Stage Right: Patio overlooking the rose garden.

  Stage Left: Pool house. Small bar with stool, beat-up chair, rat’s cage.

  Far Stage Right: A traditional glass greenhouse.

  Far Stage Left: A car.

  Drop Curtain: There is a drop upstage. The top part of the sky area is almost white, to allow for projections. Beyond the main house, there is a town built up a hill behind it, and many homes. In the top right corner, one particular house stands out and is enlarged and detailed, including a window.

  Key Feature of Drop: A window is cut into the drop high in the top right corner (stage left). Behind this window is a platform for an actor to stand and look through the window toward the audience.

  LEGEND

  Jane’s Bedroom

  Jane’s en Suite

  Dining Room

  Kitchen

  Sitting Room

  Study

  Patio

  Greenhouse

  Pool House/Milorad’s Pad/Brutus’s Cage

  Drop with Town Stretching into the Distance

  Aunt Finch’s Window

  White Area for Projection

  PRODUCTION NOTES

  It is the year 2025. The global pandemic is five years old and Jane is tired of being cooped up in her Victorian house with her rule-making father and her brother…and her mother, who is confined to a System of tubes that run throughout the house.

  Jane has been secretly sneaking off with her punk band, Free Mother, and playing small clubs in Philadelphia, Harrisburg, and New Jersey. What she wants: to go to actual high school; to free her mother from the System; to play punk music; and to fall in love.

  DEDICATION

  To My Mother

  Librettists have historically received less prominent credit than the composer. In some seventeenth-century operas still being performed, the name of the librettist was not even recorded.

  —Wikipedia

  ACT I, SCENE 1

  INT. PUNK CLUB—LATE NIGHT

  JANE is onstage in a dank little punk club with her three bandmates. She is screaming the end of a song into a microphone and the crowd is screaming back.

  ENTER: MILORAD from the back of the crowd. He stands, rocking his head as if he enjoys the music.

  JANE (to crowd)

  It was good to see you, Philadelphia! My ride is here!

  CROWD

  No! No! No!

  The crowd looks around for Milorad, who looks down and tries to fit in. They hold lighters and phone flashlights above their heads.

  Encore! Encore!

  JANE

  Looks to Milorad, who gives her a small nod with his eyes closed.

  Well…maybe just one more.

  CROWD

  *screams*

  Jane sits on the edge of the stage, swinging her legs and swaying from side to side with the band’s ballad-paced intro.

  Song: “Where Are You Going?”

  JANE

  WHERE ARE YOU GOING

  SWEET LITTLE GIRL?

  WHERE DID YOU WANDER TODAY?

  WHERE IS YOUR MOTHER?

  GO FIND YOUR BROTHER,

  BRING HIM BACK HOME RIGHT AWAY.

  Jane slowly stands up. She leans over as she continues to sing.

  JANE

  WHERE ARE YOU GOING

  SWEET LITTLE GIRL?

  WHY DO YOU LOOK SO CONFUSED?

  YOU’VE GOT ALL YOU NEEDED

  YOU’VE NEVER ONCE HEEDED

  THE RULES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL USED.

  The band plays for two measures and Jane paces the stage quickly and intensely. She scream-sings the rest of the song.

  JANE

  I’M SIXTEEN YEARS OLD

  I DO WHAT I’M TOLD

  MY MOTHER’S LOCKED UP LIKE A RAT.

  WHILE MARTA IS SEWING

  SHE ASKS ‘WHERE YOU GOING?’

  LIKE I KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT.

  BAND

  LIKE I KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT.

  Jane continues to pace. The song changes tempo and key. Ballad turns to punk very quickly.

  JANE (screaming)

  HOW DO I KNOW WHERE I’M GOING?

  HOW DO I KNOW WHERE I’VE BEEN?

  HOW DO I KNOW WHAT TO DO NOW?

  HOW DO I KNOW NOT TO SIN?

  NOT TO SIN!

  NOT TO SIN!

  BAND and JANE

  NOT TO SIN!

  NOT TO SIN!

  HOW DO I KNOW WHERE I’M GOING?

  AND HOW DO I KNOW NOT TO SIN?

  Jane jumps into the crowd, face up, and surfs her loyal fans.

  JANE

  WHERE ARE YOU GOING

  YOU SWEET LITTLE GIRL?

  WHY ARE YOU RUNNING SO FAST?

  DOES YOUR DADDY REMEMBER

  THE PROMISE HE RENDERED?

  HOW DO YOU HANDLE YOUR PAST?

  BAND and JANE

  WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

  WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

  WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

  AND WILL IT BE SAFE?

  WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

  WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

  WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

  WILL YOU FIND YOUR PLACE?

  BAND plays fast and loud. Jane is returned from her crowd-surfing to the stage.

  Jane paces the stage, bangs her head, while the music roars. She makes eye contact with Milorad.

  JANE

  WILL YOU EVER FUCKING FIND YOUR PLACE?

  Song ends. CROWD jumps and jostles and yells. Jane makes a small curtsy and motions her arm to the stage.

