CAST OF CHARACTERS

BEATRICE: Woman in mid-forties, in wheelchair with rheumatoid arthritis. Her hands are deformed also.

MOM: Beatrice's Mother, in her late sixties.

DAD: Beatrice's father, in his late sixties.

CRANE WHO DANCES: Native American Woman.

ZENNY: Guru type.

ANGEL: Messenger of God, who was busy.

NOTES:

Beatrice is the only character who is alive and flesh and blood. All the others are figments of her imagination and can be portrayed in different ways to show that. Use of "other world music", lighting, perhaps a scrim, or costuming of filmy flowing dress, will work.

SETTING:

In a kitchen, Counters, sink and bread board across upstage back wall. There is a small tape recorder on the opened bread board. Table and chairs at stage left. Back door at stage right. Refrigerator downstage stage right.

TIME:

Present time, mid-morning.

AT RISE:

Beatrice enters from stage left, downstage of table, in her wheelchair. Her hair is uncombed, she is dressed casually in easy to put on sweats. She comes in, sees the tape recorder on the breadboard and groans.

BEATRICE:

No breakfast--and the kitchen is a mess.

(She goes to tape recorder and slowly turns it on.)

TAPE:

Good morning--Mother. Yes. You guessed correctly. No breakfast. And I'm sorry the kitchen is such a mess. I meant to do it this morning but I overslept, again. I don't know what's the matter with me lately--but anyway, I have an early class so--I'm sorry--OK?--Don't be mad at me. I'll make it up to you--Bye.

BEATRICE:

(shuts off the tape recorder and stares at it.)

Sorry doesn't make it--Don't be mad--heaven forbid.

(She sighs and surveys the kitchen, and sighs again.)

OK. I can handle this.

(She opens a drawer under the bread board, pulls out a glass, puts it on bread board, bumping her head as she does it)

Damn. Ouch. Ok. I'm OK. No bowls--

(She closes drawer, by pushing with her chair, it gets stuck partway)

Damn it. Oh, who cares.

(She leaves it open--goes to sink, which is full of dirty dishes and rummages around--finds a dirty!"owl but breaks!! glass in the process--)

God Bless America. Ok, so toast is good.

(She goes to toaster, manages to find a loaf of bread, get it open and pop in two slices. She then goes to refridge, having to move empty grocery sacks out of her way and etc. She pulls out with great difficulty a huge container of Orange Juice and wrestles it to the bread board.)

Of course, she forgot to put my juice in the small pitcher--

(She attempts to open the container. It won't open, she groans, fights, gnaws with her teeth, and in general gets hugely frustrated.)

Open, damn you. open.--I want my Orange Juice.--I paid for this orange juice, and I want it now.--

(She pounds it on the bread board, which causes the tape recorder to bounce)

You couldn't have taken one moment--you always forget!--I want this friggin' Orange Juice. It's good for my body--it's healthy--and I WANT it.

(She struggles so hard, it falls out of her hands on the floor.)

God Damn it all to Hell--You friggin' son of a bitch--Ok, fine. Sit there til you rot. I'll drink apple juice. Ok Fine.

(She goes to refridge and pulls out container of apple juice and goes to bread board to pour it into her glass, maybe nine drops come out, after she sits still watching each drop come out--)

Just fine. She drank all my apple juice--

(She throws it angrily into the garbage, it bounces back out and onto floor. The toast pops up--she gets it, can't find the butter, goes to refridge which is hard to open, finds it, comes back, and butters the toast.)

Cold. Cold toast. Love it.

MOTHER:

(Wafts in, from stage left, wearing some gauzy spirit dress, and hangs out around the dining table)

Dear. You need to pick that Orange Juice up. It doesn't belong on the floor. What if the telephone repair man were to knock on the door just now?

BEATRICE:

I can't pick it up, Mother. It weighs a ton and my fingers hurt.

MOTHER:

I wish you wouldn't exaggerate, dear. 96 fluid ounces can hardly weight a ton. Do try a little harder!

BEATRICE:

(She bends down and struggles to pick it up.)

DAD:

(Also wafts in, in spirit type toga, also hangs out around dining table)

Good girl. Keep trying. You'll get it.

BEATRICE:

Dad, maybe you could help me--

MOTHER:

You must learn to be independent and capable.

BEATRICE:

Daddy?

DAD:

Your Mother's right, Dear. Keep trying. You'll get it.

BEATRICE:

(She gets it up into her lap. She tries again to open it, finally bursting into tears in frustration)

I just want some Orange Juice--is that so much to ask for? God help me.

