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Season Ten: Somehow I cannot believe it has

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ISBN 978-1-61387-038-9
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Season Ten: Fall 2012
ISBN 978-1-61387-038-9 Price $25 US
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 none of them have swimming pools or shopping malls to hang out and cool off at. So

Marvelous
they scrounge up a buck or two for when the ice cream pulls around.There are
trouble-makers, sure. Probably drive their teachers up the flipping walls during the
by Jane Nicolaas school year.They fall in with the punks, gang members, vandals, and drug dealers
because either their family members don’t have time to tell them otherwise – or their
(Older man pulls truck up to a stop. Leans out. Smiles at audience.)
family members ARE the vandals, gang members, and drug dealers. It’s a regular
rogue’s gallery living down the hall from you. (beat) Whaddya mean you
Hey kiddo, whaddya having today? (silence) Bomb pop? Pink Thing? (silence)
don’t…argh…rogues are villains.The rogue’s gallery is the huge bunch of villains the
hero’s always gotta beat.
What? We got popsicles…fudgcicles…dreamcicles…push pops…bars…cones.
(Silence.Tries harder.)
Hang on a sec. (He starts shouting off-stage.) HEY! HEY! YOU, KID.YEAH,YOU.YOU
TAKE YOUR GRIMY, FILTHY PAWS OFF THAT OTHER BOY OR I’LL COME OVER
Aw, c’mon. By the look on your face, you’d think I was asking you to explain cold
THERE MYSELF. NO, NO, I DON’T BELIEVE THAT HE “OWES YOU MONEY.” I’M
fusion. (Laughs. Audience is still quiet.) Cold fusion. Ice cream truck. (Silence)
SERIOUS. ASK YOUR BUDDIES. (He returns to the audience.) I know all the kids
Yeesh.Tough crowd. (He looks at one person.) Oh – oh…I saw that look. Something
around here. I don’t take money from thieves. None’a this stealing nonsense. It’s the
caught your eye. Let me…(He leans out of the window and looks at the side of the
bigger ones that cause the trouble.The littler ones, eh, there’s still hope for them.
truck.) Ah, the novelty character treats, eh? Oh, don’t be bashful. These are great.
They’re not quite baddies yet.
The chocolate dipped Mickey ears…Spider-Man with the bubblegum eyes. Ah, but
this… (He reaches into freezer.) This is my personal favorite. The Shazam! Bar:
Few years back, I notice this one kid. Luis. Luis couldn’t have been more than ten or
cherry ice cream around a lemon lightning bolt.You get down to the center and you
eleven years old. He wasn’t as big as the other kids his age. He wasn’t tough.
find a surprise. You get the reference, right? (No response.) The lightning bolt?
(Pauses) He was good. Some people, you look at them and you can see that they’re
SHAZAM!?
good. Everything with Luis was “Sir.”“Yessir.”“No, sir.” I dunno where he got all his
manners from, but it’s the one thing I wish some of the others would take from him.
You don’t? Great. (He turns off engine.) You’re about to. I love telling stories about
heroes and kid – you’re about to hear the best one. (He clears his throat.)
One day, Luis comes up and orders this ice cream that I’ve got here. (He looks at it
and realizes it is starting to melt.) Ack. Goofy thing is starting to drip down my hand.
END TEASER
Here, I’ll get you a new one….but don’t you go running off yet.The story’s just
getting good. (He continues to talk while retrieving another pop.) So Luis looks up at
Seventeen years. Seventeen years I’ve been driving this truck. Seventeen years I’ve
the side and asks about the Shazam! Bar.
been taking this old girl through the roughest, poorest, dirtiest parts of the city
blasting the “Maple Leaf Rag” on repeat.You know the song. (He hums part of it.) It’s
So I start to tell him all about Captain Marvel. Captain Marvel was this great big
the ice cream truck song. Man, I don’t care who you are, where you’re from, or how
superhero. People mistook him for Superman all the time, but he was really Billy
old you are.When you hear that song, (hums) you better run like you’re being
Batson. Billy was an average kid, just like Luis.Wisdom, strength, power, courage –
chased. It’s the closest thing to living in an action movie most kids ever get. (He
Billy was given all these powers from this great wizard, Shazam. All he had to do was
does an intense pretend dialogue between two kids.) “Did you hear it?”“Yeah
shout the wizard’s name and…well…(shouts) SHAZAM! He became Captain
man!”“Where is it?”“I gotta go get a dolla’ from my mom!”“THERE’S NOT
Marvel. Here was this hero who would fight for justice, honor, and fairness. At one
ENOUGH TIME!!”
point, he was even more popular than Superman.
Lemme rephrase that.The closest thing to living in an action movie most kids from
Pretty soon, we were meeting every week, sometimes twice a week, to talk about
the suburbs ever get. But like I said, I don’t drive this truck through the suburbs.
Billy, Captain Marvel, and all these great adventures. He liked the idea of a hero that
Nah, I drive this down the streets of “Honey, lock the doors,” and “Kids, don’t make
was a kid, like him. Eventually, we were talking about all the superheroes. He was
eye contact.” People who drive through here just see the dirt. They don’t see the kids.
reading comic books and pretending to fight off bad guys. It was an escape, a much
Ah, but you know that. Back to the heroes.
needed one for Luis. (beat) It was tough for him. Being a good kid in a bad part of
town.
Every summer, I’m driving through these rough neighborhoods because most of
these kids’ folks are either tryna to make ends meet or spending half their pay-
I didn’t live in that area. I had a wife and two little ones of my own back on the other
checks on booze and drugs. Either way – lots of ‘em don’t have air conditioning, and
4 5
 VOICE. I know, right? On this ordinary day, Jack Thornton was just an

