Glass Delusion

Characters:

Rene Bedeau, a French Philosopher

Jeanne Bedeau, Rene’s Mother

Setting:

New York, New York

Act One

Scene 1

The scene opens with Rene lying in her bed too paranoid to use the bathroom.

Rene [Aside]: The bathroom is 12 ft away, and the hallway is 4 ft wide and the celieing is 8 ft high. That means the volume of the room is 384 feet cubed, that leaves a lot of room for me to accidently slip on something and shatter into pieces. But I need to use the bathroom so bad.

ENTER: Jeanne comes fuming into Rene’s bedroom.

Jeanne: Rene I knew I would find you here. Have you even gotten up today? What kind of philosopher are you? How many times do I have to tell you this is unhealthy; and don’t give me your bullshit about how you’ve hit a low point in your life that needs to be properly analyzed.

Rene: Mother, please. I was actually just about to get up to use the bathroom. And that reasoning is not bullshit. This is a natural part of life.

Jeanne: It may be natural, but you thinking that your body can shatter at any moment is NOT in the slightest bit NATURAL.

Rene: Well, yes, I understand that; however, in the mean time you yelling at me does not make me feel safe to go to the bathroom. The vibrations of your voice bouncing off the walls are making my skin crack as we speak.

Jeanne: Oh my lord, Rene, I am truly worried about you. Please get out of this house for me. Please, you’re my only daughter and I don’t think I’m ready to make you see someone just yet.

Rene: Mother, don’t be so dramatic. I’ll make it to the grocery store today I promise. [Aside]: I just have to find my most protective gear, bundle up, then make it to the super market without anyone touching bumping into me. [To her]: So what is the weather outside?

Jeanne: Lucky for you its hot, 77 degrees, I think. But you had better hurry rain is in the forecast.

Rene: Lovely. Thank you for stopping by, Mother. You can go now.

Jeanne: You know I’m just doing this because I care about you, Rene.

Rene: Noted.

Jeanne EXITS the room. Leaving Rene in her room alone again.

Rene: I know she loves me, but why can’t she just understand how dangerous the world is and how fragile people can be? I suppose she may have a point, however; I haven’t written anything in months and the last I saw of the great outdoors there was snow on the ground. Now its 77 degrees out. Shit. But I’m happy I missed the winter; I could not handle the treacherous winds or the immense snowfall this year. Come to think about it I saw on the news that 2011 had one of the worst winters since 2006, averaging 56.1 inches of snow falling in January alone. Placing it on the top five worst winters in New York Cities history. But now to face the wrath of finding the appropriate attire, I still have my winter clothes out and the summer clothes are in boxes on top of my closet. Lord knows I don’t have the strength to be moving boxes around. It’s probably for the best anyway; skimpy clothing will only increase the potential of my demise. So what to wear?

Rene stares at her closet for a long while, until finally deciding on an outfit that is suitable. She takes a long look in the mirror, takes a deep breath, and unlocks her door.

Act One

Scene 2

Rene has made it to the subway. She only has to ride it for two stops.

Rene: The subway is different than I remember. So many people; I do suppose its rush hour. Ugh, why must these trains be so shaky? I can just picture some belligerent ass stumbling to gain balance and falling on me. That would surely be the end of my existence. Maybe I should stand up and move to the back of the train car, people seem calmer back there.

Rene standup and gracefully moves towards the back.

Rene: Its much better back here. These people look friendly. I wonder if any of them have similar issues? Do their moms come storming into their homes? Even if not similar, they certainly look like they have issues. The Vietnam veteran, to my left, is doing crossword puzzles. He is wearing a Vietnam vet hat that I want to think is his, however, I know it is quite possible for him to have found that on the street yesterday and needed it to protect his balding head from burning. He looks wise but old and weathered. He probably has some great stories with horrific imagery. He would understand the precious value of life. He would understand my paranoia. And the cancer-ridden couple, slowly making their way off the train, how long have they been together? I’m going to guess 25 years and I’m going to guess they have stayed together through the stage 2 breast cancer, and the husband’s struggle with heart disease. They would know my struggling strive to stay healthy and out of harms way. They would understand the beauty in being healthy. Or what about the transsexual ten-year-old, sitting on my right closest to the exist doors. I’m sure he can appreciate my winter jacket and ankle supporting boots in this 77 degree whether, for how could he not? Or rather how could she not?

Rene silences her thoughts to listen to the automated announcement informing her of the next stop.

