Violent Content
by Matt Russell
CHARACTERS:
JAKE, a college student.
GABE, another college student, Jake's estranged friend.
SETTING: Winter in Eugene, OR. The living room of Gabe's apartment, which has a little kitchen attached to it. There are signs of someone being on his own for the first time, a flair of newly discovered individuality and independence. The place is neat and tidy. Gabe's small fortune has been spent on electronics, instead of glorious furniture.
AT RISE: Lights up to Afternoon. GABE is standing at the kitchen counter, fixing a sandwich, as there is a KNOCK on the door. He goes to answer the door. He finds JAKE standing there, and GABE is instantly agitated. He gathers his composure and swiftly closes the door. The KNOCKING resumes. Angrily, GABE opens the door again.
GABE: What the fuck are you doing here?
JAKE: I was in the neighborhood.
GABE: What...Did you think I was going to let you in? (No answer.) Look...You have to understand that this thing is not gonna happen. Goodbye.
(GABE begins to close the door, but JAKE kicks the door back towards GABE.)
JAKE: I think there's something that you need to understand. (Pulls out a gun) Can you understand this? Huh? Cos if you don't, I can clarify it even further, you stupid son of a bitch.
GABE: Now...hold on...
JAKE: Don't you make a fucking sound.
(JAKE lets himself in, forcing GABE to step back. When inside, JAKE closes and locks the door.)
GABE: Now just...put that thing down.
JAKE (Mock consideration): Uh.........................No.
GABE: Put it down. We'll talk.
JAKE: Oh, you wanna talk? You didn't want to talk for the last six months. I wonder what changed your mind.
GABE: You don't want to do this. You don't want to be in this kind of trouble.
JAKE: I already am. Didn't you pay attention to my letters? The ones that said I wanted to kill myself? Tell me...Is it that you didn't believe me or you didn't care?
GABE: It's not that I didn't care...Look...I know how bad this sounds, but...I had my own problems.
JAKE: And you couldn't let my problems be your problems.
GABE: Well...no.
JAKE: But they are your problems. You know why?
GABE: Why?
JAKE: Because, as you're living your happy, care-free life, going about your day to day business, taking classes, having lunch with your girlfriend, studying for finals, not giving a shit about how I'm feeling, you never know what's going to happen to you. Fate can play some cruel tricks on a person. You may have plans for tomorrow, but so does everyone. Maybe you'll get there. But what of the poor motherfuckers sitting at a booth at McDonald's eating a Big Mac when all of a sudden some madman walks in with a machine gun and blows them away? Why does he do it? Because he doesn't care. He doesn't even care about his own life, so the decision to destroy his own life allows him to destroy others in the process. And why not? Why not take that added bonus? What's to fear, the death penalty? The minute he stopped caring about himself was the minute he became a murderer. And when you stopped caring about me, I stopped caring.
GABE: You just don't care about anything?
JAKE: Right! What do I have to care about? (Pause.) Why don't you have a seat...No, wait!
(JAKE gets a small chair from the kitchen table and places it in the living room before GABE.)
GABE: I'm gonna sit on the couch.
JAKE: You're very brave.
(GABE sits on the couch.)
GABE: I find the situation more ironic than anything else. Just looking back, when we first became friends, not knowing what the hell I was getting into--
JAKE: What a psycho freak I would turn out to be.
GABE: You said it.
JAKE: So you're not gonna sit in the chair?
GABE: No.
JAKE: Oh, I guess you can have your pride. I can relate to that, almost respect it. He died with his boots on! Or in your case, his trendy fuckin' ugly sandals. But the thing is, I'm not gonna kill you if you don't do what I say. You don't need to feel a bruised ego if you sit in this chair here. I'm just gonna shoot a knee cap if you don't. Will you feel like more of a man with a shot up knee? Will you be glad y ou stood your ground and didn't sit in the little chair? I respect your decision, whatever it is, bud.
