Written by Peter Lawson Jones
Synopsis
Will Coulter, a widower with a teenage daughter, returns from the war in Afghanistan with a debilitating case of PTSD and depression as well as with a drug addiction, the severity of which he denies. He struggles to get and stay clean. Can a group of men and women - who, themselves, are battling mental health and substance abuse challenges - save him?
Script History
The Phoenix Society enjoyed its world premiere May, 2022, at Playwrights Local in Cleveland, Ohio. The play was commissioned by the Life Exchange Center, a nonprofit agency that supports those who are in recovery from substance abuse and mental health disorders.
Excerpt
ACT I, SCENE 2
(The LIGHTS RISE on the COULTER family’s kitchen. ELIZA is seated center stage at the kitchen table, the ring she was wearing earlier in front of her. WILL enters, trying, with only modest success, to camouflage his altered state and to avoid an expected chastisement.)
ELIZA.
(Not looking up.) Your feet aren’t made of cotton, Will. I heard you come in.
WILL.
(Sheepishly.) Evening, Mom. (Beat.) Where’s Dani?
ELIZA.
It’s ten o’clock. Where do you think she is? In the other room, finishing her homework. You know she was waiting for you after school, outside, in the dark, in the cold? She had to call me to come get her.
WILL.
I know, Mom. I’m sorry. I got caught up in some things and couldn’t get away. I appreciate your picking her up for me. I truly do.
ELIZA.
(Looking directly at him.) Oh, do you now? You appreciate me. And just what was it you were so caught up in that you couldn’t make it to your daughter’s concert, couldn’t call, couldn’t even pick up?
WILL.
Mom, I was --
ELIZA.
Please don’t say another word ‘cause I’m in no mood for lies. I’m no fool, son. I know what you’ve been doing. I can smell it on you.
WILL.
(Defeated.) Mom, I just want to say good night to my daughter before she goes to bed.
ELIZA.
Well, at least hang up your coat first so she can’t smell the stench of the drugs you’ve been smoking.
(WILL retreats upstage right to the coat rack and removes his coat.)
ELIZA.
(Towards downstage left loudly enough to be heard.) Danielle Marie, your daddy’s home. Come on into the kitchen.
DANI.
(Entering a few moments later.) Hi, Daddy.
WILL.
(Hugging her.) How’s my Dani Girl? Hey, I apologize for missing your concert. (Glancing back at ELIZA.) Something came up that I couldn’t get out of. How’d it go?
DANI.
Pretty well, I guess. They clapped after I finished my solo. (Beat.) I was looking for you in the audience. I really wanted you to be there to hear me play.
WILL.
(Glancing downward initially.) I know, baby. If I could have, I woulda been there. There’s no place I woulda rather been.
(ELIZA gently shakes her head.)
WILL.
(Cont’d.) I promise that as long as I’m breathing — and I plan on that being a long time — I will never, ever miss another one of your concerts.
DANI.
(Brightening.) Pinky swear?
WILL.
No, no. Double pinky swear.
(They execute the double pinky swear and embrace.)
DANI.
I’m kinda tired, Daddy. I probably need to go to sleep.
WILL.
What? We usually have to bribe you to go to bed. I guess you’ve figured out that a virtuoso violinist needs her rest.
DANI.
(Curtsies and goes over to hug ELIZA.) Good night, Grannikins.
ELIZA.
Night night, sweetheart.
(DANI and ELIZA hug. As DANI exits.)
WILL.
And, Dani, I apologize, too, for not picking you up and for not calling.
DANI.
That’s alright, Daddy. I knew that something had to have come up.
(She exits downstage left. ELIZA waits for DANI to be out of earshot before speaking.)
ELIZA.
Boy, aren’t you tired?
WILL.
What?
ELIZA.
I said, aren’t you tired? Of lying over and over to your own daughter, of letting her down time after time after time, of breaking that sweet girl’s heart? You keep this up, and one day she’ll stop calling you Daddy, hugging you. You’ll cease to exist to her. You’ll be just another old forgotten nigga.
WILL. I
know that. I’m doing my best to turn things around.
ELIZA.
