DIVING IN _________ A Play in One Act by Andrew Moore

Copyright (c) 2009, by Andrew Moore

1221 Dewey Ave Los Angeles, CA 90006 Phone: (213) 251-9670 e-mail: andrewmoore_@hotmail.com

Cast of Characters Ayme Renard: An seventeen year-old, brilliant yet troubled artist. Scene A ledge, high up on an old industrial building in St. Louis, Missouri. NOTE: Ideally this is staged so that the actress is sitting above the audience. Ideally, the height is not just implied but is to some extent actual. This makes the suicide at the end much more compelling. Time The present.

This play is dedicated to the memory of the real Ayme Renard.

There are places and moments in which one is so completely alone that one sees the world entire. - Jules Renard

1 DIVING IN SETTING: A ledge, high up on an old industrial building in downtown St. Louis, Missouri. A full moon shines from above, and streetlights buzz below. AYME sits on the ledge, casually putting on chapstick. Her hair is cut short and sloppy, as if she took a pair of snub-nosed kindergarten scissors to it herself. She is dressed in a loose fitting shirt and well broken-in jeans. She is barefoot. Next to her on the ledge is a sketchbook, a portfolio and a small bag containing her art supplies and medication.

AT RISE:

AYME (looking at her watch) Right now its 3:27 a.m. In . . . (counting on her fingers) five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten . . . six hours and . . . see, thirty . . . thirty-three minutes . . . In six hours and thirty-three minutes, I have an interview with Blitz Comics in Chicago. Blitz is a small-time independent company which specializes in horror comics, and other oddities. I have my portfolio all ready, right here with me. Now I wait. I cant sleep. I never can. Im chronic insomniac. But some of my best work has been done at . . . (looks at watch) 3:28 a.m. in the morning. I have pills . . . (she digs them out of her bag) . . . that Im supposed to take to make me sleep. I also have pills . . . lets see. To couteract depression, I have (indicates pill bottle) this to counteract A-D-D and I have . . . Oh my God! Look at that over there! Sorry. Thats just a little A-D-D humor. My parents thought I was anemic for about eight years, and had taking iron supplements. I went on birth control to regulate my irregular cycle -- and I freebase Flintstones. They just taste so good. My parents still cant figure out (MORE)

2 AYME (Cont.) why I doodle incessently, and why I set up this interview in Chicago of all places at ten oclock a.m. about . . . what did I say? Six hours and, and, and, I think thirty-one minutes or so. Shit! I wish I could sleep! When I do, I dont dream. So I make up for it by creating my dreams on paper or canvas or newsprint or, shit, asphalt. Asphalt. God! Its like, I got a song stuck in my head, and, and, and it just wont mother fucking stop! Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom. You know? All these mother fucking pills are like, like, like ear muffs. They get in the way! They get in the mother fucking way! (She hurls the pills away.) No more! Yes! Yes! I hear it! I fucking hear it! Hit me, fill me up! Goddamn it take me! Take me! I dont care take me! Take me! (She stops ranting, breathing hard.) I cant sleep. Spider-man. It was a brilliant idea, I mean, you know, the whole premise, of being bitten by a spider, and gaining proportional strength. And then those web shooters. Brilliant. Brilliance. Stan Lee was a fucking genius. Music! Goddamn music in my head! Batman. Aside from all the merchandise, another brilliant concept. Shit. What was I talking about? Ten a.m. Cant sleep. Stop. (She turns on a dime, now very social) Hi. Im Ayme Renard. I should probably introduce myself cause, cause I think I should. Hi, Im Ayme Renard. (laughs) Today on Its the mind we will be discussing de ja vue, that peculiar sensation that . . . (Her mood drops.) Fuck you, I wont do what you tell me. Its my goddamn life! If I want to . . . (She blindly picks up sketch book and pencil.) AYME (Cont.) Its happening. (AYME begins scribbling furiously on the sketch pad in her lap.)