(GABE moves to the chair, and JAKE takes some rope out of his bag. JAKE begins to tie GABE'S arms to the back of the chair.)
JAKE: Now I'm not very good at tying knots. I missed that year in Boy Scouts. So theoretically you can try to get untied and succeed. Except that if I see you making an attempt...well, you can fill in the blanks.
GABE: You know, my room-mate's going to be getting back soon.
JAKE: Do you think it was really a good idea to tell me that? I have a silencer, you know. Forgot to put it on a minute ago when I was at your door, but it's in my bag. My dad was a cop.
GABE: That's funny, Jake.
JAKE: I guess it kind of is.
GABE: Maybe he'll be the one to arrest you.
JAKE: I wouldn't put him through that. And I said "was". Besides, he's in Portland, you idiot.
GABE: Okay, well...Here we are.
JAKE: God, you need a hair cut. I think I'll give you one.
(JAKE pulls a knife out of his bag. He starts to grab locks of GABE'S hair, pulling it, then cutting it off with his knife. GABE grunts in pain of having his hair pulled.)
JAKE: I don't know why you had to let it go like this. You used to be so stylin'. Was that just what they made you do, workin' for that fancy restaurant? You know, it's right what ZZ Top said about everyone being crazy for them sharp dressed men. Of course the irony there is that those are a couple of country redneck slobs. But you used to be the sharpest of them all and now you're down here in Hippiville U.S.A., letting everything go to hell. A guy can be the most beautiful, angelic thing in the world, but long hair will always mess that up.
GABE: I know a lot of people who would disagree with you on that point.
JAKE: A lot of women.
GABE: Yeah.
JAKE: Who do you think you are, fuckin' Fabio? Besides, fuck women.
GABE: You hate women?
JAKE: I didn't say that. Well...You wouldn't treat a woman like you treat me. So there's a little jealousy thing there. They get what I can't have. You'd at least fuck a woman before you threw her away. At least women are more sensitive; they have a soul, whereas you don't. Open wide.
(JAKE tries to put a bundle of hair in his mouth, GABE resists, but JAKE rams it in.)
JAKE: Swallow it, you stupid mother. SWALLOW! That's right. (Pause.) Ah now. Better. Much better. I would feed you some more of it, but I'm afraid of what it would do to you. I want you to be healthy for the moment. Did you know your friend Robert sucked my dick three weeks ago?
GABE (Uncomfortable): Uh no, Jake. I didn't know that. I only knew he tried to be your friend and you pushed him away.
JAKE: Interesting way of putting it. Yeah, I'm in bed, one o'clock in the morning Friday night, I get this call from some dude who says he's a friend of yours. You told him a couple things about me, and well...He'd like to meet me. So I invite him up. He seems nice. I start to confide in him about everything that happened between us the last six months. By the time I'm done, I'm emotionally exhausted and a bit vulnerable, and he happens to be sitting beside me, wanting very much to provide comfort. So he starts caressing his comforting hands all over me. And shit man, I'm unbelievably flattered to know that someone even likes me! I'm getting off just on the fact that he's getting off on me. But I have to tell him I'm not attracted to him. Still he persists in touching me, and taking my clothes off. He kept asking, "Is this okay?" and at first I didn't know if it was or not, so I said "Yeah." But then I knew it wasn't, but I still said "Yeah." (Pause.) He had to make sure I knew that he wanted to be my friend, BUT...And doesn't that sound familiar? You wanted to be my friend, BUT you didn't want it to be an obligation; that wasn't there with your other friends. He wanted to be my friend, BUT he wasn't going to be a middle man between us. But the next day he was giving me this message from you, on your behalf, that you wanted to dissolve this friendship. And when he didn't call me for two weeks after that, well...I thought that was a good time to push him away. (Pause.) Now we have to do something about this nasty shirt.
(JAKE takes the knife and cuts the plain, plaid shirt off of Gabe, to reveal a bare chest.)
