You are on page 1of 2

Garden of Eden

Setting: Church pew, in the midst of a funeral service.


Time: Present day.
Character: Eden- 20 years old. Intelligent, worldly, from a
privileged upbringing. Outwardly defiant and saucy, but
internally conflicted, (in other words, she is very often
sarcastic but should be able to show the cracks of her
vulnerability.)
During this scene, Eden will be standing, sitting, kneeling,
performing the sign of the cross, etc. as the director so
chooses.

God, I hate my name. Eden. Eden. I mean, what kind of a name


is that? Theres nothing youthful or fun about the name Eden. No
one wants to have sex with an Eden. Whos going to perform wild,
fraudulent activities with an Eden? Oh hey, guys, I brought my
hot friend EDEN along to smoke dope with us later are words that
I am never going to hear. Edens are reserved for chronically
shy Sunday school teachers or weirdos who collect lawn ornaments.
Both of which, I am happy to announce, do not reflect my future
aspirations. See, my parents decided to name me after the
biblical Garden of Eden. You know, that garden God created for
Adam and Eve? Genesis Chapters 2 and 3? (Looks to audience but
receives no response.) Heathens. Eden held Gods first human
creation and I was my parents first human creation. Isnt that
sweet? I was named after an imaginary garden. (Slight beat.
Reflective.) My parents treasure it though. Eden. Theyd do
anything to make sure I was on the straight and righteous path,
including the holy derivation of my name. Too bad I didnt turn
out to be what they had prayed for. (Beat.) I stopped practicing
Catholicism completely when I was about 15. I hated it. Hated my
religion. Church twice a week. Reconciliation once a month.
Prayer before and after each meal. Bible passages every night
before bed. The constant fear that I was on the precipice of HELL
at just six years old. When I got a bit older, I started to
detect some of the more frightening truths; the denial of basic
human rights, the pious exclusivity. I remember thinking how
silly it was to pray to a God who never seemed to answer back. My
parents would tell me, You need to find faith, Eden. Find your
faith and never it let go. And I tried. I really tried.
(Pause.) I broke their hearts when I left. (Looks around,
perplexed.) Its been five years since I was here last, and it
feels just like coming home. Except I dont like home. Im
sitting in this pew, the same pew I sat in as a little girl, the
pew where I listened to witless parables and was taught that
everything happens because God intends for it. Im looking around
at my family members, my old Sunday school teacher, my next door
neighbors from across the street and I cant help but feel sorry
for them. The same God who asks for your trust, the God you claim
has control over all your lives, has just ripped away someone you
love. A friend. A sister. My mother. Gods biggest fan. And they
all just sit here singing hymn after hymn, prayer after fucking
prayer, while my mom lies dead with nothing else to pray for.
(Looks up.) Mom, are you really out there? Or up there, I mean?
Could you let me know, let me know that youre safe? That Im not
just talking to myself? That there is a god and hes holding you
right now, free from IVs, free from feeding tubes and bluish-
green lips and double-morphine doses? I promise, Ill do whatever
you want. Ill come back to church, Ill start praying again,
Ill repent, Ill learn to love my name. Eden. Just give me a
sign, mom. Let me know you exist somewhere. Anywhere. And Ill
come back. I promise. Ill come back.