  JANE

  This is Free Mother! David on drums!

  CROWD

  *roars*

  JANE

  That’s Ellis—finest bassist this hemisphere!

  CROWD

  *roars*

  DAVID and ELLIS play a small rhythm section riff while Jane and the guitarist talk close into each other’s ears.

  JANE

  And this is WENDYLISA on guitar!

  CROWD

  *roars*

  WENDYLISA throws her pick into the crowd and takes her guitar from around her neck. Milorad moves toward the stage against a steady current of sweaty punk fiends.

  Jane fist-bumps her bandmates and picks up a backpack on the side of the stage, peels off her sweaty jeans and replaces them with ill-fitting khakis. She pulls off her soaked black top and replaces it with a plain blue T-shirt, then removes her bra from underneath. She shoves the sweaty clothing into the backpack and heaves it over her shoulder. Houselights are turned on. Jane makes her way to the edge of the stage and jumps down to meet Milorad, who hands her makeup wipes and she wipes off the black eyeliner and lipstick.

  FAN

  Jane! Jane! I love you!

  JANE

  I love you too!

  FAN

  Marry me!

  JANE

  I’m sixteen!

  FAN

  Okay! Marry me later!

  JANE

  Okay!

  MILORAD

  We must go.

  JANE

  Of course we must.

  MILORAD

  He is angry.

  JANE

  When isn’t he?

  MILORAD

  This is fair question.

  JANE (to fans waiting to talk)

  I’m sorry, friends. I must go.

  MILORAD

  She must. I am sorry. (No one really hears him.)

  FAN

  Free Jane!

  JANE

  Free Jane!

  FANS and BAND

  Free Jane! Free Jane! Free Jane!

  Milorad and Jane leave club, get into the car.

  FADE TO BLACK

  LESSON ONE: THE WORLD AND ITS SEVEN CONTINENTS

  Today is Monday, September 23, 2024

  “North America is home to twenty-three countries,” Vernon says, “entirely located in the Northern and Western Hemispheres.”

  Vernon looks over my shoulder as I write notes.

  “Did you draw that?” he asks.

  I redden. I am sixteen and I still doodle to keep my brain busy. “Yes,” I say.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” he says. He adds rhetorically, “Or should I fetch you an art tutor?”

  I look to Mother in the corner, inside of her capsule. She is smiling at me. I look back down at the doodle. It’s a flower in a vase. I look back to Mother. She is a flower in a vase, too.

  “Can you name the twenty-three countries in North America?” he asks.

  “I thought there were only three,” I say. “America, Canada, and Mexico.” I know all twenty-three but I don’t want to spoil his fun.

  He points his index finger in the air. “Ah! For you, then, we shall learn the other twenty before the end of the week.”

  I look over at Mother and she’s smiling, still. She’s wearing a pair of men’s suit pants, a blue T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and is barefoot. Her exposed shoulders are broad, toned, and so white. Her feet look like mine—arches shallow and big by design. I am nearly five foot nine now—two full inches taller than my father.

  “How many Central American countries can you remember from last year?” he asks. “We did learn this last year, you know. Though I suppose that’s not relevant.”

  “I remember Belize and Costa Rica and El Salvador,” I say. “Oh! And Guatemala!” I put my wait finger up. I know that I know the countries of Central America. I look at Mother in the corner again and she’s sitting cross-legged on her chair in the capsule, eyes closed. “Panama!” I say, “and Nicaragua!”

  Vernon is also staring at Mother in the tube. “You’re missing one,” he says.

  I whisper the ones I already said to myself. “There are seven in total, right?”

  “Seven,” he says, still watching Mother while she breathes slowly and calmly in the tube. “You’ve only named six.”

  “Huh,” I say.

  Vernon fetches a globe that is wildly out of date. It still has the U.S.S.R. on it.

  “I don’t want to cheat,” I say. “I can remember.”

  “Go alphabetical,” he says. “You can do it.”

  Belize, Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala…“Honduras!”

  “Brilliant!” he says. “You’ve done it.”

  “Of course,” I say. “I was taught by the best.”

  Mother has a song on her 2010 album titled “Grease the Gears.” The lyrics are made entirely of compliments. We all know the key to Vernon’s door.

  He smiles and ruffles my hair. “That’s ten of twenty-three.”

  “I can’t think of thirteen other countries in North America,” I say. “I’m actually a bit confused.”

  “Think for a minute. I’ve got to get Henry onto his algebra.”

  I look back to Mother while Vernon tends to Henry.

  We look at each other. She is smiling, but her eyes look vexed. Her eyes look like mine.

  Home Movie—03.09.2007

  Vernon is in the foyer, a suitcase next to him. Mother is out of sight.

  She says from offscreen, “You can’t just leave!”

  “You’re so selfish!” he says. “The first day I met you, you said you wanted a family!”

  “With a man who loves me, yes,” Mother says.

  “And I clearly love you. I don’t see what the problem is.” Vernon says this with his teeth clenched.

