I Cannot Live Without Books

ACT ONE

(The stage is barely lit, the curtain down. White noise crackles through the speakers, getting steadily louder. The familiar ding of the fasten seatbelt sign turning on/off echoes once or twice. The noise grows louder and louder until finally …)

ELIAS: Is there a doctor on board? (Curtain up. JACOB lies in the aisle, front and center, with multiple passengers and flight attendants hovering over him. Frantic shouts echo the call for a doctor.)

RAFAEL: (Enters stage right) I’m a doctor, please, let me through. (Reaches the unconscious man.) What’s going on?

ELIAS: I don’t know, I think he’s having a seizure or something.

RAFAEL: Is anyone traveling with him?

ELIAS: Does anyone know this man? His name is (pulls open the man’s wallet and reads) Jacob Young. (Passengers respond with blank stares, shaking heads. A baby cries.)

SASHA: I’ll make an announcement on the intercom. (Exits stage left)

RAFAEL: I need to lay him on his side, clear the aisle please. (People hesitate, barely moving)

ELIAS: (loudly) All right, everyone out of the way, let the doctor help. (Everyone shuffles out of the way, whispering frantically. RAFAEL turns JACOB on his side so he’s facing upstage.)

SASHA (offstage, over intercom): Hello everyone, take note that the fasten seatbelt sign is on. Please remain in your seats while we handle a medical emergency. (Everyone on stage slowly returns to their seats, all except RAFAEL and ELIAS. Everyone cranes their necks and stands up every once and while to get a better look.) If anyone on board is traveling with Jacob Young, please report to row 26, thank you.

RAFAEL: Someone give me a jacket, pillow, blanket, anything soft that I can put under his head.

ISABELLA: (quickly rummages through her things and hands RAFAEL a small neck pillow) Will this work?

RAFAEL: It’ll have to. (Offstage, CARRIE shouts frantically, getting louder as she draws nearer and finally enters stage right.)

CARRIE: … that’s my husband, please (she sees JACOB on the ground) … Oh my god! What’s wrong with him, what’s happening to my husband?

RAFAEL: Ma’am, please calm down, now tell us, does your husband have epilepsy or some kind of medical condition that might have caused this?

CARRIE: No, no, Jacob’s perfectly healthy, he runs marathons, he coaches our son’s basketball team … Oh my god, what the hell is the matter with him?

RAFAEL: (Stares intently down at JACOB, visibly puzzled) He’s foaming at the mouth … Ma’am, what’s your name?

CARRIE: I- I- it’s C-Carrie, Carrie Young.

RAFAEL: All right, Carrie, I’m Rafael, I’m a doctor. Now, has Jacob consumed any alcohol or drugs on this trip?

CARRIE: What? What does that have to do—look, no, we just came to Arizona to visit his mom, but we’re with our kids.

ELIAS: Well, you two were sitting separately, is it possible he consumed any when you weren’t around?

CARRIE: I mean … I guess it’s possible, but we only split up because for some reason the kids and I got a free upgrade to first class, otherwise we’ve been together the whole trip. (JACOB stops seizing. CARRIE breathes a sigh of relief.) Is it over, is he okay? (RAFAEL places two fingers on JACOB’s neck.)

RAFAEL: I’m not feeling a pulse. Elias, bring me the defibrillation kit! Starting chest compressions. (RAFAEL turns JACOB onto his back. ELIAS exits stage left.)

CARRIE: What do you mean there’s no pulse? (She collapses and holds JACOB’s head as RAFAEL starts CPR.) Jacob, Jake, please, you have to be okay, you have to come back home with us.

ELIAS: (Frantically rushes back onstage with SASHA) It’s not there, the defibrillation kit is gone!

RAFAEL: What? What do you mean it’s gone? (RAFAEL begins to lose his cool, though he continues CPR throughout.)

ELIAS: I-I don’t know, somebody removed it from the wall, it’s not there.

RAFAEL: Well, get the backup kit!

SASHA: (Beat.) There is no backup kit.

CARRIE: Somebody do something, please, my husband is dying!

RAFAEL: Fuck! (Beat. Then, he tries to regain his composure.) Okay, we need to land this plane.

ELIAS: I’ve notified the pilot that we have a Code Red, she’s attempting an emergency landing at the nearest airfield.

RAFAEL: Good, make sure they have EMS on the ground ready for us to arrive. (Turns to the rest of the passengers) Does anyone else here know CPR? (Beat.)

ISABELLA: Um, I-I was a lifeguard in high school.

RAFAEL: Okay, good, anyone else? (CARRIE sobs noisily, still clutching tight to JACOB.) Fine, okay, lifeguard, come over here please. (ISABELLA moves past the other passengers and makes her way to JACOB’s feet.) What’s your name?

ISABELLA: Isabella.

RAFAEL: It’s nice to meet you, Isabella, I’m Rafael. Okay, I’m gonna need you to take over for me in a second here so I can talk to (quickly looks up at ELIAS to read his nametag) Elias. Can you do that for me?

ISABELLA: I-I think so.

CARRIE: You think so?

ISABELLA: (To CARRIE) No, I can do it, (To RAFAEL) I can do it, I swear. (RAFAEL switches places with ISABELLA and she begins chest compressions. RAFAEL rises and pulls ELIAS downstage, out of earshot of the rest of the passengers.)

RAFAEL: Elias, I am about to tell you something, and I need you not to react in any way. (They both glance over at the gaggle of passengers.)

ELIAS: Okay …

RAFAEL: The foaming mouth, the seizing, the heart stopping … these things don’t add up to a normal medical diagnosis or condition. But they do indicate something else.