JAKE (In awe): Oh my. You know, last night I sexually fantasized about you for the first time in several months. It reminded me of how much I used to love you. That's why I did it. I knew it would remind me of the time when I cared about you so much. Maybe some of that love from the past would come and visit me in the present, so I wouldn't come here today.
(JAKE bends down and starts to kiss GABE'S chest. He sucks on one nipple while rubbing the other with one of his hands. GABE is extremely uncomfortable and wants to protest, but doesn't know how.)
JAKE: Oh man. Don't it just hurt so good... I'm going to pry open your mouth with toothpicks, then puke in it. Then I'm gonna piss and come and shit in it. Then it will be your turn to vomit. Then I'm going to cut off your balls and put them in the blender and make a milkshake.
GABE: I don't have a blender.
JAKE: Damnit! (Pause.) It's too bad you never got to try modeling. You know what you used to look like?
GABE: Yeah, a Ken doll, you said that in one of your stupid letters, I think.
JAKE (Almost happy): You mean you read them?
GABE: The first hundred...Hey uh...could you just jerk off and let's get on with whatever it is you came here for.
JAKE: You know you say you want to be a writer. I think that's really funny.
GABE: Why is that?
JAKE: Because you suck. Remember that time we were in English class together and we swapped stories to read and edit? I was on top of the world when I got mine back from you with all the great comments on it. I remember how much I wished I could do the same thing, or do it honestly, rather. But your story was unintentionally funny, melodramatic, and full of clichés. I remember laughing, and I felt so bad. Then you say if you can't make it as a writer, you'll be a teacher...as if they'll let someone teach who can't even write. You don't even understand literature, and that's your major. You study all these classics, and you have the plot and the characters, and a superficial idea of what you think the writers might be saying, but you don't really get it at all. You can bullshit your way through essay exams, but it takes more than that in the real world.
GABE: What do you know about the real world?
JAKE: More than you think.
GABE: What have you done?
JAKE: At least I've been published.
GABE: In some cheesy community college literary magazine.
JAKE: At least I've had a play produced.
GABE: At least I have friends.
(JAKE slaps GABE hard across the face. Then JAKE quickly turns and walks to the other side of the room, facing away from GABE, with a bit of hurt over what GABE said and a bit of guilt over hitting him. JAKE visibly tries to stop the onset of tears, and, for the moment, succeeds. He turns back towards GABE.)
JAKE: What exactly did you think I wanted from you as a friend?
GABE: Everything. You know, you...wanted me to go with you to the doctor, you wanted me to spend the night, you wanted to...talk all the time.
JAKE: I guess I did, didn't I? I should've agreed to watch that movie you brought over that time. I just...I'm not a big fan of Mamet. I like Sam Shepard much better.
GABE: It doesn't matter.
JAKE: Gabe, you know I wanted to talk to you because I'd thought about you so much, felt so much for you for three years. Three years before we even became friends. That's a long time, don't you think? If you ever bottled up something inside for three years, I bet you'd have a lot of talking to do!
GABE: That's what shrinks are for.
JAKE: I know that. But I always wanted to believe that I didn't need that. I always wanted to believe I could make it with a little help from my friends.
GABE: A little?
JAKE: Oh alright, a lot. (A beat) Yeah, Gabe, I was just gonna suck all the life right out of you, wasn't I?
GABE: Are you being sarcastic?
JAKE: Yes. Honestly I don't know what the fuck you were afraid of. It's not like I was trying to seduce you. I knew you weren't gay.
GABE: Did you?
JAKE: YES GODDAMNIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!
GABE: You wanna know what I was afraid of? I'll tell you.
(GABE makes his best attempt to point his head at the gun in JAKE's hand.)
GABE: That. That's what I was afraid of.
JAKE: Bullshit. (Referring to the gun) How could you be afraid of this? You had no way of knowing I would do this.
GABE: I know your type.
