Characters:
Poppy- (female-presenting, 20’s) perfectionist; legal guardian of her sister Violet and their friend, Chrys
Willow- (female-presenting, 20’s) young at heart, but not without her trauma; runs a daycare while being the legal guardian of her teenage brother, Daff
Time: Around 3:00-ish on a weekday in a year undefined.
Location: The living room of Poppy’s apartment in the Order of Contagion, an aesthetically plague-core society that exists contained within a high-rise.
(At rise: The interior of POPPY’s apartment. It’s a simple, fourth floor dwelling which opens into a living room with a kitchen to one side. The walls and furnishings are muted colors like mauve and gray, simple yet somehow just right. POPPY enters, dressed in a cloak and plague doctor mask. She takes off the mask and cloak, hanging them on a hook on the wall. Underneath, she is dressed business casual, and her hair is in a tight updo. She is also wearing lipstick as red as, well…a certain flower. She kicks off her heels before lining them up neatly beside the door. She turns to a mirror on the wall, fixing her makeup, and smoothing out any flyaways in her hair or wrinkles in her outfit. Then suddenly, she spots motion behind her.)
POPPY: When were you going to say hi?
(WILLOW looks up from where she is lying, face-down on POPPY’s couch.)
WILLOW: Hi.
POPPY: What are you doing?
WILLOW: Oh you know, just lying here, contemplating the eventual inevitable end of existence and the pain of eternal suffering.
POPPY: In my apartment?
WILLOW: Where else?
POPPY: Rough day?
WILLOW: (groaning) Uuuuuuuuuugh!
POPPY: Want to talk about it?
WILLOW: Obviously!
POPPY: Okay. You want tea?
(POPPY crosses into the kitchen.)
WILLOW: Bleh.
POPPY: Juice box?
WILLOW: Ya.
POPPY: Is Violet here?
WILLOW: Nope. Just me.
POPPY: ‘Kay!
WILLOW: So how was your day?
POPPY: Same old. (Then, suddenly remembering.) Oh, hey. I think my suspicions are confirmed.
WILLOW: Oh?
POPPY: Yeah. That creep, Anthos is definitely hitting on me.
WILLOW: Ew! The one with the staring problem? Tell him to butt out.
POPPY: It’s a sad attempt really. (Tiny pause.) I think I’ve made it quite clear how I feel.
(Laughs in lesbian)
WILLOW: I’ll fight him.
POPPY: I’ve got it under control. It’s just annoying.
(POPPY returns with two teacups, one with tea for herself, and an identical one clearly filled with juice, with a yellow plastic straw poking out of it. POPPY passes that cup to WILLOW.)
WILLOW: Classy.
POPPY: So what’s going on?
WILLOW: (listlessly) Welcome back to Willow’s Daycare Adventures. Okay. So today…there was this kid—
POPPY: “This kid”?
WILLOW: I feel like I should keep names confidential.
POPPY: That’s fair. So “this kid” came over and then…?
WILLOW: Little kid came in and when she took off her mask…big bruise on the side of her face.
POPPY: Oh my gosh.
WILLOW: So you know what I thought.
POPPY: Clearly.
(Small pause.)
WILLOW: But I had an apartment full of kids, so…When Daff came home for lunch, I got him to watch them for a second, and I took the kid aside. And I was like, “Hey friend, is everything okay?” And she was like, “Yeah. Am I in trouble?” And I was like, “No, of course not! But I see you have an ouchie on your face. How’d that happen, my friend?” And she proceeded to tell me a whole story about tripping while playing The Floor is Lava with her brother. Even showed me a scrape on her knee from where she fell. And then she laughed, like “Guess I got burned up by the lava. Teehee! Can I go play blocks?”
(Beat. WILLOW sighs.)
POPPY: Gotcha. Well, it wasn’t… what you thought.
WILLOW: I overreacted.
POPPY: You didn’t. That’s a serious concern.
WILLOW: I know, and it got me thinking…I don’t know what to do if something like that does happen. Seriously, how many years have I been doing this? And I’m just thinking about this now! I mean, I—
POPPY: Hey…
WILLOW: I see these kids all day but I don’t know what happens when they go home. And if some parent is coming home drunk, yelling and…
POPPY: Willow.
WILLOW: I’m sorry—
POPPY: You don’t have to—
WILLOW: But what do I do in that situation? I can’t do nothing. I can’t just…So what would I do? Snitch on the parent? I don’t know what would happen in that situation. Would they get washed? And if that is what happens, then the kid is traumatized. And potentially orphaned. And then is it my responsibility to raise the kid? I mean, it would technically be my fault. Everyone would blame me.
POPPY: Hold on.
WILLOW: And Chrys and Daff would never look at me the same way again. Snitches get stiches.
