since 2/24/98

WHITE TRASH
(C) Doug Smeath, 1996

Scene 1

Scene: Inside an old, small-town church. It is the 1990's, and the church is in a small town deep in Alabama. There is an old, deteriorating hardwood pulpit upstage left, standing three-quarters toward the audience, facing an onstage audience, all dressed in dark clothing and crying, all caucasians, who sits downstage right. A preacher is standing behind the pulpit, also dressed in black. There are three seats behind the pulpit, but only one person sitting there. She is the only black person in the room, and she looks very nervous.


Preacher: (a tall, skinny old white man with a ragged black suit that seems to cling to his shoulders for dear life, hanging loosely over his thin body. His hair is a tangled white mess, tinted with a strange orange hue that matches the orange hue of the bags of skin under his eyes and on his cheeks. A mustache of the same color hangs under his long, thin nose. Most noticeably, his thin legs are shaking violently under the "weight" of his body. He speaks in a southern accent, and in this situation, he is trying to sound important and dignified. Reading.) My friends, we come here t'day to honor and remember our dear friend, neighbor, son, comrade, and associate, Michael Hart, taken in his prime from our presence, with so much life still to live. Michael meant a lot of things to a lot of people. I will now turn the time over to those who knew and loved Michael best.

(Audience sits, nervously looking around at each other. After almost thirty seconds of nervous silence, a hugely fat woman in an enormous purple dress stands up. Her giant blue eyes are like ponds, and water is literally bubbling from them. Most comic of all, she is actually wearing a black veil. This is Mrs. Hart, Michael's mother.)

Mrs Hart: My son... my poor son... He's dead, oh, he's dead! (sobbing loudly, uncontrollably, sniffling in an exaggerated way, gasping frantically for air, she stands there for another thirty seconds, everything once again awkwardly silent except for her tragically humorous hyperventilation, snorts, and vocal outburts. She finally "contains herself," and is just able to blubber out her next words.) And it's all that (sniff)... that nigger's fault! (she points at the black woman behind the pulpit. The audience stirs loudly, some whispering loud words of disbelief, most whispering loud words of agreement, all making the scene silently chaotic. Mrs. Hart sits down.)

(The room settles once again into silence, more awkward now than ever, as all attention is "discreetly" focussed on the poor black woman behind the pulpit. She is finding it hard to sit still. She avoids looking out at the audience, though once or twice her eyes pass by Mrs. Hart's, and she finds herself unable to turn away from Mrs. Hart's stare for two or three seconds. After more than half a minute, Debra's eyes are pleading with the preacher for relief. He stands at the pulpit.)

Preacher: (nervously, almost apologetically) Well, if no one else has anything they want to say... Uh... It looks like we're gonna get on with the program. The only scheduled speaker for today is... (wincing, hesitating) is Miss Debra Morris.

(gasps from the audience. The black woman behind the pulpit breathes deeply, stands, and approaches the pulpit. All eyes are on her.)

Debra: I... I loved Michael. I-- (breaking into sobs of pain and guilt. After a few moments, less dramatic than Mrs. Hart's lamentation and completely devoid of humor, she wipes her eyes, breathes more slowly and appears to be regaining herself. She looks up and sees Mrs. Hart staring at her, and she once again loses it.) I am the one who killed Michael! Well, I mean, it's my fault those men killed him! Oh, they killed the man I love! (Audience stares, stunned and almost horrified.) Michael always told me that the most important thing in life was to be yourself! He said that! 'Don't be afraid of what you feel! Show the world what you feel!' He said that all the time! And I loved him for it! So what else would I do but show how much I loved him, as often and as much as I could?! (She drops her head, but as soon as the awkward silence returns, she quickly raises it and tries to talk some more.) I held his hand! Oh, I should have known...! But I held his hand anyway, and they... they knew, everyone could see! They hated him for it! Hated me, too, but really hated him! Oh, what have I done?


