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New rewrite for 10 min reading

SCENE By Aimee B. (for cast reading @ Primary Stages) Directed by Melisa Annis

Setting: A bedroom. Center stage there is a canopy bed facing the tv. In front of which is Poet
and microphone.. When poem reading complete, she backs into darkness. From which
Margot enters to center stage and a harsher light at microphone. (there are heckles in
audience like comedy club)

In Marriage to the Self

Poet: Strung up
Tangled and dangling
Weaving her own widow
Funny, I can see her tall

Chasing glass houses her reflections, I share

And fragile,we break

What do I give to her that lends balance and grace

She is her own
Though not alone
When feeling untrue
When summoning face

Courage is trampled
And pride will retreat
Know when water is barren
We bring our own fleet

Prisoners of doubt
Eyes shiny and wet
Cradling jagged dimensions
They’re ours don’t regret

On the edge is sharp

It has its points
So we’ve been pricked!
We will bleed,
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But shall choose to be touched

With posture earned

Don’t crawl or race
It is but a vision
Can I lead to this place?

Thing 3 / Oliver/ Coach /Thing 1/ Narrator: synchronized snap (as applause for poet)

Margot: Hello. Hi. My name is Margot. And I’m here to create something. Watch it morph and
grow. I hope it’s memorable. Touches you in some deep and penetrating way. Maybe you’ll
recognize yourself or someone you know. Maybe you’ll leave the theatre with more compassion,
insight. Or maybe you’ll think, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Who the fuck is SHE and
why should I care? I don’t know. Well, I can’t know. There’s so much I don’t know. Will never
know.

Thing 2: There, there Margot. Calm down, honey, you’re getting ahead of yourself. This is your
story done for you, dear. And just a part of it! It’s a matter of how you tell it. What version and
through what lens.

Coach: Time is running Margot. (clicks stopwatch and runs away)

(Lights go darkish.)

Narrator: Margot gets into bed. Adam beside her, his back facing her.
(Narrator walks the perimeter of the bed detailing her environs pantomiming like a realtor) The
bed is flanked by two windows, each facing a brick wall. In one corner a vanity piled with books
and papers extending to the floor. Photos framing the mirror. Below each window is a brick
ledge upon which a spray bottle with water and some miscellaneous sit. Pigeons cooing
outside. Window on Margot’s side open. (spotlight on stage left) And there, (pointing palm open)
Oliver sits on a stool with legs crossed. In cat like fashion, he grooms himself. Licking his paws
and wiping his face. He proceeds to introduce himself.
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Oliver Twister Aimee B p1

(spotlight corner of stage. Man in cat costume sitting at stool, legs crossed)

My name is Oliver. Oliver Twister

The name given to me by my mom.

It’s a play on Oliver Twist-

Dickens’ beloved street urchin,
As I too, was once without a home.

And Twister
Because I came into their lives
Like a tornado-
Running around, knocking everything down (video clip of him as real kitten chasing tail)
For attention.

I’m a New Yorker-

I actually live in the borough Brooklyn.
Home of everyone from Biggie Smalls to Barbara Streisand...
Spike Lee to Bernie Sanders...
Home to the Brooklyn Nets
And apparently, everything artisanal.

We live in a loft that faces the backs of other apartment buildings.

So I have a lot of room to run around but some might say, not an enviable view outdoors.
I guess that depends on your perspective.

One neighbor family, I can see, is a festive one-

When the weather gets warm, they like to have parties with music, bbq, and friends on
weekends.They also have a dog who barks incessantly in baritone, desperate to get in on the
action. I won’t hold it against them.

My neighbors, on the other side, are a family of pigeons.

They’ve managed to find a nook carved out from some missing bricks in the facade of the
building facing us, creating a home for their mom who’s expecting a baby.
They can fly and make sounds like Cardi B with her tongue.
They leave a white spattering that resembles a Pollock painting as they don’t have the luxury of
their own litter box.
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They’ve taken over from the raccoon family that was forced out- Their nocturnal noises
too aggressive and their climbing habits too distressing for folks.

But as I understand it they’ve moved on to the “Goodnight Kiss” series.

They’ve taken over from the raccoon family that was forced out-
Their nocturnal noises too aggressive and their climbing habits too distressing for folks.
But as I understand it, they’ve moved on to the “Goodnight Kiss” series.