ANGEL:

(Use lighting to make her so bright we almost can't see her)

Hi. God's a little busy, at the moment--so he sent me--

BEATRICE:

Lord have mercy!

ANGEL:

He does.

BEATRICE:

Could you turn yourself down a few bit?

BEATRICE:

I just want my Orange Juice, and your light is hurting my eyes. You are supposed to be helping me, not hurting me even more.

MOTHER:

It's an ANGEL, dear. I must appologize for my little girl--

BEATRICE:

Sorry. Could you hit the dimmer switch a smidgen?

ANGEL:

(Dims down)

Enough?

BEATRICE:

Yes, thank you.--I'm glad you're here, I think.

(She goes to dining table and places Orange Juice on it)

There.

ANGEL:

It's lovely.

BEATRICE:

It's not lovely--the stinking thing has all the Orange Juice inside it--I can't get in.

ANGEL:

Lovely. Just lovely. The shape fits its purpose as all things do.

BEATRICE:

It's purpose is to open up and let me have my Orange juice. It refuses. It is a demon Orange Juice container from Hell.

ANGEL:

(Steps back, concerned)

Do you really think so?

BEATRICE:

No--I don't think so--couldn't you just zap it with a wand or something?

ANGEL:

Oh, no, my dear. I can't influence corporeal matters in such a direct way--I am other worldly, you know. Rumors of our powers have been grossly overrated.

BEATRICE:

Oh, for Heaven's sake.

ANGEL:

Precisely.

BEATRICE:

I'll just have to take matters into my own hands--and smash it against the wall--

DAD:

You always have such good ideas--

MOTHER:

Except for that one dear--stop and consider--the mess--which you will have to clean up--

BEATRICE:

Think of the sense of satisfaction--

MOTHER:

Well, if you want to be LIKE THAT, go right ahead.

BEATRICE:

I guess I wouldn't get much Orange Juice if I smashed it--

MOTHER:

That's my good girl, besides, you would probably get bubonic plague from the germs on the floor and you would turn black and your tongue would swell up and you would die.

BEATRICE:

Then, I'll hack it to death--a pair of scissors or a knife--

MOTHER:

Beatrice!!

BEATRICE:

I'd probably slip and cut myself--

MOTHER:

Not to mention a very poor way to treat the container--

BEATRICE:

Damn plastic. Made to stay put for millions of years. Can't just slash through fossilized dinosaur pee. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I want my Orange Juice--

ZENNY:

(Enters, a Guru type and sits cross legged on the table. Mother raises her eyebrows and stares icily.)

Why must it be Orange Juice? Would not the juice of a papaya taste as sweet?

BEATRICE:

It has to be Orange Juice--because Orange Juice is the only kind of juice in my house. It is sitting there, inside that stubborn plastic container from hell--and I don't see why the hell I can't just have a simple drink of orange juice like any other human being--but, oh, no--I get the major production--and after the Orange Juice is done with me, I'll have to fight a succession of horrible products build specifically to torment arthritics who make the fatal error of being arthritic in the first place and who try to do things on their own, in the second place--at this rate--it will be tomorrow before I finish getting up to greet this day--

ZENNY:

Rail not against this innocent Orange Juice container--it is here to help you understand the cosmos and all things that grow from the energy of a frustrated moment--

BEATRICE:

Oh, great--the zen of disability--

ZENNY:

Is it not beautiful?

BEATRICE:

It is not beautiful. It is stupid.

MOTHER:

Dear, he's a guest in your house, what will he think--I'm terribly sorry--

ANGEL:

Have faith.

BEATRICE:

Have faith? Listen to an Orange Juice container? Does anyone else have any sage advise?

CRANE WHO DANCES:

(Native American Woman, in traditional dress)

I am Crane Who Dances. You called me here. What do you want?

BEATRICE:

I want my Orange Juice. It is a simple want. A simple request. A simple little movement of the wrist and hands that every housewife in American can do any damn moment in time they wish--Mother--you are a housewife. Will you do it?

MOTHER:

Dear--I am an elderly housewife, now. And besides, I always get your father to do it.

BEATRICE:

Dad. Will you do it?

DAD:

I would love to, but, I'm not really here, you know.

BEATRICE:

Ok. Ok. I get the picture. It's up to me--just like it always is. Nice of you all to drop by to stare at me while I struggle, alone, as usual.

MOTHER:

--self-pity. It's too tacky--especially in front of your guests.

BEATRICE:

Who I did not invite!

MOTHER:

Dear!

BEATRICE:

(Staring at Orange Juice container)

There has got to be a way.--Maybe I'll call my friend Janet. She can come over and open it--

MOTHER:

Call someone to take time from their busy schedule to drive all the way over here to do something so simple--?