JAKE: My type? What the hell does that mean? What is my fucking type?
GABE: Obsessive. Irrational, compulsive, depressed...dangerous.
JAKE: You know all about me, don't you?
GABE: I know enough.
JAKE: You don't know a goddamn thing.
GABE: Then tell me. Tell me what I should know. That's why you're here, isn't it?
JAKE: Guilty. Guilty as charged. I'm obsessive...irrational, depressed. But not dangerous.
(GABE laughs.)
JAKE: Oh right, you see this gun, and think it reflects the kind of person I am. Did you ever even try to know me? To understand? Or were you too busy to make the effort? That's it, isn't it? That's why you ditched me. We had some problems, and you were lazy. You didn't want to take the time to try to fix things in a way that was civil and thoughtful of both our feelings. You wanted the quick fix, the easy way out. Turn and run, that's gonna solve all your problems. Did it, Gabe? (Raising his voice, pointing the gun at Gabe) Did it solve all your problems?
GABE: It's what made sense at the time.
JAKE: Nothing made sense. Cruelty does not make sense. Not ever. (Pause) You remember I told you this Vietnamese dude once tried to court me. He just couldn't understand I didn't want him. Of course he could hardly understand English, and I couldn't get a word he said. He gave me a two-hundred dollar leather briefcase, he shoved it in my hands and wouldn't take it back. (In bad Vietnamese dialect) "Why you be so mean to me?" he said. It made me so uncomfortable. And I just...stopped being home when he called on the phone, just like you did with me. It made sense at the time, but it was bullshit. I was an asshole, Gabe! Just like you. I was afraid. And I wish I could change it. But I can't. I just have to accept I was a cowardly motherfucker once upon a time and move on. I understand you more than you think. A lot more than you give me credit for. (Pause.) You think I don't know I make your skin crawl? I know. Wasn't always like that. You respected me once, do you know how goddamn great that felt? But when you have an obsession, it's like you might as well have leprosy because nobody wants to be near you. When you're helpless, people think that's a virus. I was unfamiliar with the rules of the road when you said to me, "I'm your friend." So I took some risks that I thought were safe, but they weren't.
GABE: I told you--
JAKE: You told me shit. You warned me to lighten up. But you waited until after you already dropped me. You told me to change and then you didn't give me a chance. After that night on the phone, that was fucking it. I couldn't call, I couldn't write. You ignored my letters, no matter how friendly they tried to be.
GABE: They weren't that friendly.
JAKE: I was pissed! Just like you. Don't I have that right too? What did you expect? But I always balanced my anger by saying I wanted–needed–to talk about it, heal wounds, make peace. I needed to know why you were ignoring me. I had to have a reason for this pain, but that didn't matter to you. You just wanted to pretend I didn't exist. Do you have any idea what that felt like? All summer, I waited by the phone, refused to go anywhere. Then when you finally agree to talk to me, it has to be on the phone because it's EASIER FOR YOU! And what's your explanation? "I just thought there would always be something." What the hell does that mean?
GABE: Nothing was ever enough.
JAKE: You can't read my mind.
GABE: I could certainly read your letters...the ones you wrote to my parents.
JAKE (Caught off guard): You know, it's cliche, but true: desperation can drive a man to do crazy things. I was drowning. I reached out for every hand I could. Big fuckin' surprise that you wouldn't be able to understand that.
GABE: You needed to just get a life and let me live mine.
JAKE: God, you make that sound so fucking easy! You don't think I've ever tried, is that it?
GABE: You weren't trying very hard, keeping up with the letters after I made it clear I wanted it to stop. Moving down here just to stalk me.
JAKE: Oh there's a buzz word. Stalking. I bet that feels good spewing out of your malicious mouth.
GABE: Look at yourself.
JAKE: You think this is all my fault?
GABE: I'm not taking responsibility for you being fucked up.