I can see when it rains or snows

I can hear all kinds of fighting and yelling and laughter
I can hear sirens from the firemen across the street.

I can hear my teenage sister complain about her highschool workload

And getting up early in the morning.

When I was little, I didn’t know where my next meal was coming from.
I would scavenge at our local bodega for food.
One day, I got stuck hiding beneath a refrigerator door.

The owner was going to put me out on the street.

Mom, was feeling emotional and impulsive (two of her best qualities)
And scooped me up and zippered me inside her jacket
Leaving her groceries behind.

No, I was not one of those floor managers like other cats who serve security
Deterring the rodents and keeping guard.

I was just a hungry vagabond who knew

when and where the delivery shipments were being made.

Now, Michael, as I’ve come to know him, is ordinarily a nice guy.

But he had a business to run
And if it weren’t for Mommy, I’d probably be another statistic.

After she found me, she took me straight away to the VET
A nice woman doctor with all kinds of animals in her care.
Apparently, I had fleas and worms and was not in top form,
But at least that explained my discomfort.

Mom didn’t care. She loved me anyway.

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I knew, from the moment our eyes met

That I’d be her “Corduroy.”
I even let her bathe me at home in the sink
To wash away all the remnants of my previous life
And keep me healthy.

Now, I don’t have to do that.

And she can’t make me.

I know my teenage sister wanted a dog.

Like the ones she had seen at the dog run in Fort Greene Park.
It was a place she had found joy and solace after moving here.
But it wasn’t in the cards.

Personally, I think she got off the hook considering she doesn’t have a slobbering, needy, walk
me, take me out to defecate and urinate on every street corner kind of sibling.
She could always visit her cousin George, a rescue from Puerto Rico living in Connecticut, for
THAT!

Instead, she has a free thinking, independent, leave me alone, stroke me and my ego, when I
want, kind of sibling. Actually, a better match for her teenage needs.
Sometimes, when the mood strikes her, she’ll point her finger at me as either a misguided
attempt to befriend me or to get a rise out of me. Depending on my mood, I’ll let her.

I sometimes give her a hard time because when she yells, it hurts my ears and I don’t tolerate it
like Mom who apparently ” has been there,” when she was a teen (and remains every time HER
parents visit.)

I tolerate wrestling with my brother when he’s home from college.

Apparently, he thinks I’m a dog-
Higher learning doesn’t always teach you what you need to know.

My grandfather has supplied some nice antique rugs around our home
as he was “in the business”
I attempt to make them scratching pads but that’s not looked upon very kindly.
I like that they smell of him, old and worn.

But really, I remain a momma’s boy. She just gets me.

Indoors we have a lot of art to look at, as that’s Dad’s work.

We are pretty casual, but these things have a no touch policy
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And are kept out of my reach.

Other things are just not “speaking” to me anyway,
So no love lost there.

I’ve been told I’m a great kisser. I like to lick too,

The lotion off of arms and legs.
I’m a toe nibbler when attention on me wanes.

My mom works from home and sometimes gets lonely. When I snuggle up beside her during
these times, I find I get lots of gratitude.

I still like to wake her at odd hours just to make sure I have her undivided attention
And get fed.

I used to have to FIND my food.

Now, the second I hear the can crack open
I know it’s my cue to come and get it.
Since It’s not the challenge it once was
My girth has grown.
But I’m not complaining….

I like to hide in unexpected places.

I’m banned from the pantry however, as I’ve opened too many sealed,
Perishable items.
Can I help I have a heightened sense of smell,
An impenetrable curiosity,
And terrifically sharp nails I loathe to get trimmed? (looks down at nails being filed by human)

Once I got into some chocolate chips

And I was back at the vet.
Apparently, though a common human craving and vice,
This is something lethal for my species.

I enjoy getting high (lights a joint)

Catnip takes the edge off

And I like high places-

Window sills, the ledge above the sink and stove.

I love playing parachute with Mom when she makes the bed every morning,
Sheets billowing, rising and falling above me creating waves
And a rush of wind
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Me, I’m a creature of habit

But my curiosity DOES sometimes make me wonder
And wander…

I’ve left the premises on occasion

In a carrier to the vet
Or just to see what the rest of the building looked like...

Mostly hallways and stairwells.

And I got to see Mom get a little exercise
Chasing me as I played hide and seek.

But home is home.

