A ten-minute play

CAST:

Sebastian Riverson, A 24 year old graduate student

Bill Harold, A 66 year old Episcopalian minister

Sheila, about 19 years old, a waitress

TIME: Summer of 2009

PLACE:  Madison, Wisconsin.

( At curtain, there is a small outdoor café with three or four tables positioned on a concrete floor.  SEBASTIAN sits at a table close to the house reading a number of papers spread out chaotically over the table.  More jut from his adjacent book bag.  After a few moments of this, BILL enters from stage left and stands in front of SEBASTIAN.  SEBASTIAN does not notice BILL at first.  BILL is not dressed in clergyman’s clothes, but in a flannel shirt, khaki pants, glasses and brown shoes.  SEBASTIAN wears a rumpled suit coat and jeans over wingtips)

BILL:

Ahem.

(SEBASTIAN looks up)

SEBASTIAN:

Oh, hi Bill.  I didn’t see you there.  Sit down.

BILL:

Thank you, Seb.

(BILL sits across from SEBASTIAN and untucks a cigar box from under his arm.  BILL and SEBASTIAN start setting up a chessboard)

SEBASTIAN:

How did the service go today?

BILL:

Good, good.  We spoke about Saint Francis.  Thought it would be relevant, considering your upcoming debate.

SEBASTIAN:

(Vaguely) Uh-huh.

BILL:

Who, of course, urged forgiveness and acceptance even to those who have done terrible things.

SEBASTIAN:

(setting up the pieces) Yeah.

BILL:

And who claimed that people who run for office in the state of Wisconsin should be nailed to a wall and beaten with their own badly-written speeches.

SEBASTIAN:

(Finishes the setup of the pieces) Yeah.

SEBASTIAN:

(Beat) Wait, what?

BILL:

(smugly) You’re sure you’ve got the wits to run for office?

SEBASTIAN:

Fuck, Bill.  I’ve had a long day, and that’s not funny.

BILL:

Uh-huh.  You wouldn’t know if I was lying to you about St. Francis on the best day of your life.  You’re not really much of a hagiographer.  And watch your language.

SEBASTIAN:

And you’re not much of a chess player, but here we are.  And watch your ego.

(BILL sticks his tongue out at SEBASTIAN. The board is now set up.  SEBASTIAN is playing white, and BILL is playing black.  The two begin playing as they talk.  SEBASTIAN digs out a small chess clock from his book bag.  There is a pause as they make their first moves)

BILL:

(Slyly) Is that waitress still here?  The one that you like?

SEBASTIAN

Yes.  And no.

BILL:

What?

SEBASTIAN:

Yes, she still works here, no I’m not interested in Sheila.

BILL:

(slyly) Oh, no, of course not.  You have no interest in the waitress whose name you are so familiar with.

SEBASTIAN:

(sheepishly) She wears a name tag.

BILL:

(chuckles as he makes his next move) You young people and the games you insist on playing.  I don’t know why you can’t just be… (makes an obvious long move across the board) Direct.

SEBASTIAN:

(curses softly at the move) Crafty old man…  And anyway, she’s cute and everything but now’s not the time to look for a relationship.  The campaign is taking up all my time, and I only split up with–

BILL:

You split up with Sara six months ago, Seb.

SEBASTIAN:

(makes his next move carefully, cautiously, holding the piece above the board.  He speaks softly) Bess died two years ago, Bill, and you still wear a wedding ring.

(Bill sits up a little straighter.  He doesn’t allow concern to move across his face, but he slowly moves the hand with the ring on it into his pocket.  The two play in silence for a few moments, but are soon interrupted by the arrival of SHEILA.  She is wearing a turtleneck and jeans with a waitress’s apron over the front.  A large button reading “De Soto” is pinned to the front)

SHEILA:

Hello Pastor, Hi Seb.  What will it be today?

BILL:

Hi.  I’ll have lemonade, please.

SEBASTIAN:

(pointedly does not look up at her) Coffee, please.  Thanks.

(Sheila walks off with their orders and the two play on.)

BILL:

Is that why you don’t want to talk to her?  The De Soto button?

