Cuddling Class

By Karen Hines.

(Lights up, one by one as they speak, on three fifteen-year-old girls and Condoleezza Rice. Condoleezza is dressed impeccably in a suit. The fygs are dressed like the Olsen twins.)

Mercy: Every morning, in the morning, I wake up to an achingly brilliant sun. I hang this silver cross around my neck; this cross which symbolizes the path of love that all great spiritual masters have taught. Then I drink a juice pak. And another juice pak. And another … and another … I don’t know why… It just feels good…

Justice: Every morning I wake up to an achingly brilliant sun. I go downstairs where my dad makes me a tazo chai tea with gingko biloba. For my marks. Then I meditate for twenty-five minutes in the belief that through purification of my mind – clear light – I will be stronger, deeper, more focused.

Freedom: Every morning I wake up, bathed in cathode rays. My T.V., which is at the end of my bed, is still tuned to CNN. I check to see if anything happened overnight. Then I straighten my hair, put on my u.v. filter base and gloss, and my mascara which has special plant extract conditioners to protect my eyelashes. From the environment.

Condoleezza: Every morning, in the morning, I wake in the dead of night. I check my messages, and try to figure out ... what they mean. Iran – I mean … I run, shower, eat and speed to work where the “environment” is buzzing with people like me: composed, but frisky. And all day long we work quietly; steadily; imagining a beautiful future. A future we will be proud to look back from and see how we got there. Because we believe what could be should be. Because we believe the future is ours to see. Because we believe anything our fine minds can conceive and believe they will achieve.

I’m pretty happy now. With my 737.

Dance break. Condoleezza may or may not dance (whatever works best) while the fygs dance like a Britney/Christina/J-Lo video: provocative, undulating, lost. Snap transition to all 4 sitting properly in chairs, and:

Condoleezza: Is this your first time visiting the White House?

Freedom: Oh, no.

For the rest of the scene, the girls speak almost as one voice, swiftly following on each other’s thoughts and ideas, seamlessly finishing each other’s sentences … like the Olsen twins. They are charming, intelligent, almost always poised. Despite their thick teen-speak, it is clear they are totally serious, and quite earnest about their concerns.

Justice: We were here in grade one.

Mercy: We met Hilary-y-y.

Justice: We were here again in grade six.

Freedom: But you wouldn’t remember us.

Justice: It was four years ago.

Freedom: We were in a big class.

Mercy: We had retainers.

Justice: We were eleven.

Condoleezza: And now you’re –

Fygs: Fifteen.

Condoleezza: Fifteen.

Fygs: Fifteen.

They all cross their legs as though they are one creature. Then Mercy flips her hair, Justice’s phone rings and she turns it off, and Freedom puffs her inhaler – all in about five seconds.

Pause.

Condoleezza: It’s difficult to begin, I know, so … why don’t you ladies just tell me what you’re curious about. What would you like to talk about today? What’s on your minds?

Justice: shy Um…

Freedom: softly You start, Mercy.

Mercy: whispering No! You guys start.

Justice: to Freedom You start.

Mercy: to Justice You start–

Freedom: We’re Young Leaders.

Beat.

Mercy: Of Tomorrow.

Justice: Well, duh–

Mercy: Shut up–

Freedom: We’ve been “elected” she makes the quotation marks with her fingers by our group. To talk with you. About the future.

Mercy: Our future.

Condoleezza: Right.

Justice: The future belongs to the children.

Mercy: Right, Dr. Rice?

Condoleezza: Yes. Yes it does

Justice: And we are children … but not for long.

Freedom: We can drive next year.

Justice: We can vote in three.

Mercy: Pretty soon we’ll just be adults.

Freedom: But for now we’re children. And we’re here to speak for children.

Mercy: Yes.

Justice: Yes.

Freedom: Yes we are. Can I sit in your lap?

Condoleezza just looks at Freedom.

Mercy: without missing a beat Basically, we just want to ask you about the war.

Justice: “The”...?

Mercy: Sorry. The Iran one—er—maybe-one. Sorry. Potential. After the “next steps” her fingers make the quotation marks. Which we all know what those are. Would be. If they were to happen.

Justice: Shut up, Mercy.

Mercy: Wha-at?!

Freedom: We’ve been worrying about war in general.

Justice: In terms of the future.

Freedom: In terms of the human cost.

Justice: We’re not here to talk about the Congo.

Mercy: No. No we’re not.

Freedom: Or Darfur.

Justice: No-o-o-o we’re not.

Mercy: Or the little Chechen babies.

Fygs: softly No.

Justice: We’re more just worried about war in general.

Mercy: We think about the dead–

Justice: And we’re curious about your thoughts and feelings on fighting, killing, war, blah blah, whatever, all of that–

Freedom: In terms of children and the future.

