The Last Five Minutes of Sleep

JAKE, a disturbed twentysomething.
ISABELLE, his mother.
GABE, an estranged friend.
ZEKE, another estranged friend.

SETTING: Jake's bedroom is neat and organized, with the average furniture and electronics that would be found in the bedroom of a young American college student. The actual stuff in the room is not as important as the feeling evoked from the artistic design of the room--the colors, the lines and shapes. It should be pleasant and sophisticated, yet contain hints of darkness and oppression.

(SOUND: a gun shot. Jake awakes in his bed with a scream. He sits up. He's in a sweat. He notices that there is a gun in his hand. He then notices that there is a foul smell in the air. He pulls over the covers and looks down to his soiled boxer shorts.)

JAKE: Oh fuck!

(JAKE gets out of bed, grabs his robe, puts it on, and pushes his boxer shorts off. He kicks them under the bed. He then grabs the gun and sits on the swivel chair, gazing out at the audience. He looks at them for a long time before he speaks.)

JAKE (to the audience): I wouldn't kill myself, you know. If that's what you're thinking. "Oh my god! He's got a gun! He's going to shoot himself!" If only... (Pause) Look; it ain't even loaded.

(JAKE fires the gun into the air several times to show that there are no bullets.)

JAKE: I like to sleep with it cos it makes me feel like I have some kind of power. You could say it gives me strength.

(JAKE gets out of the chair and begins to slowly pace downstage.)

JAKE: I've always been a strong supporter of the second amendment. You know, you can outlaw guns for decent, civilized people, but criminals don't give a shit. They'll keep on having guns and blowing people away, and you and me would be defenseless. God, why don't people see that? Of course, not everyone can claim to have keen insight into the criminal mind. I'm just lucky that way. I understand what it's like to feel as if we'd all be better off...Sometimes I get out of bed in the morning, and see you guys sitting out there, and I want desperately to put a hole through every one of you. But I can't do that cos then I couldn't be your tragic hero. The element of catharsis would be lost, entirely. If there were any survivors among you, they wouldn't come away, wanting to change the world. They'd just want to hide, and talk about how they hoped I would get what was coming to me. Swift justice...whatever that is. What the fuck would you know about that?

(ISABELLE enters and stands at the open doorway, unseen.)

JAKE: What is right, fair, or normal to you doesn't mean shit to me. And neither do you.
ISABELLE: What about me? What do I mean to you?
JAKE (startled): What?
ISABELLE: Do I mean shit too? Are you going to kill me?
JAKE: Don't be ridiculous. Leave me alone, I'm busy--
ISABELLE: What makes me better than any of these people?
JAKE: Don't ask stupid questions, you're my mother, for God's sake.
ISABELLE: Oh. Is that supposed to mean something? That you care about my feelings?
JAKE: Of course.
ISABELLE: Then you think I'd be happy if you were in prison...Or dead.
JAKE: Hey, you're the one who voted in the death penalty. (Pause.) But you know, while we're on the subject of something maybe happening to me...I know how much stress I cause you. Don't you ever want it to end? One of the greatest things God ever gave us was free will. To do whatever we want. Is your job gettin' you down? Quit. You have an argument with your spouse? Get a divorce. Some nasty motherfucker getting on your nerves? Kill him. You feel like you just can't take it anymore? Kill yourself!

(ISABELLE grabs the gun, and with her free hand takes Jake's hands, and closes her eyes.)

ISABELLE: Dear Heavenly Father, we come to you now in the NAME OF JESUS! Your word says where two or more are gathered in your name, there you will be also. And I bind this spirit of heaviness right now in JESUS' NAME and I loose a spirit of peace and joy to fill him completely...

(Her voice fades out, along with the lights.)

(JAKE is in his chair again, looking at the audience.)

JAKE: If it's the thought that counts...How do you count the thought? (Laughs a second, then sobers) Alright fine. I thought that was pretty fucking clever. (Pause) I'm sorry about the little tirade before. I know I didn't scare anybody...that's why I'm sorry. It's just that you're dog shit, and I wanted to be the one to tell you. Not just tell you, but really drive it home. You see...Most people tend to learn from the mistakes they make. You're looking at the exception to the rule. But there's another exception...GOD. God at one time cleaned up his mess. Except he missed a spot. Noah.

(ZEKE enters and stands at the door, unseen.)

JAKE: And that one missed spot of dirt grew all over again and blew up to way bigger than it was before, and infinitely more terrible, and that became you and me, and–
ZEKE: Speak for yourself.
JAKE (pause): I am. I can't speak for you because you're not real.
ZEKE (referring to the audience): Neither are they.
JAKE: Oh God.
ZEKE: Why don't you call me?

(JAKE runs into ZEKE's arms, crying.)

ZEKE: You're so beautiful...That's right, let it out. You know, you're really cute when you cry. Vulnerability is sexy.

(ZEKE wipes away JAKE'S tears, and then softly caresses his face, and kisses him on the lips.)