SEBASTIAN:

She can support whoever she wants.

SEBASTIAN:

(mocking) Even if who she supports happens to be a reactionary and a psychopath, who would sooner see the lower-third income bracket fall into abject poverty than question the apparently carpal-tunnel infested Invisible hand of the market.  Oh no, who am I to judge?

BILL:

Okay, I kind of thought so.  But there’s no need to be touchy.

SEBASTIAN:

Touchy?  Bill, the man has called me everything short of a traitor and smirks about it!  Just because I’m not running as a fucking Democrat or a motherfucking Republican he thinks I’m just there to be mocked, to be made fun of!

BILL:

(soothingly, the game temporarily forgotten) You don’t need to defend yourself to me, Seb.  I don’t think you’re a traitor or a revolutionary or whatever.  And can we take it easy on the blasphemies, just once, for me?

SEBASTIAN:

Right.  Sorry, Bill.

(They resume playing.  Quietly, Sheila comes back with the drinks and they nod to her, or to each other.  They each make a few moves, and look up at each other once in a while, as if wanting to talk. SEBASTIAN reaches for his pocket, suddenly, and pulls out a cell phone.  He looks at it for a moment, and then stands up.  He makes a move.)

SEBASTIAN:

Uh, I’ll be right back, Bill.  I have to take this call.  You go ahead and make your move.

BILL:

Sure thing, Seb.  I’ll be here.

(SEBASTIAN exits stage left, talking on his phone. Bill doesn’t make a move, but sits and contemplates the board for a while.  After a moment, SHEILA walks in carrying a coffee pitcher.)

SHEILA:

More coffee, Sebastian?  I thought that because of the debate that you might be—oh!

BILL:

He just went to answer a phone call, miss.  If you want, you can wait here with me until he gets back.

SHEILA:

Well, I don’t know.  I should get back to the other tables soon.

BILL:

Really?  It doesn’t seem very crowded today.

(In fact, the restaurant is deserted except for the two of them.  SHEILA shrugs her shoulders, sits down in the chair opposite BILL, and examines the chessboard.)

SHEILA:

You two almost always bring this chessboard with you, huh?

BILL:

Yeah, it’s kind of nice to have it there as a distraction, otherwise Seb and I and up killing each other over politics and religion. Laughs

SHEILA:

Laughs back. Ha-ha, yeah.  Sebastian certainly is focused on his campaign, even to the point of ignoring the people he cares—

(Long pause, and BILL looks uncomfortable.  Awkwardly, SHEILA attempts to recover her misplaced line about SEBASTIAN)

SHEILA:

I mean, even the people that he’s known for a long time.

BILL:

Yes, I know what you mean.

(Pause as the two sit on opposite sides of the chessboard.  SHEILA pours herself a cup of coffee while BILL fiddles with a queen.  BILL opens his mouth several times as if to speak, but doesn’t.  Finally, he shifts in his chair and turns directly to SHEILA)

BILL:

So, um, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but, well, I was wondering.  You seem to get along so well with Sebastian and he with you, so I just wanted to know why you don’t support him for office?

SHEILA:

Oh. (Pause) Well. (Pause) I guess I don’t have a reason, exactly.

BILL:

(Gently) Sheila, I’m not a member of Sebastian’s campaign.  I’m not an interrogator.  I’m a pastor, and you don’t have to be afraid of talking to me.

SHEILA:

(A little defensive) Well, it isn’t that I don’t like Sebastian, I do!  And it isn’t that I think he’s all wrong about what to do in Madison, because he isn’t!  I just… I… I don’t know.

BILL:

(After a pause) I know how hard it is to think about the faults of the people that you care about.

SHEILA:

Well, it’s like, have you ever met a really, really happy couple?  You know, the “hold doors open for each other and split the bill and make pet names for each other” sort of couple?

BILL:

(amused) Well, I can’t say I do, but I suppose I get the idea.