3 AYME (Cont.) Fuck! Fuck me! (The scribbling begins to subside.) Do you know, whenever I get like this I just do it! Put it on paper, put it all on paper. All the demons, all the anger, all the confusion, all the terror, the panic, the fear, the anger, the demons . . . there! (She rips out the page and drops it.) Why did I have to throw those pills? Its not terror, not . . . panic, its something else . . . dread. God! Tourettes maybe? I do have a potty mouth. Mommy says. (glancing at the watch) Ten fucking a.m., I have got to keep it together! Keep it together. No more lies. Now. Now. Truth and lies are like on a ring. I have this theory. Theory. Its like, what goes around comes around. Escher and Pollock. Escher created in a highly structured way, but his stuff like Relativity and like the tower where the people keep walkinund and around but never get anywhere -- Ascending and Descending -- his shit seems chaotic. Pollock would dance -- maniacally. Splashing the canvas with pigment. His chaos, if you look at it as a whole and feel the passion he put into it, has a higher order to it. Hydrogen and oxygen get to gether and make water molecules, each one a tiny microcosm of an ocean. But stand back and the order disappears. Youre left with waves darting up and down, cool satin sheets bowing and bouncing, complete disorder. Lies, if they are, I guess really vicious, they hurt as much as if you get really truthful with someone, truthful to an extreme that is almost unbelievably infinite or something . . . you know, it all just, just, just goes down the drain of reason and becomes a lie. Yeah? (She suddenly looks up. She mumbles to herself, processing her thoughts.) AYME (Cont.) H-two-O. Must be something to that. Three atoms. Three. All is three. All for three, three for all. Three. One two three. Three trees. (She returns to her sketchbook, and scribbles furiously.

4 Three. Three. Three. Three. Three. Three. Three! (She stops and admires her work.) There. (beat) Its an anagram for three. (beat) The pills kick in quickly so I should make more sense soon. God! I can tell you, cant I? Theres really no harm. I can ... (beat) I was ... always special in school. They thought I was stupid and dumb, and told me Id never be anybody, and my life was a waste. I got licks for doodling in class and talking and being what they call a nuisance. I would tell my teachers I was sick, and call my mom, and she would take me home. Mom. My mom ... no, my dad died when I was three ... or did he leave? He ... (beat) Mom understood me, and took me to special classes when I was a freshman in high school to help me adjust. She told me I was a social retard, and got me on drugs like this shit thats helping me not freak out. (laughing) I have a dad. He didnt die! Why did I say that? Hes an insurance salesman. He sells insurance, and my mom is ... she, aside from her sideline of being a complete bitch, she works, too, although she doesnt have to. Dad is so ... rich, I guess. Mom does ackyquis ... acquisitions and auctions. She buys other peoples shit for other people. She bought for Hard Rock once. (beat) They buy me dresses and nice stuff, and I dont wear it. Never. (beat) I like my bras. (beat) So I was like a social retard, they said, and hadnt a clue as to how to, to, to behave I guess. Its like, rules piss me off. Rules just lead to disorder anyway. Disorder. Anarchy. Me, I dont want to do something like go to some stupid class in high school where its all about learning stuff you dont need, or youve already learned, you know? (beat) Im tired of talking about this. (beat) I graduated, so like, I dont have to do that shit. AYME (Cont.) Three. Three.

5 (she tears out what she last drew and looks at it.) AYME (Cont.) It was the end. No more. (she tosses the drawing off of the ledge, and begins to scribble again.) AYME (Cont.) Fuck, I know that I shouldnt, but whos going to stop me? You know? People? (beat) They dont really care what Im going to do with my life they just want rules. Rules. Rules. Rules. I hate rules. They are made by idiots for idiots. All I wanted to do in high school was draw, and I know and knew I could get a job, just drawing. Im going to do comics. You know? At ten oclock I have an interview at Blitz comics. Im going to get a job, and prove everybody is wrong. (beat) They ... (She scribbles furiously for a moment.) God! God! God! Three! (She tears out the page angrily and throws it away, with such force that she almost goes down after it.) AYME (Cont.) I hate it! I hate it. I mother fucking hate it. My mother doesnt want me to do what I want to do. I feel like an invalid, like I dont have arms and cant feed myself. (beat) I could be. This could all be a delusion, you know. You know. I could just be fooling all of us. (beat) Can something so fake be real? Can something so real be fake? I think so. Eventually, with enough training. (beat) I feel better. A haze lifts, it really does. For me, anyway. One moment Im psycho-schizo, the next minute, Im talking like this, in nice, calm, even sentences. I can resist the urge to freak if I concentrate, without the pills, (MORE)

