Six Kids and a Stuffed Cat (6 page)

Bummer.

The non-storm that never showed up and posed absolutely zero danger to anyone's safety had drawn to an anticlimatic end. And we were free to leave the second-floor restroom of RJ Glavine Middle School and go our separate ways.

Truth be told, I was a little disappointed it was over. I could tell that everyone else was too. You'd have thought we'd have made a break for the door the instant we were released, but we just stood there, looking at each other. No one knew what to do. Or say.

Which is when Devon stepped forward.

Dev came all the way downstage of whatever venue the band had been rocking, facing the audience that, I hoped, was going out of their minds screaming for the show, slipped the air guitar strap off, held it high in the air, and took a huge bow. “Thank you. Thank you very much. We hope you enjoyed our music. The band and I had a blast. You're a great audience. Rock on! We love you. See you next time. Drive home safely! Good night!”

Then Devon backed up, still facing whatever audience was waiting around for the encore, and grabbed the hands of the two closest people. They happened to be Avery and Taylor who immediately grabbed Mason and me in a tight grip so all five of us stood hand in hand. Devon pulled us all forward, closer to the edge of the stage, and led us in a group bow.

As we raised back up, all of us giggling and shoving each other, we shouted, one last time in the great sound-carrying room, “ROCK AND ROLL!”

Thinking, first thoughts, the beauty of ideas, thought-grow . . .

Sometimes, almost always, it comes when you are alone.

Alone.

Often just before sleep or just after you awaken, when the new day comes but before the business of life can rumble it up or when at night your body is tired and your mind is ready to rest, but not quite.

Not quite.

Then.

Just then it is there.

An idea.

They are so strange, ideas. A mental image, a thought, a wisp of a millionth of a volt of electric energy through brain cells to make a sound, a color or even just the tiniest memory of a color or sound or smell or taste or feeling.

Still, it is born. It is there, a kind of tool, and what comes of it is up to you, how you use the tool to make . . . to make whatever it is you want to make of it.

In a cave in France there are paintings that are twenty, thirty thousand years old. They are paintings of horses, bison, bears, and in one staggeringly powerful place, a man or a woman held a hand up to the cave wall and dabbed pigment around it to make an exact outline of the hand.

Signing the work with pride, with knowledge, with the idea that somehow, some day some other person will come into the cave and see this work, this idea, and will know that he or she of the hand is the one who made it, who found it and made it.

An idea.

A thought-idea for all of time, signed and ready to see.

And the effect that it has had is staggering. The paintings are admittedly beautiful but they have also led to almost countless other paintings, sculpture, whole movements of new cultures and thought on how those people lived, how they thought and felt and worshipped and loved and feared and knew,
knew
their world.

Twenty, thirty thousand years ago, twenty or thirty centuries in the past, so old that it was before there was even the concept of time. Right then a person had an idea, he or she formed it and decided to make it a painting on a cave wall.

But perhaps, just perhaps, it was more as well. Maybe it became a dance, where somebody put skins on their back and danced around the fire to tell what the hunt was like; or a song, a sung tale of the beauty of the large animals that were part of their lives, their dreams.

Their dreams.

Or maybe, just maybe it was a play. . . .

6 characters, male or female

Six middle-school kids find themselves together in a restroom, seeking refuge from an impending storm. Conversation is shared, secrets are revealed, friendships are formed, and plans are made, set to the imaginary soundtrack of classic rock-and-roll guitar hero music.

SIX KIDS AND A STUFFED CAT

A One-Act Play

by

Gary Paulsen

Produced by

Directed by

Staged by

With a company of six (and a half)

JORDAN

AVERY

TAYLOR

DEVON

MASON

REGAN

Adult voice on loudspeaker

List of props:

A couple pieces of facial tissue

One stuffed cat

A duffel bag or backpack per character

Earbuds

A few books and a couple of notebooks

A baggie of small snacks (raisins, trail mix, etc.)