Your best? Where’s your best? I don’t see it. You’re doing your best to drive your daughter away and to kill yourself. That’s what you’re doing. (Quietly.) It’s got to stop, William. Whatever’s eating away at you. (Beat.) You think I don’t see you trembling every time there’s a loud noise or somebody sets off fireworks. You think I don’t notice your mood swings, watching the smallest thing send you into a rage. It’s time, Will. You can’t fix this alone. It’s nothing to be afraid of. Get some help, son. Please.
WILL.
Mom, what help is out there for me? Does someone have a magic pill that’ll erase the memories of what I saw and felt over there in Afghanistan? Is there some magic potion that can silence the sound of artillery, bullets, bombs, explosions in my head? Is there something, anything that
can scrub away the smell of burning, rotting human flesh that was with me on the battlefield nearly every day. I don’t think there is.
ELIZA.
Son, don’t you think that your father was haunted by what he saw, what he heard, what he smelled in Vietnam? There were more times than I can remember when he’d wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare about the war, sweating, calling out.
WILL.
What? I didn’t know. He never really discussed his time in Nam with me.
ELIZA.
He was very private when it came to things like that. If it hadn’t been for the nightmares, I wouldn’t have known anything either. He was determined to cope with what he wasgoing through by himself, but he knew those episodes were frightening me. So, he sought help ... and he got better. I don’t think he was ever completely cured, but it saved him ... us.
WILL.
I joined the army because I wanted to be just like him, a hero.
ELIZA.
That’s what he was, but some things are too big for even heroes to get their arms around. Seeking help doesn’t make you any less of a man, son. Remember that.
WILL.
(Nodding.) I’ll make the call tomorrow, Mom.
ELIZA.
Double pinky, swear?
WILL.
Double pinky.
(ELIZA picks up ring from the table and places it back in acolorful box.)
WILL.
I haven’t seen you wear that in a while.
ELIZA.
Your father and I first met each other forty years ago today. I take it out to wear every year on this date and on our wedding anniversary. It’ll be your daughter’s one day. Maybe she’ll wear it, or turn it into a necklace or sell it to buy the violin she’ll play at Carnegie Hall. It’ll be hers to decide. (Beat.) Well, it’s been a long day. It’s getting harder and harder to keep up with all this new technology at work. Good night, son.
WILL.
Good night, Mom. (Hugs her.) Thanks for ... covering for me.
ELIZA.
I love you, but I won’t do it anymore. (Then, indicating the coat rack.) And throw that coat away and buy yourself a new one. (Reaching in her purse for money.) We start fresh tomorrow.
WILL.
(Pushing the money away.) Mom, you don’t have to --
ELIZA.
(Refusing the return.) No, keep it. It’s my tiny investment to celebrate getting my son back.
(ELIZA exits towards the bedroom as the LIGHTS FADE.)
ACT I, SCENE 4
(LIGHTS COME UP on MACK HINSON, late thirties/early forties, as he assembles eight chairs in a semi-circle center stage. After he finishes, he remembers that he needs one more chair, goes to retrieve it, and adds it to the row of chairs. After giving the thumbs up to his work, he exits stage right.
Moments later the members of The Phoenix Society begin to trickle in from stage left, seat themselves, and greet each other. VANITY, the youngest member of TPS and full of excitement, is the first to enter. She is followed by CICI and then by AMIR and BLACKJACK, who are engaged in an
animated conversation with each other. ANGEL and then AIESHA conclude the “parade.” After the greetings end, JEWELL enters in her wheelchair.)
BLACKJACK.
The Queen has arrived and sits on her throne. We, her loyal subjects, bow down in salute to Her Majesty.
(ALL bow, each with a unique flourish, except for AIESHA who is laughing.)
BLACKJACK.
(Cont’d. To AIESHA.) Bow down immediately, knave, or suffer the wrath of Queen Jewell.
(AIESHA bows and adds a curtsy.)
JEWELL.
Blackjack, usually nothing comes out of your mouth but a stream of foolish talk, but you’ve finally said something that makes sense. Queen. (Savoring the word.) The Queen of the Phoenix Society. Sounds better than president.
CICI.
