Don’t Worry Baby

a play in one act

by

Alex Landers

©2012 Alex Landers

Ph: 847-494-1340
landers.alex@gmail.com
Characters:

TOMMY WATERS, 32: A compulsive hoarder. He wears an old sweater with an

undershirt underneath it. He is unkempt and blends in with his collections of objects.

JEFFREY WATERS, 28: Works in business. He likes collared shirts and ties. He begins
looking polished and put together but becomes more and more disheveled as the scenes
progress.

DAISY, 25-30: Dresses like the ‘50s, but more “Now.” She wears a dress with petticoat
skirt. She appears sweet and angelic, with a ribbon tied in her hair. Always likes to wear
heels, she smiles almost all of the time.

MOM (Voice): Only heard from upstairs. Yells out of necessity, not anger. Cheerful, but
anxious. Simultaneously supportive and off-putting.

Setting:

Tommy’s basement bedroom. The set has three walls, with a staircase in the corner
leading upstairs. Center stage is Tommy’s bed. There is a cuckoo clock on the wall, along
with several posters and collections of thrift store artwork. There are many copies of
Walden: Or, My Life in the Woods stacked on the floor. At least three hermit crab/small
animal aquariums are lined up on a wall shelf. A record player sits in the corner,
accompanied by several Beach Boys albums, including exactly seven copies of Pet
Sounds. The place is dusty. Messy. And most importantly, entirely consumed by things.

*Note about the boxes: Boxes in the room will multiply as the scenes progress.
Characters will bring them downstairs and leave them there. Characters should interact
with them as much as possible, constantly rearranging them between scenes and
progressively stacking them higher and higher as time moves forward. Stage hands will
also deliver boxes and rearrange the room. Most important is that although people are
moving Tommy out, the amount of boxes coming into the space should only add to the
sense of clutter and claustrophobia.

*Note about the monologues: All of Tommy’s monologues should be delivered with an
aura of theatricality and self-awareness. They should always have a serious tone, but from
first to last, develop from humorous to frightening, as Tommy’s reality becomes clearest
to himself. Finally, lighting should attest to their speech-like quality. A spotlight on
Tommy would be best.

*The final note: Interruptions/Overlapping dialogue are represented by a slash (/)

 (Spotlight on TOMMY, standing still. The opening
lines of The Beach Boys’ “In My Room” plays:

“There’s a world,
Where I can go and
Tell my secrets to,
In my room…”

Lights up to reveal Tommy’s bedroom.)

MOM
Tommy! Music!

TOMMY
Yep!

(Tommy carefully maneuvers across the floor, shuts off the record player. Has a
seat on the bed. The cuckoo clock sounds. He looks at it for a long time.)

MOM
Tommy!

TOMMY
Yep?

MOM
It’s Jeffrey!

(JEFFREY enters down the staircase. He looks good, and he knows it. He takes a
moment to gloat in the stairwell. Enters the room with a certain swagger.)

JEFFREY
Gotta get the hell out tomorrow.

TOMMY
Yep.

JEFFREY
Mom’s afraid you won’t get it packed in a day.

TOMMY
I had a week.
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JEFFREY
And you’ve gotten so much done.

TOMMY
Yep.
(Pause)
I put the blanket… from my chair… in that box… over there.

JEFFREY
(Pause)
Take the box out to the truck then.
(Pause.)
I dare you.

TOMMY
(Pause)
It’s not full yet.

JEFFREY
Okay… I’ve thought of an easier way to do this. Now, Tom. You close your eyes, and I’ll
real quick take everything that’s not in boxes, put it all in these beautiful black trash bags/
and put them all out next to the dump down the highway and we can just be on our
way…

TOMMY
Jeff…

JEFFREY
You’re right! Burning the house down would be easier.

TOMMY
They’re my things. If you’d like to help, please appreciate that everything is here for a
reason.
(Jeffrey holds up a pizza box.)
Everything.

(Long pause.)

JEFFREY
So how’s the love life? Ladies? Gentlemen?
(Pause)
Little boys?

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TOMMY
You did the pedophile joke last week, Jeff. Next time, try serial killer.

JEFFREY
Ah, like Leatherface! With all the chicken carcasses all over the living room, and the
bizarro family situation, not to mention your various social difficulties. All you’re
missing really are the lampshades made out of faces and some meat hooks on the wall.
(Pause.)
But really, when’s the last time you looked under the bed? You could have at least a
couple potential dates stashed under there.

TOMMY
Take a look.

JEFFREY
I’m just keeping your situation in check, Big Brother.

TOMMY
I live in the situation. I know about it.

JEFFREY
Right. Do you know where you’re moving to?
(He moves a pile of things off a chair.)
Hope you’re not thinkin’ about my couch, cause—

TOMMY
(interrupts)
Don’t!
(Jeffrey freezes.)
Not. There.
(Pause.)
Anywhere else.
(Jeffrey looks around. There is nowhere else.)
You don’t mind the floor, do you?

JEFFREY
Tommy, you’re totally nuts.

TOMMY
I can’t really help it.

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JEFFREY
No. You were born with the crazy predetermined.

TOMMY
I was born with a natural order. Mom always used to say, a place/ for everything and
everything in its place.

JEFFREY
(mocking)
A place for everything and everything in its fucking place.
Yeah, but…
(He sits on the floor, Gets back up. He has sat in something sticky, or moist, or
generally unnatural. He makes a face.)
What kind of place is it?

MOM
Tommy! Jeffrey!

TOMMY JEFFREY
Yep! Yeah?

MOM
It’s Daisy!

(DAISY floats down the stairs. The record player magically starts up and plays
The Beach Boys’ “Then I Kissed Her.” Her entrance is complete with a toss of her
hair and a wink to the boys. She stops at the base of the stairwell and stands
there, beaming. Tommy runs quick to turn off the record player. Music ceases
abruptly.)

DAISY
Hello, Tommy!

TOMMY
Hello, Daisy!

DAISY
Wonderful day for a move, don’tcha think? How are you feeling?

TOMMY
Just swell, now you’re here!

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DAISY
Well, lovely. Just great.

JEFFREY
Great.

(Daisy eyes him with disapproval.)

DAISY
(to Tommy)
Well, what can we help you with Tom-Tom? Jeff’s got a load of brand new boxes in the
car, if you’ve packed all yours already.

(They all look at the one box on the floor.)