  “You think it’s clear? With that tone of voice?”

  “Everything is a test with you!” he says. “You’re always just trying to screw everyone over!”

  “Whom have I screwed over, Vernon?”

  He chuckles. “Me, for one!”

  Mother sighs. She walks into the foyer and tries to pick up Vernon’s suitcase, but he slaps her hand away. She brings her forearm close and rubs the wrist area.

  “Now you’ll tell your friends I hit you again, I suppose!”

  “Stop being paranoid,” she says.

  “Why won’t you do this one thing for me? You know I always wanted to be a father!”

  She shakes her head and laughs a bit. “We’ve been over this. I can’t bring children into the world with a man who hurts me. It’s not right. It’s just not right.”

 

  This was one of the first home movies I saw. It’s from 2007, the year before I was born. Mother and Vernon had been married for eight years.

 

  “Well, how about I promise to not hurt you? Would that be agreeable?”

  Mother is still rubbing her wrist from where he slapped it seconds earlier. She doesn’t answer.

  “I’m so sorry, Mina. I never mean to hurt you,” he says. “I’m very sorry.”

  Mother says nothing. He reaches for her arm and rubs it with the back of his fingers. Her face makes a sort of conciliatory grimace. It’s not a smile.

  “How I love to see you smile!” Vernon sings.

  Mother frowns to herself. Vernon hugs her so enthusiastically you can hear the air in her lungs exit with the force. “Vernon! Not so hard!”

  He releases her—as if a venomous snake—and pushes her across the small room. “Jesus Christ! You’re impossible to love!”

  She regains her balance and leaves the room, still holding her wrist.

  He picks up the nearest thing—a small brass bowl—and throws it at her from behind and then he shrugs on his overcoat and picks up his suitcase.

  “No one else will want you! You’re no good to me…or, or to anyone…without children!”

  Mother pleads softly in the background. “Please.”

  “Fuckin’ useless!” he growls. “What a waste.” Vernon picks up his suitcase and turns his body to look directly at her in the hall. “I’m going to stay with my mother!” he yells. With that, he opens the door, steps through, and slams it behind him.

  The second the door is closed, Mother reappears and latches the two locks, then leans down and fastens the floor bolt. She takes a deep inhale and lets it out, her back to the door. She slowly looks up to the foyer camera.

  “I’ll figure it out,” she says directly to me, watching, seventeen years later, “I promise.”

 

  Henry’s Algebra

  “Stop crying!” Vernon says. “How are you going to get anywhere in life?”

  Henry wasn’t made to sit inside and do schoolwork.

  Henry continues crying. Not to spite our father, but because he is a sensitive twelve-year-old boy. I look to Mother in her plexiglass prison. She has her hands facing outward and is aiming toward Henry, as if she is sending him good energy. She is still smiling. She is usually smiling. It’s perplexing.

  Henry dries his tears on his shirtsleeve and asks a question about exponents.

  Vernon says, “Check your textbook. I don’t know algebra!”

  I say, “Yes. Exponents can have variables.”

  Then there are sounds from the kitchen—a pan dropping and a loud bang. And then Marta: “Fuck!”

  Henry giggles.

  Then some more bangs that sound like a rolling pin on stainless steel kitchen counters. I hear her open the back door.

  “Milorad!” she yells. “Your rat is loose again!”

  I stare back at my notes. Ten more countries in North America. I look back to Mother and try to figure out why she’s smiling. I look back at my doodle and think about an art tutor. I look at Henry and say, “Why don’t you get Henry a tutor for his algebra?”

  Vernon looks at me and mocks, his hands clasped before him. “Why ever don’t I fetch someone to help?”

  “I think it’s a good idea is all,” I say.

  “I’m sure you do.”

  I look around for Brutus, Milorad’s lost rat. No rats here.

  Home Movie—07.19.2008 (498 Days After the Last Home Movie)

  I am an infant. Mother is holding me and humming a song. Vernon is pacing in the sitting room, from velvet-curtained window to velvet-curtained window, ranting.

  “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” he says.

  “Tell me another time, Vernon,” she says softly.

  He stops pacing and faces us. “I went out for a single round of golf. It was very civilized. No alcohol passed my lips. I was completely sober when I came home. The memory you have of me must be mistaken.” His face turns from stern to soft. “You must know that everything I do, it’s for you, my love. Let’s not dwell in the past.”

  “Okay,” she says. “Your vodka breath and the way you stumbled to the door, and the fact that you lost your favorite putter is all in the past. Of course all you do is for me.”

  Vernon looks appeased.

  Mother continues. “I can feel it every night when you don’t come to bed.”

  “GOD DAMMIT!” Vernon screams. He picks up the small end table next to Mother’s chair and throws it across the room. It splits into pieces and knocks over a potted plant. Dirt spills out. Mother barely flinches, though she does hold me tighter against her chest.

  He whimpers, “Why must you insult me all the time?”

  “I was just trying to get you to tell the simple truth. It’s not a bad thing to tell the truth. And who doesn’t get drunk while golfing every now and again?”