SHEILA:

Right, right.  Anyway.  You always kind of feel bitter towards them because, you know, you’re not part of their happy little world.  And that’s how I think Sebastian feels.  He can’t understand what it means to believe in something that isn’t politics, so he feels angry towards the people who do.  Like he can’t have his beliefs and someone else’s.  Like he has to choose.  (Pause).  Am I making sense?

BILL:

(Quite softly, and a little shakily) Yes.  Yes, I suppose so.

(The two sit for a while longer, and then SHEILA looks up suddenly and grabs her coffee and pot.  She smiles at BILL and walks away off stage right.  Sebastian soon enters from stage left and sits back down.)

SEBASTIAN:

What’d I miss?

BILL:

(As if awaking from a reverie) Hm?  Oh no.  No.  I haven’t made a move yet, that’s all.

SEBASTIAN:

(smirks) I give you all the time in the world, and you still can’t decide.  I’ll have you for sure this time, old man.

(The two play on for a little while longer, in silence, which quickly grows oppressive.  BILL looks up first).

BILL:

Is there something else the matter, Seb?

SEBASTIAN:

(After a pause, but the words come steadily) Yeah, there is. Every other speaker, politico or clergyman in this town has picked either me or De Soto to back in this election.  You’ve been the one that’s stayed quiet. Why is that?

(Bill remains silent.  It’s his turn but he doesn’t move).

BILL:

Well…  (pauses)

SEBASTIAN:

Well, what?  You owe me an answer!

BILL:

(nettled) Well, come on Seb!  You called politicians of faith “betrayers of our heritage”.  You said Tom Paine and James Madison, of all people, would be ashamed of us!  Those are strong words, Seb. (makes a move)

SEBASTIAN:

(reacts immediately to Bill’s move) Yeah, okay, I have tough rhetoric.  Sue me.  I have to make myself noticed.

BILL:

(getting a little more upset, counters the move from Seb) Noticed?  Seb, you can’t just dismiss the beliefs of thousands of citizens as irrelevant!

SEBASTIAN:

(getting worked up himself, now, he moves again) Can’t I?  People need to wake up to the harsh realities that are killing this city!  People need to think objectively about their problems, and what I’m telling them is that I can help them fix those problems!

BILL:

(quietly, but angrily) What you’re telling them is that there is no reason for their suffering.

SEBASTIAN:

When did this become about suffering?  Or meaning for that matter?

BILL:

You are the one that talks about oppression all the time, comrade.

SEBASTIAN:

Don’t make fun of me.  Hell’s bells, Bill, you know how much I’ve staked on this election!  You know what a disaster this city’s become!

BILL:

(after a pause) Yes.  I know.

SEBASTIAN:

Then how can you stay so damn quiet? How can you let me lose?

(Bill doesn’t have an answer.  They make a few more moves in silence.  Slowly, SEBASTIAN’S head sinks to the level of the pieces and he shakes it.)

SEBASTIAN:

Damn it to Hell, Bill, I’m gonna lose.

BILL:

(softly) You don’t know that for certain.

SEBASTIAN:

Bullshit.  Who do I have supporting me, huh?  A pack of radical students and a few professors that were too stoned to get sent to ‘Nam?  The local food co-op?  Campaigns don’t run on organic radishes for Christ’s sake.

BILL:

Seb, calm down.  And I told you to watch your mouth.  There could be children in this restaurant.

SEBASTIAN:

Oh God damn it Bill, stop trying to bully me with your piety.  My damn thesis is on the resurgence of socialism in America, not the inevitable defeat of the Godless commies by the good, Christian scions of the free market.  If I lose, what am I supposed to do?  What can I say?

(Bill doesn’t respond)

SEBASTIAN:

(pauses and makes a move) Bill, why won’t you endorse me?  You’re one of the U’s favorite lecturers, and if you had to pick someone in town that was a “pillar of society” you’d be a good choice.

(Bill doesn’t respond)

SEBASTIAN:

People are asking me questions.  “Why can’t you even get Pastor Harold to help you?  How can it be that even he won’t support you?”

(Bill remains silent, and unmoving.  He hasn’t taken his hand out of his pocket.)

SEBASTIAN:

God damn you, Bill Harold, say something!  Stop punishing me!

