In these 10 short plays, many of the characters are isolated and trying to overcome their fears in order to connect with the larger world.  There are mad scientist types who have only their obsessions, people struggling with agoraphobia or body dysmorphia, as well as more surreal situations:  a taxidermied deer within a glass sculpture, a singer with a knot inside her who is helped by the Sabbath Bride.

Although these were written before lockdown, some characters are disintegrating from loneliness in a way that many people may be feeling these days.  But the plays are written with humor throughout, the characters fight hard against their fears, and I hope these will be a source of encouragement as well as enjoyment and escape.

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Alone at night in a quiet corner of the Metropolitan Museum, a taxidermied deer, looking back over his left shoulder. From his antlers to his hooves he is coated by a thin but ornate layer of glass. In places the glass is semi-transparent and traces his contours; in others it is built up and crafted with bubbles and beads.

GLASS: One thing I noticed about you, and I can see you through a lot of different lenses—you don’t know how to project yourself onto the world.

DEER: I don’t know, could that be ‘cause you’re encasing me, you stiff bastard?!

GLASS: C’mon, that’s just an excuse. Look back, be honest. How many times did you get nudged aside from a big acorn just as your mouth closed in? And what’d you do about it? You’d slink off, saying, ‘I aimed too high. I go to my rightful place.’

DEER: I liked the smaller acorns. See, that’s the thing you don’t know. To me they tasted sweeter.

GLASS: Uh-huh. And did you like celibacy?

DEER: Why don’t you turn all those bulging lenses on yourself? Afraid?

GLASS: I’m trying to offer some constructive—

DEER: You look like a bag of tumors. If you were fur instead of clear you’d be a monster. But everyone sighs, ‘Exquisite’. I don’t get it, I really don’t. You’d be nothing without me, there’d be nothing for you to be! But no one can even see me, or just faintly! ‘Oh, there he is in there’. Standing on tiptoes, leaning in: ‘Oh there  he is, I think I can make him out—the poor dead thing.’ While you’re ‘amaaazing’. No. Even if no one else in the world knows the truth, I do.

GLASS: Yeah? What is it?

DEER: The classic jawline, that’s me! Your…coat, your ‘bubbles’: he just took my liquid eye and fractalized it.

GLASS: Funny, no viewer or critic has ever seen it that way, and it’s not in any of the artist’s statements, unless I’ve missed something—and I haven’t.

DEER: You’re nothing but a death mask! Of me!

A guard has entered and is listening.

You’re the shadow. I’m the object. But nobody knows it!

GLASS: Then why don’t you do something about it?

DEER: If I was naked, you think I’d be in the Met? They’d hustle me out a back door and throw me in the garbage. The best I could ever hope for is Natural History, as background in some diorama.

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GLASS: So you got me to thank for something.

DEER: I’d rather be a head on a wall—at least I’d be seen, at least I’d be me!

GLASS: You got a serious interiority complex there, m’boy.

DEER: He took a full-blooded, full-bodied animal with a whole rich history and made it a skeleton. I’m someone else’s bones, not even my own!

The guard approaches. He’s middle-aged, stooped.

GUARD: I couldn’t help overhearing. Do you want me to bust you out of that glass cage? I’ll do it.

DEER and GLASS are silent.

There must be a fabrication seam. Or I’ll smash it if I have to.

Silence.

They caught you in one moment. And then somehow that one moment—that maybe you think isn’t even really you, or just a little part—somehow it’s become everything. It’s grown and hardened, and your fate is sealed! 40 hours a week, of showing up only in body…after 20 years, you can’t disown that.

But maybe it’s not too late. Tomorrow night, I’ll bring a crowbar. Tomorrow night, you come into your own.

The only thing I ask is—let me paint your portrait. In that moment of deciding whether to bolt. Any viewer can relate who’s ever been in the woods and tried to make a deer stay, tried to project his own harmlessness, saying with his face and outstretched hands, “Look, friend, I’m well-intentioned through and through, you can even smell it through my pores! Don’t run.”

But not with you looking like late Elvis. The fear. The moment of deciding. The even more fragile self that you surround. I can capture that. (He takes a folded form out of his breast pocket.) To enter in the contest.

I’ve been smothered for too long by…(looks around at the art) all this. This year I’m gonna force myself. (He rattles the form.) I think we could help each other.

I won’t lie—sudden exposure to the air…who knows? Mummies and unburied scrolls—some of them, poof. But what are the options? Are you happy in there? Is this all there is? If you’re happy, tell me and I’ll go away.

Silence. Curtain.

The dressing room of a small nightclub, live music in the background. Dana, a singer in a black dress and red scarf, sits calmly on a tattered couch, an untouched glass of red wine on a table nearby. Darryl, the owner, paces back and forth in front of her.

DARRYL: You sure you can’t start now? This guy’s killing me—I got customers walking out!

DANA: Darryl, we’ve been through this. The Sabbath ends at 9:10. That’s when all the light is gone from the sky.

DARRYL: What are you a vampire?

Dana gives him a look, says nothing. Darryl listens to the music.

It’s not like Jimmy’s a hack. He’s got a great voice, great range, he can play. But there’s something inside him that’s unhealthy. A knot. Turns people off. Skeeves them. Then there are the few who lean forward. They take the empty seats and move closer. It speaks to something in them.