TOMMY
Still working on the one.

DAISY
Oh.
(Pause.)
Well. One down, then!

JEFFREY
A thousand to go.

(Jeffrey exits up the stairs.)

TOMMY
It’s not full yet.

DAISY
Well, Tom, it’s noon and sunny, not a cloud in the sky. Beautiful time to be moving up.
And out. What can I carry?

TOMMY
I’ve got it, Daisy.
(Pause.)
Don’t worry.

DAISY
Are you sure?

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TOMMY
I’ll meet you upstairs.

DAISY
It’s such a gorgeous day, Tommy. You can hardly see it from here. The window wells
are...

TOMMY
I believe you, Daisy.

JEFFREY
(off)
Get moving, asshole! Up and out! Moving day can’t last forever!

(Daisy waits a moment. Tommy stays just how he is.

Daisy exits upstairs with a smile and a skip in her step. Tommy sits on the bed
inside a ring of things.

Jeffrey enters back down the stairs with a box. He sets it down on the ground.)

JEFFREY
You know what I don’t get?
(Pause.)
You clean houses for a living.

TOMMY
(Pause.)
I don’t like to bring work home.

(Jeffrey drops something heavy in the box. Tommy flinches.)

JEFFREY
Do you dust?

TOMMY
Sure.

JEFFREY
Here?
(Pause.)
How are you going to help?

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TOMMY
Pack? I already am. I’m categorizing.
(Pause.)
In my head.

JEFFREY
That’s really… unhelpful.
(Pause.)
New business strategy. How about you tell me what category you’re thinking of packing,
and I’ll pack it for you.

TOMMY
Ok.

(Silence.)

JEFFREY
And?

TOMMY
It’s the deciding I haven’t quite mastered yet.

JEFFREY
You don’t have to be good at decisions, Tom. You just have to make them.

TOMMY
(points to an object.)
That one.
(Pause.)
No wait! That one.
(Pause.)
Eh, No—

JEFFREY
How the fuck do you live with yourself?

TOMMY
Very carefully. I’ve never been good at living like the rest of you.

JEFFREY
(picks up the object)
You don’t have to be good at that either.

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JEFFREY (cont’d)
(He boxes it.)
There’s a learning curve. You missed out. What next?

(Tommy is suddenly determined and grabs an object off the bed. He jumps up on
the mattress and holds it out in front of him.)

TOMMY
To clean, or not to clean?
(Pause.)
That is the question…
(Pause.)
It looks like garbage to you, Jeff, but it’s not to me. I don’t make trash. I’m a philosopher.
I make meaning.

JEFFREY
You make a mess.

TOMMY
I have a degree! From an accredited university. And I’m an excellent house cleaner. I get
all the nooks and crannies, spot all the stains, and my organizational methodologies are
just too complex for simpler minds to comprehend.

JEFFREY
Simplify it for me, Molly Maid.

TOMMY
You just never understood the way Mom does.

JEFFREY
She doesn’t understand you.

TOMMY
She loves my collections. She loves my labeling, grouping, sorting. Thinking. You never
did much thinking, Jeff. You were always just, doing.

JEFFREY
I guess that’s what I understand, Tom. Can you understand that?

TOMMY
Well, as discussed, Jeffrey, I understand quite a lot.

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JEFFREY
What you’re doing to her? Do you understand what you’re doing to your own Mother?

TOMMY
Mom loves me, Jeff.

JEFFREY
Yes, she does. Too much, maybe. Should of kicked you out when your shit starting
marching up the stairs.

TOMMY
You can never have too much, so long as you keep it organized and in its place.
Remember, a place for everything/ and everything…

JEFFREY
You’re seeping out of your place and into hers. It’s time to get your own. Let her live her
own life. Without you holed up underneath it.

TOMMY
(Pause.)
You don’t believe in me, do you?

JEFFREY
I believe in what’s best.

TOMMY
In the long run?

JEFFREY
For Mom. And our family. She’s moving out, Tom. She’s old, her hips hurt, it’s a good
time to downsize. Market’s good. It’s time for you to move on, too.

(The cuckoo clock sounds.)

TOMMY
Philosophy might enlighten you, Jeffrey. Maybe we could talk about it while you’re here.
With me.

JEFFREY
Sure, Tommy. So long as you’re packing shit while we talk about shit.
(Pause.)
You know, you’ve got posters covering windows?
(He moves toward them.)

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JEFFREY (cont’d)
I can’t see a damn thing. That can’t be healthy, can’t even really breathe/ down here.

TOMMY
Ok, Jeff.
(Pause.)
Jeff? Please don’t rip those. Jeff! There’s a very specific way to handle the adhesive.

(Tommy goes to assist Jeff.

Daisy flits down the stairs with more boxes and supplies.

Stage hands dressed in black come as well, rearranging things, putting objects
into boxes. Time seems to fly. With his back to the commotion, Tommy doesn’t
seem to notice.

The stage hands make their exits. Daisy takes a few of the posters, and skips back
up the stairs. Jeffrey pats Tom on the back, and exits behind her, also taking
posters with him.

Where the posters used to be, there are now black spots on the wall, no windows
in sight or too dirty to see through. Something like mold, preferably furry, covers
them. Tommy, who does not see it, has a seat on the floor.

Daisy enters back down the stairs with another box and two different colored
trash bags. She puts the box down and sits across from Tommy.)

DAISY
Ready?

TOMMY
Ready.

(Pause. Tommy abruptly grabs an object off the floor. It’s a yellowed receipt.
Daisy and Tommy consider it a while. Daisy holds out a trash bag.)

DAISY
Trash.

TOMMY
I bought James Cameron’s The Abyss at Best Buy in 1992.

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DAISY
Trash?

TOMMY
(Pause.)
Double VHS collector’s edition. I haven’t watched it yet. What if it doesn’t play? What if
I don’t like it?

DAISY
(puts down the trash bag)
Next.

(Tommy puts the receipt down and picks up another object. A Purple Rain t-shirt.
Daisy holds out the other trash bag.)
Donate.
(Pause.)
You like Prince?

TOMMY
Jeff saw him in concert. He gave it to me.

DAISY
I’ve never seen you wear it.

TOMMY
Oh, that’s because it doesn’t fit. And it’s not really my color.

DAISY
Donate?