Rene: My stop is next; that means I have to make my way through the crowd in front of me. I don’t want to leave my odd friends, even though they don’t know we are friends. My legs are shaking; I don’t think I’m going to be able to exist the train here. I feel too comfortable standing with my carnie comrades. And what happens if the train comes to a halt, I’ll just go flying and splinter. I’m surprised my arms have been able to support me this whole time. I’m not sure how much more I can take. Mother should have never have come over. Shit, we are approaching my stop. I can’t, too many people, too dangerous, too weak. But how am I supposed to make it back to my sheltered abode?

The train is moving quickly, approaching Rene’s stop faster and faster. She begins to move her legs and grabs onto the rubber handles hanging from the ceiling bar to support her. People are pushing and shoving and her heart is racing, she’s loosing her breath, she may pass out. The train stops and she trips. People swarm and someone calls 911.

End Scene

Act one

Scene 3

Rene is in the hospital and has just woken up.

Rene: Where am I? Why can’t I sit up? Where are my arms? Holy Fuck, WHERE ARE MY ARMS? I can’t believe this is happening, I told my mother, how come she couldn’t understand?

Jeanne ENTERS and interrupts Rene’s thoughts.

Jeanne: How are you feeling, darling?

Rene: How could you. You come into my home and bitch at me about problems you can’t fathom and now look at me!

Jeanne: I’m sorry Rene, but this isn’t my fault, and you need to understand my view as your mother.

Rene: Oh yeah? Well you need to understand my view as your daughter, who just lost her arms because you asked me to get out of the house. I can’t write, I can’t carry anything, I’m a goddamn-

Jeanne: Rene! Stop!

Moment of silence, both try to gather themselves.

Jeanne: There are other options. This is the 21st century and I’m sure when you meet with the doctors they will give you plenty of alternate options.

Rene: Options, yeah? Will you please just go, so I can think.

Jeanne: Isn’t that what got you here in the-

Rene: Mother, please.

Jeanne EXITS.

Rene: I can’t believe her. I just don’t know what to consider at this point. Where are my anomalous acquaintances when I need them?

There is a knock on the door. A nurse walks in to give Rene her morphine, and she drifts into a slumber.

END SCENE

Act one

Scene 4

Rene awakens from her sleep in her own bed, confused, she looks around and can’t find anyone in sight.

Rene: My arms! I can’t believe it. This cannot be reality.

Rene looks around for something to prove she is dreaming. She spots her mother’s coat, which just leads to more puzzlement. Jeanne ENTERS her room.

Jeanne: Oh, Rene, I’m so happy your awake. How are you feeling? I was so hungry so I made myself some soup, do you want some?

Rene: No, what is happening, when did I get my arms back?

Jeanne: Back? You never lost your arms. Are you okay, darling?

Rene: Yes, I’m fine. And I know I broke both of my arms when I fell.

Jeanne: No, Rene, when you fell you hit your head against a seat one the subway and got a severe concussion. Some nice young boy called the ambulance.

Rene [Aside]: The 10- year-old transsexual? What a nice boy. [To Jeanne]: oh, so my arms did not shatter during the fall?

Jeanne: No, they did not. I think I’m going to go make some phone calls. Please, darling, do me a favor and think about what you are saying. I hope this is just the concussion talking.

Jeanne EXITS

Rene: Now, she wants me to think. Maybe she has a point. Maybe this is the moment I needed to have to re-analyze my life and start writing again.

Rene stares at her bookshelf and begins writing her thoughts down.

Rene: I am not glass. I am not insane. I am not going to shatter. But I am fragile. And I can get hurt, though so many people beg to differ. These thoughts of worry I have had recently are not a result of my fragility but more so a result of persons mistaking me for a withstanding building after a F5 tornado in Kansas City. I am no such thing; there is no such thing in the world. This glass delusion I have been stuck in for months has been to prove I am human, and humans break. Humans hurt, they feel and these are not things to be ashamed of. I cannot be the foundation for my mother or my deceased father, nor for my estranged colleagues. People ask so much of one another and so much of themselves, without realizing they need to enjoy the music of life. I am no better than you or the person next to me so why must those I love blame me for their evils. So many philosophers have tried to understand the meaning of human existence; although their conclusions may be skeptical, not one of them has ever written to strive for perfection; there is no such thing. So why do I observe more and more today, in the 21st century, than I feel like ever before, that humanity is stuck in a place of limbo where mistakes shatter their being and success is never enough? The market for “self help” books has skyrocketed, and the need for answers clutters minds a point where any explanation will do, even if it is incorrect. What ever happened to the beauty of wonder? What ever happened to questioning? Our society is addicted to statistics and has started trusting all the wrong people and stopped interrogating the right ones. I have succumbed to these accusations as well, it is sickening, literally, I sickened myself to the point of not leaving my house because of a fear that one wrong movement, one ungraceful moment will break me. Maybe after a cup of coffee I will go outside and enjoy Central Park while I may.