Birthday gift

When I left home for university in the early 90s, my mother kept a box full of things I left behind. Recently she shipped that box of stuff back to me. Among the incredibly embarrassing things stashed in the box is a five-page play I wrote early in my high-school career.  Based on items found along with it, I know that I crafted the script when I was 14 years old, in March of 1990.

It is abysmally and appropriately awful, and in re-reading it I can’t help but wonder if I was psychologically stable at that age.  The play is called Kitten, and since today is my birthday, and because my birthdays are about reflection on the past, and because in some cultures the birthday boy gets to offer other people gifts, I am presenting the whole thing here, unedited, with occasional commentary from me.  I waive all rights to ownership of this work, in case you want to mock it or produce it on Broadway. It is only a three-hander and features a simple unit set and easy-to-find props, so it’s actually very economical.  And it makes a poignant commentary on… on how psychologically unstable I was as a teenager.

Enjoy.

KITTEN

CHARACTERS

RALPH: a crazed cat-killer who escaped from an asylum

BUFFY: [NOTE: of course I would name my only female character "Buffy".  Joss Whedon OWES me.] an ex-stripper who wants to become a hotel connessieur [sic] [NOTE: I still can't spell connaisseur. connaisseur. connafuckit.]

OFFICER O’REILLY: [See how early the stereotypes take hold?] a policeman who has been tracking Ralph for a long time [presumably he was easier to track when he was in the asylum.  The timeline is unclear.]

SETTING

New York alley, behind a row of saloons and taverns [that's all there is in New York, right?  The city has never really progressed past the days when Daniel Day Lewis ran wild in the streets].  Garbage is strewn all along the roadway [so... this is Mayor Koch's New York?] and the street and walls are covered with a soot-like material [not actual soot, but something soot-like. Presumably this has something critical to do with the narrative, but we'll never know what.]

RALPH: (enters) Here, kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty!  Come here!  Ralphie’s got a surprise for you…!  Damn!  (hits garbage can) I coulda swore I saw that thing come in here!  (Pause) Cat!  Get out here!  Now!

(A “meow” emanates from behind a garbage bag)

AH – HAH!  I’ve found you now!

(He runs to source of sound and drops to his knees, rummaging through the garbage.  He finds the cat)

Not a bad catch, if I must say so myself.  Nice and plump.  You know, [Ooo. Exposition!] I haven’t had a decent meal in over a week…

(prepares to hit cat with garbage can lid.  BUFFY yells from offstage)

BUFFY:  I didn’t want my paycheck anyway!  [I was a socialist when I was younger.  A psychopathic socialist] You just wait and see, Romey– [ROMEY?!?]

(BUFFY enters, still yelling towards entrance point)

–SOMEDAY I’ll have a whole bunch of hotels [Wait. Take back that socialist thing] and when you need someplace to go, you’ll be lucky if I give you so much as a bucket of ICE!!

(She pauses, adjusts her hair and then searches for her makeup compact) [This, it seems, is the extent of my ability to flesh out a female character.  Little has changed in the ensuing two decades]

Now where did I put my mascara? [See? Complex female character.]

RALPH:  Damnit!  That cat got away again (addresses BUFFY) – I been following him for WEEKS, ya know… Well, maybe not weeks.  Well, at least an HOUR!  Did I mention that I haven’t eaten? [EXPOSITION AND FORESHADOWING??!?]

(Suddenly shakes his head, as if waking up)

WHOA!  I ain’t never seen such a cat before!  So BIG!  [Yes, people.  Suspension of disbelief was important at this age.  I was naive enough to think it would work, and naive enough to COMPLETELY AVOID all of the obvious pussy jokes in this play] Allow me to introduce myself.  I am an escaped crazy man named Ralph. [Exposition!] And you?

BUFFY:  I’m Buffy.  Maybe you’ve heard of me.  [New York is small. Not many strippers.] Probably not.  (nonchalantly) On stage in the strip bar [More exposition!] — where I used to work — they call me Kitten.  I’m a stripper.  [In case that's not clear yet.]

RALPH:  No.

BUFFY:  No what?

RALPH:  No.  Yer not a stripper.

BUFFY:  Oh?  (interested) What am I?

RALPH:  Dinner.  [Oh God.]