And I feel at home.

I find home design and redecorating very gratifying.

I’ve already made the couch my own-
Catching my nails on the nubby fabric and pulling to unravel
Mom and Dad attempted to reclaim it using gaffers tape.

I believe they call it Shabby Chic?

Yup. I consider myself a real lucky one.

(music plays and fades out to Billie Ellish “Bad Guy”)

Narrator: Oliver watches Margot sleep. He looks at her affectionately. He stealthily

approaches her nightstand, swipes at her cup of water and spills it.

Margot: Fuck! (She reaches for the spray bottle w/ water and sprays him )You’re killing me
Ollie. Give me one more hour...Just one!!

Oliver: (he scratches her headboard) Come on Ma! My internal clock’s on go!

Coach: Go, go go!

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Margot: Twenty minutes, please!

Oliver: (he bites her toes) /

Margot: Ow! Fuck!/

Oliver: This worked last time. You got up. I remember!

Margot: Ugh

Oliver: (he knocks over a pile of books stacked on the floor)Mommy… You gotta wake
Elinor..and you gotta go pee!

Narrator: ( reading newspaper) Margot gets up to pee. Cursing Oliver under her breath. Oliver
goes to toilet and rubs against her leg affectionately.

Margot: If you weren’t so fucking loveable.

Narrator: She wipes, flushes, washes. Puts lid down on toilet seat. Oliver sits and watches her
at sink. She looks at him, smiles and starts brushing her teeth,

Oliver: Really?

Narrator: (sipping tea) Margot shrugs. She is killing time now that she is awake. She does not
want to feed him too early. She spits out the toothpaste and takes a swig of Listerine and
gargles. Spits again.

Margot: Really.

Coach: (knocks on door) Time. Time…..

Narrator: To the kitchen...fresh water,,,

Margot: Here you go…

Narrator: She spoons a Fancy Feast into his bowl. Before putting it on the floor next to the
water, she bends down to let him lick the spoon clean. Oliver eats hungrily. She fills the kettle
with water and turns on the flame.
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Narrator: She goes to scoop the litter, sweep the area of debris and change the rubbish bag.
She washes her hands, picks up clothes, books, and papers left randomly strewn around and
goes to wake her sleeping daughter.

Margot: (softly) Good morning. I’m turning on the light. It’s 6:15. Did your alarm go off?

Elinor: ummmmm

Margot: I’ve got breakfast ready. Come on up.

Narrator: Kettle whistling, Margot gets a mug ready with tea, She opens the refrigerator and
retrieves some hard boiled eggs made the night before and an apple which she proceeds to
wash and cut in thin slices and put in a ziploc bag. She puts a waffle in the toaster from the
freezer and takes the maple syrup out from the pantry. She reads the time on the microwave...

Coach: (runs past) Oversleeping... TIme!

Margot: (goes to Elinor’s room again) Get up hon, it’s getting late.

Elinor: (screaming) Get the fuck out of my room!! I’m

getting up!!

Narrator: Margot disappears into her bedroom to put on clothes in the dark so as not to
wake her husband.

•Poet (at microphone, just a voice in the dark) dim light is on husband in bed, center stage

Poet: A bed too big for both of us

I hate you she said to no one, as he unwittingly clawed her with his rogue toenail. Snoring
intermittently as if scoring his own musical. Wheezing notes of melancholy or at least monotony,
Nostrils whistling and flaring with each breath, oblivious to her thoughts.

I’ll always hate those glasses as I do this bed you know, her voice rising above a whisper.
A mute log; no fires burned there-he lay stone cold beside her. The foul familiar perfume of
flatulence breaking like applause, wafting through the air, sour and stale.

New glasses. Something they always picked out together. Eyes of a bat; his prescription
needed to be expensively modulated from coke bottles to a face that could see and be seen.
But tonight, he had forgotten it was just one of the many things they had done that he opted to
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do alone, too.

The partner she used to coil around, alternately with his spoon, in a queen sized bed
synchronized for two. But then her folks bought that king-sized luxury that fit into the new
apartment but not into their lives. Ample room to spread out and NOT touch. Other than the
occasional unintended scratch of a toenail when a leg spreads too far to claim its territory
and beyond.

•(light swings to Poet for last sentence starting @ “ to claim...” and then to stage
right to cast doing synchronized snap (as applause for poet)