Scene 2

Scene: A cool August night, outside a busy restaurant. The sky, the breeze, the trees, the whole mood is very peaceful, very southern, very romantic. Michael and Debra emerge from the restaurant.

Debra: (laughing, apparently just ending some conversation she and Michael had been having inside.) Oh, wow. It's a beautiful night! It's amazing! Nights like this remind me why I left Chicago and came to Alabama! I feel so at home here! (In the ecstasy and romance of the scene, she grabs Michael's hand.)

Michael: (an enthusiastic, intelligent, light-hearted southern accent, and all he is now saying is just idle, friendly chit-chat, obviously Michael's specialty.) Well, Chicago's a nice place, too. You know, they call it the windy city, yes, and there's lots of crime, and I hear the pollution is horrible. But there's the... Oh, and of course there's the freezing cold weather. But I hear it has excellent... I mean, despite the chaos and the dirty streets and... Hey, is there anything pleasant about Chicago?! (all said with a smile)

Debra: (also cheerful, light-hearted, and smiling) Well, I remember that I liked it. But since I have met you, I really can't remember what I liked about that pl--." (As they round a corner, the light of the full moon reveals three approaching figures. They didn't look sinister or out of place at all, but Debra seems uncomfortable, and she abruptly stops talking, stiffens, and clings more tightly to Michael.)

Michaelglancing at her, puzzled, and then continuing the conversation in his light-hearted way. He is only barely aware of, and not at all affected by, the presence of the three figures. His gracious compliments to himself he says jokingly and very charismatically) Oh, I am sure there's someone in Chicago who's as good-looking, caring, strong, intelligent, brave, and gentle as me... (They are simultaneously getting closer to the approaching figures, and as they pass them, one of the figures stretches out his foot casually and trips Michael. Michael tumbles to the ground and crashes into a nearby tree trunk. Debra gasps in panic, but Michael stands up as coolly as possible, takes Debra by the hand, and continues walking.)

White Man #1: Ah, look at the tough guy, walkin' away, all heroic-like! Hey, nigger-lover, no one ignores me! (He runs at Michael, who is pretending to be oblivious, and pushes him over from behind. His two companions run behind, and all three commence kicking the fallen Michael very violently. Debra is screaming in horror, but Michael is only gasping and moaning, almost as much from alarm as from pain, as he struggles to get up and to fight the men off. But he is no match, and he is soon unconscious. Debra, meantime, is frantically running around, at one moment running toward the men as if in hopes of saving Michael, at the next running toward the restaurant for help, and then again running back to Michael, unable to leave him. In this panic, she is getting nowhere. One of the white men, White Man #2, produces a small pocketknife from somewhere.)

White Man #2: Hey, Bubba! Here ya go! (He tosses White Man #3, "Bubba," the knife, and Bubba catches it. He quickly slides out the blade, as Debra screams more frantically and begins kicking White Man #1, trying to get to Bubba and stop him. But #1 easily holds her back, and Bubba is able to quickly bury the blade into the top of Michael's head. The three men run off.)

White Man #1: (turning back as he runs away) After you bury him, find yourself a colored man and ruin his life instead!

(Debra runs to a ditch, almost offstage, and vomits.)


Scene 3

Scene: Back at the church, Debra still standing there, the same look on her face as when the reminiscing began. Only seconds have passed. A middle aged white man in the audience stands. He's wearing a black suit, and he looks like an outraged conservative member a city council that's trying to move the start of the school day to 8:00 instead of 7:45. He is dramatically waving his fist. Audience Man: Yeah, you killed him! So why the hell don't you move back to Milwaukee, or wherever you came from!

(Debra looks back at him for a moment with the look on her face of someone who can't think of a good answer to a question, someone convinced by someone else's argument. She stares one more time at Mrs. Hart, her look half hopeless, half resolute. She glances back at the preacher, picks her papers up off of the pulpit, and runs, with a purpose, out of the church. Curtain.)

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