(Elizabeth is sitting on her bed. She is dressed nicely, with makeup and jewelry on. As she talks, she takes off her shoes, jewelry, and makeup (in that order), then takes her hair out of the side-braid it had been in, then shaking her hair out by the end. Side note- she pushes her hair behind her ear when she is upset or disappointed or shy)

That was incredible! He liked me. He kept calling me pretty and gorgeous and telling me that my laugh was amazing. And he was so cute (I’m talking tall, dark, and handsome, here) and nice and funny and sweet. And he listened when I was talking, always paying attention to me! And when he kissed me (puts her hands over her heart, leans back and squeals, kicking her feet a little). I can’t believe Nat was able to set that up for me. I have to thank her so much tomorrow. (Phone Buzzes. She picks it up, and reads the text aloud.) “How did it go? He told me he loved it! You totally scored- Nat.” (stares at the phone for a second, before laughing brightly and smiling. Then she begins to type) “It was awesome. He couldn’t stop looking at me! Even when I got up, I could feel his eyes on me…” (looks up from the phone) All night. All night, he was STARING at me, not looking. And he probably wasn’t really listening. (pushes hair behind her ear and looks down) And he was surprised when I started talking about politics.

I’m not asking for prince or celebrity. I’m not even asking for love. I’m asking for a guy who is willing to take for what I am. Because that, that’s what love grows from.  It would also be nice if he didn’t focus on the physical? That boy probably didn’t hear a word I said, he was so focused on my body. I’m sure he meant everything he said, it’s just...  (Looks back at phone) “Totally scored.” Not really. ‘Totally scoring’ would be getting a guy who is interested in what I’m saying and who I am, not just the physical features I have.

(shakes her hair out of braid and sighs) I can’t believe that I used to believe in love at first sight. At first sight, we focus on how a person looks. And we always try to make ourselves look nice. First sight is never this (gestures to herself, completely bare of makeup and jewelry). This is what I want people to love. I don’t want someone to love my body, but not my mind. Love my lips, but not the words they speak. Love is knowing everything about that person, all the little things that they like, and what drives them crazy. Love is knowing exactly what buttons to push. Love isn’t shoving your tongue down their throat. Love isn’t having arguments over stupid, petty thing. I don’t want love right now, and I know I probably won’t find it now, anyway. I guess I just want people to stop use a word they don’t know the power of. Love is beyond the physical, and it takes time. (picks up her phone, and begins to type a message) “It was okay. Don’t think I’ll be meeting up with him again.”

You know Betty, I was never….. (pause) never mind, just forget it. No, no, it’s fine. Yes It’s fine. (Sight) It’s nothing, I wasn't going to say anything. Betty it’s just I was never considered… skinny, especially to my family, I’m not, I never was. Betty I don’t need to hear you tell me I’m beautiful, when I’m sitting here looking at my stomach rolls and double chin. You never had this problem Betty, you’re skinny and no one ever makes fun of you or judge you what you’re eating and how much of it you’re eating. (Screams) Why am I so fat, why can’t I be skinny! Betty I’m not overreacting. I am not a 16 year old drama queen. I’m a 16 year old with rolls the size of football fields.

Let me tell you what happened just the other day.  I was walking down the streets on a beautiful snowy day. I enjoyed walking, it made me feel happy, just looking at snowflakes falling lightly. Then, I saw a group of people walking towards my way. I was in my big black coat, I already see it coming, they started to walk in a more narrow line, like instead of 4 people across the sidewalks, They bundle up walking in a way to say, “HEY let’s make room for this fat girl to go by.” It hurt my feelings a lot. Just realizing that. (Got quiet)

Yes I’m still here Betty, Sorry I was just thinking. I was just thinking of why can’t I just go to the gym like normal people and workout. Because Betty, when I go to the gym, I feel like they are judging me! I’m not overreacting again. I feel scared, I’m afraid of getting judged and judged on how I’m fat. Betty you’re so lucky, you never have to feel this insecure.

You know my family, they are always telling me, “Don’t eat too much, you’re getting more fat” or if a family member comes over to visit, the first thing they’ll say is, “Wow, you look fatter, don’t eat too much okay, you need to be skinny and pretty okay.” Like is fatter even a word? I don’t know about other asian family Betty, but in my asian family, your weight or appearance is like the topic of conversation! That’s the first thing they’ll say to you or talk about when they see you. I felt insecure. I wanted to hide, I was never one of those skinny girls, with the perfect everything, but I wish I am. For what? So I wouldn't get judged or ever made fun of. Skinny girls like you Betty never go through what fat people like me have to go through!