JAKE: And that's the whole problem. That's why I'm here. Because you are going to take responsibility. Or you're going to die. Do you understand? You know, we are responsible, every human on this earth, for the way we treat each other. Our lives affect others, whether you choose to accept that or not. You still have an impact, even if your head is buried in the fucking sand. You can't just smash someone's heart like a can of beer and then turn and walk away. You have to show that you care whether I live or die. That's the obligation that every man has when he is put on this earth.
GABE: Will you stop with the suicide shit? Do you know how long you've been yelling "Suicide"?
JAKE: Obviously long enough for you to be completely desensitized. I don't understand it though. After you told me about your friend–
GABE: Don't you fuckin' go there.
JAKE: Sorry. I'm already here. Right now. I bet they didn't have an open-casket funeral for him, did they? I bet even Krazy-glue couldn't keep his head together?
GABE (Finally hurt): God...You think you're really funny, don't you?
JAKE: No, not really. (Pause.) I admit I used Suicide like a card in a poker game. Just like you had the Harassment card. If I get too much of a bother, just get a restraining order. That'll get the fly out of your face. What about my rights, my needs? Nobody sees that, nobody understands that.
GABE: Did you think there might be a reason?
JAKE: What makes you right? You're the one that hurt me! I didn't hurt you, I just made you mad. I'm dying of pain, and you're accusing me of harassment. SOMETHING IS NOT FUCKING RIGHT ABOUT THAT! (Pause.) This kinda shit really tests the bonds of family and friendship. Though I know it's wrong, I feel like I have to forgive everyone in my life for...not being on my side. It's not socially acceptable for a stranger to come to you and say, "Talk to Jake." It's not acceptable for my parents to go talk to your parents. But if you think about it, if you look at the big picture, you've got your laws and your mores, and your idea of what is normal. But if the world came to an end tomorrow, what would happen to those pretentious standards? None of it would matter anymore. Humans just have each other, so why do we invent ways of separating ourselves from each other? (Pause.) You go to your friends and tell them about me, and they tell you what you want to hear. Those are the kinds of friends you want, very convenient. I didn't have that. Even the people who cared about me always had something to say about what your rights were.
GABE: I have a right to choose who to be friends with.
JAKE: And I don't? You gave me your friendship before you took it away. You said you'd never turn your back.
GABE: Things change.
JAKE: You changed. If you had problems, we could have talked about them.
GABE: Like we're doing now.
JAKE: Now is not the ideal circumstance.
GABE: Nothing ever would be.
JAKE: YOU DON'T FUCKING KNOW THAT! If you had waited just a little longer to shut me out, to make up your mind against me...But they all must have told you to just forget Jake, leave him behind, scrape the dust of this ghost town off your shoes, and don't even say goodbye. I was crying and praying all day and night, and you were out camping, drinking with your friends, telling stories round the fire. (Pause.) I thought it was great that you liked camping. I love camping along the coast, down by the Oregon Dunes. Ever hear of a place called Shore Acres State Park? It's near Coos Bay. I hear it's a good place to go in the winter to watch the waves break. I could see us walking on the beach in the morning twilight, and then it would start to rain, and you know what? Your long hair might just look kinda cool in the rain. And it would be okay for me to appreciate you, to think you're something special. It wouldn't make me Satan.
GABE: Someday there will be someone who wants to do those things with you. And may even think you're special back.
JAKE: I know. You're right. Because you're always right. You know everything. You're the expert on my life's potential. That's why you don't want to have anything to do with me.
GABE: I thought you had friends in the theatre group. And that terrible garage band–
JAKE: So I know some people, that doesn't constitute a friendship.
GABE: Then what does? See, most people, if you know them, hang out with them from time to time, that makes you a friend.
JAKE: They weren't there for me when I needed them.
GABE: You probably freaked them out too.
JAKE: Maybe I did.
GABE: You gotta learn...I don't know, you gotta learn how things work...