They all pull out their notepads and poise their pens, ready to write.

Condoleezza: carefully Well …

Over the following, the fygs write down every word. Their attention is total.

Condoleezza: … as future leaders … it’s probably important to focus not on the fallen, but on the fact that America’s armed personnel have made our nation safer in a world full of new dangers. To remember that the actions of our young men and women overseas have also upheld the ideals of America’s founding, which define us still. Our nation values freedom – not just for ourselves, but for all. And it’s because Americans are willing to serve and sacrifice for this cause that our nation remains the greatest force for good among all the nations on the Earth. To Mercy: I believe it is wrong to call the dead “dead.” They are “fallen”. And are with us always.

Mercy: softly And speak through us…

Condoleezza: softly Yes. Yes, they do.

Pause.

Condoleezza: Historically speaking–

Justice: Ohhhh… we’re not so good at history.

Mercy: We find it a bit boring.

Justice: Repetitive.

Mercy: Repetitive.

Freedom: Repetitive.

Justice: The past is the past

Freedom: But the future is now.

Justice: –so as leaders of the future, we’re asking if you as a leader of today can talk about a brighter tomorrow.

Mercy: We’re just scared about North Korea.

Freedom stands. Condoleezza just looks at her.

Mercy: without missing a beat Like, we know they’re an “outpost of tyranny” and everything, but we feel like they’re mad.

Freedom takes a baby step toward Condoleezza as:

Justice: We’re also wondering about the implications of when Mohammed Khatami talks about a “blistering hell for any invaders” of Iran.

Mercy: Burning hell, Justice.

Freedom: looking at Condoleezza Scorching.

Condoleezza: still looking at Freedom Burning.

Mercy: prissy browner Thank you, Dr. Rice.

Pause.

Justice: See, we believe that the present human existence is precious. That one should never waste even a single minute of its “use”.

Freedom: We believe that every act is a spiritual act. And that the body is a vessel in service of the soul…

Mercy: But we were in the cafeteria the other day? Just grabbing some fries and –

Freedom: – butter tarts –

Mercy: – and these other girls in our grade started talking about this idea that the soul is actually just that. An idea. That humans invented it.

Justice: The soul.

Mercy: And evolved it over time. Justice stands. Through language. And art. Through all the human virtues and capacities.

Freedom: Like Honour.

Mercy: Like Justice.

Justice: Like Mercy…

The fygs smile softly at each other.

Freedom: That because we invented the soul, we are capable, therefore, of dismantling it.

Mercy: Over time.

Justice: Through opposite forces.

Mercy stands, and Justice takes a baby step toward Condoleezza. All three are now standing.

Freedom: We believe the human body is a field on which the spirit plays.

Justice: The living body is soul articulated.

Mercy: Basically, we just want to ask you about the human sacrifice.

Justice: Can I sit in your lap?

Condoleezza just looks at Justice. Mercy takes a step forward. Freedom puffs her inhaler.

Condoleezza: Unfortunately, I think we’re going to have to wrap things up now.

Freedom: No. No we’re not.

Condoleezza: Yes, actually we are.

Justice: No, actually we’re not.

All three take a step forward. Then one by one, they start to move around the room; around Condoleezza as…

Freedom: Your security structure has been disarmed. There are 7,000 fifteen-year-old girls surrounding the White House.

Mercy: Inside the White House…

Freedom: It’s just a matter of minutes, we know, till we’re shot or gassed–

Justice: –they wouldn’t dare–

Freedom: – but in the meantime, your immediate staff and security have been taken down by an army of fifteen-year-old girls.

Mercy: Our purses: filled with dental floss, cell phone chargers, I-pod cords

Justice: –garottes if you’re strong enough–

Freedom: –stone-sharpened debit cards–

Mercy: –Mac compact mirror shards–

Justice: –slivered Starbucks stir sticks–

Freedom: Deadly weapons, if you believe…

Fygs: If you’re focused.

Freedom: And there are “other steps” we can take…

Mercy: Can I sit in your lap?

She squirms into Condoleezza’s lap like a little girl.

Mercy: softly We just want some fundamental changes. To our schooling. We want to be prepared for chaos. Not order. We want to thrive in chaos. Not civilization.

Freedom: Tell her about the money, Justice.

Justice: The tax money?

Freedom: What?! No! The spending money.

Justice: to Freedom Hold my gum.

Freedom: Ew.

Justice stands before Condoleezza and delivers the following almost like a school oral report. Freedom sits on the floor and watches. Mercy cuddles in to Condoleezza.

Justice: Only in the age of advertising does each person think they can live as the king of their scene. Since 1960 nothing has been getting better; it’s been getting worse. The graph goes down for everyone but the top percentiles.