A number of toilet paper rolls

And, of course,

Air guitar, air drums, and air keyboards

(guitar pick and drum sticks optional)

Setting:

Middle school restroom

RUNNING TIME: 17 minutes

ACT ONE

Scene: JORDAN, about 14, leaning against the wall of a middle school restroom, dabbing nose with tissue.

Time: After school.

SOUND CUE #1: LOUDSPEAKER ANNOUNCEMENT:
Attention! A severe weather alert is likely to be issued for the surrounding areas. In the interest of erring on the side of caution and adhering to the guidelines of our prudent insurance liability policy, we strongly recommend that any faculty, staff, and students remaining in the school building immediately seek shelter in the nearest interior room. I repeat: Due to the slight possibility of potentially sudden onset heavy rain, please move immediately to a safe location, away from windows, and remain there until the all-clear sounds. Thank you.

(AVERY, same age, enters the lavatory from the hall, sees the first character, draws back, nervously trying to zip closed the duffel bag; a stuffed cat pokes out of the open flap. The indistinct sound of adult voices comes from offstage, teachers ushering errant students in various rooms along the hall for safety.)

JORDAN

(still dabbing at nose with tissue, to AVERY, who is hesitating by the door)
: Don't step in the blood.

AVERY

What?

JORDAN

You were about to walk right though the
(pauses for emphasis)
splatter. It's not nearly enough to be a
(pauses for emphasis)
puddle, but it's more than a
(pauses for emphasis)
sprinkle.

AVERY

(wrinkling nose and shying away)
: Oh, right, um—

JORDAN

It didn't come from a fistfight or, you know, spontaneous aortic rupture.
(pauses for laugh that doesn't come)
This school has zero tolerance for violence. Not to mention unsupervised cardiac bleeds.

AVERY

That's . . . good?
(peers at the floor, cringes, and then looks back at JORDAN)
What happened?

JORDAN

(still dabbing at nose)
: Bloody nose. A real gusher this time.
(shrugs)
What can I say? It's an imperfect world and I have a deviated septum.
(Takes roll of toilet paper and wipes the floor)
Good enough. Now it's just a
(pauses for emphasis
) smear.

AVERY

You know a lot of words for
(pauses for emphasis)
blood residue.

JORDAN

I get a lot of nosebleeds. A person can do a lot of thinking with their head back and a wad of tissue crammed up each nostril.

AVERY

You make good use of your time.

JORDAN

Hardly anyone ever says that about me. Thanks.
(They nod at each other, you're welcome)
Did a teacher with a clipboard shove you in here
? (AVERY nods and looks anxiously at the door as if worried she'll enter)
That woman's meaner than a junkyard dog. No wonder they always assign her to detention duty; she's hardwired to strike terror in the hearts of, well, everyone. The good news is that we're totally safe from the storm if we're anywhere near her: She'll frighten any bad weather away, like an infantry regiment on the front line of battle.

AVERY

Oh . . . well, that's good, I mean, everyone should be . . . I dunno, useful in some way.

JORDAN

I'm Jordan.

AVERY

Avery.

JORDAN

What're you doing hanging around school so late?

AVERY

It, uh, was, ah, my first day.

JORDAN

Thought so. I'd have remembered the cat.

AVERY

(tucking the stuffed cat deeper in the backpack)
: You're not supposed to see him.

JORDAN

Oooooookaaaaaay. An
invisible
stuffed cat. Gotcha.
(They study each other for a long beat)
That still doesn't explain what you're doing in school forty minutes after the last bell rang.

AVERY

I hid backstage in the auditorium and fell asleep.

JORDAN

When?

AVERY

(worried)
: As soon as I got here this morning. I slept all day. Is it still considered an official first day if I was sleeping under a costume rack instead of going to class?

JORDAN

(pauses, considers, nods)
: You were on school property so, technically, you were present. No worries, you're good.

AVERY

(sighs, sags in relief)
: Why are you still here?

JORDAN

I'm always here. If I were not here, there'd be no here here. The detention hall would cease to exist if I were not given detention several times a week.
(Pauses)
The faculty in this school doesn't get my humor. Apparently, I come off as difficult and challenging to authority.