6 AYME (Cont.) but I lose control so easily, its all a wasted effort. Im okay now. Its like drowning, or at least, what I imagine drowning to be like. There was a poem ... about ... drowning, but it was gas instead of water. Poisonous gas. By ... I want to say The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, but that is not it. Shit, shit, shit. (beat) Louise Bogan. No, she wrote the one about ... the nuthouse. Women in a nuthouse. Dammit! Now Ill never get to sleep. (AYME laughs, and then pauses for a long, thoughtful moment.) AYME (Cont.) Well, I dont remember. I hate it. Damn it. I remember The Red fucking Wheelbarrow, but I dont remember this poem. The imagery was so real. Why cant I remember the Goddamned title? (beat) That is part of what it takes to be a social retard: You must make no sense to so-called normal people. My teachers in high school hated me. I understand normalcy. I can mimic it in a pince. I have. I had a job at a burger joint once. But I did work at my dads office. Both times I pretended to be normal to stangers I helped. (beat) I gave a stranger a blow job once. (beat) I dont know where that came from. (beat) I have never performed a blow job, although Ive had lots of offers. (she smiles, and takes off her shirt.) I love my bra. (beat) When you sit outside in the cold for a while, and youre a girl, your nipples get hard. Its a fact of nature. I guess guys get hard nipples, too, but I havent really paid attention. (she stares out, remembering something, and laughs.)

7 AYME (Cont.) When I was about fifteen or sixteen, and rehearsing in the old theatre ... (beat) Maybe I should explain this. I art. (laughs) I mean, I draw. But I had this friend who threw pots and smoked pot, and she had a friend who was in to theatre. The people I hung out with in high school were into the theatre thing and all. I was in a school play or two. But when I got to acting, it wasnt as pleasing as painting or drawing. I mostly did it because the two or three friends I had did it too. (beat) It was my friend who threw the pots, her friend who was into this community theatre stuff, some old guy with bad breath, and Greg ODonnell, a boy about my age, who was as useless as ... something thats terribly useless. Anyway, the heater was broken, and it was the dead of winter. It was a particularly snowy night. I was wearing a t-shirt with a button-up sweater vest, and my breasts, which were finally beginning to peep out of my chest, were alive with erect nipples. This seemed to excite the community college dropout who ewas directing us. At first, I thought that I was simply giving a stunning performance. Uh-uh. He was checking out my titis. I didnt realize that that was what it was until we reached a break in our rehearsal. Everyone wanted coffee, including yours truly, for whom coffee was a status symbol. Conveniently, the director had a pot in his office, and said that he wanted me to come along and help tote all of the coffee supplies, you know, sugar, creamer, etc. his offic was down this long dark corridor which never seemed to be lit, and which always frightened me. I guess I had seen one too many Francis Bacon prints. Anywyay, all the way to his office, which seemed to take forever, he did his best to hide his nervousness. Odd how I can generally pick up on what people are thinking or feeling. The pluses to being socially backwards are amazing at times. He talked about how well I was doing, about how mych I was maturing: As an actress, he hastened to add. I dont know if he thought much of my painting or drawing. When we got to his office, he ushered me in and closed the door. He didnt turn on the lights. Instead, without sayig a word, he began to grope me. I didnt know what I was supposed to do. As far as I knew, in this weird place called the theatre, the rules (MORE)