BEATRICE:

She's a friend, Mother--friends do that sort of thing--

MOTHER:

I would naturally do that for a friend--but I would hate to bother them--

BEATRICE:

(Shudders at the thought)

There has got to be a way--

ANGEL:

Of course there is a way. Believe.

BEATRICE:

Science! Tools.

(Goes to a drawer and pulls out various tools)

Here's a button hook so I can button my own blouses.--No. A zipper puller?--No--A plastic bag opener on a magnet??--No. Too small--a light switch turner?--No. No. No.

DAD:

What about a container opener, like the one on your wall, there--

BEATRICE:

It doesn't work--I've tried it--the container is too heavy for me to lift up there--I might as well give up--

ANGEL:

Oh.

CRANE WHO DANCES:

Oh.

ZENNY:

Oh.

BEATRICE:

(She sits thinking--)

I've read of mind over matter. You there, Zenny--if I just think myself through this container--it will open up to me, right?

ZENNY:

All of the universe opens up to the mind that softens and yields to the truth of the moment.

BEATRICE:

OK--Abbra Kadabra--I call upon the forces of the universe to smite this lousy Orange Juice container--

CRANE WHO DANCES:

You think with white man's brain.

BEATRICE:

It's the only kind I've got.

CRANE WHO DANCES:

You must feel with the red man's heart--follow the red path--have you asked the blessing and permission of the orange juice to be used by your body for your good health. It must die in order for you to benefit from it--this is not an easy thing for any living creature to do.

ZENNY:

Also, you must understand that Abbra Kadabra is out--nobody much does that anymore.

ANGEL:

You must believe!

BEATRICE:

This isn't Kansas!--Are you saying I can't just think my way into this jug?

ZENNY:

All things are possible--but I must remind you that we spend years practicing the discipline of the mind--clearing our minds of all incorrect thoughts, opening our spirits to the universe and finding in ourselves what we search the world for--In short--I don't think you are quite ready yet--

BEATRICE:

Not this morning, at any rate.

ZENNY:

No, but you can make a start this morning--and by 1997 you could be opening Orange Juice containers by the carton.

BEATRICE:

I just want some Orange Juice! I just want a small drink of Orange juice--now--here--today! I want my Orange Juice--Orange Juice!!!!I'm going to tear it apart with my teeth--

(She grabs it and snarling, tries to chew her way through--)

MOTHER:

So much for all those dentist bills--

CRANE WHO DANCES:

Act like a warrior--

BEATRICE:

I am--I am going to kill that damn thing if it kills me--

CRANE WHO DANCES:

A warrior caresses Mother Earth with the soft touch of his moccasin. A warrior listens with his heart to the spirits of the wind. He approaches his meal with reverence--he asks the animal's forgiveness and its permission--He sings his love to it. He gives it presents of sacred tobacco. He does not take--he receives.

BEATRICE:

Are you in all seriousness asking me to beg with this recalcitrant Orange Juice container??

CRANE WHO DANCES:

You do not hear my words--your heart is too filled with anger to heed the soft voice of forgiveness--

BEATRICE:

Anger--I heard that plain enough. I am angry.

MOTHER:

Dear--it's not--

BEATRICE:

I hate it when people's eyes slide over and they pretend not to look at my curled up hands as they openly stare at them. I want to scream--I don't live there, in those hands--I live here, in my brain. Look at my eyes. this is where I am.

MOTHER:

--this is so embarrassing--

BEATRICE:

I hate it when they start clucking and saying Oh, how awful for you--all that pain--tell me about the pain--does it hurt so bad? Tell me-- tell me--tell me more about your pain!

MOTHER:

They are just being polite--

BEATRICE:

It's MY pain. It's none of their business--It's MY pain--all mine.

ZENNY:

See how you curl around your pain--you keep it--you cherish it--

BEATRICE:

I don't want it anymore--not anymore--

MOTHER:

You shouldn't show your pain in public--how tacky--

DAD:

Once I got very sick--the Doctor's were worried I'd die. It was then that I was able to feel the love my wife has for me. Only then.

BEATRICE:

Mother?

MOTHER:

(Tentatively reaches out to stroke Beatrice's hair but can't)

I can't. I don't know why--I only know when I feel emotion--I feel shame--deep deep shame.

BEATRICE:

I once had a dream--about my daughter. She was about a year old and she was struggling in a huge raging ocean. It was a hurricane and I was standing on the dock, the winds whipping me around like I was nothing. She raised her arms up to me--and cried out--Mommy--Mommy--I had to save her--but I couldn't swim--if I dove into those angry waves, I would drown--and I stood, paralyzed, unable to jump in and she was swept away.