BILL:

I can’t do it!

SEBASTIAN:

(long pause) Why?

BILL:

Because…  (he makes a slow, careful move) Because if you beat DeSoto, it’s an admission that all of the problems here, all the drugs and the deaths and the misery, it’s all just people torturing people.  There’s no reason or purpose to any of it.

SEBASTIAN:

(awkwardly) Bill, it is just people hurting people.

BILL:

(defiantly) No.  I don’t believe that.  I can’t believe that.  And neither will your voters, Sebastian.  They need to believe that there is a meaning behind the madness.

(Long pause as Seb holds a knight over the board)

BILL:

I need to believe that.

SEBASTIAN:

(with force) I didn’t kill Mom, Bill.  And neither did you.  It was a fucking road accident.  You don’t need to go looking for reason and justice in this.  You don’t need to sacrifice me to your religion.

(He sets down the knight)

BILL:

(dryly) You could of taken my queen just there.

SEBASTIAN:

Yeah, I know.

BILL:

(Pause) Why didn’t you?

SEBASTIAN:

Why didn’t you hit me earlier?  You know my defense is awful, you could have rolled over me with a blitzkrieg fifteen turns ago.

BILL:

Well, I didn’t because– (pauses for some time)

SEBASTIAN:

Because?

BILL:

(softly) Because it’s more important to make your friends happy than to teach them a lesson.  More important to help them than to punish them, even if you think they’re wrong.

SEBASTIAN:

Oh.

(Pause as the two make a move each)

SEBASTIAN:

I’m not your enemy, Bill.

BILL:

I know.

SEBASTIAN:

I’m not God’s enemy, either, Bill.

BILL:

I know that too, Seb.

(Long pause as the two stare at the board)

BILL:

Do you think the Badger Herald will let a non-student publish?  I mean, it is a UW newspaper and I graduated a long time ago.  But it seems a fitting place to write an editorial.

SEBASTIAN:

Yeah, I think they’ll be okay with it.

BILL:

Good.  That’s good.  I’ll call their office tonight.

(SEBASTIAN looks at his cell phone)

SEBASTIAN:

I gotta go, Bill.  I have to meet a volunteer for the pamphlet drives, or something.

BILL:

That’s okay, Seb.  It was nice to see you.

(BILL makes a final move and smirks at SEBASTIAN)

BILL:

It was nice beating you, too.

SEBASTIAN:

(grumbling good-naturedly) Yeah, well, you won’t be so lucky next time.  Lucky old man, that’s all you are.

BILL:

And you’re just a foul mouthed little punk.SEBASTIAN:

Fogy.

BILL:

Whippersnapper.

(They smile at each other.  SEBASTIAN puts some money on the table as BILL gathers up the pieces.  SEBASTIAN takes his papers and his chess clock)

SEBASTIAN:

Bye, Dad.

BILL:

Take care, Sport.

(SEBASTIAN exits stage right.  BILL sits sipping his drink for a while, and SHEILA passes by.)

SHEILA:

Can I help you with anything else, pastor?

BILL:

Hm?  Oh, no thank you, miss—Sheila.

(SHEILA starts to walk away, but BILL suddenly sits up and calls her back)

BILL:

Actually, Sheila, there is one thing.  Next time that my son comes in here, would you talk to him?  He likes you but he’s a little shy.

SHEILA:

You mean Sebastian?  He likes me?

BILL:

Yes, he’s the one.  Just a nice word or two would really lift his spirits.  He’s been a little blue lately, and I worry about him.

(SHEILA smiles and nods to BILL and then bustles off.  BILL finishes his drink but doesn’t leave the restaurant.  After a moment, he takes his hand out of his pocket and slips the wedding ring off his finger.  He looks at it for a second, then sets it down, and spins it on the chessboard.)

(Lights down).

END OF PLAY

There’s this old Groucho Marx joke that goes, “I wouldn’t want to be part of any club that would have me as a member.”