8 AYME (Cont.) of behavior were different. So, I grabbed his dick. It was the first time I had ever done anything like that. It was the coolest thing, pumping in my hand, hot and hard. We stood there in the dark my eyes had adjusted by then and he stroked my face with one hand, while the other felt my breast. He told me that I was a very special young lady and that I would go far if I would just trust him. (beat) Trust him. (beat) So I removed my hand from his pants and knocked the shit out of him. He never saw it coming. (beat) My mother constantly tells me that I dont know shit about anything, but Ill tell you what I do know. Never ever trust a man who says trust me. Trust is what you put in God, or your friends. But never a guy who just wants to feel your tits. (beat) I ... I try not to hate people, cause I can freak out too easy, and I dont ever want to freak out when there is someone around who I have decided to hate. It happened once when I was in grade school. I was suspended, given licks, the whole nine ... the whole ... you know. Freak. Freak. Maniac. Nut. Radical. Schizo. Pyro. Basket case. Freak. Im not nice to myself. Not often. Never. Hardly ever at the least. Okay? (She looks down at her sketch pad, and picks it up. She does nothing for a moment.) AYME (Cont.) Lately, the really good thing about freaking out is that I draw better. Sometimes, lately, when Im thinking straight, or at least what passes as straight for me, I dont draw too good. (she draws) Funny. I thought straight as a kid. Flowwwwwwwer. Flowwwwwwwer. Pretty flowwwwwwwer. Hmm. Not too bad. Needs work. Do better next time. Join the Army if it doesnt work out. Not the Army but the next best thing. How the hell ... I mean, what do they think? Do they honestly (MORE)

9 AYME (Cont.) believe? I have been like this since the day I was born, I havent changed. Whatever they do, wherever they put me, it wont change! Christ, lock me up in a nuthouse, throw away the key, it wont help! What are they thinking? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. God! (She rips out the flower she drew and tears it into small bits, very carefully and methodically. She drops these bits off the ledge.) AYME (Cont.) Im gonna have to be dead before anyone pays attention. The general public. Ive gotten the attention of a minority of my peers. Me and Jack. Jack Kerouac. No! Natalie Irving. Shes a genius. She has sold some of her stuff to magazines, shes earned a scholarship or two for college just because of the stuff she writes. We buil;t this story around a water sprite who so annoys Poseidon that she gets kicked out of the ocean and has to fend for herself as a human female. She has no super powers, no clothes; but if someone discovers her artifice discovers that she is a water faerie, she has to fuck the person to cause her or him to forget. Shes also mute a punishment for telling Poseidon off but appears as a breathtakingly beautiful girl. Shes unclothed, defenseless. Her only weapon is her body. I tried to model some of my work after the works of Francis Bacon without cutting short myh own visual style. Natalies words ... are like a hurricane. They tear through the page with fierce ... its like shes lived this story, you kow? The impact is ... I am usually hypercritical of my work. (beat) We sold a lot of copies at local concerts, and then eventually through the mail. Then a couple of months ago I got a letter from Blitz. First, they want to publish our graphic series. Waif is the title. I dont think I said it. The word waif means something like a homeless person thrown up from the sea or something. There were twelve issues total and we ended it with the faerie being raped and killed by Poseidon. (beat) Blitz wanted Natalie and I to begin a new title, along the same basic theme and feel of Waif, but different enough and (MORE)

10 AYME (Cont.) fresh enough to sell like hell. (beat) Natalie bowed out, since she wanted college to make her a more literary writer, but Blitz still wanted me. My parents, never truly comfortable with their childs passions, gave their big ix-nay. Assholes. (beat) I have prayed since I knew how, that maybe I was adopted. No luck. I have a brother who is in high school now, who is in the same boat as me. He is such a bad ass photographer ... painter ... I mean, two in one family. God! Too fucking serious! I hate talking business. Thats maybe why Natalie and I argued all the time. Shed always be we need to talk about the next issue And Id be why? you know? Its like, give me the fucking script and Ill do the work! She wanted to do things according to form as she saw it, with sample pages, etc. Well, Ive never done that. Id always piss her off because she would write like a whole section, and would have to go back sometimes because Id draw it different. And I draw everywhere. The cool thing ... one of the coolest things about me and Natalie is that we both could do a lot of work in little time. I draw alot. I prefer conte crayon and black charcoal paper, because its like cutting into black space. Tonight its good ol fifty weight paper, a nice, soft Faber-Castell 7B and ... a harder 2B. I used to carry around an Xacto knife for sharpening until my mother took it away. Oh well. (she removes an Xacto knife from her back pocket and begins to sharpen the 7B pencil) AYME (Cont.) Edgar Allen Poe, Hector Berlioz and Jim Beam are three gentlemen that, if I were you, I wouldnt invite to the same party. Or your mother might take your Xacto knife away. There. If I werent such a daft thief, Id have to walk around with dull pencils. (she replaces the knife) Did I say deft or daft? (beat) I was working towards telling Mr. Poes stories and poems with my illustrations. It was a relationship that blossomed (MORE)