BUFFY:  (Surprised) Oh!  (Giggles) You mean a date?  (Seriously) Well, I — uh — I didn’t know–

RALPH:  (Advancing in on her) C’mon, Kitten!  Just you and me.  A nice meal.  ‘Course, when it’s done, it’ll be just me, but I’ll never forget how good you tasted.  [I SWEAR TO GOD I had no idea what I was writing.  And, for the record, I didn't come out of the closet for at least another five years]

BUFFY:  (Realizing) Oh!  (Stupidly) [Here is the obvious reaction to what has just been said:] You’re cheating on your wife, aren’t you?  Well, I’ll have no part in it–

RALPH:  No, Kitten — YOU’RE the dinner.  I haven’t had a good meal in — well — over a month, and you are the most meaty cat I’ve seen in a while… [Again. My naivete is charming.  When did I lose it?]

BUFFY:  You beast!  You’re so sick that a flu bug wouldn’t go near you for fear of catching something!  [oh snap.]

RALPH:  (Stops) Wait a minute!  What did I ever do to you?

BUFFY:  (Unbelieving) HAH!  You’re trying to eat me!

RALPH:  (whining) I’m a hungry man!

BUFFY:  Then eat your shirt!  It’s all you deserve, you — you brainless crazy!  [oh snap.]

RALPH:  (whimpering) (falls to knees) Yer bein’ mean!  All I’m trying to do is save my miserable life so I can commit suicide properly and yer MAKIN’ ME MISERABLE!  (wails) [Then, as now, my narrative logic was infallible]

BUFFY:  Oh — I — uh — I — didn’t mean to make you cry –

(RALPH wails again)

– oh — don’t do that — here

(pulls handkerchief out from cleavage [of course])

– use my handkerchief

(RALPH takes handkerchief, honks noisily, wails again)

Did I — uh — mention that I enjoy being with sick, brainless, crazed people with soft sides?

RALPH:  (sniffs) Really?

BUFFY:  (fake smile) Sure I do!  (rolls eyes)

RALPH:  Well — (regains strength; stops crying)  [Note my judicious, early, and wise use of the semicolon there.   I think that's the best writing in this script] — how about if we maybe — uh — go to the department store and play with the display toys!  [Because this is what two adults do with one another after one adult has threated to kill and eat the other one]

BUFFY:  (Grimaces) OK.

RALPH: (Smiling now) Yeah!  And then after that we can go to the grocery store and raid the free sample trays! [My love affair with food is old and deep.  The fact that our antagonist knows there is free food available at a grocery store renders this entire SCRIPT unnecessary, and is a realization I am making only now.]

BUFFY:  (fake smile) Sure…!

RALPH: C’mon then!  Let’s go!

(takes BUFFY’s hand, starts leading her away [WAIT.  Wasn't there supposed to be another character in this play?!?])

What’s that?

BUFFY:  A police siren, I think. [Exposition!]

RALPH:  Hide me, then!  They’re comin’ for me — and I didn’t even get a chance to eat!

BUFFY:  Get behind that garbage can — quick!

(RALPH does)

OFFICER: [No doubt speaking in a broad Irish brogue] Ralphie… come to the nice man and you’ll get a nice kitty for lunch… (sees BUFFY, tips hat) Hi there, miss!  I don’t suppose you’ve seen a crazy cat lover ’round here?

BUFFY:  (Obviously lying) Nope.  Not here.

OFFICER:  (Sensing her lie) Are you certain, now?

BUFFY:  (pauses, then turns to face RALPH’s hiding place) Sorry, Ralph — you’re just not my type.  [oh snap!  No wonder I'm gay! Women suck!] (faces OFFICER, whispers) Get him out of here — quick!

OFFICER:  OK Ralph, game’s over.  Come out.

RALPH: (Crying — leaving hiding spot) It’s not fair. I still won’t get a decent meal.  (stops by BUFFY) — Unless our date’s still on — I promise I won’t eat you  (sighs)

BUFFY:  Sorry, Ralph — No go.  I’ve decided to become a missionary [!!!], and I don’t want to leave you if I get to know you too well.

RALPH:  (With OFFICER now) OK then.  (turns to OFFICER) Say, I don’t suppose you saw a fat, juicy cat on your way in…

CURTAIN