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Act 1
Darkness. The kind that gets into your bones. Lights fade up. We are everywhere and nowhere. The Woman, in full police regalia, comes down the aisle of the theatre, looking at us. She climbs stairs heavily to the stage, where a spotlight illuminates her. She faces the audience. Beat. The mood is sombre, accompanied by sombre music. Although the performances are earnest, this should feel like a play thatās trying really hard to be meaningful. As she speaks, The Woman meticulously āprovesā the gun (Point, Remove, Observe, Verify and Examine).
The Woman: The first thing is that itās heavy. Not . . . heavy ā itās easy to lift, but in the movies people pick them up so easily you donāt think about it. Itās only two pounds, maybe three, but itās got . . . weight to it. And it should. You should feel it. You should be able to feel it.
She takes her gun out of her holster. Looks at it. Beat.
This is the Glock 22. Fifteen rounds in 2.5 seconds.
She raises it up and down.
Itās definitely heavier than, say, the Glock 19, which is easier to conceal, but the 22 combines the flexibility of a 9mm with the power of a .45. Thatās why cops prefer it ā more bang for your buck.
A candle is lit by The Mother as a spotlight illuminates her. Sheās in a black coat and looks mournfully out at the audience. She says nothing.
My dad was a cop. He gave me my first gun. āThis is power and you treat power with respect.ā He was a good cop. (beat) Itās funny: it looks like it does in the movies. It looks like a prop. And the first time you fire it the recoil is surprising, but once you know what to expect, you get used to it.
A spotlight comes up on The Boy, whoās in an oversized red hoodie. We canāt see his face.
The real surprise, the thing they donāt tell you, the thing you canāt guess until you shoot it is . . . itās loud. And you donāt want to get used to that. Itās really. Fucking. Loud.
The Mother begins to cry. The Woman raises her gun and the spotlight on The Boy grows brighter as he raises his hands, in time with dramatic, climactic music. Lights come up, blinding the audience. The sound of a loud gunshot: bang! We snap to black. Then another louder gunshot: bang!
Music from a film soundtrack rises again, this time cheerful, adventurous, swashbuckley, maybe a more recognizable theme, e.g. Indiana Jones. Lights fade up. Weāre in a nice living room. Karen comes out of the bathroom, checks her watch, goes to her computer, turns down the music that she was listening to while working at the computer and goes to the stairs.
Karen: (yelling up the stairs) Lila? Lila, would you like some lunch? (beat) Lila! Iām making lunch!
Lila: (yelling from upstairs) Iām not hungry!
Karen: Are you sure? You didnāt have any breakfast.
Lila: Iāll eat when Iām hungry, Mom!
Karen: (to herself) Fine, eat when you want.
Lila: And can you please keep your music down?
Karen: (to herself) Oh, absolutely, I just live here.
Karen goes over to the computer, hesitates, then defiantly turns up the music. She heads off to the kitchen. Thereās a moment, then a loud knock at the door. Beat. A louder knoc...