JAKE: How am I supposed to learn when nobody will stick with me long enough? When I don't get the chance to make mistakes? Why do you think I'm so scared all the time? I don't have any skills, social or otherwise, and if I try to do something and blow it, that's it! I'm fuckin' dead. Nobody's forgiving. Every time I open my eyes in the morning, there's this dark cloud of terror hovering over me. And half the time I don't even know what it is I'm afraid of. Afraid to try to be fun. Afraid to ask someone out, or even to say hi. Afraid of work, afraid of failure. Afraid to learn to drive. Afraid to cross the street. Afraid to write a check. Afraid to take another breath. Afraid to take any more chances. Afraid to speak. Afraid of crowds, but also afraid of solitude. Afraid of another weekend by myself in the dorm, listening to everyone else partying and having fun. Afraid to see you, to think of you, to wonder what you're doing. I just want to stand still and never move again. Like I'm hiding behind a bush in a forest in a war. If I move, someone will see me and shoot me. I CAN'T DO ANYTHING!!!
GABE: Well, you have to. Nobody's going to hold your hand through all these terribly traumatic things.
JAKE: Why? Why?
GABE: Because life's not like that. What do you want from me? What do you want me to say? "I'm your best friend. Through thick and thin. You call and I come running. We do everything together. We share our deepest secrets and desires. There's nothing we won't do for each other. Nothing can come between us. I'm the one you call at three in the morning in an emergency. Our photo album's chuck full of all the stuff we experience together. Graduation. Marriage. Camping trips. Let's go to a movie. Let's have a drink. Let's sit down and have a nice heart to heart." (A beat.) Well, no. No. I'm not offering that to you, now or ever. I can make this choice for myself.
JAKE (At last, defeated): Wow. Way to stand your ground...I just wanted a friendship...Don't you understand, it's not sexual. You have friends, I don't. What do you got to lose? I got nothing. We don't even have to be best friends. Don't you understand........?
GABE: Yeah, I understand. It's not going to happen.
JAKE: I think I should get a little thank you here. For all the things I ever wanted to do, but never did. I had your new address and phone number all summer, but I never used them. I always waited for those times you were in Portland. I could have taken a bus down here so I could confront you, but I never did. Now you're in my lit. class, and you just sit there behind me like you want me to pretend you're not there. And I don't say anything. I let you go out first so that we don't meet at the door. I can't go into the library, which is sort of important in college, because you work there. Every time I cross Oak street, my mind goes, "This is Gabe's street." I pass you by on the other side of the street and I want nothing more than to tackle you and beat the living shit out of you. But I don't. I stopped calling. I stopped writing. I gave you what you wanted.
GABE: This is not what I wanted.
JAKE: I've often wondered...When I was sending all those letters, and writing to your parents, if they ever tried to get you to talk to me. If they or even you had a moment of sympathy for the devil...ever? Just a moment when you questioned what you were doing.
GABE: If there was, I wouldn't tell you.
JAKE: You were the most beautiful angel in heaven. I loved you so much. I loved you more than my family. I loved you more than God. I believed in you for so long. (Lovingly kissing Gabe's ear.) And I treasured every class project we did in high school before we were really friends, when I would just stare at you from across the room. I saved worksheets we did together for a scrapbook. Well, I guess all good things must end.
(GABE starts to feel a little afraid, but tries not to show it.)
GABE: And sometimes you have to wonder if those good things ever even existed, except in your mind.
JAKE: I suppose. Any last words, Gabe?
GABE: Not for you, man.
JAKE: You're gonna burn so hot. You're gonna cry to so many deaf demons. You're gonna thirst so much for precious water. And your endless pain and suffering will only be surpassed by mine.
(JAKE points the gun in Gabe's ear, and there is a long pause.)
JAKE: You always get your way, don't you?
(JAKE removes the gun from GABE and points it in his own ear.)
GABE: Jake?...Jake...
(As the gun goes off...Blackout.)
© 1998 Matt Russell.