Jack Thornton
ordinary kid. Until… (turns around to become DOC)
DOC. (excited, breathless) JACK!
by Jane Nicolaas JACK. AUGH! You startled me.
DOC. Sorry! Jack, you have to come with me!
JACK is an imaginative, excitable, creative eight-year-old who loves heroes and
JACK. But…who are you?
comic books.The VOICE should have a gritty, epic, comic book narrator feeling.
DOC. I’m a doctor!
DOC is an adult who, clearly, is a doctor.When casting in a duo, DOC and VOICE
JACK. My mom warned me never to leave with strangers. How can I trust
should be played by the same performer, though the roles can be played by a male
you?
or female.
DOC. My lab coat is white. Look, I have one of those stethoscope
thingies.
(Performers begin back-to-back. JACK is facing the audience, VOICE is facing the
JACK. Could be a Halloween costume.
back wall. JACK takes on an epic action pose, looking off into the distance. He waits.
DOC. I don’t have a mustache. Evil guys always have mustaches.
He lifts his head up and coughs a couple of times, waiting for VOICE to take the cue.
JACK. Interesting…still not convinced…go on…
He finally speaks.)
DOC. (annoyed) It’s really important, man. Come on.
JACK. Do you have two forms of photo ID?
JACK. Hey, ya gonna do this or not?!
DOC. (pauses, then has an “ah-ha” moment) Here’s my fake hospital
VOICE. (performer’s regular voice) Oh, sorry. Are you ready?
badge that the secret underground government laboratory gave
JACK. Argh! Clearly! Or I wouldn’t have said “‘ya gonna do this or not?”.
me to make sure our ultra-high-tech plans never get discovered. Is
VOICE. (regular voice) My bad.
that enough for you?
JACK. Sheesh. (resumes epic pose)
JACK. Meh. Good enough.
VOICE. (regular voice) In a world where…
JACK. NO!
(The blocking locking should now indicate a change of location.)
VOICE. WHAT?!
JACK. YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SOUND LIKE THE GUY IN THE MOVIES!!!
JACK. Where am I?
VOICE. (sighs, then adopts the epic voice) In a world… (JACK nods,
DOC. You’re in my ultra-sciencey laboratory of science stuff.
approving.) where chaos reigns…
JACK. Sounds important.
JACK. (epic superhero posing with each line) I AM THE UMBRELLA OF
DOC. It is.We’ve been notified that there is an imminent threat to New
TRUTH!
Random-City-Burg.
VOICE. …where evil lurks in the shadows…
JACK. What is it?
JACK. I AM THE FLASHLIGHT OF HOPE!
DOC. Meteor!
VOICE. …where criminals run amok…
JACK. Meatier than what? A double cheeseburger?
JACK. I AM THE…uh…THE…BRISKLY WALKING GUY…WHO…DOES…
DOC. No! A Giant rock thingie hurling from outer space to the earth!
JUSTICE-Y STUFF.
JACK. Sounds like a plan for NASA…
VOICE. (VOICE and JACK come together over the next few lines to create
DOC. They’re too busy making educational movies and freeze dried ice
an epic superhero image.) …only one hero can save us all. JACK
cream. (takes a beat and gets very serious) We need you to be
THORNTON! A hero with courage, with bravery…with an 8 o’clock
strong for us, Jack.
bedtime.
JACK. What do I have to do?
JACK. (frozen in pose) Psst. I got it pushed back to nine.
DOC. Sit in this chair. (JACK sits.) Are you afraid of needles?
VOICE. Watch out, crime. Justice is staying up late.
JACK. A little.
DOC. Then I’m afraid this will hurt a little. (Pulls out a gigantic needle.
INTRODUCTION
Jack gulps and then closes his eyes.)
JACK. Just do it, Doc.
VOICE. (Back is still toward the audience.) It was just an ordinary day in
DOC. There you go. (beat) You know, Jack.We’re asking an awful lot from
New Random-City-Burg. Birds were chirping. Babies were crying.
you—to be brave in such a scary situation. I know you’re only eight
Radios were still playing really horrible pop music.
years old. Do you have any questions?
JACK. Seriously, this stuff is really bad.
8 9
 part of her public self.

