Stefanie: (one act play)

Rose (Stefanie): a 25 year old prostitute from LA who recently moved to New York City

Denny: a working class wife and father of two who has been working in the city his whole life

Denny had made an “appointment” for Rose to meet up with him at the Trump Towers at 2 A.M on this Saturday night. His wife and kids are away on a camping trip. It is fifteen past two and rose had just arrived, she sits at the edge of the bed.

Rose: So I basically charge about a hundred an hour depending on your…well your needs. So you can either pay before or (she pauses and looks up at Denny who is nervously twiddling his thumbs) Sir, are you alright?

Denny: What? Oh yeah I’m fine I just (he continues to twiddle his thumbs and look down upon her nervously) Can you give me a moment?

Rose: You gotta wife?

Denny: Ex-excuse me? Why does that matter? ( he gives her a glare like she’s meaningless)

Rose: Just wondering if you gotta wife is all, but I can tell you do. (Denny becomes quiet and stares down at the comforter which he is standing over) You love er?

Denny: Of course I do, she’s my wife.

Rose: Then why ya here? (she gives him a scolding look) Don’t tell me you got kids.

Denny: (lowers his head ashamed) I have two children, two girls. Fifteen and seven.

Rose: And they’re out of town right? They have no idea you’re here. You said you got some business to do while they go and have fun, but little do they know they’re hard working papa is just with some..

Denny: (cutting rose off rather angrily) Who are you to say anything? You’re nothing but some prostitute I found on craigslist. You don’t mean anything nor do you know anything. So why don’t you shut up before I take my money and go.

Rose: (quietly but with much force) Those little girls, I was them and my father..(she pauses briefly and appears to collect herself) I just know more than you think.

Denny: Look I am sorry about what you father did but my wife and I we don’t get along very well, at least not lately. She is always saying I need to spend more time with the family, but whenever I’m home she’s complaining we don’t have enough money for vacations and clothes. You know, it’s like I’m never good enough for her.

Rose: But you’re plenty good enough for someone like me right? Trash.

Denny: (looking down at his thumbs which are no longer twiddling) No not trash, just I don’t know. What’s your name anyways?

Rose: Rose on the job, Stephanie when I’m not.

(Denny’s phone begins to ring with his wives contact name and tears form in his eyes which he quickly wipes away)

Denny: You gotta husband? Kids?

Rose: Husband died few years back, he made the money. I have one son, Mason, he’s fourteen. (she cups her face in her hands and begins to sob) If he knew this is what I did, this is what I’ve become he would never forgive me. (she shakily lights a cigarette and takes a big puff)

Denny: You don’t have to be Rose tonight, how does that sound Stefanie?

Stefanie: What do you mean?

Denny: Well I’ll still pay you and all, but we don’t have to do anything, in fact I don’t want to. We can just sit here and talk, that way I won’t be cheating on my wife and you don’t have to be Rose tonight. Okay?

Stefanie: Well I mean, I guess that sounds alright. (she leans her head back against the head board and pulls out another cigarette) Want one?

Denny: Oh well I don’t.. well sure why not.

They both sat there all night, talking and puffing cigarette smoke. They talked about their kids and their spouses, anything there was to be talked about. They talked about Stefanie, not about Rose once that night.

Pic Perfect

Ninety four years old is a long time. Most people don’t even surpass eighty in this day and age, but somehow I’ve made it to ninety four, lucky enough to have most of my memories still. I glare at the old oak tree outside my bedroom window, as I hear my family scramble downstairs to set up my party. The tree never got weak, never slumped over like the other ones in the yard. It stood tall, through everything it has seen. When I was younger my father and I would hang up dozens on bird houses, I insisted because I didn’t want a single bird to go homeless. Birds of all kinds would flock to the tree, beautiful cardinals and blue jays. It was my favorite part of the year when we hung up those bird houses, there was a certain beauty in it. As the years went by more and more birds came and went, I almost remember every last one. My family says this is all I remember, the tree with the birds. I hear them whisper and say it’s the only thing I haven’t forgotten, but I don’t care. As my other memories fade all that remains is the pure joy of hanging bird houses with my father under the spring sun. When the tree begins to wither I will not be sad, for it has lived a long and meaningful life. 