POPPY: None of that is going to happen.
WILLOW: It could.
POPPY: I know you’re worried, but you’re getting way ahead of yourself here. This is all hypothetical. But for the record, I don’t think Daff would ever judge you for doing what you thought was best if you thought it would help someone.
WILLOW: I don’t know that.
POPPY: I do.
WILLOW: I promised myself his childhood wouldn’t be filled with stupid traumatic crap…
POPPY: Willow.
WILLOW: What?
POPPY: Deep breath.
WILLOW: I just… This isn’t just some meaningless task.
POPPY: I know—
WILLOW: And that’s no shade to you or anyone else—
POPPY: None taken.
WILLOW: It’s just, I’m responsible for a bunch of little lives. Gotta make sure they don’t die, you know? And it’s not like it was just thrust onto me. No. I chose this. The daycare was my idea. So if I mess up, it’s my fault. And then there’s Daff…And I just…I don’t wanna be the reason any of these kids can’t sleep at night.
POPPY: I get it. That’s a lot.
WILLOW: It’s not anything more than everyone else has to deal with.
POPPY: Are you kidding me? That’s a lot. And for what it’s worth, you’re doing a really great job.
WILLOW: I guess.
(POPPY gets up and starts to clear away the cups.)
POPPY: And you know, if you ever need anything…
WILLOW: Yeah.
(POPPY puts the cups in the kitchen and returns to the living room.)
POPPY: You okay?
WILLOW: Yeah. I’ll be fine. But sometimes I wish I had someone to like…hold my hand…or something. (Pause. POPPY grasps the air, as if she were reaching out to grab someone’s hand. She smiles slightly, holding a soft fist.) What are you doing?
POPPY: I’m holding your hand.
WILLOW: You’re holding nothing.
POPPY: Correction. I’m holding air.
WILLOW: Ok still. If you’re holding air, you can’t be holding me.
POPPY: I am holding air. But. The air is touching the couch, which is touching the pillow, which is touching your hand. So, I am holding you by the transitive property.
WILLOW: Oh fancy. What is that science?
POPPY: Math I think.
WILLOW: Same thing!
POPPY: If you say so.
WILLOW: Okay, so wait. If that tramalamadingdong thing—
POPPY: Transitive property?
WILLOW: Yeah that. If it’s real…
POPPY: And it is.
WILLOW: …then you’re kinda always holding my hand, aren’t you? Even when we’re not in the same room.
POPPY: Yeah. That’s kinda the point.
WILLOW: Wow.
(WILLOW grabs the air and holds it as POPPY had before. POPPY reaches back. Beat. POPPY joins WILLOW on the couch. After a long moment, WILLOW smirks.)
POPPY: What?
WILLOW: (teasing) You’ve really done it now, you know.
POPPY: What?
WILLOW: You’ve made it mathematically impossible to ever get away from you.
POPPY: I know, what a tragedy.
(WILLOW snuggles closer to POPPY.)
WILLOW: The worst.
(They sit there for a bit, afterwhich POPPY puts her hand on WILLOW’s arm.)
POPPY: Hey, if something bad ever does happen, you know you don’t have to handle it by yourself, right?
WILLOW: Okay self-help book.
POPPY: Wow. Okay.
WILLOW: No I get it. You’re there.
POPPY: I’m just saying, if there’s ever an issue where we absolutely have to get the Officials involved, I’ll do it. Let everyone blame me. Chrys already hates me, so it’s not like much will change.
WILLOW: She doesn’t hate you.
POPPY: Oh yeah? It’s not like she’s very good at hiding it. I can’t be the only one that sees it.
WILLOW: She’s a teenager.
POPPY: So’s Violet, but she doesn’t act like she wants me to spontaneously combust.
WILLOW: That’s because Violet is an angel.
POPPY: Mmhm. Sure. So then what about Daff? Does he get all moody?
WILLOW: Sometimes.
POPPY: (Sighing) I think you might’ve been right.
WILLOW: Yeah I was! (Blink blink) About what?
POPPY: Saying Chrys and I just don’t get along.
WILLOW: When did I say that?
POPPY: When I first decided to take her in, you said—
WILLOW: Pshh! What did I know? I think you’re doing a great job.
POPPY: Did I do something wrong?
WILLOW: Bah!
POPPY: I don’t yell, I don’t…I don’t know. She looks at me like I’m her wicked stepmother.
WILLOW: Ooof.
POPPY: Yeah.
WILLOW: Well, at least you’re the fairest of them all. (POPPY snorts.) Hey. (She holds the air.) Transitive property.
POPPY: Yeah.
(The two women sit together for a long time, holding hands for real… and even when they eventually let go, they never really do.)
[End of Play]
The Tributary 