TOMMY
I might lose weight.
(Pause.)
I might have a child one day.
(Pause. Daisy looks confused.)
Purple Rain is a lot of kids’ favorite movies.
(Daisy pulls the bag back. Tommy smiles, grabs a Styrofoam cup off the floor.)
Trash!

DAISY
Yeah?
(Thrusts bag out.)

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DAISY (cont’d)
Good for you, Tommy!

(He drops it in. Pause)

TOMMY
Wait!

DAISY
What?

TOMMY
… I need that back.

DAISY
Why?

TOMMY
I might need it.
(Pause.)
Later.
(Pause.)
For coffee.

DAISY
You don’t like coffee, it gets in your teeth. Remember last time you tried some? You got
very nervous and we had to buy you those white strips for a whole month.

TOMMY
The taste was abhorrent. But can you imagine yellow teeth, Daisy?

DAISY
My point exactly. Besides, there’s a hole in this cup… and it’s growing something furry.

TOMMY
Styrofoam’s a major pollutant! I believe in recycling.

DAISY
It’s already a cup, Tom. The toxic fumes happen when they make it. The evil is done.
(Pause.)
If you throw it out, no one will blame you.

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TOMMY
You want me to abandon it?
(Daisy nods.)
Abandon the cup. Because the bad’s already done.

DAISY
That’s it.

TOMMY
I always thought recycling was a conspiracy, anyway.
(He puts it in the bag. Pause.)
Daisy?

DAISY
Yes, Tom?

TOMMY
I still want the cup back.

(Daisy searches through the bag and sighs.)

DAISY
Then the bad’s already done. Maybe we can try again, later.

(Daisy and Tommy study each other. He takes the cup back. Daisy picks the bags
up. On her way out, she snatches up a few things off the floor and stuffs them in,
making sure Tommy doesn’t see. Daisy exits.

Once he is alone again, Tommy sits himself on the edge of the bed. The tone of his
speech is like an introduction to Masterpiece Theatre; very serious, bordering on
pompous.)

TOMMY
When I was in the fifth grade, they took us to the county recycling plant. It was next to
the dump. They put you in a big glass room, where you couldn’t smell anything bad.
Through the windows you could see machines. Then, they showed us each step:
collecting, sorting, crushing. Glass, paper, and plastic. They made pulp out of everything.
It was exciting, they told us. We can make new things, from your old things.

They gave each thing a number, inside of a triangle. And they brand it, right on its body.
If the number’s in the right place, at the right time, then it can go in the green box outside
your doorstep. Then it’ll come here, and they’ll make it better.

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TOMMY (cont’d)
But at the recycling plant, they didn’t show us what happens after the pulp. What are the
better, new things they make from our old ones? We were just supposed to trust them.

I think the recycling program is the product of liars.

(Pause. Tommy is waiting for something.)

MOM
How are things coming along down there, Tom-boy?

TOMMY
(drastically lighter)
Pretty good, Mom!

MOM
Think you’ll be out in time?

TOMMY
Betcha’ I will, Mom!

MOM
Proud of you, Tommy baby.

TOMMY
(Pause.)
How’s it going up there, Mom?

MOM
Oh, just fine. Got the television on. All the Sunday shows to watch. Come up if you want.

TOMMY
Sure thing, Mom. Be right there.

(Tommy doesn’t go. He stays exactly how he is.

Stage hands filter in and bring boxes. They move things, stack things, all while
walking right in front of Tommy. He might flinch at the movement of something
particularly important. But he remains still, and tries not to notice.

The stage hands make their exits, as Jeffrey and Daisy enter.)

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(Jeffrey, Tommy and Daisy arrange themselves so they are spread out across the
room. Daisy and Jeffrey both stack a box on top of another. There are black spots
in the empty spaces. Patches of mold that are beginning to take over the floor.)

JEFFREY
What the fuck
(Pause.)
Is that smell?

TOMMY
Smell?

JEFFREY
The smell.
(Pause.)
Fuck.

TOMMY
Maybe you’re stroking.

JEFFREY
I’m what?

DAISY
Oh! Sometimes people can have olfactory hallucinations before a major event, like a
stroke, or a seizure. Some people smell toast.

JEFFREY
(to Daisy)
You don’t smell that?

DAISY
… I do.

TOMMY
How coincidental! You both having a stroke at the same time.

JEFFREY
Tommy, you dick. How could you let it get this bad?

TOMMY
Mushrooms.

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JEFFREY
Oh, please don’t tell me—

TOMMY
(interrupts)
No! The collecting. It just sort of…mushrooms.

DAISY
You know, some of the most valuable, rare and wonderfully useful things in the world are
mushrooms.
(Jeffrey and Tommy stare at her.)
Truffles! Tommy, maybe your mushrooming problem is really, actually, like truffles!

TOMMY JEFFREY
Really? What?

DAISY
Yes. They’re growing here. But you have to dig through all this other stuff to find them.
We have to be like, truffle hogs, and sniff through all the other bad stuff, to get to the
good stuff.

JEFFREY
Whatever’s growing down here, Daisy, I think it’s growing in your brain. We need to go
upstairs. Time to dump and go, clean slate.

TOMMY
I don’t want to start over.

DAISY
I am trying to find the positive, Jeffrey. Nothing is so black and white, and maybe a
metaphor would do us all some good. A way to relate again.

JEFFREY
And your go to is truffles? Cause H-bombs do their fair share of mushrooming, too.

DAISY
Oh, Jeffrey.

JEFFREY
This is impossible.

TOMMY
I have been saving a long time. What if there’re truffles, Jeff?

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JEFFREY
There are nothing like truffles down here, growing in with your… life. Even fungus
needs air.

DAISY
Well, let’s at least get his life into these boxes and free from this basement. Ok, Tom?
Don’t you trust us?

TOMMY
(abrupt)
No, Daisy.

DAISY
Oh.

TOMMY
But I think I’m going to have to try.

DAISY
Packing?

TOMMY
Trusting.

(The cuckoo clock sounds. They all stare at it.)

DAISY
I love that clock. It’s crazy.

TOMMY
Me too.

DAISY
Can I take it down now?

TOMMY
Is it time?

DAISY
I think now, would be appropriate. I promise, I’ll be very careful.

(Daisy climbs a box and reaches to take it down. Jeffrey can’t stand it, grabs a
box off a chair and exits. Tommy keeps his eyes on Daisy.)