11 AYME (Cont.) into a torrid love affair until I celebrated his death one year. My mother, tired of taking her frustrations out on my brother, I guess, decided to bust into my room. I was only naked, surrounded by a hundred candles. Hm. Parents. (beat) I transfer these things I sketch into a better medium ... well not necessarily better. Inks and shit. Washes. Better for printing. Just for the hell of it, I tried oils, but it didnt pring well enough in black and white and the oil got all over the copier. Inks print great in black and white, of course. Washes. White acrylic on black paper. (She erupts into song.) Chicago! Chicago! Chicago! (she laughs) I wonder where Im going to live. I have a friend who is going to college. His parents didnt force him, though. Nope, nope, nope. Hes going on his own. Hes going to an art school. He wants a diploma how gay is that? Not that it matters. I love him. He has thick blonde hair and gorgeous blue eyes hidden behind his round glasses. He was in a fight in ... shit, third grade, and got stitches here ... (AYME indicates a line running from her left nostril to the left corner of her mouth.) AYME (Cont.) ... so he has this really cool scar that makes him sneer this adorable little sneer. I might live with him, if hell let me. We can lay on the ground outside annd look at the stars like we did this one time in my backyard. (she laughs) We skinny dipped once. Gods truth. Me, my friend in Chicago named Mack, a girl named Anna from Austria who was the exchange student Renee my friend who threw pots and Natalie. (beat) It was so perfect. (beat) We were sitting on a fallen tree near this lake, in a very secluded spot. The moon was bright annd full, but hidden behind clouds .. They were so light, they looked like a (MORE)

12 AYME (Cont.) quilt! I wanted to walk on them. We were sitting on this tree, and we looked out at the water, and we all got real quiet. I dont know whhat happened to me, but I really wanted to be in the water. It looked like silk, black clean silk rippling softly. I took off my shirt first, then my pants. I was halfway to the water and without my panties by the time my friends realized what I was doing, and joined me. We were laughing and jumping, splashing each othhers naked bodies with the fresh, cold water. Experiencing a ... joy and kinship, I guess. Like a family, only, we went splashing about the water, giving to each other ... breathing in each other. Like you can breath in the smell or honeysuckles, or fresh baked bread or fresh mown grass. It was that: fresh. Refreshing. Ive never had anything like that before. Ever. (she pauses and ponderously draws a line or two in her sketch book.) AYME (Cont.) No care. No ... distinctiveness. We shared more than just love, we shared ourselves. We never talked about it afterwards. Not out of shame, but out of respect, reverent respect. It became our sanctuary. (beat) Ive never said a word aloud about it until just now. (beat) Hm. (beat) Other things Ive never talked about. (beat) I could ... I dont want to tell anymore. I just told the most personal thing, I really cant say anymore. (beat) I would like to go back ... (beat) Gonzo! In the Muppet Movie, he has this song in the desert where he sings I ... I ... I wanna go back there someday. I know! I do, too. Im very homesick for that. (beat) Homesick. It could mean just the opposite, you know. It could mean that youre sick of your home. I am. Thats why Im going to Chicago. (MORE)

13 AYME (Cont.) Did I mention that I never sleep? Yeah. (beat) God! How early is it? (she looks at her watch) Shit. Im hungry. No, Im Chile. No, wait, Im Belgium. Mmmmm. Chili. Belgium waffles. I could go for a waffle. I could go ... (she looks over the edge) I can wait. (she stands) Legs! Id show them to you, but Id get cold. These are my favorite jeans in the whole wide world. They are the comfiest, best broke in jeans I own. Look at this hole ... (she giggles) ... a butt hole. Look! Its perfect! Do you see this inseam, where its coming apart? Perfect! And you know what else? I have a hole in this pocket! I love these mother fucking jeans! Whooo! Fuck me! (beat) When I get too serious, I go crazy! How long have I been sitting on this fucking ledge> God! Id go inside, but it wouldnt do any good. At least out here I have the wind cutting into me. It keeps me alert and shivering. I need to stretch my legs. (she stretches her legs) Oh. This could be perilous. Dont slip girl. (beat) Dont show your slip. (beat) I wish there was a handle. Or a rope. Or a net. Shit. (AYME looks down. She lethargically lets a glob of spit form and fall from her lips. She watches it fall for ten beats.) AYME (Cont.) Wow. (She looks up) Well, the fall may kill you ... Not the fall. The sudden stop. The sudden stop may kill you, but at least the view is pretty.

