(after Kathy Fish)


Characters:
THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25
THE (SAME) DAUGHTER, AGE 12
SUBWAY SANDWICH
THE WOMEN IN THE AUDIENCE
THE MEN IN THE AUDIENCE
THE BROAD-SHOULDERED WHITE MAN IN SHORTS, A BASEBALL HAT, AND A CABLE-KNIT SWEATER
THE CITY
A FEATHER

[The stage is set with a row of bus seats covered in worn leather and a large piece of grimy glass, framed to look like bus windows.]

[THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25 sits in the bus seat furthest away from the audience. She is wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, a dark blue hoodie, zipped. THE (SAME) DAUGHTER, AGE 12, is wearing an identical outfit and lies beneath the bus seats. THE CITY is dirty and gray and though he moves a lot, he always looks the same when he stops. THE BROAD-SHOULDERED WHITE MAN IN SHORTS, A BASEBALL HAT, AND A CABLE-KNIT SWEATER and SUBWAY SANDWICH wait off stage. As the lights brighten, A FEATHER is dropped from somewhere high above. It begins to fall, slowly, in curls and loops.]

THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25: [Leaning her head against the dirty window. Singing to herself "Life's Been Good" by Joe Walsh.]

THE (SAME) DAUGHTER, AGE 12: I like that you still bring me to see Dad.

THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25: [a laugh, a gesture like waving] You're fun. I like having you around. And Dad likes to see you.

THE CITY: [Spins around three times, looks back at THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25, his expression unchanged.]

THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25: I'm sorry about the bus, about you curled up on the floor.

THE (SAME) DAUGHTER, AGE 12: [Drawing a line of hearts on the side of her Converse with a glitter pen.] It's all right. But Dad always told you not to drink and drive. 

THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25: [A snort laugh] He would know. 

A FEATHER: [Falls a few inches]

[A light follows THE BROAD-SHOULDERED WHITE MAN IN SHORTS, A BASEBALL HAT, AND A CABLE-KNIT SWEATER as he walks toward THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25. He sits next to her, heavily, though there is, of course, no one else sitting on the bus. SUBWAY SANDWICH is curled in his arm like a football or a baby.]

THE BROAD-SHOULDERED WHITE MAN IN SHORTS, A BASEBALL HAT, AND A CABLE-KNIT SWEATER: [His knees are spread wide. His left one is pressed against THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25's leg, despite her facing forward with knees touching. THE BROAD-SHOULDERED WHITE MAN IN SHORTS, A BASEBALL HAT, AND A CABLE-KNIT SWEATER opens SUBWAY SANDWICH, smooths the yellow and green wrapper over his lap.]

SUBWAY SANDWICH: [drops their lettuce onto their paper wrapper because it has begun to rustle. The crinkle of the paper is rhythmic.]

THE BROAD-SHOULDERED WHITE MAN IN SHORTS, A BASEBALL HAT, AND A CABLE-KNIT SWEATER: [His hand beneath SUBWAY SANDWICH's wrapper, you know why.] You ride often?

THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25: [noticing the disappeared hand, SUBWAY SANDWICH's rustling wrapper] Lately, yeah. To visit my father.

THE (SAME) DAUGHTER, AGE 12: [Drops her pen and kicks the underside of the bus seat, whispers] Shut up shut up shut up.

THE WOMEN IN THE AUDIENCE: [To THE MEN IN THE AUDIENCE] She doesn't know that sometimes talking to danger keeps it at bay.

A FEATHER: [Falls a few inches, catches the light, glimmers]

THE BROAD-SHOULDERED WHITE MAN IN SHORTS, A BASEBALL HAT, AND A CABLE-KNITSWEATER: [knee still pressing, hand still rhythmic.] Do you live nearby?

THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25: My father does.

THE CITY: [Spinning wildly, dust and garbage swirling]

THE BROAD-SHOULDERED WHITE MAN IN SHORTS, A BASEBALL HAT, AND A CABLE-KNITSWEATER: [knee still still pressing, hand still still rhythmic.] I ride all the time.

THE (SAME) DAUGHTER, AGE 12: [A hard kick to the seat.]

THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25: [standing, lying] This is my stop.

THE BROAD-SHOULDERED WHITE MAN IN SHORTS, A BASEBALL HAT, AND A CABLE-KNIT SWEATER: Is it now? Your father's neighborhood? [He looks out at THE CITY. THE CITY looks back.] Or is this your neighborhood?

THE (SAME) DAUGHTER, AGE 12: [hands on her heart, then over her ears, then over her mouth, then clutching her stomach. SUBWAY SANDWICH's lettuce falls out of her hair as she pulls her hood up over her head, cinches it closed, completely covering her face.]

THE WOMEN IN THE AUDIENCE: [To THE MEN IN THE AUDIENCE] You understand now? She shouldn't get off. But she can't stay!

A FEATHER: [Falls a few inches]

THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25: [Knowing that in order to leave she must cross in front of him. That her ass will be close to his face, that she will be unable to see his hands. She looks down to where THE (SAME) DAUGHTER, AGE 12 is lying on the floor and mumbles] I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

THE BROAD-SHOULDERED WHITE MAN IN SHORTS, A BASEBALL HAT, AND A CABLE-KNIT SWEATER: No need to apologize.

THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25: [Walks quickly up the aisle, stands as close as she can to the front of the bus, clutching the post, waiting for it to stop. It does, with a jerk, and she exits, not looking back to where THE (SAME) DAUGHTER, AGE 12 is still hiding.]

THE CITY: [Wraps his arms around THE DAUGHTER, AGE 25 and spins her off stage.]

[The stage falls dark, except for the light shining on A FEATHER.]

A FEATHER: [Falls to the floor.]





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