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(Daisy jumps down with clock in hand, and holds it carefully, like a baby. Tommy
reaches out to touch it, but Daisy kisses him on the cheek, instead. She skips with
the cuckoo clock up the stairs and exits.

Once Tommy is alone, he takes a seat in his newly empty chair. Feet up on a box.
There’s a black spot where the clock used to be. The delivery of his speech is
again full of gravitas, but the tone is soured.)

TOMMY
Grandparents give the worst gifts, as a rule. When I was thirteen years old, I was
supposed to become a man. I allowed my Mother to throw me a party. Of course, I had to
do my part. I had to stand up in front of a room of my cousins, Uncles, Aunts, barely
relations, and pretend that I could sing. Chant. In another language.

But there is a reward system in place for stresses such as this. The next day, I opened
hundreds of envelopes. Envelopes with cards in them. Cards with checks in them. Or
bonds. One from my Uncle Leon with a share of Walt Disney Company stock, or
something like that. Generous gifts, in theory, but never anything real. Never any toys.
Never anything tangible.

These types of presents, my Mother explained, were the best kind. Because they were for
later. For saving. Saving until they were ready. Until they were just right. So I would put
the new gifts in the bank. Somewhere special, in a safety deposit box, where they would
be safe. Safe until they were ready. Until they were just right.

I told my Mother, that if these were the gifts that a man received, I wasn’t interested. She
asked me what I expected, toys like that tacky cuckoo clock your Grandfather gave you
last year? How silly can you be, Tom? You don’t even know what you’re worth.

But she didn’t have to worry. She knew one day, on good faith, I’d come to appreciate
this new kind of toy. As all adults do. It would pay for college. It would make me a real
thinker. I had so much potential. I was going to be a real man.

I can’t say I was ever really sold on faith-based systems.

(Pause. Tommy is waiting for something.)

MOM
Tom-Tom!

TOMMY
Yep!

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MOM
I haven’t seen too many boxes yet, has your brother been a help?

TOMMY
Sure has, Mom!

MOM
Well great. Let you get back to work then. Maybe ask him to start bringing a few more
upstairs.

TOMMY
Ok, Mom. Thanks.
(Pause.)
Hey, Mom?

MOM
Yes, Tommy?

TOMMY
This is all very stressful.

MOM
I know, my love. I would think it would be. You get too bogged down though, you just
come up and visit. I taped Mad Money. He’ll be doing the Don’t Buys in a minute.

TOMMY
Sounds great, Mom! I’ll be right there.

(Tommy doesn’t go. He stays exactly how he is.

Stage hands enter from all ends. Down the stairs, from behind the walls. They
stack more boxes, and continue to pack objects. One walks in front of Tommy. He
grabs the thing in her hand and tries to pry it from her. He takes it back, and
clutches it to his chest. Despite the clean-up, the black spots should increase
dramatically.

The stage hands make their exits. Jeffrey enters down the stairs with a roll of tape.
He circles Tommy, as if preparing for a bullfight.

Finally, Jeff throws down the roll. Tommy clutches the object in his hands even
tighter.)

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JEFFREY
They’re just things, Tom!

TOMMY
No such thing.

JEFFREY
You’re a materialistic douche-bag.

TOMMY
Daisy calls it overly sentimental.

JEFFREY
You’re drowning in it.

TOMMY
I’d say I’m swimming.

JEFFREY
Treading, at best.

TOMMY
Living, at least.

JEFFREY
Yeah, alone! Do your things keep you company down here?

TOMMY
I’m not lonely.

JEFFREY
How could you not be?

TOMMY
You never liked me, Jeff.
(Pause.)
Why are you helping me move?

JEFFREY
I’m helping Mom get you the fuck out of her basement, so she can move.

(Jeffrey spots something on the floor and moves toward it.)

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JEFFREY
God-dammit, Tom.
(Picks up a half eaten bag of baby carrots.)
How many of these are there?

TOMMY
Of what?

JEFFREY
Unfinished bags of carrots.

TOMMY
(Pause.)
Several.

JEFFREY
Aren’t you a member of Green Peace? Don’t hippies, like, waste not, want not or some
other shit?
TOMMY
I have to stop eating them after ten. And I’m not a hippie. Gen-Xer, really.

JEFFREY
Can the remains make the trash?

TOMMY
I don’t want to waste them.

JEFFREY
They’re green. We’re going to need a toxic waste removal team for your fucking carrot
issue.

TOMMY
Not… crime scene cleaners?

JEFFREY
(Pause.)
Was my Texas Chainsaw reference from earlier not really a joke?

TOMMY
No. It’s just… Wikipedia says that level four hoarding situations often require crime
scene cleaners at the site of removal.

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JEFFREY
I’m sorry, level what?

TOMMY
On the official National Study Group on Chronic Disorganization’s Clutter Hoarding
Scale.
(Pause.)
I’m only a level three hoarder, Jeff.

JEFFREY
Oh, good.
(Picks the tape roll off the floor. Tears a piece off.)
I’m closing this up. Need to check it?

TOMMY
… No.

JEFFREY
No?

TOMMY
No.
(Jeffrey waits a moment. Then tapes the box.)

JEFFREY
Maybe by tomorrow… you’ll be a level two.

TOMMY
Ah, so you believe in me now, do you?

JEFFREY
Just keep doing what’s best.

TOMMY
And that is?

JEFFREY
Keep moving. Didn’t Winston Churchill say that?

TOMMY
(smiling)
He was talking about Hell. You’re smarter than you look, Jeff. Maybe we are really
related.

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JEFFREY
(smiling back)
Always that possibility.

(Jeffrey exits up the stairs.

Once Tommy is alone, he positions himself for a speech. The format is the same,
but the tone grows meaner.)

TOMMY
As a young undergraduate, I once tried to join the Black Panther Movement.

I was denied membership. But I was never one to let anyone else’s system stop me. I
volunteered at my college chapter. They let me reorganize the filing system in their
office. And I was so good at it, they couldn’t just have me in one place, they had to pass
me around. I worked in the Green Peace offices, alphabetizing pamphlets. I single
handedly designed the database system for the University’s New American Communist
Party. And I do believe my cleanup of the external hard drive system at the PETA office
actually contributed to their continued existence in the campus community. They had a
difficult time being well-liked.

Amidst my labeling, sorting, alphabetizing and systemizing, I learned a great deal about
politics, ideologies. The way other people group themselves.