See what you’ve gone and done, Blackjack. We won’t be able to deal with her. She’ll be demanding a damn tiara next. You have created a monster.
JEWELL.
A monster? (Tracing her face and body languidly.) All of this gorgeousness? Oh, no, no, no. Blackjack, off with her
head.
(BLACKJACK “follows” JEWELL’s command, CICI feigns a dramatic death. ALL laugh.)
VANITY.
I’ve missed you all so much.
AMIR.
Damn, Vanity. It’s only been a few days since we last met. Now, I do understand if you missed me ... cause I am all that.
AIESHA.
Boy, puh-leeze.
VANITY.
Seriously, I do love everyone here. Y’all are like Family to me. I mean, I’m closer to you than I am to my own folk. You understand me better than they do.
ANGEL.
Si! Somos familia!
CICI.
More Spanish, girl? Really?
ANGEL.
De verdad. While you’re trying to figure out how to stay sober, would it hurt you to learn a little Spanish as well?
AIESHA.
Good point. At least that way we’ll know when you’re cursing us out.
(VANITY strikes up the “We Are Family” chorus, with EVERYONE eventually joining in and dancing, the singing finally fading into laughter.)
BLACKJACK.
Did you see the Queen over there rocking her throne?
JEWELL.
Now, if you children are done, let’s get started. Mental health news of the day?
AIESHA.
How about that Miss USA chick jumping out of an apartment building window and killing herself?
CICI.
Yea. She was a lawyer, hosted a talk show --
AMIR.
And was fine!
BLACKJACK.
None of that saved her from the demons. Mental illness don’t give a fuck about how you look or your resumé.
ANGEL.
And all those Olympic and professional athletes who are dealing, just like us, with mental illness. Dios mio!
CICI.
Yeah. Michael Phelps. That Osaka girl, Simone Biles and the twirlies.
VANITY.
(Timidly.) I think they’re called the twisties.
CICI.
Whatever. You get my point.
AMIR.
And when Antonio Brown stripped down to his pants during a football game and ran off the field, folks thought that shit was funny. I didn’t laugh cause I knew the brother needed help.
VANITY.
Maybe, it’ll make a difference by drawing more attention to us. Maybe people will start treating us with a little more ... understanding, compassion.
CICI.
I’d trade all of that understanding and compassion for more treatment centers, places to stay, better services.
(The comment is greeted with applause, affirmation.)
BLACKJACK.
Amen. We already get enough so called attention.There’s Mental Health Awareness Month in May, NationalRecovery Month in September, National Substance Abuse Prevention Month in October. What gen pop and especially politicians need to figure out is what all of us already know. That staying sober and dealing with depression and everything is a day in, day out battle. We need a 24/7/365 commitment, not lip service during a couple of months.
(This comment, too, is met with verbalized approval. MACK
enters from stage right.)
MACK.
Doesn’t sound like you need me to get the conversation going this morning.
(MACK is greeted warmly by everyone.)
CICI.
(Pointing to JEWELL.) The Queen got us started, but we always need you, baby.
MACK.
The Queen? I see I’ve missed a lot. We’ve gone from a democracy to a monarchy. Well, your highness, would you mind leading us in our daily affirmation?
JEWELL.
Would everyone hold hands, and join me in reciting the Serenity Prayer?
ALL.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change ... courage to change the things I can ... And wisdom to know the difference.
MACK.
We’re gonna put off the sobriety count up for a few minutes because we’ve got somebody new joining our group. He should be here any — (Responding to a text on his phone.) Well, he actually just arrived. I’ll be back with him in a minute. Do what you do, and make him feel at home.
(HE exits stage right.)
JEWELL.
Hey, Aiesha. We ran out of time last week when it was your turn to share the craziest thing you did before you got sober. We’ve got a few minutes now.
ANGEL. Si, dinos. Tell us, girl.
AIESHA.
Alright, alright. I told you my nickname was Squirrel, right. My little brother used to call me that ‘cause I was so good at climbing trees.
AMIR.
I thought it was because of those big ass cheeks of yours.
CICI.
Amir! Ignore that fool, Aiesha.
AIESHA.