Pic Perfect

You see me as a nobody. You see me as scum, worthless, no use to the world. Before you even say a word to me you think you know me. Nothing but a lazy bum who sits on the corner and begs for what you’ve earned, but do you know me? Do you know that I served in war to protect your rights? Did you know that? I was shot in the arm, to make sure our country was safe, our country that refuses to help me when I’m helpless and alone. Did you know I had two kids, emphasis on the had. I lived in a big house with two kids, a dog, and my wife. My wife who kicked me out when she found out about my Post Traumatic Stress, she kicked me out with nowhere to live. I haven’t seen those two kids since. I’ve volunteered for people like me, and before I thought the same as you. I thought homeless people do it to themselves. Why don’t they just get a job, I would ask myself. Only now I realize no one will hire a man with torn up clothes and who smells like garbage. I am not nobody, I lived my whole life as somebody, but now you only see me as nobody. 

Picture Perfect 2

We set fire, the two of us. Fifteen of my friends and I all ventured to the cove, just along the shore line. Our parents had no clue where we were, but we didn’t care, we wanted to feel free for one night. We ventured along the sand, the bottoms of our feet blistered from the scorching sand. As sunset fell, we lay our blankets out along the shore line, circled around the small fire we had burning. As everyone sat down to enjoy the fire and the marshmallows we brought to roast, I decided I wanted to take a walk. Through the slim dirt path I roamed, finding my way through the brush. The air was warm but had a damp breeze that made my salty hair flow behind me. As I sat down on a boulder, I came to a realization that he was following me through the brush. He sat down next to me, without a word. As the sun fell, my head did upon his shoulder. I could feel him laying his eyes upon me, but I didn’t look up at him, just at the setting sun. The sky was painted like fire, and I could feel it in every aspect of this moment. As I rose my head to gaze upon his, I saw the same fire that was painted across the setting sky. Burning passion, wild colors that made your heart rush and your own eyes wonder. The flames of the sky weren’t the one that caught mine, it was the burning flames that beheld down at me in two beaming sockets. As the sky burnt out, the only light that lit was those two passionate flames. Together we scorched there until there was nothing left to burn. 

Pic Perfect

pictures for pic

ture perfect

Picture Perfect 1

It was the day before, I took her for a walk through the mountains. She was much slower than she used to be. She used to run a mile ahead of me, chasing every squirrel in sight. As I gained my years, Daisy gained hers faster. The brown on her nose has faded to a light grey, but her eyes still remained bright whenever I came home from my long work day. I knew what was coming, but she didn’t and maybe it was better that way. A few weeks prior to Daisy and I’s exploit she had collapsed while running through the front yard, my daughter wailed out crying. She sat with Daisy in the middle of the yard, stroking her fur coat gently and reassuring her it’s okay. I pried my daughter off of the feeble Daisy, and rushed her to the vet. After twelve years with her, I thought this would be our last few hours together as she whined in the back seat with her muzzle pressed in the indent. I sat with her on the raw table and held her paw as her beaming black eyes stared at me, assuming the vet would say the worst. She had a tumor in her left front leg, a destructive one. He told me a twelve year old dog couldn’t handle this pain and I should put her down, but I asked for a few more weeks until we put her down, I couldn’t let go that easily. She had given her whole life to me, my daughter, my wife. She endured countless tail pulling’s and fur tugs from my budding daughter, yet she had never even nipped her slightly. Every single day she sat on the front mat until I came home, and despite how much pain she was in, she always jumped right up to great me. Daisy was a part of me, and I would want to live my last few weeks in pacification. So the day before I took her to the mountains, and everything felt blissful. I lay on the rocks next to a small pond while she breathlessly would guzzle large mouthfuls of water, limp over to me, and then proceed gulping the crystal water.  My fingers ran steadily through her greying fur as she panted, spilled her water all over my hiking boots. Maybe it was for me more than it was for her, letting Daisy enjoy her last few weeks, because burying an animal three feet under can be just as hard as burying someone six feet under.