It was a lot like the way I grouped resumes and informational packets. Forms and
computerized data. Like numbers or information in manila file folders, so did people
group themselves. Into categories. Separations. Drawing lines. To keep themselves clean,
as far away from the others as possible. Organized.

I have always considered myself a liberal man. But progressivism, this was all about
moving forward.

And I have always been wary of moving for movement’s sake.

(Tommy waits for something. The voice comes as always, but this time there are
two.)

MOM DAISY
Tommy! Tommy…

TOMMY
Yeah, Mom?
(Pause.)

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TOMMY (cont’d)
Mom?

MOM
Yes, dear. Did you need something?

TOMMY
No, Mom. I thought you –

(Daisy comes out from behind a box tower carrying a bucket.)

TOMMY
… Daisy!

DAISY
Tommy!

TOMMY
Have you been here/ the whole time?

DAISY

The whole time? Sure have. I had no idea you were affiliated with the Panther party.

(Pause.)

MOM
Tommy, are you alright down there?

TOMMY
Just fine, Mom!
(Pause. To Daisy.)
I didn’t know. You were here. When I was saying/ that.

DAISY
I was getting at some of these splotches. Don’t worry, Tommy. I didn’t hear anything I
didn’t already expect.
(Pause.)
Wanna help me get the rest of these?
(Tommy nods. Daisy hands him the pail and they go to the back wall. They pull
out sponges and begin to scrub where the black is. It makes a satisfying
scratching sound. They work for a while.)

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DAISY
Tom, what do you believe in?

TOMMY
I believe in simplicity, and self-sufficiency. I believe in survival. In braving the wild. In
being strong, and most of all, I believe in being able to stand up and face the world alone.

DAISY
I believe in love.

TOMMY
Do you love Jeffrey?

DAISY
I think love is what makes people special.

TOMMY
In what way? Good philosophers must always substantiate their claims when asked.

DAISY
Well, you love animals. People are the most special kind of animals.

TOMMY
I love my hermit crabs. Thelma and Louise moved into their new shells last week. I think
they’ll be much happier now. They’re matching. And blue.

DAISY
Suits them.

TOMMY
But I disagree. About people being anymore special than my hermit crabs.

DAISY
Have you ever loved anyone, Tommy?

TOMMY
I love Henry David Thoreau and especially what he says in On Walden Pond. But the
animals, Daisy. They love the same as people. Just more practically. And more loyally.

TOMMY (cont’d)
Just last week, for instance, I accidentally stepped on Louise. That’s why I bought the
new shells. She loves me so much, she’s already forgiven me.

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(Pause. Daisy stops scrubbing.)

DAISY
What does Thoreau say… in On Walden Pond?

TOMMY
(clearing throat)
“I never found the companion that was so companionable… as solitude.”

DAISY
(Pause.)
I’ll tell ya, Tom. I sure am tired. This is nearly done, anyway, yeah?

(They look around. Black remains on the wall. In fact, there’s even more of it.)

TOMMY
Do you love my brother, Daisy?

DAISY
Yes.

TOMMY
Does he love you back?

DAISY
(Pause.)
Do ya’ think we can get the rest of the stuff in boxes in an hour?

TOMMY
I’m sorry.

DAISY
Come on, Tom. You can finish this.

TOMMY
No, I meant… I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Asking that.
(Pause.)
Two hours. The crab aquariums have to be disassembled in a very particular way.
(Pause.)
Daisy? I miss you. It’s nice having you down here.

(Daisy stares at Tommy a long time. )

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(Stage hands fly in around them and change the arrangement of boxes. Some of
them sweep the floor. It only spreads the black around further.

One stage hand removes the hermit crab aquariums. Tommy breaks his stare with
Daisy and runs over to attend to the problem. The stage hand slaps him for
interfering.

Daisy watches quietly. She takes her bucket and goes upstairs.

Jeffrey enters and passes Daisy on the staircase. She throws her arms around him,
pail and all, and kisses him. A desperate, longing sort of kiss. Jeff stares at her as
she runs off.

The stage hands complete their work and exit. Jeffrey moves a stack of books over
to the center of the room and kicks an empty box over, as well. As if he were
frustrated; at the very least trying to set things right.

Jeffrey stands by Tommy, with the box and the stack of books between them.)

TOMMY
They won’t all fit in here.

JEFFREY
Fuck Thoreau, Man. He’s got shit to say, anyway. For sure, not fifty copies worth.

TOMMY
I understand him. I wish I had 50 copies…

JEFFREY
You obsess over him. He’s a closet case, just like you. Living in a pit, letting his Mother
do his laundry.

TOMMY
Wife. His wife did his laundry. And he was a real philosopher.

JEFFREY
Philosophy’s dead.

TOMMY
‘Spose you think I might as well be, too.

JEFFREY
You have been. Look around you.

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TOMMY
(Pause.)
I eat. I breathe.
(Pause.)
I think.
JEFFREY
You’re buried. In your own stuff.

TOMMY
Buried alive. You can’t understand, Jeff. My whole life lives down here.
(Pause.)
If you fell asleep in an alley, and some stranger drugged you, and ripped out your kidney,
your vital organ. What if he threw it away? Or sold it? Gave it to someone else? You’d
live through it, yeah. But you’d be missing a piece. A vital, Jeff piece.
(Pause.)
I can’t chance having to live with one of my pieces missing.

JEFFREY
(Pause.)
You’re growing mold down here, Tommy.

TOMMY
Is that the smell? It sneaks up on you. Should have been more careful with the carrots.

JEFFREY
It’s growing all over you.

TOMMY
(Pause.)
Like Stephen King in Creepshow?

JEFFREY
Like Tommy Waters. In real life.

TOMMY
He kills himself in that movie.

JEFFREY
Does he?

TOMMY
He has inescapable, incurable, alien, meteor mold. His is green, though.

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JEFFREY
Is that what yours is? A special effect in a Romero movie?

TOMMY
That’d be kind of cool. But I don’t know. It’s not on me, is it?

(Tommy examines himself for mold. Jeffrey continues packing. He picks up a Pet
Sounds album by the record player.)

JEFFREY
Hey. This is mine, asshole.

TOMMY
(still checks for mold)
I have many copies of Pet Sounds.

JEFFREY
I lent this one to you. Three years ago.

TOMMY
(removes his sweater)
Thank you.

JEFFREY
Dude. No. Not cool. I’m taking it back now.