(Indicating her buttocks.) I got your cheeks for you, Negro. Anyway, as I was saying ... One afternoon I was getting high with some friends of mine. We were living in the projects over off Woodland, and there was this tree in front of our apartment.
ANGEL.
A tree? What projects was that with a tree? You wasn’t living in the projects. You was living in siddity Project Heights.
JEWELL.
Were you at the end of a cul-de-sac, too?
(ALL laugh.)
AIESHA.
Y’all are too funny. Anyway, my friends and me were smoking on the front stoop. Now, I climbed up the tree and was lighting it up, up there with the birds. We was allbuzzed.
BLACKJACK. Lucky you didn’t fall out that tree and break your fool neck.
AIESHA.
Tru dat. So, I don’t know. Maybe thirty minutes, an hour later, we hear footsteps coming towards us and voices yelling, “Hands up!” It was the damn police. They started handcuffing, arresting folk. They got everyone ... except me. Never saw me chillin’ up in the tree.
(They ALL crack up.)
AIESHA.
I remember one of my girls, as they were leading her away, looking back at me like she was gonna snitch on me, but I hit her with my “bitch you bettah not” face.
AMIR.
Now that’s some seriously funny shit right there.Blackjack, I know you’ve got some stories, OG.
(Before BLACKJACK can speak, MACK enters with WILL.)
MACK.
As you can tell, we’ve got a pretty lively team here at the Phoenix Society. Friends, let me introduce you to Will, the newest member of our distinguished group.
(There follows a mix of greetings — “Hi, Will,” “Nice to meet you,” “Welcome, Will,” etc. MACK and WILL sit down.)
WILL.
(Reserved.) Thanks. It’s good to be here.
JEWELL.
Will, I’m Jewell, the president of this rag-tag cast of characters.
BLACKJACK.
She’ll also answer to Queen.
JEWELL.
Don’t pay him any mind. We are a pretty odd bunch, but you’ll find what you need here to help you along your journey. (Beat.) Mack, can we count up now?
MACK.
You’re in charge. So, as you will, milady.
JEWELL.
Then, I’ll start. My name is Jewell. I’ve been sober for 22 years, ten months and seven days, praise the Lord. I suffer from depression. Next?
BLACKJACK.
Youngblood, they call me Blackjack. Twenty, six, and four for me. Kinda late in life I was diagnosed as bipolar.
ANGEL.
Hola. I’m Angel, and I’ve been sober 17 years, two months, 23 days, nine hours (checking her watch) 42 minutes and 12 seconds, but who’s counting?
(They chuckle and nod in agreement.)
CICI.
All of us damn sure are.
ANGEL.
I struggle with severe anxiety and depression.
AIESHA.
Hi, Will. I’m Aiesha. Sober for 13 years — I hope that’s not an unlucky number — one month and 18 days. I’m pretty fortunate. Not dealing with any mental health challenges, but Lawd do these folk here challenge my sanity on the daily.
(AIESHA is jokingly peppered with “Will you listen to her,”
“Oh, no she didn’t,” and “She’s why the doctor upped my
prescription.”)
CICI.
I’m Cici. Tomorrow I will have been sober for eight years, but since we’re all making it one day at a time, I’ve been
sober for seven years and 364 days. I’m dealing with manic depression, anger issues, and a whole lot of other shi— ... stuff.
AMIR.
Hey, brother. Amir here. I’m the opposite of Aiesha. Never really had a problem with drinking or drugs, but, uh, schizophrenia keeps trying to do a job on me. It’s getting better, though.
JEWELL.
And last, but not least. Ms. Vanity?
VANITY.
Hi, Will. I guess you know my name. I’ve only been sober for one year, eight months, and thirty days.
AIESHA.
In the battle to stay straight, there’s no such thing as “only.”
VANITY.
I guess you’re right. I hear voices sometimes. They say I have psychotic tendencies.
MACK.
I’ve already told you my story, and now you know a little bit about everyone here. I say “a little bit” because there’s a lot more to us than our addictions and our mental health struggles. You’ll find that out as you get to really know us. As you can see, we’re brutally honest about ourselves. It’s the only way we can recover, heal. (Beat.) Will, you don’t have to, but if you’d like to share anything about yourself with the group, the floor is yours.
