(ACT ONE: DRAFT)
STAGE DIRECTIONS
Basement.
Dim bulb swaying.
Center stage:
A battered leather wooden chest,
straps and buckles cinched
like a ship at storm.
Upstairs: (Built out upper stage)
A woman, white hair in soft pins,
her chair angled toward a radio
hissing static and old jazz.
She eats quietly.
Spoon tracing circles in her bowl.
CHARACTER NOTES
THE WOMAN – seventy-eight
hands like river stones,
her face a map of soft summers
and lonely winters.
THE CHEST –
Unseen:
heavy with letters, photographs,
perfumed silk,
a man’s pressed shirts,
and the ache of two bodies
that once loved
without mercy.
Seen:
Its sides swell -
the subtle shape of a man’s hands
behind it's leather,
pressing out,
clasping the straps.
Fingers circle
the locked buckles.
THE PAST LOVER – Voice only.
He exists as vibration
inside surrounding wood,
breathing
in response to the Woman.
SCENE PROGRESSION
Lights fade up.
The chest breathes.
Pause.
Buckles flex.
A groan,
like an old stair.
She glances down
through the floorboards.
She does not rise.
(radio goes silent)
Eyes closed,
she whispers:
HUSH NOW.
I REMEMBER YOU.
I REMEMBER.
And then
nothing.
Her silence
is part of the score.
ACTION CUE
The chest swells.
Wood stretching.
A strap snaps.
A letter flutters
up the stairs,
as if seeking oxygen
and lands
at her feet.
She rises.
Fetches rope, duct tape,
an old belt.
Descends the stairs.
Ties the memory down again.
Her hands shake,
but she is precise,
as if dressing a wound.
She ascends.
Sits back in her chair.
Spoon in hand.
Mid‑air.
Radio on:
a soft trumpet solo,
weary with promise.
The chest downstairs
begins to thump
and inhale.
A low whisper
seeps through the floorboards:
her name.
Her hands tremble.
She does not answer.
The chest exhales once,
long, hollow,
full throated,
and the house answers.
FADE TO BLACK
Only the sound
of her spoon
falling
to the floor.