Betty why are you getting so upset? Did I say something wrong? What do you mean I’m self centered. What I said was true, I never saw a skinny girl get called “fat” or “Hey fattie, why don’t you go get yourself some salad.” Betty were best friends, I thought you understand what I’m going through! I’m the one who doesn't understand you? What are you talking about Betts. Who’s going to understand you more than me Betts? I stuck by you since kindergarten! I knew everything about you and still do. I know I know Betty, I know you stuck by me too. Why do you keep saying I’m self centered? I know you were there for me too, when no one was. You can never understand what it’s like to be fat! You’re those skinny girls that I wish I was like.

Oh…. you never told me that. What did they do? They what? No they did not! Why didn't you tell me that before? I wasn't gonna judge you Betty. I can’t believe they did that! What kind of guy says to a girl, “What are you a toothpick, no butt, no nothing. You look like you got a body of an 8 year old boy.” Betty I’m sorry. Well, it’s not worse then what happens to me, you look nothing like an 8 year old boy! Betty what happened to you doesn't compare to what happens to me as a fat girl. Betty I didn't mean it like that. Betty! (Betty hangs up).

No one ever understands me anymore, not even my best friend. (Thought to self).

Ok. stop. It’s 11:13 pm. Everyone knows that no good work gets done past 11. Ugh, how can it already be 11:13? It was 9:42, like, 5 minutes ago. 11:13 may be a little late, but late is better than never. And look! I already have a solid paragraph. I’m just four more paragraphs away from a decent sized history essay. And then all I have to do is my lab, then those geometric proofs, and then that english reflection paper… Oh my god my life is a never ending assignment! No, don’t panic, don’t panic. Double space solves everything. *types* There, that looks, longer. Oh, size twelve font, there we go. *types* Is ariel bigger than times new roman? Whatever, times new roman makes it look fancier.

*starts to fall asleep*

What? I can’t go to bed yet, not now. I have too much work to get done. I mean, people pull all-nighters in college all the time right? I just need coffee, or an energy drink, or, or…. That bottle of coke thats been in my room for like a month? *thinks for a minute*

*typing and saying* When.. Does… Coke… expire….?

No, no I need to do this, with or without an energy drink. Lets see, “The collapse of the soviet union…” How did that happen? How can I forget how the Soviet Union collapsed, that was like, the whole unit. I’ve got it, I’ll message someone! Somebody else can totally help me out, maybe even share their paper. Ok facebook, who to message. Not in my class... not at my school… Jeremy’s mom. How can nobody be online, it’s only 11:26. Maybe Jeremy’s mom could- Wait. Ned! Ned’s online! Oh thank you facebook gods. Ned is pretty much the smartest kid in the grade besides that kid I’m pretty sure has been held back a few years. He’s totally gonna help me. Ok, ok:

“hey” No, no. A one Y hey totally sounds like I’m trying to steal his history essay. *types*

“heyy” Better. And… send! Alright Ned, gimme those answers. ‘Seen at 11:28’ He’s totally responding! We were lab partners last year. Hey, we were friends. We would talked a lot in lab about tests and quizzes. He was sweet, he used to offer me gum when he had it. Everyone thought he was into me, he probably was. He would even let me look at his homework when I needed to. Then why is it taking him so long to respond? I guess I don’t have that many classes with him now but… Is that who I am now? That girl that asks for other people’s homework? It was totally Jessica Stein last year. When she was at a desk next to you, everyone knew you were screwed. It was the fact that she was shameless about it, though. It was so casual, sometimes she’d just give a you this slight glance in your general direction, and you knew what she wanted. It got to the point where people avoided sitting next to her in a classroom setting. I’m pretty sure she transferred this year, actually.

Oh god. I’m totally the new Jessica Stein. When given the choice, people never sit next to me. It’s a spiral! I don’t do one thing and then I have to do it the next day on top of the 3 other things I was just assigned. It’s just more and more and more and more and… No wonder he isn’t responding, Ned probably hates me for begging him for work and thinks I’m pathetic. I’m probably worse than Jessica in his eyes. *takes breath*

Stop with the pity party, he’s gonna respond. And hey, If he responds quickly enough, maybe I’ll have enough time to finish my homework up tonight. Maybe I’ll finally get it all out of the way. Maybe… Maybe I’ll start writing my work down, or putting it in a planner. Maybe I can do my work right when I get home, instead of putting it off, and off. Maybe I’ll go to bed earlier, I’ll probably get more sleep. Maybe I’ll walk to school, yeah! I’m only like a mile away, I could use the exercise. I can get one of those apps that blocks facebook- No- I’ll get an app that blocks the internet. My work time is my work time, I don’t need the internet to distract me. And then, maybe I can-

(James runs into his bunker and closes and locks the door.)

