Dags

Debra Oswald

• Editore: Currency Press
• Anno: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781925359190
• Argomento: Letteratura
• Categoria: Teatro

Gillian is sixteen, suffers from the occasional 'ack-attack', and is worried about not having a boyfriend. She loves chocolate and is infatuated with the best-looking boy in school. A funny and compassionate look at adolescence.

GILLIAN is dressed in pyjama bottoms and a sloppy-joe, a paper bag with holes cut out for the eyes is on her head. She is speaking to her imaginary audience.

GILLIAN: I guess you’re all wondering why I’ve got this paper bag on my head. It’s cos I’m ugly. Hideous. A whole lot of you are probably thinking ‘The paper bag’s a pretty melodramatic stunt.’ And that’s true, I s’pose. I’m a pretty melodramatic sort of person. But that doesn’t mean I’m not ugly too.

She takes off the paper bag and inspects it.

I thought it’d be okay if I cut out these eyeholes. But I didn’t account for the noise problem. The paper crackles when I breathe in and out. Oh well …

She tosses the paper bag away.

***

GILLIAN is in her room. She walks towards the bed and begins inspecting her face as if in a mirror. She sighs hopelessly. She continues to speak to her imaginary audience.

GILLIAN: I felt so crummy this morning I couldn’t face going to school. Full-scale ack attack—face like a relief map of Switzerland, you know.

She flops face down, head buried in the bed. She lifts her head wearily to speak again.

Mum said I had to go to school. [Mimicking MUM] ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Gillian. No one’s impressed by your drama-queen performance.’

She collapses again, groaning, then rolls onto her back to face the ceiling.

Errgghh … why am I such a pathetic human being?

There is a thump! thump! on the door.

BRONWYN: [outside the door] Gillian!

GILLIAN groans and buries her head again.

Mum! She’s locked herself in again!

GILLIAN: Leave me alone!

BRONWYN: You can’t stay in there all day and night like a vegetable. Why don’t you get off your big fat bum and set the table for Mum?

GILLIAN: All right! I will in a sec. [To her audience] That bellowing witch out there is my sister Bronwyn.

BRONWYN appears in an immaculate running suit. As GILLIAN speaks BRONWYN runs on the spot, touches her toes, generally goes through her paces with polished ease. She takes off the tracksuit, and folds it up precisely and neatly. Then, in her underwear, she inspects her body in a mirror with detached, almost professional interest.

Bronwyn’s a really motivated person. She’s doing a Communications course at tech at night even though she works all day in the florist shop. Bronwyn says, ‘No one’s going to hand you a great life on a silver platter’ … um, or something like that. Anyway, she reckons you can’t slob around whingeing about things. Like I do. And she never has chipped nail polish or split ends or anything. That’s the sort of person she is.

BRONWYN: Gillian! Do I have to come in there and drag you off that bed?

GILLIAN groans and heaves herself off the bed.

GILLIAN: I’m going! [To the audience] Bronwyn’s not really stoked on having a little sister that’s a vegetable.

GILLIAN slouches out to the dining room.

I guess I’d better introduce the rest of my wonderful family.

GILLIAN hoists a dummy of a middle-aged woman into one of the dining chairs, and props her at the table.

Mum. Poor old Mum. It’s not her fault I’m such a hopeless case. She sighs a lot and looks worried.

She demonstrates, using the dummy.

She’s a very tired person, basically.

She slumps the dummy face forward on the table, as if exhausted.

I would be too if I worked as hard as she does and had to be married to Dad. I used to try and talk over my problems with Mum.

GILLIAN sits the dummy up again and rests her head on its shoulder like a child being comforted.

But the more I told her about how crazy and miserable I feel, the more worried she’d look.

GILLIAN mock weeps and clutches the dummy.

Oh Mum … what am I going...