The Voices Project 2011 & 2012

Tell It Like It Isn't / The One Sure Thing

ATYP

• Publisher: Currency Press
• Year: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781925004823
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

The Voices Project 2011 & 2012 is a collection of seven-minute monologues tailored for young adult actors.%##CHAR13##%%##CHAR13##%Developed by Australian Theatre for Young People working with some of the country's most exciting young playwrights, these powerful short stories are as diverse and vibrant as the young people that inspired them. This collection features the scripts from the productions Tell It Like It Isn't (2011) exploring the theme of 'first love', and The One Sure Thing (2012) exploring 'first death'.

The One Sure Thing

Cast List

That's What I Am Now	Patrick Richards
Twisted	Shaun Foley
Hunger	Rhys Keir
The Circle of Life	Alistair Mcintosh
The Last Post	Emma Khamis
La Conversación	Charlotte Hazzard
Stick	Emma Campbell
Senseless	Kate Campbell
Ben Thomas, I Love You	Julia Rorke
Prince Willy	Lucy Coleman
Director	Tanya Goldberg
Stage Manager	Asha Watson
Designer	David Fleischer
Sound Designer	Kingsley Reeve
Lighting Designer	Verity Hampson
Assistant Director	Liz Arday

That’s What I Am Now

Emrys Quin

Enter JAZ, she is played by a man. She is an energetic 17 year old in a T-Shirt and jeans. She is sipping tea from a large mug.

JAZ:

You never made being a woman easy, Granny. It was always God inspects, and God expects, and Goddwells in retrospect—by retrospect I always pictured God in flares—but you did give me a sense of duty, y’know?

JAZ begins walking slowly on the spot, the pace of her voice will match the pace of her movement.

JAZ: Well that’s what I am now; dutiful. I got a job—my first one. I’m always on a bicycle; backpack filled with pharmaceuticals. That’s what I am now; pharmaceutical courier, been one for a while actually – Golly! We haven’t seen each other in forever! Well they say on my employment review I’m smiley. That’s me all over, I think: smiley— and dutiful.

JAZ sips her tea. She quickens her pace.

JAZ: Today was a special delivery list, y’know? Three names; Graham, 82, Michaels, 81, and Greene, that’s you Granny, 89. You’re all spread across the city like entrails across a water biscuit—this is lovely tea—Graham answers the door himself, takes a breath and says, real arthritic and English like ‘now what the fuck do you want, young lady?’ while Michaels, just a little old fashioned, doesn’t mince words when she answers the door.

‘Are you seeing anyone, Jasmine?’

‘Yes ma’am.’

‘Surname?’

‘Putnam, ma’am.’

‘Is that Jewish?’

‘No ma’am.’

‘Very good, they’ve got noses like Satan’s sphincter.’

JAZ sips her tea.

JAZ: Wow. This tea—it’s just honey and dandelions, y’know?!

JAZ is now jogging. She speaks in a hurry concurrent with her jog.

JAZ: One more left after that, it’s you. I take the high road, it’s quicker—that’s what I am now; smiley, dutiful and punctual. I speed a bit, through traffic too, but I’m at your street quicksmart, and up to your door. There’s the doorbell; brief buzz and I’m inside, jumping up three flights of stairs and suddenly I’m in your doorway—in front of you, Granny, here, Granny.

JAZ slows to a walk and stops, she returns to a natural speaking pace.

JAZ: You look at me a while, like you’re not sure what to say.

Standing there on your venetian rug, the expensive one—I smile, know it’s down to me to make you feel comfortable, duty of a granddaughter: ‘hey granny!’ I say, ‘surprise!’ no response, but I keep on: I leap right in—tell you about my new job, how I’d finally got to deliver to you. Still nothing, so I ask you for a cup of tea—Fantastic tea—and you grumble before you’re off into your tinny little kitchen. Fiddling with the kettle, but it boils real quickly. I let myself in. Close the door.

‘I’ve been going to church’ I say. ‘Good’ you say—the first thing you do say—

I know there’s only three things you wanna talk about: men, children or Jesus.

‘I’m seeing someone,’ I say, you make this grunting noise, sort of non-committal hatred but that’s okay, I’m smiley—

‘Her name’s Tanya.’

JAZ sips her tea.

JAZ: You drop the jar of sugar—rather messy—spin around and look at me, cup of tea in your hand. I try ignore the rabid, burning, loathing glare you’re giving me, just take the cup and say ‘golly, thanks grandma!’ but it’s obvious you’re mad, really mad, like lesbianism’s worse than paganism and American television. This is just eye-melting phwwwoooaaa kind of tea.

JAZ sips her tea.

JAZ: I wanna talk to you about my first pap smear—I mean that’s where I met Tanya. She was on the desk, y’know? And sure I’m only 17 but my job gets me free check-ups and I just sort of couldn’t help myself: I get the lot—all the check-ups, I mean, even the real invasive ones, just to see what its like to be—a woman. She had real short red hair—not slight red, but great, fiery stuff, something out of Irish mythology, I walked up to her, sort of mesmerised, y’know? I couldn’t stop myself, just asked

‘What are you?’

and she grinned with these gorgeous yellow teeth, and said ‘University dropout.’

Wasn’t what I meant but I went along with it—I smiled back and said ‘I’m an HSC student with religious and femininity issues,’ and she just said ‘cool,’ and leaning closer, grabbed my wrist with this colossal grip, whispered ‘wanna fuck?’

JAZ sips her tea.

JAZ: I left with her phone number and some test results—and golly while I ...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Introduction
• Foreword: Lachlan Philpott
• Tell It Like It Isn’t
• The One Sure Thing
• Author Biographies
• Copyright Page