ZEKE: Feel better, Jake.
JAKE: Why?
ZEKE: Because nobody cares that you're hurting. No one besides me. If you were happy, then people would care about you. The moment you stop needing help, that's when they'll all rush to your aid.
JAKE: But you help me.
ZEKE: I know, but that's different. Guys like me are hard to find. Sit down, Jake.

(JAKE sits down on the bed, and ZEKE sits on the desk chair.)

ZEKE: You like me, don't you?
JAKE: Are you kidding?
ZEKE: Why don't you call?
JAKE: You know why.
ZEKE: Do I? You should call. I would come if you called.

(ZEKE puts a foot on JAKE'S lap, and JAKE starts to untie his shoe. )

JAKE: I wrote to you.
ZEKE: I don't do letters.
JAKE: I'm afraid of the phone.
ZEKE: You shouldn't be. I would come.
JAKE : Yeah, well, you wouldn't let me do this.

(JAKE bites the top end of ZEKE'S sock and starts to pull it off with his teeth.)

ZEKE: So I'm not a pervert. At least, not in the same way. (Pause.) What do you want, Jake?
JAKE: Someone to care about what I want.

(JAKE starts to massage ZEKE'S foot.)

ZEKE: What do you need?
JAKE: For my wants and needs to be the same thing.
ZEKE: No, that's a want.
JAKE: Not if it came true. If my wants and needs were the same thing, then maybe that would make it important enough for me to get it. You see, I was cursed to never get what I want, but if I can sneak my wants in there, disguised as needs, then maybe...Do you understand what I'm saying?
ZEKE: I understand everything you say.

(JAKE proceeds to clean ZEKE'S foot with his tongue. ZEKE laughs.)

ZEKE: There's got to be a better way for me to enrich your life.

(ZEKE starts to probe JAKE'S crotch with his foot.)

JAKE: You may be right.

(JAKE undoes his pants and opens them up just enough to let ZEKE'S foot in. JAKE has just enough time to start to really get aroused before ISABELLE opens the door. ZEKE freezes, and JAKE stands, quickly putting his pants back on. ISABELLE just stares at JAKE a moment, while JAKE stares at the floor.)

JAKE (Angry): What do you want?
ISABELLE: I was talking to Candy this morning and she was telling me how she gets counseling over at that clinic, you know, where the library used to be. She doesn't even have to pay hardly anything for it; her insurance plan covers it. It would be even better for you because you don't have an income. When's the last time you had counseling?
JAKE You remember. It was your pastor. He said I talked to demons. And that I lied to him. (To the audience:) This prick interviews me about all the things that are wrong in my life and when we're finished he says, "You have lied to me three times." You see, he has this system of asking questions where he asks the same question three time, only in different ways so you can't tell it's the same question. This way, you can supposedly ascertain whether someone is telling the truth. And, according to him, I answered the question differently each time, so I was a liar.
ISABELLE: Well, this wouldn't be a Christian counselor. He wouldn't be judgmental. And I also thought that you should see Doc Bart again, I know there are some medications that you haven't tried.
JAKE (To the audience): Everybody's doing it. My grandma's on Prozac. My mother keeps telling me I should try Zoloft cos it works for her, but she doesn't know why I went off Paxil. (Secretly, away from Mother): I told her it was because it turned me into a zombie, which is true, but that wasn't the main reason. I stopped taking Paxil because I couldn't jerk off. Anyway, Prozac and Zoloft are in the same "family" so they have the same side effects. Effexor gave me a headache and nosebleeds. Wellbutrin and Remeron didn't work. Buspar was good for treating my anxiety, but it made me sleep all day. My sister's on Amitriptyline, which I can't take cos it would require a blood test and I'm more afraid of needles than I am of self-inflicted gunshot wounds. (To Isabelle): You know, sometimes a person is just fucked up. And there's nothing that can be done.
ISABELLE: I don't agree. Unless you just refuse to try. I have the number of the clinic here. I think you should give them a call.
JAKE: Well, you call. You set it up, then I'll go.
ISABELLE: I think you should do it, it would be good for you.
JAKE: I don't want to.
ISABELLE: Come on, Jake, it's no big deal.
JAKE: It won't get done!
ISABELLE: Well...Why don't you at least call one of your friends, you know...You spend so much time in here by yourself, you're gonna go crazy. How long's it been since you've talked to Zeke?
JAKE: He's busy.
ISABELLE: If he's busy, he'll call back.
JAKE: To hell with Zeke.

(There is a long, awkward pause: they are at an impasse.)

ISABELLE (Stern): Okay, I'm going to call the clinic and you are going to see a counselor.
JAKE: Fine.

(ISABELLE leaves. ZEKE comes back to life.)

ZEKE (Teasing): Call Zeke, call Zeke! Counselors...They just fuck with your head.
JAKE: So do you.

(JAKE gets up and ZEKE freezes again.)