DANA: I know Jimmy a little. He’s had a tough life.

DARRYL: Aww, he had a wotten childhood? Well, we’re all adults now, you know what I’m sayin? You gotta hide that shit on stage. Or use it. Look at Billie Holiday.

Dana doesn’t bother to rebut this.

You’re just sitting there? You can’t even do vocal exercises on the Sabbath?

Silence.

Dana, that’s four…five customers on their way out. Come on, stop the bleeding!

Silence.

DARRYL: All right, all right. I respect…spirituality. You want to be alone?

DANA: Yeah, Darryl, I want to be alone!

DARRYL: (listening) That’s a beautiful note–almost. But there’s a clusterfuck inside him, you can hear it. I’m not booking him again. 9:10?

DANA: 9:10.

DARRYL: Few more months, you’re good for the 8 o’clock, right?

DANA: Yup.

DARRYL: I need an almanac with this chick.

He leaves. Dana sits there breathing calmly. After a moment she reaches into her bag and takes out a braided red Havdalah candle. She looks at a barely visible hole in the wall, takes a handkerchief from her bag, and crosses to it.

DANA: Stop it, Darryl! I told you. That’s creepy. Don’t make me go to the cops!

DARRYL: (from off ) Just keeping an eye on the talent. People have OD’d in here.

DANA: Uh-huh.

She plugs the hole with the handkerchief, places the Havdalah candle on the table and lights it. She averts her eyes from the flame, holds up a hand to its light, and catches the reflection in her fingernails.

How was Shabbat?

A young woman in a white wedding dress appears and hugs her.

SHECHINA: It was fun.

DANA: Details, details.

SHECHINA: Synagogue in Queens—they were singing and dancing on the lawn. So I joined them. Then all of a sudden the rabbi kneels down—he’s elderly—and says he wants to ‘kiss my grass- scented feet’.

DANA: Whoa!

SHECHINA: A little different. But I went with it. He lost his son a few months ago.

Dana clucks sympathy.

So he kneels down and…very fervent. Then the whole congregation lines up—men, women, and children—and they all do it. It was good. It was love.

DANA: Feet, huh? You have quite the life.

The Shechina forces a radiant smile. Dana looks at her wedding gown which is covered with writing. She examines a place on her arm.

What’s this part here? I can’t read the Hebrew without vowels.

The Shechina gives Dana a small silver stylus that she wears around her neck and guides Dana’s hand as she runs the tip over the words.

SHECHINA: It’s from Leviticus. Proper rites of animal sacrifice in the Second Temple. The line you’re on describes folding back a flap on the kidney.

DANA: (dropping the stylus) Eww.

SHECHINA: Hey, you asked. (Half to herself.) The Temple—the last time I had a home here and could be with you all… Anyway, how are you?

DANA: Fine.

SHECHINA: Yeah? You sure?

She looks gently in Dana’s eyes and plays a little with her hair.

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DANA: I don’t know. I feel a little funny. I had that thing again, where I got claustrophobic. I couldn’t stay inside, so I went outside, but then when I got to the street, I felt overwhelmed, so I went back in. And then, I swear, I almost had to go right back out. I was walking toward the door…but, I ended up taking a bath and it calmed me down.

SHECHINA: It was a panic attack.

DANA: I guess.

SHECHINA: We know where it comes from.

DANA: Right.

SHECHINA: And you’re taking steps.

DANA: I’m trying.

The Shechina puts her hand on Dana’s forehead.

Oh, that feels nice.

SHECHINA: Are you writing down your to-do lists, not repeating them in your mind?

DANA: Yes.

SHECHINA: You seeing friends?

DANA: Monica, Andre, Rebecca this week.

SHECHINA: Good. Let me hear something.

Dana weakly sings a bit of Many Rivers to Cross.

(sadly) Oh, honey.

DANA: Pathetic little voice! I can’t put any power into it! I can’t modulate. I love this song and I can’t even show it!

SHECHINA: Dana–

DANA: It’s the knot! Unhealthy! What am I gonna do?!

The Shechina touches her forehead and says the word, ‘Wisdom’

On her Mouth, ‘Beauty’
Breastbone, ‘Compassion’
Stomach, ‘Perseverance’

SHECHINA: Try it again.

Dana sings, stronger this time.

Almost there.

She touches Dana’s throat.

DANA: I just had this image: my chest was orange and I was breathing out light.

The Shechina smiles.

I’m ready.

SHECHINA: I can see that. You’ll make the audience very happy.

DANA: Right. It’s about them.

They smile at each other.

SHECHINA: By the way, Jimmy’s staying for your set. He’s struggling right now. So maybe some attention his way?

DANA: (kissing her on the cheek) I can do that. Thank you for the heads up.

She checks her watch.

It’s time. Are you ready?

The Shechina nods. Dana pours wine onto the Havdalah candle, extinguishing it.

SHECHINA: Oww.

DANA: Sorry!

SHECHINA: I’m just a little sad. Now it’s gone. Have a good week, my dear.

DANA: You too.

SHECHINA: Reach out whenever you want.

DANA: I will.

They embrace and for a moment each sings a clear note into the other’s mouths. The Shechina disappears. Dana heads for the stage.