MOTHER:

It was only a dream--

BEATRICE:

I told my daughter about it when she grew up--do you know what she said?

DAD:

No, Honey--what did she say?

BEATRICE:

She said, "I forgive you."

ANGEL:

She forgave you as--

CRANE WHO DANCES:

you must forgive--

BEATRICE:

That Orange Juice container??

ZENNY:

It wouldn't hurt--

BEATRICE:

That artificially contrived solid prison from hell? I will not forgive it--I will not--

(In anger, hits accidently the play button on the tape recorder)

TAPE:

Oh, and PS, Mother--I left a glass of Orange Juice out in the fridge--see you soon--

BEATRICE:

(Slams the tape recorder off--a pause)

ANGEL:

All things come to she who waits--

BEATRICE:

I didn't see any glass of Orange Juice in there--

CRANE WHO DANCES:

We see only what we look for--

BEATRICE:

Oh, hush!

MOTHER:

Dear--please--

DAD:

Aren't you going to go get your Orange Juice?

BEATRICE:

(Places hands on the Orange Juice container)

I want THIS Orange Juice.

ZENNY:

What is it you really want?

BEATRICE:

I would like to have the return of the physical amenities I once enjoyed without thought.

MOTHER:

Dear--What did she say? Ever since she's finished college, I have had trouble following what she says--

DAD:

She said she misses being physically able--like she was as a child.

BEATRICE:

Is this self-pity?

ZENNY:

No. It's mourning--

MOTHER:

How embarrassing! --what will others think!! Your pain is none of their business--

BEATRICE:

It has been none of my business too. I numbed out the pain--I laughed and made jokes--I cut people off if they started talking about it--only now--I don't know if I can fight it--

CRANE WHO DANCES:

A true warrior receives the gifts of Mother Nature--

ANGEL:

God works in mysterious ways--

(Winks at the Orange Juice container)

ZENNY:

OHM!

BEATRICE:

I want it back--just the way it was. I want to cleave through life without effort--

CRANE WHO DANCES:

without thought--

BEATRICE:

I want Orange Juice containers to quail at my very presence and pop open at my first touch--

MOTHER:

You might rethink that--they would spill too easily--then what a mess you'd have to clean up--

BEATRICE:

I want to dance a slow dance standing up, my body fluidly touching his body--

MOTHER:

Dear! Talking smut in front of angels--

BEATRICE:

Mother. I love you. I forgive You and shut up.

DAD:

You shouldn't talk to your Mother that way--

ZENNY:

Keep talking--

DAD:

Now see here--

MOTHER:

Dear--He's a guest--

DAD:

(Struggles with himself)

---Yes--dear.

BEATRICE:

I want it back--the way it was--

CRANE WHO DANCES:

One thing dies so another may live.

BEATRICE:

What lives here? I can't even open up a stupid container of Orange Juice.

ANGEL:

(Listening, suddenly to a summons from above)

Oh, my. A crisis across the world--a child is injured--I must give support and love--Good bye, dear. You don't need my help anymore--

BEATRICE:

But I still didn't open that demon container--

ANGEL:

No matter! You came up with scores of possible solutions and you didn't give up--I must go--

BEATRICE:

Goodbye--thanks for everything--I think--

ANGEL:

I did nothing--it was your power that brought us here.

BEATRICE:

My power?

ANGEL:

You can't really believe the physical power to pop off a top of a container is the ultimate power--

(She turns up her lights brightly)

Pity the poor mortals who effortlessly behead innocent Orange Juice containers and never learn another way!!

(She disappears)

MOTHER:

Goodbye. So nice of you to drop in.--I hope she didn't think I was being presumptuous.

BEATRICE:

Dear heart--you must go now.

MOTHER:

Must I?

BEATRICE:

Yes--I think you've put on weight since I was a child--

MOTHER:

Now, really dear--it is impolite to--

DAD:

Come on, It's time for us to go.

MOTHER:

Well, really--I don't think--

DAD:

NOW--dear.

MOTHER:

(Glares at him, pauses and then disappears)

DAD:

Call us, when you need us, OK?

BEATRICE:

I will Dad. Thanks.

(He disappears, and then so does Crane Who Dances and Zenny)

Well, goodbye to you too.

(She looks around empty room--smiles--grabs Orange Juice container to put it back into refridge, only the top pops off into her hand)

Well, will you look at that!

(She pours a glass and slowly drinks the Orange Juice, enjoying every drop.)

END

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List Of Plays

• Ms. Upright And Her Unconscious
• American Woman
• The Demon Orange Juice Container From Hell