(Tommy drops the sweater on the floor and looks at Jeffrey. His undershirt is
covered in black spots.)

TOMMY
No.

JEFFREY
You’ve got six more here.

TOMMY
Yes, but I like yours.

JEFFREY
Well, can I have one of the others, then? I mean you’ve got/ so many.

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TOMMY
It’s part of the collection. If you take one, the collection will be incomplete. Besides. The
others aren’t yours.

JEFFREY
Did you steal them, too?

TOMMY
I borrowed them.

JEFFREY
If you don’t return them, it just turns into stealing, Tom.

TOMMY
(uncharacteristically angry)
You don’t appreciate Pet Sounds, Jeffrey.
(Pause.)
Jeff. I’m appreciating it for you.

JEFFREY
(Pause.)
I do actually enjoy the Beach Boys, hence my purchase of the original vinyl. And I
thought it was nice that my eccentric, but endearing brother seemed to take an interest,
too.

TOMMY
I like that album very much.

JEFFREY
‘Cause it’s the best. When you collect things, is it because you love them? Do you feel
something for them? Or is it that you just can’t let anything go, once you get it embedded
down here? Does it just get lost?

TOMMY
Do not try to analyze me, Jeffrey. You are hardly qualified to understand who I am.

JEFFREY
I’d like to meet the person who is.

TOMMY
Doctor Meredith Townsend. Behavioral psychologist and licensed clinical social worker.
Some things are here because I can’t let go. Yes. Nice of you to take an interest. Little
Brother.

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JEFFREY
Does anything mean something, anymore?

TOMMY
That’s awfully profound for you. In the world? Probably not. To me?
(Pause. Jeffrey’s attention has wandered.)
You’re frustrated, Jeff.

JEFFREY
No, I’m angry.

TOMMY
With the world?

JEFFREY
With yours.

TOMMY
Well, good thing it’s mine then.

JEFFREY
Might as well be. How can any one of us be happy, Tom? With all one thousand tons of
you on our shoulders?

TOMMY
You think that’s what I do to Mom, down here? Do you think that’s why she wants me
out?

JEFFREY
I’m afraid that’s what you’ll do up there. There’s a reason people like you stay in the
hermitage, Tommy. I think it keeps the rest of us safe.

TOMMY
Then you don’t want… to make me go.

JEFFREY
Mom and Daisy want you to see the light of day. Live in the real world. Have a chance.
They think it’ll change you. Maybe you can change it. They really believe in you.

TOMMY
Do you think I could change the world, Jeff?

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JEFFREY
I hope not.
(Long pause.)
Look at the way you cling. Choke. Fuck, Tom. I’m afraid you’d choke the world. Look at
the way you think of people. Things. You’d make the whole world about objectification.
About shit.

I may not be a genius like you, Tommy. But I get people. I’m one of them. If you change
the world, it’s not with anyone else in mind. Mom and Daisy don’t seem to realize that.

So no, Tom. I don’t want to make you go up anywhere. I’d rather you stay down here. I’d
rather Mom sell the house without giving you any warning. I’d rather she sell it and brick
you in, for some other family to find. For some other time to deal with. For some other
world.
(Long pause.)
What keeps you listening to Pet Sounds, Tommy? Why obsess over the Beach Boys?

TOMMY
Pet Sounds has pitch-perfect harmonic systems. It’s like one voice. Why do you really
want it back, Jeffrey?

JEFFREY
Because I love it. And I thought you could love it, too.

TOMMY
I am in awe of it.

JEFFREY
I know you are, Tom. And that’s what’s wrong.

(Jeffrey exits.

Tommy sits down on a box. Black spots on the floor and the stairs are growing
like mounds. Apparent to everyone but those living in it. His shirt remains spotted
and fuzzy. He can occasionally itch at it, unconsciously attempt to peel it off.)

TOMMY
In high school, everyone slept through the Transcendentalist unit. Everyone scoffed at the
American philosopher. The environmentalist. The survivalist. Our roots.

They taught us new revelations about American History. They said old history textbooks
lied. They glossed over less favorable details about our imperialist tendencies. That we
didn’t just ask natives to pack up and leave, we exterminated them.

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TOMMY (cont’d)
They exposed truths about Henry David Thoreau. About his utopia. His cabin in the
woods. They said he didn’t really transcend any reality. That he lived in a cottage in his
backyard. That in-between philosophical pontifications, he did household chores, and
visited his family on the weekends.

A professor later asked me to write an essay about my stance on early American

Imperialism. On how we treated not only our own natives, but the numerous other
cultures we invaded, stole from and eventually erased. He said if I was going to be a real
American philosopher, for the new age, I’d need staunch opinion on the activities of our
governing body. Past, present and future.

I wrote the assignment in one paragraph. It said: “I am an individual anarchist. I don’t

live in your world. I’ll make my own.”

I failed the class.

I think the public education system is a waste of American tax dollars.

(Pause. Tommy waits for something.)

Mom?
(Pause.)
Mom?

(Pause. Tommy waits for nothing. Nothing ever comes. Daisy enters.)

DAISY
What are you waiting for?

TOMMY
Nothing. It’s just… something, sort of, usually, happens then.

DAISY
Ooo, the unexpected!

TOMMY
Ooo, scary?

DAISY
No, silly. Ooo, exciting!

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TOMMY
I don’t want to move, Daisy.

DAISY
It’s time.

TOMMY
How can you tell anymore? Without the clock.

DAISY
Huh? Sun’s coming down, I guess. I forgot it was even gone. But gosh, that sound really
sticks with you, doesn’t it? Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

TOMMY
I don’t believe Mom really wants me to leave her.

DAISY
I don’t think she sees it that way, Tommy.

TOMMY
As abandonment?

DAISY
Is that what you think?

TOMMY
Like that coffee cup. Like you.
(Pause.)
Remember when you left me, Daisy?

DAISY
(Pause.)
That was a long time/ ago.

TOMMY
Five years, two months, twenty-seven days.

(Pause.)

DAISY
You count?

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TOMMY
I count.

DAISY
Tommy. Why did it take you this long, to decide to come up?

TOMMY
Decide? I didn’t decide on anything.

DAISY
Then you feel you’re being forced?

TOMMY
At some point, indecision becomes decisive action. Mom’s moving. So I am, too.

DAISY
Do you ever think of me, Tommy?

TOMMY
Always. I always think of you. I told you. I like having you down here.