14 (She stretches out her arms as if she were on a cross.) AYME (Cont.) Peter ... Peter ... I can see your house from here! (She laughs, loses her balance, and almost falls.) AYME (Cont.) Oops. Maybe thats not the best joke to tell from this height. (She starts to sit down, stops, and glances skyward.) AYME (Cont.) No offense ... (she sits) Mom always said be careful who you offend. (she laughs) Everyone thinks Im a lesbian. Its so funny. On prom night, I went with Anna the exchange student from Austria. We both wore black, I wore the gaudiest nose ring I own and Anna showed off her tatt with a very short cut dress. I think we scared the shit out of people. Its fun. (beat) It was fun, I mean. Its all over now, of course. I still write to Anna. (she erupts in laughter) The bitch wouldnt even let me get to second base on prom night! She bought me a pretty bouquet, though. Bouquet, bouquet, bouquet. Hm. (beat) Im always trying to capture that night in tha lake, but I never can. Ive tried every mediuum I can think of, but I just cant do it. I cant. I just cant. No. (frustrated, she rips the page out, crumples it, and tosses it into the audience.)

15 AYME (Cont.) Fuck. (beat) Im tired. I get tired, I just cant ever sleep. Sleep and stop for a ... Stop ... stop bothering me. I know this is not ... God, would you just try to see it my way? Okay? I should be able to do what I want ... old enough. Okay? Thats it. Thats it. Bitch! Who do I think I am? You gave me ... nothing. Hate and piss. (beat) My way out of this is this interview, in Chicago, at ten oclock. Go, I just wish I could ... its so far. (beat) Am I ready? (beat) My parents, they told me that it had to be college first. They told me that they werent abot to let me slack off for the rest of my life, but it wouldnt be slacking. Im going to get a job! I have an interview! I have a place I can live. A job, for Christs sake! A job. They said no. They said I had to go to college. I cant ... I couldnt argue! They took that option away. Im here. Im here. Im here. (She puts the pencil down to paper, and stares at it, trembling. She screams, and throws the sketchbook away as hard and as far as possible.) AYME (Cont.) Goddamn you! Youve taken away my last chance! Im lost now. Im fucking lost. This means ... nothing! (She opens her portfolio, spilling some of the contents into the audience. She removes a fist full of artwork and knocks the portfolio and what remains in it over the edge.) Do you What I me ... betray AYME (Cont.) see? My life. What I have spent all of my time on. have poured myself into. My life. And they wont let Jesus Christ, they refuse me. They deny me. They me. How can they? I can only be what I am, I cant (MORE)

16 AYME (Cont.) be what you force onto me. I cant. I refuse. I know. And its garbage to them. (She stands and throws her artwork into the air.) Goddamn them. AYME (Cont.) Both of them. They cant fucking have me. This is all

(She picks up the small bag and hurls it at a streetlight, shattering it. She is now lit by just the moonlight.) AYME (Cont.) Never. (She peers over the edge.) I used to dream about the lake, long after it happened. I ... remember. I dont like what Ive become. I hate that that moment is lost forever. I hate myself for losing it. (She looks up.) How about you? Hello? (She looks back down.) When I close my eyes, or look into blackness, I can still feel it ... like phantom fingertips, lips, covering me. Embracing. Caressing. Exploring. I wish I could embrace and kiss and touch in return. I feel the water on my sken, exhilerating me. Is that gone for good? For good is a long, long time. I dont have that much time left. Ten oclock is right around the corner. (beat) Chicago is a good six hour drive. (beat) Fuck it. (She leans forward and allows herself to fall) (BLACKOUT) THE END