Bright as Yellow Out of Sight

Daniel:                  Can’t believe it’s been years. Did you do it?

Claire:                   Yes.

Daniel:                  Too bad. I can’t ever see your paintings.

Claire:                   You can feel the images on the canvas.

Daniel:                  It’s not the same.

(beat)

Daniel:                  What colors do you like to use?

Claire:                   I’m fond of reds and yellows. My somber paintings are blue.

Daniel:                  What’s yellow to you?

Claire:                   The sun, at certain times of the day.

Daniel:                  I don’t understand.

Claire:                   Come with me, I will take you outside.

Daniel:                  But you haven’t answered my question.

                (beat)

Daniel:                  It’s warm and I can feel the cool air. Where are we?

Claire:                   We’re in yellow.

Daniel:                  A sunny day?

Claire:                   Breathe, Daniel.

Daniel:                  I’m breathing yellow?

Claire:                   Yes.

Daniel:                  I feel so warm and light. Can I taste it too?

Claire:                   Uhuh.

Daniel:                  How?

Claire:                   If you’ve ever relished the sweetness of honey, it’s yellow.

Daniel:                  Oh. Let’s have some today.

                (beat)

Daniel:                  Claire, what’s it like to paint?

Claire:                   It feels like dreaming, only I’m awake.

Misogyny in AA Psychotherapy

Dr. Grey:      Tell me about the things you would rather undo.

Ms. Maudlin: I told you, it was a lost year. Shouldn’t you ask for what I should have done?

Dr. Grey:       I must really cut down your Prozac. You’re being apprehensive again.

Ms. Maudlin: I am not. And the dosage is fine.

                     (beat)


Ms. Maudlin: Let me see. There was Mr. Musician, Mr. Painter and Mr. Writer.

Dr. Grey:       You seem fond of these types. What do you suppose you get out of their company?

Ms. Maudlin: Nothing.

Dr. Grey:       Hmm, alright… So, in what group do you classify them?

Ms. Maudlin: Manipulative egotistic bastards.

Dr. Grey:       I see. And why do you associate with them?

Ms. Maudlin: I give myself away.

Dr. Grey:       Oh, right. You’re a—

Ms. Maudlin: Don’t say it, bitch! I know you think low of us!

                   (beat)

Ms. Maudlin: Dr. Grey, isn’t your husband a musician?

Dr. Grey:       That isn’t relevant.

Ms. Maudlin:  But don’t you want to know more about him?

Dr. Grey:        No, thank you. I think I know enough.

Ms. Maudlin:  Why? Aren’t you going to do anything about it?

Dr. Grey:        That’s it. I’m changing your Prozac to Valium.

A Smoke with the Old Man After the Funeral

Little Miss Wistful:           I hope I’m not disappointing you too much.

Sir Dragonfly:                  Don’t worry. You never did. Mind if I take your wish stick?

Little Miss Wistful:          Go ahead. Sir, how come we never shared a smoke when you were 
                                      around?

Sir Dragonfly:                  Look kid, you know cigarettes kill. You should quit.

Little Miss Wistful:           I know, sir. But then, we all go anyway. What’s the point?

Sir Dragonfly:                  I used to say the same thing. Don’t steal my words.

Little Miss Wistful:           Oh. I’m sorry, sir.

Sir Dragonfly:                  It’s alright. You’re getting old, try to take care of yourself.

              

               (beat)

Sir Dragonfly:                  I see you took my night spot.

Little Miss Wistful:          I’ve been coming here to smoke since you left.

Sir Dragonfly:                 Stay as long as you want. Just remember to clean up.

Little Miss Wistful:          Sir, I took your camera too. Do you mind?

Sir Dragonfly:                 Take it. The place is yours now, kid.        

Little Miss Wistful:          So, I won’t be seeing you soon?

Sir Dragonfly:                 No.

Little Miss Wistful:          For how long?

Sir Dragonfly:                 Until the last day you write.

Little Miss Wistful:          But I’ve so much to write.

                (beat)

Sir Dragonfly:                 Hey, kid.

Little Miss Wistful:          Yes, sir?

Sir Dragonfly:                 Don’t forget to take my dog to the vet.

Little Miss Wistful:          Don’t worry, I will. 

Years After You've Withered

A Conversation with My Dead Dream Girl 


XX: I apologize for deliberately losing you. All those years in the same hallway truly meant so much to me. We could have at least shared a cigarette?


XY: I remember the first time we spoke. We were alike in so many ways. Sadly, I shunned myself from bright elements like you.


XX: I was wrong. We failed to have this because we were so afraid of ourselves. Do you think that kind of likeness can save?


XY: I wish you could have stayed. I wish you knew your kind was never really alone.