DAISY
Did you ever think of coming up, to get me? Tommy?

TOMMY
(Pause.)
You have Jeffrey up there.

DAISY
But what if I didn’t?

TOMMY
But you do.

DAISY
If I didn’t?

TOMMY
No, Daisy. I don’t.

(Long pause.)

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DAISY
(hurt)
What do you suppose… is wrong with you… exactly.

TOMMY
Well, I suppose I’m obsessive compulsive, to some degree. Agoraphobic. Psychologically
disturbed. I mean, it’s not clinically established as of yet, but I’d say the behavioral
abnormalities inherent in hoarders—

DAISY
(interrupts)
I mean, what’s really, wrong with you? As a human being.

TOMMY
(Pause.)
What do you mean?

DAISY
It’s not normal. To be so alone, Tom. Think about it. What if I was that girl? The girl,
Tommy Waters? What if I was the girl of your dreams?

TOMMY
Daisy…

DAISY
What if I’m supposed to bring you up there? Show you the world again?
(Pause.)
Don’t I glitter, Tommy?
(She spins in her dress.)
Don’t I just make the whole world glitter?

TOMMY
I bet you do.

DAISY
I still could. Tommy. Now you’re finally getting out of here.

TOMMY
It really wasn’t my idea.

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DAISY
But you decided! Doesn’t matter how you did it! You’re letting us help you, Tommy. I
know how hard it is, but you did it! The world is your oyster. This time tomorrow, you’re
free. You’re new again!

TOMMY
No one can ever really be new, Daisy. Different, maybe. To be new, you’d have to be
unborn.
DAISY
I just never thought you’d get out. Things could be so different. You wouldn’t have to win
me back. Not up there.
(Pause.)
I loved you, you know.

TOMMY
Did you?

DAISY
(coming closer)
Very much.

TOMMY
(coming closer)
Daisy?

(Daisy takes one more step closer. They are right up against one another.)

DAISY
Yes, Tom?

(They look like they could kiss, they are so close.)

TOMMY
(Pause.)
I didn’t.

(Everything is still. Daisy doesn’t back away. They stand there, awkwardly close.)

DAISY
But… Tom… the girl of your dreams?

TOMMY
I never had one.

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(The cuckoo clock sounds even though it’s not there. Daisy notices some of the
black on Tommy’s shirt has gotten on her dress. She becomes intensely aware of
the black consuming the basement. Her face registers disgust. She pushes Tommy
away.)

DAISY
I have to go.

TOMMY
Is it time?

DAISY
Jeff’s waiting upstairs.

TOMMY
Can you stay down here? A little longer?

DAISY
I’m not feeling well.

TOMMY
I promise you won’t get sick.

DAISY
I think I might.

TOMMY
You haven’t been down here long enough. The symptoms are probably temporary. I don’t
really notice anything, anymore.

DAISY
(Pause.)
I don’t understand. Anything you say.
(Pause.)
Goodbye, Tommy.

TOMMY
Goodbye, Daisy.
(She starts up the stairs.)
Watch your step!

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(Daisy exits. Tommy watches up the stairs for a while. He sits down on the bed,
with his back to the audience. He is surrounded by boxes and black mold.)

TOMMY
When I was twenty-two, the city condemned my apartment building. They said it was
sick. Sick building syndrome.

How can a place have a sickness? We kept the windows shut too long. There wasn’t any
air. People die from asphyxiation. Buildings grow things.

The black grew on the walls first. It spread in patches across the ceiling. In pools, it swam
in the window wells. It bred rashes, spread coughs, made mucous and gave headaches. It
made some of the tenants’ lungs bleed.

But don’t worry. As soon as everyone vacated, the symptoms were gone. Once the
inhabitants free themselves of the sick building, the black can’t get at them anymore.

As for the place, they’ll take it down. Or if it’s lucky, bring in a crew to excise the mold.
Stachybotrys, it’s called. What’s it caused by? Water damage.

(Tommy turns around and looks at us. He’s been crying.)

Scum. You know. They’re all lying, government scum.

(The lights flicker on and off abruptly. Tommy looks around, stands up on the bed
and fiddles with the light bulb above him. Burns himself.

Stage hands move in and begin to take things in force. Boxes are wheeled out,
objects are carried.

Tommy panics. He tries to stop them and fails. Stage hands make their exits.
Tommy is left alone. Breathing heavy, crying, he balls himself up on the floor.
He rolls in the black spots and becomes filthy with it. Like a demonic soot.

In the middle of this episode, Jeffrey enters down the stairs.)

TOMMY
Jeff! There’s something wrong with Mom! I can’t get a hold of Mom!

JEFFREY
She can’t hear you, anymore.

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TOMMY
She always hears me! Mom!

JEFFREY
Quit yelling. She’s busy, she can’t hear you now.

TOMMY
Is Daisy up there? Daisy can help, Daisy!

JEFFREY
Daisy’s not coming back down here.

TOMMY
She’s got better hearing than Mom, she’ll hear me/ I’m sure of it.

JEFFREY
She says she has a cough. I don’t know what you did to her/ She’s not coming down.

TOMMY
Did?

JEFFREY
Or said. I don’t know what it was. But she says she has a cough. And she’s not coming
back. Sent me back to finish the job.

TOMMY
Oh.

JEFFREY
You know, you can’t just say whatever you want to people.

TOMMY
I say what I think. Honesty, Jeffrey, is always the best policy.

JEFFREY
You can’t just go around, saying everything you think, to people that matter.

TOMMY
Sure I can. I’m a/ philosopher.

JEFFREY
Quit it with this academic bullshit. Daisy… is life.

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(Pause.)

TOMMY
She’s a part of it. Philosophy’s another. My life has many facets, with a range of
priorities. You just don’t want to understand me, Jeff.

JEFFREY
No. That’s the one thing you don’t seem to understand. You get the world. You get your
condition. You fucking get it as it revolves around you.

TOMMY
I’m self-centered? I want to change the world. I want to make a difference. I care about
things. What do you do, Jeffrey?

JEFFREY
Tommy, I understand. I get your frustration with us. I’m sorry it has to be this way.
Believe it or not, I even understand why Mom let you stay down here, in the first place.

TOMMY
You do?

JEFFREY
Sure. When you moved back in here, I was so excited. You were more than an older
brother to me. Mom talked about you like you were some kind of genius. God, I thought
you’d be like Van Gogh or something. You knew so much. You could do so much. And
you were so motivated.