ELIAS: (Trying to keep a straight face) What exactly do they indicate?

RAFAEL: Poison.

(Thunder echoes across stage. The video projection transforms to show dark, tumultuous clouds. The lights flicker on and off and all the passengers begin to shake. The plane is going through some serious turbulence. Chaos ensues, people begin to shout. The baby starts crying again.)

ISABELLA: Rafael, I need help!

CARRIE: Please come stop this girl from killing my husband!

ELIAS: Everyone, please remain calm and in your seats.

(RAFAEL and ELIAS rush back to JACOB. Shouting and screaming ensues, the white noise from the beginning of the show returns, everything continues to build in volume and intensity until suddenly … it all stops. Everyone is frozen on stage in their various positions except for SASHA. She holds a burner cellphone up to her ear on far stage left. She has a sinister smile on her face that makes the audience realize in an instant that she’s the bad guy here.)

SASHA: (In a non-English accent, preferably Russian) It is finished. (Beat.) No, of course not. You know I’m the best at what I do. Even better than … what did he call himself this time? Ah, yes … even better than Jacob Young.

END OF PLAY

The mirror startled her. She did not see it right away, not until she had already gone several steps past it. Her inability to immediately recognize the mirror was not simply a lack of awareness; rather, she was totally enriched in the book in her hands and, looking down to read it, did not realize at first what she was passing. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed what looked like a shadow. This made her jump and spin about wildly, trying to see who was following her. (One would normally not be so afraid of a shadow, especially when that shadow is quite conceivably one’s own shadow. However, she was the kind of girl who had reason to be afraid of her own shadow, so we shall forgive for this seemingly absurd reaction.)

She soon realized it was not a shadow at all, and it was certainly not a murderous stalker following her across the field. The field was nearly always empty at this time of day, which is why the girl used it as a shortcut on her way home from school. Later on, it would be filled with children kicking soccer balls and parents watching from a respectable distance while they sipped coffee and had internal crises and teenagers holding hands and talking about things they pretended mattered. For now, though, the field next to her house was empty. Empty except for the mirror.

She retreated and turned to face the mirror, staring into it. It was a full-length mirror with an oak trim, standing on its oak legs in the middle of the soccer field. There was nothing else around it, no inscription, nothing hanging on the mirror, no apparent purpose. Besides the fact that it was placed in the middle of an empty field, there was nothing else extraordinary about this particular mirror. Oh, except for the fact that it was not her reflection in the mirror.

At least, it was not her current reflection. The her in the mirror was not wearing unripped jeans and an oversized, hand-knitted sweater that her Grams had given her. The her in the mirror did not have a captivating book in her hands. The her in the mirror did not have her dreadlocks pulled back into a long, subdued ponytail. The her in the mirror looked nothing like the her in the field, and yet somehow, instinctively, she knew that she was looking at her future self.

She almost dropped her book in surprise (the key word being almost). The version of her in the mirror smiled mischievously, pleased to see that her more tangible counterpart had figured out that they were one in the same. She (the her in the mirror that is) was taller and curvier, and she wore contacts instead of large navy-framed glasses. Her dreads, a handful of which were colored electric blue, fell prettily around her mature face, a face where confidence—but not arrogance—lingered wistfully.

Standing before the mirror, the girl did not have any of these things. But still… their noses were twins, their eyes a perfect match, their cheekbones cut in the same fashion, their skin tones an identical rich brown—though the older she wore a fitted black tank top that showcased far more muscular arms than the ones hidden beneath the white sweater.

The she in the field stared hungrily at this version of herself. She was confused and scared, of course, but she was too intrigued to be hung up on those unpleasant feelings. Did this mirror show the future? Did it show a long-lost sister? Or her mother when she was young, before she died?

No, she thought. She is me and I am her. There could be no question about that. How then, is she in there while I’m out here? The her in the mirror, unfortunately, did not answer. She continued to smile that mischievous, tantalizing smile, as if she knew something which the her in the field did not. (The truth of matter, of course, is that she knew many things the she in the field did not, but the she in the field was not to be made aware of this fact quite yet.)

“How can I get to you?” she asked herself, desperate for some direction or sign.

To her surprise, the her in the mirror answered. Not with words, for no words of wisdom can be handed down from future self to past self (this much history has taught us). No, the her in the mirror answered with a gesture. She lifted her hand and beckoned, urging the her in the field to come her way.

She was confused. How could she go to the her in the mirror? Did she mean to walk forward, past the mirror, and continue in that direction? Or did she mean…

The question had not yet been fully formed when the answer arrived. The she in the field had reached out her hand to feel the solid glass that separated her from her alternate self, but it was not solid glass at all. It felt more like a thin sheet of rubber, not completely fluid, but still flexible enough to succumb to her touch. In an instant her hand had broken through the mirror (though no glass shattered), and the image of her had become distorted and blurry. Still, the she who was half in the field and half in the mirror thought she saw the she in the mirror wink before, with no warning, she vanished.

This time, she dropped the book. She stood completely still, fighting off panic as she looked at her entire left hand inside the mirror. It sent a strange buzzing feeling throughout her entire body. She looked around, but still the field was empty. There were no kicking children nor drinking parents nor talking teenagers nor knitting grandmothers. It was only her and the mirror.

With one hand, she tightened the straps of her backpack and closed her eyes. There’s no going back now, she told herself. (She was indeed right about this. If she had tried to pull her hand out of the mirror, it would have been futile.) She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and plunged headfirst into the mirror, pushing against the rubbery surface until it gave. The moment it did her whole body followed, and she vanished…as did the oak mirror.

The book lay dirtied and forgotten in the damp grass.