Way back in January, I decided that if I was going to apply to Teach for America, that I was going to do so honestly, publicly chronicling my experience on The Kosmo.  Beginning with an explitive-filled rant, I eased my tone as an interview and subsequent research lead me to ultimately defend the organization, its goals, and its ideals.  Yet despite my new-found admiration for TFA, they remained notably absent from the recently-crowned educational “ground zero” of Detroit.  Then, in ranking each of the 38 TFA regions with a preference from 1-4 on part 37-X of the corps application, there she was—Detroit made No. 39.  At our in-person interview, a good friend inquired as to why Detroit was an option of region preference, when it wasn’t even one of the three “prospective regions” listed on the site.  “Cause you know, I’d like to keep it local, if I could,” he said.  “Detroit’s listed just in case,” our proctor said, “as a contingency.”  No worries.  You don’t really have the possibility of working where you’d really like to if you could.

But my buddy had a point.  Chelsea native Jeff Daniels says that “today, if you’re able to be from Michigan, you need to be from Michigan.” And Michigan needs to be from Detroit.  “Sometimes I say that I’m from Detroit even when I’m not,” Daniels said in his solo act at the Purple Rose back in December.  And he says this without any disrespect towards his nearby hometown.  While phrases associated with “tough economic climate” and “recession” need to be placed in the American literary nursing home, Detroit has borne the brunt of the application of just such political jargon for good reason.  It was not easy being from Detroit.  I can barely count the number of quality New York Times articles I read regarding the D on one hand, let alone on the Fist of a Champion.  But now that the worst is behind us with Government Motors and Chrysler’s successful redefinition of what it means to be an “American” auto manufacturer, it’s time to be from Detroit again.  With Ford on the rebound, the Red Wings having completed a successful comeback campaign of their own, the Tigers in full swing, and President Obama practically on the Michigan commencement circuit, we as the people of the State of Michigan cannot afford to lose this opportunity to redefine not only what it means to be from Detroit, but the meaning and perception of the city itself.

When I learned that I was to work for TFA in Detroit this coming Fall, I was surprised, to say the least.  Last time I checked, the D didn’t even have a program.  The city is in the process of laying off 1,983 teachers, and as many as 28,000 senior teachers statewide may retire this summer as a result of a buyout package designed to close an education State budget shortfall.  Detroit is one of only two or three regions that purposefully assigns corps members with local ties to the region—along with Hawaii—and following training in Chicago this summer, 20 members will be placed in Detroit Public Schools, with 80 going to Detroit charter schools.

Living and working in Detroit proper carries with it all sorts of interesting connotations.  Growing up in Ann Arbor my family would drive into Detroit for College Hockey at the Joe or the Auto Show.  The TFA website describes the city as having a ”friendly Midwestern character, a rich and complex history, and many neighborhood gems to uncover.”  This is slightly more ambiguous than their calling Chicago a  “prominent destination for people looking for new opportunities, both from within the United States and abroad.”  But in the vaguest of terms, Detroit is, of course, “complexly Midwestern.”

When a TFA recruitment director for Kalamazoo mentioned that Detroit corps members had expressed interest in commuting from Ann Arbor, I vomited part of my savory Union beef brisket back into my mouth.  I have been combating the Ann Arbor fetish ever since I heard of a few people leaving K for the opportunity of living and going to school in Ann Arbor my First Year.  The place has been described to me as a “hip little town” from as far away as Albuquerque, NM.  Don’t get me wrong, the Deuce is the Mecca of the Suburbanbohemian.  It makes Boulder look like Canton with its Ikea next to the Target next to the Meijers next to the Best Buy with the Starbucks both in the parking lot and inside the lobby next to the Marie’s hairdresser.  It’s too clean for my purposes. The streets are too nice.  The cops are too bored. I need a little grit.  Come to Kalamazoo if you want to taste beer.  Ann Arbor’s a great place to raise a family if you have a steady income, and till the day I die, Go Blue, but we need to live in Detroit and be from Detroit.

There’s this old Groucho Marx joke that goes, “I wouldn’t want to be apart of any club that would have me as a member.”  I’m glad TFA has returned to Detroit, and I am thankful that I will be going there.  I am glad to be able to keep my energies in the State of Michigan.  We will give ourselves to the City and its children.