We should have seen that coming.   I can’t believe that they surprised us like that.  There are hundreds if not thousands out there.

(He sees a piece of paper and pen)

I need to say goodbye to my family.  

(Runs to the paper and pen)

What do you say to someone you love  when you are about to die and they are thousands of miles away?

(Looks at the paper and freezes)

To my loving wife Linda and soon to be born son James Jr.,

It’s me, James.  I have always been a man of few words.  I hate talking and you know that.  But (pauses)  

I don’t think I am coming back home to Philadelphia.  The base was attacked.  We didn’t see it coming.  I am writing this because today I am going to die.  

(pauses again).  

Linda I just wanted to say that I loved you.  Even if I didn’t show it at times, I did.  When I first met you in high school English class, I knew that you were the one for me. When a woman can make a strong man weak by the way she looks at him, you know you’ve found a keeper.  We’ve had our ups and downs but what relationship hasn’t.  To James Jr. I know that you will have no memory of me.  You are not even born yet. That is the one thing that hurts me the most.  I thought that if I fought in this war I would make this world a better place to watch you grow up.  The irony.  I wish I could be there to watch you grow up. To teach you how to catch a baseball, take you to your first game

(a tear comes down his face) (sniffles)

(Come one James, pull yourself together)

and see you graduate and everything in between.  I know that you will become a great man one day.  These words can’t really describe how I am really feel.

(Hears random German commands outside his door.)

Goodbye, I hope you never forget me.

(The door is kicked down. He holds the letter to his chest.)

Please, Please Please!

I looked up. A flash of memories pass through me. I shivered, out of fear. I told you I was cold. I look at you. Blank stare. You don’t remember me. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I looked into your cold lifeless eyes, only to find them missing. Something has changed.  “So, Jesse is it? Why would you like to work here.” I say not letting you see that I recognize you.

I am boiling with anger inside. Why did you do that to me? Was it fun, Jesse? Throw the gay kid in the trash. Dump his head in the toilet. Lets make his life hell because he likes guys. I remember one time I wanted to join the football team, I had been training so hard, all month long. I got out on the field ready to go. We got assigned to teams. Then we got into formation, my whole team turned against me. “A gay guy can’t play football.” those were the words you said to me as I was pushed off of the field.

But, I guess I should thank you. For all of my accomplishments. Without you to bring me down every day of high school, I’d never be so determined to get into Law School and start my own firm. I can’t bring myself to say those words to you. I busy myself reading your resume. Scribbling nonsense notes. “I’m gay.” I stop. (pause then looks up) I look at your face, incredulos. You are gay. I don’t trust my ears. I have to repeat the words to myself five times before I can start to believe them.  You are gay!

All those years, bullying me because I (points to self) liked men. And all those years you did too. (laughs) I feel bad for you. You hid behind a shield, bullied me so no one would dare to think you too, were gay. Surrounding yourself with girls. No one would have ever thought. Jesse the prom king, the popular guy, the guy who everyone loved...gay? No, no one would have bought that! And why should they? You built a wall, never let anyone see the real you. You created a character so intricately that no one thought to question it.

Oh god, oh, oh god he’s looking at me.

They’re all looking at me.

Why? All I wore was a t-shirt and jeans. Is it my boobs? Is there too much cleavage?

(looks down at boobs) There’s only a little. What’s the big deal!

Is it my jeans then? My butt?! (Looks at butt) They are somewhat tight…

But so are their clothes! One of them isn’t even wearing a shirt!

(Pause) Oh no they’re starting to shout! They’re starting to shout!

Okay, okay just ignore them and they’ll go away.

Just ignore them and they’ll go away.

Just ignore them and they’ll go…

ARRGGGH! It’s not working! I just want it to stop. This is so humiliating.

Maybe I should say something…

NO! no I can’t do that. What if I start some shit? It could get really out of hand.

I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t (long pause, silence)

(Blurts out) What did I do to deserve this?!

