The Official Literary Journal of University of Southern Maine's Stonecoast MFA
What is Held Within a Scene (A Short Story in Play Form)
By Julieanna Blackwell
This story originally appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 20. Support local booksellers and independent publishers by ordering a print copy of the magazine.
Photo by Tengyart
trigger warning: gun violence
Character List
JENNIFER WESTERLY: 37 years old. She is a brunette, thin, short. She is dressed in old jogging shorts, a nondescript promotional T‑shirt under a bulky gray hoodie jacket, which is a size too big. Note, what JENNIFER holds in her hand is her point of reference throughout the scene. MAN: Middle-aged and dressed in a gray suit. He is tall, thin, and balding. MEN: Two men shy of middle-age and dressed in darker suits. They remain behind, always silent, always flanking the center MAN throughout the action of the scene. DAUGHTER: Teenaged, dressed in a hospital gown. She lies in a hospital bed. A breathing tube is taped to her mouth. She never opens her eyes during the scene. SCENE NARRATION: Nondescript, just a voice, which can be present on stage and heard by the audience, or not.SCENE
Stage. A hospital bed is stage right. An unconscious teenaged girl lies in the bed. She has a breathing tube. Other tubes crisscross her chest and are attached to a monitor, and intravenous bags are affixed to a pole at the head of the bed. JENNIFER Westerly sits in a sturdy wooden chair next to the bed. She holds the girl’s hand with her right hand and balls handkerchief in her left. A middle-aged MAN in a gray suit enters stage left. He is followed by two more men in suits. They remain behind, standing silently behind the MAN.MAN
(He enters, stops, assesses the room, straightens his tie, then moves across the span of the stage towards JENNIFER with his right hand extended.) As your representative, on behalf of the citizens of …JENNIFER
(She remains seated, looking at her hand holding the unconscious girl’s hand.) I hope that you don’t mind that I don’t get up to greet you … I’m holding my daughter’s hand.MAN
(Steps forward, extending his hand even closer to JENNIFER, just as he is about to continue with his introduction, she cuts him off.) As your represent—JENNIFER
I imagine they’re heavy. I never held one before.… I’ve never seen one.… I mean a real … a real gun … that is. I would imagine they’re heavy. I’ve seen them on TV. Movies. They look heavy, too. Like they have a heft to them. (Pause, she opens her left hand and weighs the handkerchief balled in her fist, then continues.) You know those small pistols that go in a purse or suit pocket. Little. Discreet. But a rifle … there must be a balance to rifles. Like in ones in the high school color guard.MAN
(He takes another step towards JENNIFER with his hand still extended.)MEN
(They step forward too, mimicking the length of MAN’s steps, from behind.)MAN
(He starts to speak. JENNIFER cuts him off with a shaky wave of her handkerchief.) On behalf—JENNIFER
(Gestures to her daughter in the bed, holding her handkerchief by her thumb.) She was on the pompom squad. A pompom girl.MAN
(He motions to JENNIFER by wiggling his fingers, giving JENNIFER notice. He extends his arm farther, to her, while opening his palm wider, and tries to reintroduce himself with the gesture of his empty hand.) Mrs. Westerly, as your representative and on behalf of—JENNIFER
They must be cold, too. Guns. They are made of metal. Must be cold to the touch. (She squeezes her daughter’s hand.)MAN
(He stalls with his hand extended, slows the speed of his words, which are louder.) Ma’am … on behalf of the citizens I would like to extend our thoughts and prayers.…JENNIFER
That is … until … when it shoots out a bullet … it must get hot. The rifle. Right? Like hot. On the tip. It’s gunpowder. Sure … there must be heat. Fireworks get hot. You know … like sparklers. Remember holding sparklers at the beach, writing names in the air, on the Fourth of July. But, with so many bullets … so fast … his rifle must have been blazing hot.… Red hot.… How? … Then how was he able to hold it? That rifle … for so long?MAN
(He keeps his hand extended but takes a step back.)MEN
(They have no choice but to step back as well, remaining behind their representative.)JENNIFER
I’ve never seen a bullet either. They’re made of brass. Right? Smooth. Cold. Too. (Tsks.) Phallic like. I have no idea. Never seen one. Never held one. They said the type of bullets used were long, special tipped. (Looks at daughter’s hand.) But my baby … she’s so thin. You’d think the bullets would just whiz by her. They said there’s a piece of shrapnel lodged in her neck. Not a bullet. They took that out. But they can’t take out the shrapnel bits. You know, I always thought it was “scrap metal” like a slang combo term combining metal slivers and scratch paper. I was surprised to see that it was actually one word on the document the hospital had me sign. I don’t know what it said. They make jewelry out of bullets, you know.MAN
(Tries one more time to extend his hand, higher, wider, more open. He clears his throat. Sniffs. Takes his step back by stepping forward, just one step closer.)MEN
(Remain standing, at attention, never moving forward, always standing behind.)JENNIFER
(Softly rubs her daughter’s hand with the handkerchief as she speaks.) She’s never held a bullet, or a gun. Never had the cause. Other kids do? A boy came to school with a gun. There’s a piece of metal stuck in my baby’s neck and … she … they say … she might … never … hold anything, ever. That’s why I have to hold her hand. Never let go. See. Because I don’t want her to wake up knowing she’ll never reach out … again … but … if I hold her hand … then she will know … someone can hold her hand … instead … for her … hold everything for her. I can’t let go.MAN
(Impatient, he forcefully extends his hand higher.) Mrs. Westerly.JENNIFER
Why are you here? I don’t know you. I have nothing to say to you. Why would I let go of her hand to shake yours? (Pause, she looks at her daughter’s hand. There is no answer from the men assembled in the room.)MAN
(He stiffens his arm, only.) Mrs. Westerley, I am—JENNIFER
I know who you are. I know who and what you represent. I know you expect me to take hold of your hand, instead of what I am holding, her hand. You don’t see that. You want me to accept an apology and shake on it. What are you sorry for? There’s not a damn thing I can do for you … either.MAN
(The MAN moves to make another attempt to extend his hand but slowly puts it in his pocket, instead.)JENNIFER
Get. Get out now. Go. It has always been just me and my baby. You can leave now. There’s no reason for you to stay. But, I’m not letting go, ever. So. Go on. I am not your purpose. (The stage goes dark except for a ring of light shining on the actors on stage. The MAN steps backward and exits between the two men flanking him and out of the central light, then off stage. The two men fold together and follow by stepping backward, off stage. The stage is quiet until the mother begins to softly hum and starts rocking herself holding her daughter’s … no … holding her baby’s hand. She hums a lullaby, the one she hummed a long time ago when her baby was a baby.) (The ring of light begins to fade. We hear her humming until even that fades, too. Yet, we know she is there. JENNIFER Westerly is holding her daughter’s hand, helping her, directing her steps, somewhere off stage, in the dark, out of the audience’s view, a mother and a daughter are together holding hands, but alone.)–END–