Call it ironic, but the combined oral contraceptive pill recently celebrated its fiftieth “birthday” of approval by the Food and Drug Administration in the United States in 1960. From a controversial renegade to a commonplace form of birth control worldwide, “the pill” has come a long way, and boy, do we love it. YAZ, a popular oral contraceptive, advertises its product with young women enjoying the responsibility of habitual birth control, and the .1 percent chance of being pregnant. They prance down the street in brightly colored clothing and make sexy quick changes in the back of taxis.

Who’s to blame them? Young college women can be carefree and sexually active, some starting earlier than others. Though sexual freedom varies from person to person, options like oral contraceptives exist for a reason: no more do women feel constrained to a big analogous family at the age of 25.

“Yaz is not for everyone,” the advertisements caution. That’s for sure. Artificial birth control is a moral sin according to some religions, and the especially opposed with make that clear. Consider the opinion of the Catholic Church, conveyed by Pope Paul VI in 1968:

“It is the whole man and the whole mission to which he is called that must be considered: both its natural, earthly aspects and its supernatural, eternal aspects. And since in the attempt to justify artificial methods of birth control many appeal to the demands of married love or of responsible parenthood, these two important realities of married life must be accurately defined and analyzed” (Paul IV, Humanae Vitae, 1968)

Catholic consent relies on giving what God gave women and men, and that’s baby-making bodies. Woman and man become mother and father, and mother and father teach their children their kindred beliefs. But someday, those children will meet other children; they will hit puberty, and suddenly it’s not black and white anymore. How do we, as all-knowing adults, address this “problem”?

Sexual education in the United States varies with the laws of each state, but starting around six or seventh grade most students receive some form. Those who don’t rely on comprehensive sex education fight respond with abstaining from sex until marriage.

Basking in its own glow of conservative methods, abstinence promotes morality and places virginity on a pedestal—something to be “saved,” they say. How are thirteen-year-olds expected to have their own opinion about something they have never experienced, and are only recently equipped to understand? If the logistics of sexual maturity aren’t explained at neither school nor home, adolescents will figure it out for themselves. And misunderstanding effective birth control is the best way to lead to teenage pregnancy.

I speak of this confusion from experience. I attended a private Catholic school for eight years with one session of sexual education in its entirety. Locking up fifty pre-adolescents in a room with a devout Catholic woman and her merry pair of two abstinent young adults, their message consisted only of this: a solid relationship cannot be formed with sex before marriage, so don’t even think about it.

Never having received the proper education, I had no idea how to use birth control correctly, and did all my research on my own via the World Wide Web, some websites more valid than others. “Birth control is awesum,” “U shuld take THIS kind of pill,” in the manner of illegitimate forum posts. To this day, I am still finding out details about contraceptives that I should have known from the beginning.

My method of researching the pill is admittedly dangerous, and I would never recommend it to anyone. But had I received appropriate education in the first place, I wouldn’t be making risky steps like trusting misspelled reviews of Yaz written by anonymous sources.

Religious schools have every right to teach morality and its connection of giving sex its deserved significance, but evidently, abstinence-only education doesn’t prevent teenage pregnancy. Though the pregnancy rate of 15-19 year olds has dropped in the past fifteen years, it is enough to create TV shows based on pregnant teenagers. These adolescents have got it tough now because they weren’t taught correctly in the first place. If sexual education becomes more than an awkward, rushed lecture by a gym teacher, students could receive legitimate education about having responsible sex. If students weren’t discouraged from asking important questions, and had the resources to do so, Americans could avoid unwanted pregnancies in a momentous way.

Over the past fifty years, globe-trotting women around the world, regardless of their moral status, altered their mindset of the “perfect” family, discovering a world of opportunities beyond a family of eight. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea to promote the convenience of “the pill” to us college women, so that we can take advantage of life’s chances now. The more prepared we are, the more prepared the next generation will be. The oral contraceptive deserves its recognition as a revolutionary drug that challenged what we consider the ideal lifestyle.