JAKE (to the audience): So do you. (Pause, then to another part of the audience:) Well, sir, I don't know how to answer that question, I mean...I know what I feel, but it's so controversial. I don't really want to offend anyone. I mean, I think abortion is just a very convenient form of murder. "I don't want a couple months of pains and puking, so rip his head out!" As for capital punishment, that's just a legal excuse for revenge. What an example for America's youth! (To another part of the audience:) Do I think aliens exist? I hope so. I hope I get abducted and taken out of this hell hole, taken to someplace where there's no fucking Mossimo t-shirts or Doc Martins or...cars! (Pause.): Last night, I went on the Internet, searching for something. I'm always searching for something. Black Plague is where to go for erotic death. Last night, I saw this picture of a teenager whose skull had been cracked open by a train, and his brains were oozing out onto the bark dust. He reminded me of someone I used to know. Femmes Obscure is a great site for snuff fantasies. And don't forget Gay Thumb Post, for all the hardcore action you need. Studs, celebrities, kids...whatever.

(Blackout.)

(JAKE is sitting with ISABELLE.)

JAKE: It's happening again.
ISABELLE: I know.
JAKE: It's that obvious?
ISABELLE: Of course it is. Your constant moping, waiting by the phone. You wrote to him again, didn't you?

(JAKE nods his head.)

ISABELLE: Do you really think he reads your letters? They probably go straight from the mailbox to the waste basket.
JAKE: You don't know that.
ISABELLE: We know Gabe. Don't we?
JAKE: People change.
ISABELLE: Gabe is not going to change. He will never want to hear from you. What's it going to take for you to realize that? You moved down there, spent a whole term at the University of Oregon just so you could see if the closer proximity would make a difference. Did it make a difference?
JAKE: No.
ISABELLE: No. Now you're back here, and instead of getting on with you're life, you're acting as though you're still down there.
JAKE: Why are you doing this? Can't I at least hope–
ISABELLE: False hopes are worthless. And harmful.
JAKE: Alright, so there's no hope.
ISABELLE: That's not what I said. There's nothing where Gabe is concerned. But there are lots of other people out there, people who would be glad to know you.
JAKE: That is such bullshit! Now, who's the liar?
ISABELLE: Okay, let me see. You directed that play a few months ago. I was so proud of you. You were really on the right track. Gabe turns out to be a shit, and you had a bad patch for awhile, but then you went and did that play. That was before you got the crazy notion of transferring to Eugene.
JAKE: Yeah? So?
ISABELLE: You got along with them pretty well, the people you were working with. They respected you, right?
JAKE: Respecting someone and liking them are two different things. Anyway, I do like one of the guys who was in that...You remember Nick? I like him... I've been thinking about him. That's how I fell in love with Gabe, just thinking about him.
ISABELLE: Is Nick gay?
JAKE: No, damnit, that's not the issue. Don't you get it?
ISABELLE: I guess not.
JAKE: Neither would he. I'm talking about friendship here.
ISABELLE: Yeah, but Jake, friendship between men is different for gays than straight people.
JAKE: How would you know?
ISABELLE: I've lived a lot longer than you. I've known too many men to not see the difference. You want a kind of closeness that...I'm sorry to say this, but you just won't find it with a straight man. Now if you were a girl, well...That would be a different story. Women bond with each other all the time. Men aren't like that.
JAKE: Yeah, that's right, so I'd just freak him out, wouldn't I?
ISABELLE: Not necessarily.
JAKE: See, the way I think of Nick is...You can be the best person in the world, the most caring, thoughtful angel, but...It doesn't mean you necessarily have anything to give. Maybe you gave it all away already. Maybe you're empty and tired and...Need the right person to give something back to you. He needs someone to give him love and I don't know what else... And I'm not the right person. I feel like I am, but it's all in my head.

(ISABELLE takes his hands.)

ISABELLE: Here, let's pray.
JAKE: Let's not. I feel like a hypocrite. If we don't do this stuff now, I won't miss it when you're gone.
ISABELLE: Gone? What do you mean, gone?
JAKE: You know...When you vanish into thin air. When God decides it's time for that big family reunion in the sky. While everyone who's not spotless in God's eyes gets left here to be stung by giant locusts. When you're ascending into heaven, you better not look back or you'll be pillar of salt.
ISABELLE: Listen to me, young man. You will NOT talk like this. You belong to GOD. Do you hear me?
JAKE: I belong to God.
ISABELLE: Yes.
JAKE: Prove it. (Pause.) How on earth can I belong to God? I am not even human. I am a little piece of dirt. I mean NOTHING to NO ONE! When I make friends, it lasts about a week! People promise me a place in their heart, and then a second later, they run the other way, as fast as they can. "I don't want you to call, I don't want you to write, I don't want you to come over."

(JAKE takes on a hostile posture, attacking ISABELLE, as if she was someone else.)

JAKE: WHY?! WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO TO YOU? WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO TO YOU, GODDAMNIT?! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!

(JAKE hits ISABELLE and knocks her down on the floor. JAKE kicks ISABELLE, who doesn't resist, but rather stays on the floor, crying. Blackout.)

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