Run (VAULT edition)

Stephen Laughton

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2016
• eBook ISBN: 9781780017235
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

Stephen Laughton's one-man play explores what it means to love, to lose, and how to grow from a boy into a man, as a gay Jewish kid sneaks out over Shabbat to meet his boyfriend – and his universe implodes.

This version of Run was selected for the 2016 VAULT Festival, London. The play was later staged in a revised version at The Bunker, London, in 2017.

‘Remember the Sabbath day, keep it holy’

Exodus, 20

Acknowledgements

For Oli, Lauren and Tom – working on this with you is the best. Ryan Forde Iosco and James Huntrods deserve a big THANK YOU for hooking us up in the first place, and also for the original Courting Drama platform and for all your support along the way. Matt and Sarah Liisa at Nick Hern Books for being cool about deadlines and typos. Tim and the VAULT Festival team for letting us in. My fellow Playdaters – Dave Ralf, Isley Lynn, Chris Adams, Poppy Corbett, Vinay Patel and Sarah Kosar for love, notes, empathy and understanding. My lovely agent Nick, and Laura and everyone at The Agency. Just because. Sue Teddern for keeping me off social media when I’m trying to skive. Sam, Lee, Rach, Dave the girl, Amy, Gary and Jack for putting up with my stress tantrums, cat sitting, radar drop-offs and general love. And Paul, and only partly for keeping me on top of my Hebrew. I love you.

S.L.

Run was first performed at VAULT Festival, London, on 10 February 2016, with the following cast:

YONNI	Tom Ross-Williams
Director	Oli Rose
Lighting Designer	Peter Harrison
Producer	Lauren Brown
Composer	Helen Sartory
Press and Publicity	Paul Bloomfield

Character

YONNI, seventeen

It’s chaos in the kitchen.

Yelling. Clatter… shit boiling over

Washing

Spinning…

A dog barking. We don’t even have a dog.

So I don’t even know what’s going on there.

Like it’s brown.

About yea big. Yappy.

Keeps looking at me.

I’m worried it’s hungry.

But it’s mainly jumping around my little brother Jesse, who’s grinning like a moron and mirroring the stupid thing.

And it’s the happiest I’ve seen him in months.

Which I guess is good.

And Devorah, my mother, pipes up from her prep every now

and then.

Kinda absently telling them to shut up.

And the whole thing is mainly weird.

Kind of adorable.

Somewhat confusing.

I lean down, rub the dog’s head, kind of warily.

Pop my bag on the chair.

Devorah proffers a hi love, absently asks about the day

There’s something too kind in her smile…

And the dog stares back.

With that look…

Head to one side… cocked…

It looks cute but basically means I wanna eat ya

And I’ve never seen it before. The dog.

We’re not allowed pets cos of my allergies apparently, and I can’t imagine a world where Devorah would even allow it in her kitchen. I’m not sure it’s kosher enough.

But it’s adding to this sense of chaos and because tensions already feel high today, and I’ve got this slow creeping anxiety tightening across my chest, and I just kinda want to go to bed really… I’m mainly too scared to ask why it’s here…

Jesse’s having fun though. Which from an IQ standpoint makes sense. And it’s nice the way my little spaz bro seriously just found himself a soulmate. He’s making some kind of Scooby Dooby ‘yes he is’ kind of noise at it. And basically looks special.

It’s Friday.

It’s February

It’s 4 p.m.

And amongst the scrum, the weekly pre-shabbat panic is officially in full swing. Devorah is frantically cracking individual eggs into a small clear glass. She holds it up to the light. Quickly inspects. Scans to the right, spins to the left. She lowers the glass to see it from above and then lifts it back up to check below.

Satisfied with her inspection she tips the egg into her left hand.

And oozes the yolk back to her right.

Then left.

To her right.

And back…

The white of the egg drip-dripping into the bowl below.

She cracks and repeats.

Cracks.

And repeats.

Orders me to chop carrots and I begrudgingly begin.

Soon working out that Jesse’s in shit again.

Devorah’s berating him over this week’s misdemeanours – including the dog… Knew it. And something about detention… again… and his general backchatting attitude shit.

And there’s barking and jumping and chopping and cracking and Jesse’s vaguely jigging about the place. And answering back. Thinking it’s all a bit funny.

And it builds and it builds and it builds and it –

Stop.

Breathe.

I fucking hate carrots.

Seriously like proper repulsed by them

And she knows it.

They look gross. Orange actually offends me. And you cannot… seriously cannot… boil a carrot without it festering everything it touches with its limpity carroty bollocks.

They ruin.

Everything.

And as I hack at the carrots she chimes up –

No one needs to eat your irritation my darling…

That sweet sweet smile again.

Well don’t make me chop the fucking carrots then.

I don’t say that.

Obvs.

Just tut, and…

Breathe.

And on my in-breath Devorah lets out an exasperated oy as she empties another eggy glass into the waste-disposal-unit thing…

Blood spot.

On the yolk.

She grabs a fresh glass. Stacking up the tainted, sullied glasses next to the sink.

And as she places it, the dog knocks into her and she lets rip at

Jesse. She won’t tell him again. Get that thing out of the kitchen.

And then back to beating the shit out of the egg whites.

Reuben, my father, walks in. He drops a bottle of Kiddush wine onto the counter....

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Contents
• Welcome to VAULT
• Epigraph
• About the Author
• Copyright and Performing Rights Information