
wrote back. And this was all before cell phones; this was
before everyone was connected. I just disappeared.
GRETA. Fuck.
SUSAN. I kept my mother alive twelve years. Life moves so
fast when you put everything on hold. Now what do I do?
GRETA. Well, have the baby for one thing.
SUSAN. Yeah, but

GRETA. (Reading a postcard) Julie Long. That your mom?

SUSAN. (Perking up) Yes.
Greta hands her the postcard.
SUSAN. This is only dated six months ago.
GRETA. Why would she write you here then?
SUSAN. She had Alzheimers. In her mind, I was still 28
and living on Snow St. I never left.

GRETA. Hey. Its going to be all right. Trust me.

SUSAN. Im sorry for being so crazy. I think its the
hormones.
GRETA. Thats ok. Youre just shocked to be home Hey!
I got something for you. I got all your mail for you.

Susans hand trembles, and she reads the card aloud.

SUSAN. Dear Susan, I miss you greatly
and cant wait to see you for Christmas. I hope things
are getting along out there, and I cant wait toto
meet Rachel. I saw a girl who looked just like you today.
She was very sweet but wouldnt help me find my bus.
Dads away on a business trip to New York. Im sending
you a pair of gloves. Dont ask me where you find gloves
in Florida. I think youll need them up thereits
starting to get cold.
Love,
Moms.

She retrieves a manila pocket from the door.

Blackout.

She slumps down, back against the chair legs.

SUSAN. Fuck.
Greta sits next to her.