Rethinking Pink by Julia Neva

My mother’s bedroom feels
foreign and artificial.
T-shirts, tote bags, bandannas.
Breast cancer has become one of the most widely recognized, researched, and
Pink. All pink.
discussed diseases in America today. One of the ways in which people have sought
Not coral or salmon,
to bring attention to the disease was through pink ribbon campaigns. However, in an
not ‘one-hour-too-long-in-the-sun’ or
effort to raise funds to fight the disease, the conversation has moved away from the
earthworm wriggling from rain soaked dirt
individuals suffering and toward a “pink-washing” of products in an effort to raise
pink,
funds.This poetry program seeks to remind individuals to not only donate money to
but a nauseating Pepto Bismol pink,
research, but to donate their time by supporting patients through the unpleasant
toy store saturation, the color
realities of treatment.
of man-made marketing enthusiasm,
foreign and artificial.
IN THE CAR ON THE WAY TO THE LUMPECTOMY
She’s inducted in the sorority of survival.
She is a call to marathons,
Ashley. Amanda. Candace.
a plea for donations,
The wigs’ names are
a face in the sea of statistics.
feminine and familiar,
The disease becomes an open
ones that small town girls
invitation to unearned intimacy.
peel from their skin like dried
Stranger’s mouths can’t help but
glue in favor of an alter-ego
spill the names of those who
foreign and artificial.
died from the disease into her lap.
Susan. Gretchen. Margaret.
Amy. Emily. Chelsea.
The names are snapshots of the girls
The room looks like it belongs to
I once knew by those names.
A girl 40 years younger.
Remember them for their
Everything is pink
freckle dappled noses
except her skin.
skin snuggling the sun while wind
Everything is rosy
made sloppy, careless love
except the circumstances.
to wild, un-ribboned hair.
I’m losing my mother to a
Even the models seem
cause spit-shined with optimism
foreign and artificial.
on the outside, while a disease
disease lingers and gnaws her from
Elizabeth. Lily. Lynn.
the inside. Uncertainty
I search the pages
is a horror film. I no
for my mother’s name,
longer place faith in the once
fail. I search for wig
unwavering belief that
styled like her while the drugs
when my son’s feverish wails
make rough, loveless jabs
left me lost in my own home,
to thin, un-ribboned hair.
she would be there to pick up
Bands and ribbons only
the phone, and gently guide
pull out what’s left, she
me back to where I needed to be.
examines her reflection with the precision
Somehow, while she waits for
the surgeon pays to her chart.
The surgeon’s instructions,
She is losing the most personal
12 13
 “Mom,” he’d reply, drawing the ‘ahh’ out to highlight how off base I was,“You’re

Origin Story
thinking of Harry Potter.”

by Julia Neva “Isn’t Harry Potter a wizard?”