Mercy: whispering, to Condoleezza Of a certain age.

Freedom: She knows that, Mercy.

Mercy: Sorry, Freedom.

Justice: That decadence is indefinitely sustainable is an illusion. Because there is no end to our hunger. There are household cleaners made from harmless organic compounds, which, if they were to be universally adopted could improve significantly my chances for survival. But my parents want to save money, so they opt instead for the regular brands.

Mercy: Although they have no trouble spending many multiples of the difference on the right merlot.

Justice: They also speed. Often when I’m in the car. She takes a baby step toward Condoleezza. Can I sit in your lap?

Condoleezza and Justice just look at each other. Mercy stays on Condoleezza’s lap.

Mercy: without missing a beat We’re thinking that instead of war, we should revert to institutionalized human sacrifice. Ritualized individual sacrifice. It was once commonplace. Why not consider the possibility that war itself could be similarly stigmatized; outmoded; and replaced with a basically parallel offering to the universe –

The fygs glance at each other.

Freedom: To God.

They smile, beatifically, for a brief second.

Mercy: – parallel in terms of the fact of human sacrifice, but more cost efficient in terms of bodies.

Freedom: Souls.

Mercy: Whatever.

Justice: With Iran and North Korea, we’re going to be stretched pretty thin. Right Condoleezza?

Over the following, Justice grabs a chair and places it facing Condoleezza, close to her, as Freedom stands and hands Justice her gum back.

Mercy: Right?

Freedom: Right?

Justice: Right Condoleezza?

Freedom: Tell us about the End Days?

Mercy: Not yet.

Justice: Let me sit in her lap.

Mercy slides off Condoleezza’s lap and sits at her feet. Justice slips into her lap. Freedom sits down on the chair.

Freedom: The human body is a field on which the spirit plays. The living body is soul articulated. Historically, the soul has been found in spleen; liver; stomach; lungs. The soul is polycentric:

Justice: Heart.

Freedom: Throat.

Justice: Gall.

Mercy: giggling Womb.

Freedom: Shut up Mercy.

Justice: To Condoleezza Freedom’s pregnant.

Freedom: Justice!

Pause.

Freedom: I am. I’m a little bit pregnant. And I’m going to have this one.

Justice: Because she can’t deal with another sacrifice.

Freedom: Shut up, Justice.

Justice: Sorry, Freedom.

Pause.

Freedom: I’m giving it up to Safe Haven. Where it will be protected. It’s going to be fine, but like … I’m the one having it, and no one seems to care about what’s going to happen to me. ‘Down there.’ During the surgery.

Mercy: Surgery?!!

Freedom: Sorry – birth. Birth. Possibly surgery. Definitely stitches. Definitely damage. Horrifying, really, but no one gets into that once there’s a baby. It’s horrifying ‘down there’ anyway. Always has been.

Justice: To Condoleezza Dentata, right?

Mercy: To Condoleezza Tell us about the End Days?

Justice: To Condoleezza They’re making her take cuddling classes.

Freedom: It’s called dandling, Justice.

Justice: It’s when you hold a baby. Rock it. Cuddle it. Murmur to it. Sing it little songs. About little animals. About stars and … balls…

Mercy: Can I touch your belly?

Over the following, Mercy kneels at Freedom’s feet, and touches her belly.

Freedom: See, that’s the one thing that confuses me. Everybody wants to touch my belly. People are so judgmental about fifteen year-old single mothers; I’m filthy; why they would love my baby, I can’t fathom. When it’s born, everyone will love it. Protect it from me. But statistically, this baby is eventually going to be just another slutty fifteen year-old girl. And three years after that, just another slutty adult –

Mercy: to Freedom If it’s lucky.

Justice: to Condoleezza If it’s lucky.

Fygs: The future belongs to the children.

Mercy: To some of them.

Freedom: But pretty soon, all we’re going to be are are ex-children. And all our children are going to be is ex-children. And who gives a shit about ex-children? Right?

Justice: Right Condoleezza?

Mercy: Right Condoleezza?

Freedom: Right?

Justice: But for now, we’re still children.

Mercy: We call our moms and dads on our phones whenever we go from place to place, to keep us safe from harm.

Freedom: Words of love flying through time and space … through bodies and minds …she stands as: ... through spleens, brains and livers… she steps toward Condoleezza as: Through spirits and souls. pause Can I sit in your lap?

Mercy: Can I play with your hair?

Justice slides off Condoleezza’s lap, and Freedom slips into it. She wraps her arms right around Condoleezza’s neck, like a little child. Justice sits at Condoleezza’s feet, and puts her head on her lap. Mercy plays with Condoleezza’s hair.

Freedom: Tell us about the End Days.

Pause.

Condoleezza: Ask me something else.