WILL.
No. I’m good for right now.
VANITY.
(Breaking an awkward silence.) Will, as you probably guessed, I haven’t been a member of the Phoenix Society nearly as long as everyone else here, but I don’t how I’d make it without them. This addiction, mental illness thing is hard, but whenever I feel close to giving up, I think about what I’ve learned from my friends here, and I can push through for one more day. I know it seems like all I need are a couple of pompoms and a cheerleader sweater with TPS on it, but I’m being real. If you need family, you’ll find it here in this room.
WILL.
That’s good to know, but I’ve got family. Plus, I probably won’t be coming here for that long. I’ve got my PTSD under control, and I haven’t gotten high, uh, used in a few months. Starting a new job next week. So, I’m pretty set.
(THE MEMBERS shoot each other knowing looks.)
MACK.
(Breaking yet another awkward silence.) You haven’t asked why we’re called the Phoenix Society.
WILL.
(With a slight smile.) I figured it was because all of you like to vacation in Arizona.
CICI.
(Laughing.) Alright now. Mr. Will’s got jokes.
WILL
So, why do you call yourselves the Phoenix Society?
JEWELL.
We’re named after the mythological bird that keeps rising time after time from its own ashes. That’s us.
MACK.
“Out of the wreck, I rise.” (Beat.) The English poet, Robert Browning.
(WILL nods, the sincerity of his fellow Phoenix Society
members finally registering just a little.)
AMIR.
Hey, Blackjack was going to tell us a tale from his pre-sobriety days. How about it, Old School?
ANGEL.
Let me go get my Snicker’s bar ‘cause Blackjack don’t believe in short stories.
BLACKJACK.
(Feigning aggravation.) Vete al diablo!
ANGEL.
(Laughing. To WILL.) That MF just told me to go to hell. .. in Spanish. I’m impressed.
BLACKJACK.
(To WILL.) She don’t know that among my many talents is the ability to cuss somebody out in a number of languages. I didn’t spend all of my youth in unproductive activities. For example, there’s foutez vous in French. Culo a tua madre is Italian, but you better be ready to fight if you use that one, Youngblood, ‘cause it means up your mother’s ass.
CICI.
Jesus, Blackjack, would you stop trying to corrupt thism young man at his very first meeting. Just get on with your story, please.
BLACKJACK.
Everybody ready to hear this? Well, here we go then. Now back in the nineties, I had a job in the Ford plant making real good money. And I needed to make good money ‘cause I was getting high just about every day. And, oh, did I have a badass whip. I was pushing a 1995 ... blood red ... Cadillac ... Eldorado convertible. Man, was I crazy about that ride.
AMIR.
I knew you was the man back in the day.
BLACKJACK.
Anyway, one day, I’m fiending like a motherfucker. I mean, I need a hit in the worst way. I was trembling and shaking and shit. You know what I’m talkin’ about. So, I called my plug, who lived four miles away. Now, it was a hot summer day and the sun was shining, so naturally, I drop my top. I’m just cruising along, music blaring, checking out the ladies, thinking about the high I’m about to get. Now, I’m about halfway there when all of a sudden the skies turn dark and it starts raining cats and dogs. And, as hard as I try, I just can’t get my top back up. So, what to do? I only have one choice, right?
CICI.
Yeah, find some cover for your car.
BLACKJACK.
Naw, wrong answer. Keep on driving and get that fix.
AIESHA.
You didn’t!
BLACKJACK.
I sure did. When I reached my destination, I was drenched, my car was full of water, but damn, was that one of the best smokes ever.
(EVERYONE is cracking up.)
VANITY.
So, what happened to the Cadillac?
BLACKJACK.
Took me a week to dry it out. Never could get completely rid of that musty smell. Anyway, I sold the car a year or so later. By that time I had it bad. Sold it for pennies on the dollar. Used the proceeds to buy more dope. Burned through it in a couple of days. I guess you can say
I smoked me a Cadillac Eldorado convertible. I loved that car, but I loved dope more.
JEWELL.
And the moral to this story is — if you’re a junkie, take the bus.
(They laugh cryptically.)
MACK.