And it was weird when you started piling stuff up in the basement. Weirder when you
moved yourself in with it. And I never really got why the garbage stopped coming
upstairs. But I figured it was all a part of the cause. A little crazy for the greater good,
right? The art in the artist.

I mean, Van Gogh cut off his ear, but that was part and parcel. I just knew there had to be
a reason for Tommy the Hoarder, Tommy the Recluse, to exist. Some brilliant reason.
Sartre, Nietzsche, all those guys you told me about, they seemed to really mean
something to the world. And they’re all fucked up, sure, but they produce something
that’s meaningful. The insanity is excusable because of the talent. They make something
and give it back to the world. It’s a fair trade. I used to think, fuck, my older brother, he’s
gonna be one of those guys. Somebody you read about. Someone amazing.
(Pause.)
But you used this place like a crutch, and you crippled yourself. You used up all the love
we gave you, and didn’t give any of it back. You don’t even know how to use the parts of

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JEFFREY (cont’d)
you that used to work. You just take. You have nothing to give anyone. You’re just a
crazy fuck up.

I believed you were better than the rest of us. A real humanist.

Tommy.

You’re not human at all.

(Pause.)

TOMMY
Daisy!

JEFFREY
She’s not coming!

TOMMY
I need her to answer.

JEFFREY
I’m answering for her.

TOMMY
And what does she say?

JEFFREY
(Pause.)
Fuck you.

TOMMY
No, that’s what you say.

JEFFREY
It’s what she should say, dammit. You think I don’t know?

TOMMY
You don’t have to worry. She won’t let me keep her.

JEFFREY
Because you won’t love her! You can’t collect people. It’s harder than that.

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TOMMY
It can be a source of strength, not to need other people, only to want them. That way, I’m
ok by myself.

JEFFREY
Even Sartre had de Beauvoir.

TOMMY
And it weakened his entire theoretical purpose. Existentialism pales in comparison to
Transcendentalism. Sartre obsessed over his own loneliness. Thoreau celebrated it.

JEFFREY
Then your theory’s sound. You’ve got it. Total solitude.

(Jeffrey puts the record player in the last box. Tapes it. Takes the Pet Sounds
album for himself.)

TOMMY
Where are you going with that?

JEFFREY
It’s mine.

TOMMY
You just want it because I have it. Just like you love Daisy, because she’s mine.

JEFFREY
I did want a lot of what you had. But Daisy’s nothing of yours. Just an old friend. Nobody
special.
(Hands the album to Tommy.)
Keep it, man. I’ll download it.

TOMMY
It’s not the same.

JEFFREY
No. But it’s close enough.

TOMMY
This is a collectible. You said it yourself.

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JEFFREY
I love it for the songs. I’m not sure I care about the piece of vinyl it’s printed on.
Anymore.

TOMMY
So it’s mine?

JEFFREY
Sure. Box it up. With the other six.

I know how she loves you, Tom. And maybe she is yours, not mine. But I really love her.
She makes me want to change things. It’s like I hear music, whenever she walks in the
room, you know?
Even without a record player.
(Pause.)
But, hey. Congrats, Man. You did it.

TOMMY
What? Packed?

JEFFREY
Proved your philosophy. You’re better than Thoreau. You’re the real fuckin’ deal.

(Jeffrey exits. Tommy is alone. He stands in the center of the room. He waits for a
spotlight, but all the lights stay on. Perhaps the houselights even come up.
Nothing is right anymore. But Tommy still begins his story. When the time is
right.)

TOMMY
There is nothing so quintessentially American as the Beach Boys. Nothing quite so pure,
so proud. Nothing that better embodies the spirit of an independent, free country. A wild
child, a believer, a formula that sounds like honey.

Few people know about their relations with the Manson family. With the most violently
manipulative episode of American serial killing. The end of the Flower Children. The end
of free love. Charles Manson infiltrated the perfect band with his manipulative ideas. A
rampant individualism. Their harmonies dissolved, they tried their hand at folk melodies,
psychedelic guitar riffs. Did he infect them? Like a sickness? Did he spread in them like
mold? Were there black spots there, too?

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TOMMY (cont’d)
What about when they start dying? When they all start going crazy? It’s not all surfing
accidents and the Spirit of America, anymore. Mike Love doesn’t tour with a single
original member. The drummer is dead. Brian Wilson is stuffed tight under his bed
covers. The sounds aren’t perfect, anymore.

But Pet Sounds, was perfect. Unique. Individual. It had a spirit. The perfect number of
tracks, no cracks in a single voice. It was everyone in one. It had something to say. But
now, I think the same thing the rest of you do.

You sure were great. Now you’re just sick. And don’t you wish it wasn’t ok? Don’t you
wish they’d tear you down?
(Pause.)
But I’m lucky. They’re just going to clean me out.

(Tommy doesn’t wait for anything, anymore. He puts his head down and the lights
go out.

The longest pause.

Then, in the dark, a voice booms.)

MOM
Tommy!
(Pause.)
Tommy?
(Pause.)
Tom!

TOMMY
Mom?

(Lights up. Tommy is in the same place but his shirt is freshly clean. The room is
empty and spotless. Sterile. The only things remaining are the naked mattress and
bed frame, and the one copy of Pet Sounds, lying on the floor at Tommy’s feet.)

MOM
Hello, Tom!

TOMMY
Mom, where did you go?

45
 Landers
DON’T WORRY BABY

MOM
I’m right here, Tommy baby! Everything’s waiting. Jeffrey’s got the truck loaded outside.

TOMMY
It’s all done then.

MOM
All clean! Gotta get goin’, Tom. It’s about that time. Never thought you could do it. You
make sure you thank your brother and his girlfriend.

TOMMY
Ok, Mom.

MOM
And Tommy, honey?

TOMMY
Yep?

MOM
Don’t worry, Baby. I’m proud of you. You’ve got a whole new life to look forward to.

(Pause. Tommy is still. He looks around. Stares back at us.)

TOMMY
My life… in the woods.

(A record player starts up. It plays The Beach Boys’ “Don’t Worry Baby.”

Tommy waits for the right moment. He picks up the abandoned Pet Sounds album
from the floor. He looks at it. He has trouble letting it go. But he leaves it on the
bed, and doesn’t look back.

Tommy goes upstairs.)

End of Play

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