Mercy: Okay…

Pause.

Mercy: Have you ever considered the possibility that there’s a physiological component to the degradation of the human soul?

Condoleezza: You mean the possibility that a combination of ultraviolet rays, feed contaminants in the meat, anti-psychotic drugs in the groundwater and invasive electromagnetic vibrations along with myriad other disruptors are bringing about an interference with the neurotransmission we associate most closely with the connections between the brain and organs we associate most closely with the functions and sensations we associate most closely with movements of the soul; with grace; with honour; with kindness; with duty?

Pause.

No. No I haven’t.

Pause. Mercy continues to brush Condoleezza’s hair, while the other two play with her skirt, her necklace, or just cuddle a bit.

Justice: Have you ever considered the possibility that there is a super-narcissistic component to America’s actions overseas?

Condoleezza: You mean the possibility that our struggle to impose democracy is less a response to a considered evaluation of tyranny or an example of a compassionate foreign policy than it is a self-serving iteration of our national “self” in response to an ultimate vacuum at the core of our national being? That we are in fact simply servicing an ideal version of ourselves and that, as a nation who refuses to question our own motives and acts, we place the entire world in peril?

No. No, I haven’t.

Pause. They cuddle.

Freedom: Have you ever considered the possibility that your administration’s wanton expenditure of our future in terms of the atmosphere and water and animals; in terms of our social security is the product of the Religious Right’s belief in the End Days?

Condoleezza: You mean the End Days as in the time when, very soon, once the Christians are safe, once Israel is secure and we are rid of all the evil doers in the world, that very soon, all of God’s children will be lifted together, up into heaven, which is why it doesn’t really matter about social security, or the environ—yawn—the environ—yawn—the environment? The Days, very soon, when all any Good Christian will have to do is just reach up her arms she reaches her arms up; just reach them up like a little child … You mean the End Days when every Christian will be saved from this earth, together again with all the dead they once loved, with Jesus Christ Himself, safe in the arms of the Heavenly Father…?

Pause. She brings her arms back down.

No. No I haven’t.

Long pause. The girls are all sleepy by now: at Condoleezza’s feet; in her lap; resting their heads on her knee; shoulders … perhaps Mercy squeezes in beside her on the chair… They are cuddling.

Condoleezza: Every morning, in the morning, I wake in the dead of night. I check my messages, and try to figure out … what they mean. Iran – I mean … I run, shower, eat and speed to the Office where I work quietly; steadily; imagining a beautiful future: a future I will be proud to look back from and see how we got there. Because I believe what could be should be. Every morning, in the morning, I wake in the dead of night and fear my mind is giving way; that I am failing to learn from past mistakes. I am plagued by indecision; overwhelmed by my responsibilities; I am exhausted, but I struggle on despite a deep sense of gloom. I am discouraged, despondent, helpless and despairing. But…

I have been feeling better since I got my own 737…

Freedom: Nice makeover too.

Justice: Yeah your suits are ni-i-i-ice.

Mercy: Don’t cry, Condoleezza. We’ve been so lucky, really. Some people never even get born at all.

Condoleezza: What are you kids doing here?

Fygs a bit more spaced-out: The dead live among us.
And speak through us.
They speak with one voice.
The dead are with us always.

Mercy: We’re here as curious little children.

Freedom: With regard to the future.

Mercy: The future belongs to the children.

Justice: Which is why we want to be suicide bombers.
What else are we going to do with our lives?

Condoleezza dons a gas mask._

Mercy: It’s just another form of transformation…

Justice: ...a kind of death and rebirth, which, like the pursuit of Nirvana, is the very condition of life…

Mercy: And besides … you have to keep reinventing yourself. Otherwise people will stop noticing you.

Condoleezza: I believe … I believe it’s wrong to call the dead “dead.”

Freedom: So do we.

The fygs are nearly inert now. Perhaps their eyes are closed.

Freedom: We believe anything our minds can conceive and believe they will achieve.

Justice: We could save the world.

Mercy: Right?

Justice: Right, Condoleezza?

Mercy: Right?

Justice: Right?

Freedom: Right, Condoleezza?

Fygs: Right?

Right? Right, Condoleezza? Right? Right?

Music in. Quite loud. Condoleezza untangles the sleepy girls’ arms from around her neck. One by one, she puts the girls’ arms in the reach-up-to-god position. She spins them around very slowly, one at a time, like a blind man’s bluff. Then she too reaches up. They all turn very, very, very slowly like little music box dolls, reaching up to the sky. Freedom puffs her inhaler, then, three more turns, and slow fade to black.

Cuddling Class, [c] 2005 by Karen Hines. The playwright waives performance fees, but asks that all production information be forwarded to her through www.pochsy.org.

• 2352 days ago