I hate to say this, but we’re running out of time for today’s session. I think it would be helpful for Will if we talked about the twelve steps. Who’d like to start it off?
VANITY.
I’d like to try.
MACK.
Sure. Go right ahead.
VANITY.
(Reaches in her purse for a pamphlet.) The first step is that we admit that we were powerless over our addiction, that our lives had become unmanageable.
(The LIGHTS BEGIN TO DIM as VANITY begins her recitation. They have faded to dark by the time she says the final
word.)
(The LIGHTS RISE on the COULTER family’s kitchen. ELIZA is seated center stage at the kitchen table, the ring she was wearing earlier in front of her. WILL enters, trying, with only modest success, to camouflage his altered state and to avoid an expected chastisement.)
ELIZA.
(Not looking up.) Your feet aren’t made of cotton, Will. I heard you come in.
WILL.
(Sheepishly.) Evening, Mom. (Beat.) Where’s Dani?
ELIZA.
It’s ten o’clock. Where do you think she is? In the other room, finishing her homework. You know she was waiting for you after school, outside, in the dark, in the cold? She had to call me to come get her.
WILL.
I know, Mom. I’m sorry. I got caught up in some things and couldn’t get away. I appreciate your picking her up for me. I truly do.
ELIZA.
(Looking directly at him.) Oh, do you now? You appreciate me. And just what was it you were so caught up in that you couldn’t make it to your daughter’s concert, couldn’t call, couldn’t even pick up?
WILL.
Mom, I was --
ELIZA.
Please don’t say another word ‘cause I’m in no mood for lies. I’m no fool, son. I know what you’ve been doing. I can smell it on you.
WILL.
(Defeated.) Mom, I just want to say good night to my daughter before she goes to bed.
ELIZA.
Well, at least hang up your coat first so she can’t smell the stench of the drugs you’ve been smoking.
(WILL retreats upstage right to the coat rack and removes his coat.)
ELIZA.
(Towards downstage left loudly enough to be heard.) Danielle Marie, your daddy’s home. Come on into the kitchen.
DANI.
(Entering a few moments later.) Hi, Daddy.
WILL.
(Hugging her.) How’s my Dani Girl? Hey, I apologize for missing your concert. (Glancing back at ELIZA.) Something came up that I couldn’t get out of. How’d it go?
DANI.
Pretty well, I guess. They clapped after I finished my solo. (Beat.) I was looking for you in the audience. I really wanted you to be there to hear me play.
WILL.
(Glancing downward initially.) I know, baby. If I could have, I woulda been there. There’s no place I woulda rather been.
(ELIZA gently shakes her head.)
WILL.
(Cont’d.) I promise that as long as I’m breathing — and I plan on that being a long time — I will never, ever miss another one of your concerts.
DANI.
(Brightening.) Pinky swear?
WILL.
No, no. Double pinky swear.
(They execute the double pinky swear and embrace.)
DANI.
I’m kinda tired, Daddy. I probably need to go to sleep.
WILL.
What? We usually have to bribe you to go to bed. I guess you’ve figured out that a virtuoso violinist needs her rest.
DANI.
(Curtsies and goes over to hug ELIZA.) Good night, Grannikins.
ELIZA.
Night night, sweetheart.
(DANI and ELIZA hug. As DANI exits.)
WILL.
And, Dani, I apologize, too, for not picking you up and for not calling.
DANI.
That’s alright, Daddy. I knew that something had to have come up.
(She exits downstage left. ELIZA waits for DANI to be out of earshot before speaking.)
ELIZA.
Boy, aren’t you tired?
WILL.
What?
ELIZA.
I said, aren’t you tired? Of lying over and over to your own daughter, of letting her down time after time after time, of breaking that sweet girl’s heart? You keep this up, and one day she’ll stop calling you Daddy, hugging you. You’ll cease to exist to her. You’ll be just another old forgotten nigga.
WILL. I
know that. I’m doing my best to turn things around.
ELIZA.