I was just walking on the street and this has to happen. Everyday.

I mean (laughing) Nicki Minaj shakes her fake ass only wearing a thong and she get treated like a goddess!

But I,

I,

I’m a…

Slut,

Tramp,

Whore.

Is that what they really think of me? You don’t even know me…

I mean, I see hot guys walking down the street all the time (Short pause) well… not all the time, but I don’t shout at them.

In front of everyone!

I know they have hormones, different from women, but that doesn’t mean they have to make me feel…

Subhuman.

Don’t get me wrong it’s not all of you. Maybe some of you are trying to be nice!

Beautiful is a compliment!

But there comes a point where I just

Where I just don’t know anymore.

And maybe I should just stopping dressing like a “Slut”

Or walking around at night

Or just alone In general.

Or maybe you need to just stop.

My male boss finally agreed to give me the pay raise I asked for 5 months ago.

I told him how grateful I was for his help in sorting it all out.

He said to me, “If I wasn’t married, I would ask you to show me how grateful you really are,” followed with a small chuckle.

I stared at him.

I couldn’t tell if he was serious.

I wanted to ask him how he could live with himself. How he sexualize his employee like that. Why he thinks that he can say anything to women, like we have to accept every ugly remark that spews out of his mouth. I want to ask about his wife, about his children. I want to tell him that, when men say things like that, it encourages their sons to do the same. And it encourages their daughters to accept it. Like it is something that cannot be changed. An endless cycle where women aren’t to blame. By letting our children to conform to these rules we are only perpetuating a prejudiced system. A system where feminism, is this radical theory that women are actually humans. We teach boys to grow outward. To grow as big as they can. While we teach young girls to grow inward, to make space for their man. Because apparently there isn’t enough space for both of us to shine. Contrary to popular belief, a woman doesn’t need a man to survive. A woman without a man is just as crazy of a notion as a fish without a bicycle. Equality shouldn’t be a concept we hope for our grandchildren to know. It needs to be a necessity. Something that we cannot live without.

I wanted to tell him that women already make 77 cents to the dollar that men make. And that we don’t need his harassment to make up for the lack of zeros on our pay check. And that my co-worker, John, has only been working here for three months - but he has already gotten twice the amount of promotions I have gotten in three years. I want him to feel the fear of going into my male boss’ office, uncertain if my lips will be asked to do things other than give a sales pitch.  I want to tell him that I wore my deepest cut business suit to my job interview, because I knew it would it would appeal to him. I cannot wait to see the day where people do not base my intelligence off of my wardrobe.

I want to tell him no. I want to tell him stop. I want to ask him why.

I can hear the preschool teachers call their class up to the stage. I’m next. All of the little babies run onto the stage and take their positions. Parents clap and wave to their kids. They  waved back, smiling. The teachers quietly got their attention. Then, the music started.

I’ve heard this beautiful song in rehearsal a couple times but that night I couldn’t stand it. Every little note drove me insane. “Calm,” I whispered to myself. My heart was beating so loud I could hear it. I began to go over my dance in my head. My solo. My first ever solo to be exact. that night, I was dancing all alone. It startled me when my dance teacher insisted on it. All throughout rehearsal I was nervous but never as nervous as I was then. This was like torture.

“One, two three, one two three,” I kept repeating in my head, “One, two, three, turn.” “One . . .,two . . ., turn?” Oh no! I forgot! I forgot my dance! I can’t go out there! My heart was beating faster than ever. I couldn't stop sweating and my breathing became faster. “Calm! Be calm! You can’t go out there like this!” I felt like I was having a panic attack. My body wasn't listening to my brain. I snapped out of my head and tune in to what’s happening around me.

The music stopped. “It’s over? I thought it just started! It can’t be done!” My heart was going to explode. I wasnt ready. I started preparing to go onstage when I heard the preschool teacher say, ¨Technical difficulties!” Technical difficulties”, I said to myself. A tiny weight was lifted off my shoulders and I breathed easily for the first time in minutes. But then I remembered the next time the song stopped it would be the end. And then it would be my turn.