AVERY

That's too bad. A good sense of humor is an important quality to have.

JORDAN

You'd think. But wit like mine is wasted in the eighth grade. My counselor says it doesn't pay to be subversive in middle school.

(The washroom door slams open. AVERY jumps in surprise, scurries closer to JORDAN.)

TAYLOR

(enters, snarling over a shoulder)
: If you don't cut that out, I'll squash you like a bug.

(No response from DEVON, who enters immediately behind TAYLOR, wearing earbuds and playing air guitar.)

TAYLOR

DID YOU HEAR ME?

(DEVON looks up from the guitar, smiles at TAYLOR, not noticing the aggressive face, pumps both fists in the air like a rock star, wanders upstage, and then continues playing.)

TAYLOR

I wish Devon was playing an actual guitar. Then at least I could smash it in a million pieces.

MASON

(entering the room behind TAYLOR and DEVON)
: Some people have no appreciation for the musical arts. It's sad. Hey, Jordan.
(notices AVERY)
Hi, we haven't met—I'm Mason. I like the stuffed cat.

(AVERY tries to shove the cat back in the bag again.)

JORDAN

(to MASON)
: You're not supposed to see it.

MASON

(waves off AVERY's discomfort)
: That's cool. I got you covered on the not-seeing-the-cat deal. Very metaphysical; I like it. Have you met Taylor and Devon yet?

JORDAN

(to AVERY)
: Taylor's hostile and Devon's mellow so they make a nice matched set. An ideally balanced subset of the collection of people to be stuck in the bathroom during a storm with.
(JORDAN and MASON nod knowingly at each other. AVERY looks back and forth between TAYLOR, who's glaring at DEVON, and DEVON, who's playing so hard the strumming arm is windmilling. AVERY starts anxiously twisting the cat's ears, which are poking out of the bag.)

JORDAN

Devon's the best musician in school. The only problem is Dev's never so much as touched a real guitar. But look at that showmanship! A forward-thinking entrepreneur would send that act on the road, charge a modest admission at small clubs. Who knows? Maybe even work Dev up to an international major stadium tour gig, opening for world renowned rock gods.

MASON

Your faith in Devon has always been very touching, Jordy.

TAYLOR

It's your fault Devon's still wandering around like this, Jordan; you encourage bad behavior to take the focus off of yourself.

MASON

Taylor, that was uncharacteristically aware of you. A little mean, but good eye: Jordan, no offense, does throw others under the bus to avoid the consequences of having a smart mouth and an all-around disrespectful attitude.

(Before JORDAN can respond, the door flies open again.)

REGAN

Can you believe we're stuck in the john because of a little rain? Coach canceled practice because of
(exaggerating)
drizzle
and a
light breeze
.
(notices DEVON flailing around on air guitar)
Santana?
(MASON and JORDAN nod, TAYLOR snorts and turns away. AVERY keeps nervously twisting the cat's ears.)
Better than pretending to be Hendrix, pretending to set the pretend ax on fire.
(Holds up a flat palm in a don't-go-there gesture)
Now that's crazy. Speaking of crazy, what's with the kid petting the stuffed cat in the bag?

MASON

That's Avery. First day here. Seems a little more anxious than crazy.

JORDAN

And we're not supposed to call attention to the cat. It's the exact opposite of Devon's guitar.

MASON

Which we're not supposed to
see
so much as
hear
.

JORDAN

There's a lot of existential reality in this school.

REGAN

I'm okay with that non-cat and the non-guitar.
(REGAN looks back and forth between AVERY and TAYLOR. Everyone nods agreeably, except TAYLOR who looks back and from DEVON to AVERY, sneering.)
Maybe we can get a picture for the yearbook of Avery and Devon and the nonentities; as editor-in-chief this year, I'm freaking out about how to fill up all the pages. I'll take anything. Even pictures of invisible felines and imaginary stringed instruments.