Sam. The Good Person.

Declan Perring

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2019
• Print ISBN: 9781786827166
• eBook ISBN: 9781786827173
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literatura
• Subtopic: Arte dramático británico

Sam is a good person.
But what makes someone a good person?
How far would you go to convince others you are? When your mind can't differentiate between the truth and a lie, facts become irrelevant and the only thing that matters is the story you are telling. Whatever the cost. Sam. The Good Person is a startling black comedy that examines just how easy it is for a lie to spiral out of control and change your life forever.

A large hall in a community centre. Sam rushes in, he is clearly late. There are chairs laid out in a circle, a table is in the upstage right corner of the room, with coffee and biscuits. The chairs are all of different designs and shapes, the floor is old vinyl with many stains. There are two strips of halogen lighting above, which buzz. On the wall there is an array of old posters and adverts stuck to a notice board above the refreshments table.

SAM: I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I got stuck when I was trying to–

You know what I’m not–

I’m not even gonna bother– I’m just gonna sit down, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m so sorry Alex, please carry on. Sorry.

Sam listens as someone else in the group is talking (we cannot see or hear the other members of the group, only through Sam’s responses do we find out what they are saying.)

Sam slowly notices the kettle, biscuits and tea bags which are situated in the upstage right corner of the room. He desperately wants a cup of tea. He tries to reach for it but he is too far away. He makes an awkward attempt to reach for it again. He waits and then...

(In a whispered voice.) Sorry, I’m just gonna make a cup of tea. I’m listening.

Sam gets up and flicks the kettle on. The kettle is full and the water takes an exceptionally long time to boil. As it starts to make noise Sam becomes very aware of it and the room, he keeps his eyes on the kettle and occasionally glances back at the circle, it is very awkward. After the kettle has been boiling for a couple of minutes, Sam attempts to take a biscuit from the packet, it makes a lot of noise – the discomfort reads on his face. The biscuit is stale and Sam not so subtly spits it out and throws it under the table. As the kettle takes longer to boil it gets louder and Sam is visibly very uncomfortable.

The tension of the boiling kettle is extremely high, Sam can barely take it.

It clicks.

Sam is extremely relieved. He pours the water into one of the three mugs. He looks for something.

There’s no milk.

Sorry.

It’s fine I don’t need milk.

Sorry.

Sam sits down, he looks into his cup of un-milked tea. He then looks up as if something has startled him.

He starts clapping.

Well done Alex mate. Well done.

He returns to looking at his tea, suddenly something takes him out of this.

Me? Oh, nah. I mean, sorry, No. Thank you. No, no I really dont think I’m ready. Yet. Yeah I know, I know it’s been…

I, er, I still…

Pause for response that is unheard.

Oh, really?... OK. Nah, nah if that’s what everyone…

He stands up to address the group, He is visibly nervous.

Hi, I’m Sam, and I’m– (He laughs.) Sorry, sorry.

Hi, I’m Sam and I’m– I’m really not sure why I’m here.

I mean I do know obviously. I just– I don’t wanna talk about it. So I’m gonna sit back down.

Pause for response.

But I don’t…

What, what am I supposed to say?

Alright, what do you want me to say?

Pause for response.

How I’m feeling. Of course. You mean, how I’m feeling right now? Alright.

He stands.

Well, I feel like there are a lot of eyes looking at me right now and… I… my hands are all sweaty… and I feel, like I’m on the bus.

Silence.

Ya know when you’re on the bus, and, and the driver looks at you directly in the eye as you touch your oyster card on the reader and then it goes red. But you know there’s money on there so you touch it again and it goes red again, and again, and again and at this point you start to feel the driver’s eyes burrow directly into your soul and you feel like you might get off and throw yourself underneath the bus rather than endure this hell, ya know but you don’t, because that would inconvenience quite a lot of people’s mornings so you just press your oyster card on the reader again, and again and it goes green, and you scream HA YOU CUNT! I KNEW IT! I KNEW THERE WAS MONEY ON THERE!!

Silence.

But of course you don’t, you don’t do that. You don’t do anything near to that. No, you just sort of nervously say “sorry” then you go and sit down next to the woman eating an entire block of tesco value cheddar straight out of the packet and you strongly question why, why you so desperately needed that bus driver’s approval.

Silence.

I’m just– (He sheepishly sits back down.)

Pause for response

Well I don’t know, it’s just that… that thought I have on the bus is… (Beat.) Alright fuck it if i’m gonna do this then… That thought is always what’s happening. It’s always there. Always overriding everything… stopping me from doing at least 97% of the things my brain wants me to do. That thought, that question.

Do they–

He stops himself.

Do they think that–

He stops himself again.

Do they think that I’m a good–

He stops himself again and is frustrated.

Fuck sake.

He stands and walks behind his chair. He makes a loud frustrated groan.

Sorry.

Sorry. This is just me, well my brain. Me and my brain.

He does a strange cartoon like voice.

“This is the me and my brain.”

Beat.

Sorry, I don’t know why I did that…

He sits.

I need everyone to like me. Well no, not like me, I mean I would like them to like me but I don’t mind if they don’t like me– liking me isn’t the problem. What I need is… that you think, they– everyone think– I’m a good person.

I know some of you, all of you probably, are thinking fuck off you pretentious little prick, so you want people to like you, big fucking deal, I have actual problems. And I get that, I do...

He indicates towards the others in the group.

I’m not an alcoholic, I’m not addicted to crack, I’ve never stolen from my kids, I don’t feel the need to get sucked off by strangers in public toilets seven times a day– Sorry Joe.

But this need. This thing. This has consumed me. Every second of every minute of every day of my entire life. I am consumed with the need for other people to… validate me. Constantly studying every… every facial movement desperately trying to work out what they think of me. Did they see when I put my water bottle in the regular bin and not in the recycling? Did the woman in the shop see I bought eggs that came from battery farm caged hens? Did anyone notice when I was at the bar and I said I was next even though the woman to my left who is so engrossed in a conversation that she didn’t hear him ask who is next actually got there about three seconds before I did? Did each and every one of you slowly start to imagine putting razor blades in my eyes while we were waiting for that kettle to endlessly, endlessly fucking boil?

Are they watching? Are they listening? Can they see me? Are they watching?

Are they listening? Can they see me, are they…

Beat.

It just never stops.

Pause.

Oh and I lie as well.

I lie all the time. I lie to family, I lie to friends, I lie to strangers. Complete strangers who I will never see again after whatever interaction we may be having. I lie.

Just pointless, pathetic, needless lies, lies no grown man should ever feel the need to tell.

I frequently tell people about jobs I don’t have just because I think they make me sound good, then I go into elaborate detail as ...

Table of contents

• Front Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Chapter 1