The first class should be coming in right now 8:15 right on time as always never late never off right on time, except for those one are two who sit in the back who seem show up same time every day 9:15 on the dot, Every day come in sit down act like they pay attention then sit and slack off for  10 minutes look up watch me hanging waiting for the arrows to line up in possession so they can run out the door. The same every day with those two fools, from up here I can see it all though I can time  every thing I know the exact time that the next group kids will come in when that stupid kid in the back will make some sound that makes the entire class laugh he does it every day 10:15 on the dot. Then teacher ponders 15 minutes go by and another 10 go as she refuses to say another word unless the culprit speaks up, He never does though even though its quite clear who it is not to her thought to me its as clear as the air that you breath, I can see it  from up here I can track it all every minute, I can tell you when that the kids is sitting in front of you that makes those noises and that he did same thing 10:30 yesterday  but what can a holder a watcher of time do but that watch wait. I have seen I know all the dirty secrets of this place even the one you don't know how the students meet in this room and beat that boy with the glasses and the braces until he his black and blue every day at 3: 30.

Why do they do this I have been asking myself that very question 10 years now since the day the put me up in this god forsaken place, the first time I ever saw those boys gang up on that kid and why because mommy and daddy didn't hug them enough now because they were a bunch of egotistical little thugs who needed be taught a lesson or better yet need be slapped with the belt its not like they are using it to keep up their pants, because if they where then I would not be staring at there starry boxers stupid idiots. That little boy is no better he should stand up for himself standing there taking a betting won't help him much in life. Well it might if he is planning on being the worlds first pain feeling punching bag  I can see it now boy dies after one punch well what do I care I have my own problems to deal with for one having watch these stupid teachers that just hook up come in here make out like young kids they always come here 4:00 oh god help me you're not young get over yourselves and get a different room or please cover me up at least.  Why do I bother not like they will ever listen just half to pray that my hands move to 4: 30 faster before I lose a bolt, why couldn't I have been a  presidential clock learn the dirty secrets of the oval office and the secrets of the man running this country that would have been the dream hang me up next to George Washington painting I bet he has some stories to tell. Unfortunately that is not my fate its to watch kids beat the pulp out of that shrimp at 3:30 watch an idiot teacher stop a classes because of a imbecile who thinks making fart noises is fun. If that did not put the cherry on top of the Sunday I have to watch the generator come in the room at 4: 45 coming in the classroom and set up his weird ritual while he get naked and starts painting himself in white. I have tried saying Idiot that's not how you talk to ghosts that's who you catch a cold but does he listen no like the others, how I wish I could leave the only way I can leave is by praying the backwards school gets shut down oh how I hope until then I will forever be the watcher time keeper and recorder of this monstrous room oh look at that 7:00 already almost time start school better get ready done.

I stare at my blank computer screen in front of me. My entire dorm was completely dark except for the glow from the computer. I sit on the carpeted floor, maybe I can think better this way. I sit back on my green and white comforter. “Changing positions isn’t going to help you write the perfect speech.” I hear a little voice say to me. I write down a sentence. My hand is soon tapping backspace, erasing it away.

I am again staring at a blank screen. I can hear people outside in the hallway walking by. The voices carry under the locked door. I can hear the laughs and the joy laced in their voices. I want to be out there with them, but I don’t move a muscle. I won’t move a muscle ‘till I get this perfect. “You can’t even write a single sentence.” The voice persists to me. I try to prove it wrong, I start to write again. This time it will be perfect. This time it will be perfect, everyone will love it. Repeats over and over in my head, trying to drown out that voice. Finally having some words on the screen, I hear the clicking of the backspace key.

I am again staring at a blank screen. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. The word swirls around in my head as I try to find the perfect words for the perfect speech. It seems my world is defined by this one word, perfect. All I strive for is perfection, if it isn’t perfect I throw it away.

I try laying on my back, continuing my theory that changing positions will help me think. Staring up, I see the blank cream colored ceiling with the dark light in the middle.The ticking of the the clock engulfs the room, I see the seconds roll by, the minutes roll by, the hours roll by. As I sit there, there is still a blank screen. My dull, blank brain starts to light with the fire of an idea. The fire is brought to my hands as they start typing away quickly. There is a page of words in front of me and I’m burned out from the sudden surge of an idea. I read through what I have written, by the end of the page my hand is yet again wavering over the backspace key.

“It isn’t perfect, it will never be. Everyone at graduation will hate it." The voice tells me. No! My hand quickly falls away from backspace. I don’t care if it isn’t ‘perfect’, I shouldn’t throw it all out. “It’s garbage, it should be thrown away.” The voice said to me. It isn’t garbage, it is exactly the way I want it. It is the way it’s going to stay. I shouldn’t have to care what other people think, it’s perfect to me. I turned back to my computer and clicked the button, the save button.