My story begins with Magic: The Gathering cards. No, they weren’t my cards. I never
“Yeah…”
had a clue how they worked. Plus, I doubt there were a lot of other moms gathering
around to play cards with wizards and warlocks on them.They belonged to Chris.
“I thought your game was about wizards?”
Everything in the room down the hall belongs to Chris. He collected and organized
them for years.You couldn’t walk into his room without being overwhelmed by all the
“It is, but not the Harry Potter kind of wizard.”
stuff. The cards were the first things he loved that I didn’t understand.
“Oh, so like Gandalf then?”
Now that I’m twenty-four hours away from a “surprise” intervention for my own
collection, what some may call “hoarding,” I get it. Needless to say, I understand it
“Argh! No, mom.”
now.
I was just teasing him about that last one. Teens forget that sometimes their parents
He had gone over to a friend’s house and was introduced to the game. Chris had a
aren’t completely clueless.
difficult time making friends. Our recent move was hard on him. It was complicated
for all of us. Chris and I both felt lonely and isolated while Hank kept pile driving
“You shouldn’t encourage him,” Hank would tell me as we got into bed,“I don’t like
through life as he usually did. So when Chris found something he was interested – no
it.”
– OBSESSED with, I was relieved. Passion and purpose can distract a person from
their woes.
“You don’t like me encouraging my son?” Clearly, Hank was ridiculous.
Hank was less than impressed. Hank was a wall of muscle—a man’s man in every
“That game. That stuff. I don’t like all this talk of fairies and unicorns and magic. I
sense of the word. Gruff, aggressive, and ruggedly handsome, it was hard for me
want it to stop,” he growled, growing more annoyed and urgent.
not to fall in love with him as a girl. As his wife, the Mr. I-Want-To-Rip-Trees-From-
Their-Roots-With-My-Bare-Hands routine grew old. As his son, Chris, a gentle,
“You’re overreacting, Hank.”
sensitive, and introverted boy, it was hard for him not to feel shortchanged by fate.
“We’ll see about that.”
I encouraged Chris to collect cards for a game I didn’t understand. He loved not
only the structure and the rules but also the opportunity for imagination. In this
Three weeks passed and Hank made no other mention of the game or his quite
world, he wasn’t the skinny, scrawny, nerdy kid his father wasn’t interested in. In the
obvious desire for Chris to magically become interested in sports or roughhousing.
world of the game, he was a hero. He was a warrior. He was a fighter.
On the night of the open house at Chris’s school, things were eerily pleasant in our
house. Hank and Chris were talking about some movie they both were interested in
Soon, Chris’s room was plastered. Posters of the game were on the wall. He had row
seeing.They were smiling, laughing, and Hank had his arm around Chris’s shoulder. I
after row of books and dozens of notebooks journaling previous games and their
wanted to freeze that moment in time. It was the first time in a very long time that
outcomes. Binders where he meticulously organized his cards stood like soldiers on
they looked like a father and son.
the shelves. He drew pictures of the characters and framed them. He charted and
plotted spells—fighting ones to cause near fatal damage and healing ones to bring
It would also be the last time.
characters back from near death.
Hank froze when he saw Chris’s contribution to the open house. Chris had painted a
As Chris’s obsession grew, so did Hank’s disgust. I tried to counteract his negativity.
family portrait of the three of us, but as characters from his Magic cards. It was
On the days he came home from playing at a friend’s house after school, I tried to
gorgeous and fantastic. Clearly, he had spent a great deal of time working on it.
ask how everything went.
While I looked a bit elven, Chris gave himself a cloak and a glowing wand. Hank
towered over us both, true to form, an impressive wall of muscle and masculinity.
“So, sweetie. How did your Quidditch match go?”

18 19
The Yates Transcript by Erica Mehl
My name is Andrea Yates. I am 36 years old. My husband is Rusty. I stay at home
with our five children—Noah is 7 years old. John is 5 years old, Paul is 3, Luke is 2
years old. Mary is 6 months old. This morning, I killed my children. All of them. I
killed them because I am a bad mother. God wanted us all to be punished.

Rusty and I met when we were both 25. In 1993, we were married and a year later
had Noah. We told everyone that we thought God expected us to have six children.
And we almost did.

After Noah was born, I heard Satan speak to me for the first time. So I told Rusty
that I thought I needed some help. The doctors gave me medication for depression,
but it didn’t work. Rusty was at his wits end. He introduced me to his missionary
friends, Michael and Rachel. I told Michael that I worried about Satan getting a hold
on Noah and he told me that parents were to be held accountable for the actions of
their children.

Rusty and I went on to have four more children—John, Paul, Luke, and Mary—and
things were going well. His job at NASA was good and I was able to keep my spirits
high, home-school the children, and teach them to be good, submissive Christian
children.

A few weeks ago, Rachel was at the house when looked at me and said,“Andrea—
don’t you know that you are wicked? You are evil—all of us women are in God’s
eyes. We are daughters of Eve, who was a wicked witch and tricked Adam into
eating of the Tree of Knowledge. Rusty told us that you don’t listen to him.You know
that a wife should do her husband’s bidding—it is the wife’s job to be subservient to
her husband. Michael told Rusty that the window of opportunity for us to minister to
you is closing. God is telling us that your children are on the path to evil because
YOU are on the path to evil. You must repent or your children will suffer. I knew that
something would have to be done.

Rusty left for work this morning at 9. When he left, the children were having their
breakfast. They were eating their cereal and I had just given Mary her bottle. I filled
the bathtub with water. It was time to do it. I needed to save them from every-
thing—from me.
22
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Dramatic Interpretation (Male)

Marvelous
by Jane Nicolaas

Duo Interpretation
Jack Thornton: The Boy Who Breathed Fire
by Jane Nicolaas

Poetry Program Builder

Rethinking Pink
by Julia Neva

Prose Interpretation
Origin Story
by Julia Neva

Dramatic Interpretation (Female)

The Yates Transcript
by Erica Mehl

SpeechGeek
248 Arlington Park Dr. Season Ten: Fall 2012
Hot Springs, AR 71901 Copyright 2012
thegeek@speechgeek.com ISBN Number 978-1-61387-038-9