Your best? Where’s your best? I don’t see it. You’re doing your best to drive your daughter away and to kill yourself. That’s what you’re doing. (Quietly.) It’s got to stop, William. Whatever’s eating away at you. (Beat.) You think I don’t see you trembling every time there’s a loud noise or somebody sets off fireworks. You think I don’t notice your mood swings, watching the smallest thing send you into a rage. It’s time, Will. You can’t fix this alone. It’s nothing to be afraid of. Get some help, son. Please.
WILL.
Mom, what help is out there for me? Does someone have a magic pill that’ll erase the memories of what I saw and felt over there in Afghanistan? Is there some magic potion that can silence the sound of artillery, bullets, bombs, explosions in my head? Is there something, anything that
can scrub away the smell of burning, rotting human flesh that was with me on the battlefield nearly every day. I don’t think there is.
ELIZA.
Son, don’t you think that your father was haunted by what he saw, what he heard, what he smelled in Vietnam? There were more times than I can remember when he’d wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare about the war, sweating, calling out.
WILL.
What? I didn’t know. He never really discussed his time in Nam with me.
ELIZA.
He was very private when it came to things like that. If it hadn’t been for the nightmares, I wouldn’t have known anything either. He was determined to cope with what he wasgoing through by himself, but he knew those episodes were frightening me. So, he sought help ... and he got better. I don’t think he was ever completely cured, but it saved him ... us.
WILL.
I joined the army because I wanted to be just like him, a hero.
ELIZA.
That’s what he was, but some things are too big for even heroes to get their arms around. Seeking help doesn’t make you any less of a man, son. Remember that.
WILL.
(Nodding.) I’ll make the call tomorrow, Mom.
ELIZA.
Double pinky, swear?
WILL.
Double pinky.
(ELIZA picks up ring from the table and places it back in acolorful box.)
WILL.
I haven’t seen you wear that in a while.
ELIZA.
Your father and I first met each other forty years ago today. I take it out to wear every year on this date and on our wedding anniversary. It’ll be your daughter’s one day. Maybe she’ll wear it, or turn it into a necklace or sell it to buy the violin she’ll play at Carnegie Hall. It’ll be hers to decide. (Beat.) Well, it’s been a long day. It’s getting harder and harder to keep up with all this new technology at work. Good night, son.
WILL.
Good night, Mom. (Hugs her.) Thanks for ... covering for me.
ELIZA.
I love you, but I won’t do it anymore. (Then, indicating the coat rack.) And throw that coat away and buy yourself a new one. (Reaching in her purse for money.) We start fresh tomorrow.
WILL.
(Pushing the money away.) Mom, you don’t have to --
ELIZA.
(Refusing the return.) No, keep it. It’s my tiny investment to celebrate getting my son back.
(ELIZA exits towards the bedroom as the LIGHTS FADE.)
ACT I, SCENE 4
(LIGHTS COME UP on MACK HINSON, late thirties/early forties, as he assembles eight chairs in a semi-circle center stage. After he finishes, he remembers that he needs one more chair, goes to retrieve it, and adds it to the row of chairs. After giving the thumbs up to his work, he exits stage right.
Moments later the members of The Phoenix Society begin to trickle in from stage left, seat themselves, and greet each other. VANITY, the youngest member of TPS and full of excitement, is the first to enter. She is followed by CICI and then by AMIR and BLACKJACK, who are engaged in an
animated conversation with each other. ANGEL and then AIESHA conclude the “parade.” After the greetings end, JEWELL enters in her wheelchair.)
BLACKJACK.
The Queen has arrived and sits on her throne. We, her loyal subjects, bow down in salute to Her Majesty.
(ALL bow, each with a unique flourish, except for AIESHA who is laughing.)
BLACKJACK.
(Cont’d. To AIESHA.) Bow down immediately, knave, or suffer the wrath of Queen Jewell.
(AIESHA bows and adds a curtsy.)
JEWELL.
Blackjack, usually nothing comes out of your mouth but a stream of foolish talk, but you’ve finally said something that makes sense. Queen. (Savoring the word.) The Queen of the Phoenix Society. Sounds better than president.
CICI.
See what you’ve gone and done, Blackjack. We won’t be able to deal with her. She’ll be demanding a damn tiara next. You have created a monster.
JEWELL.
A monster? (Tracing her face and body languidly.) All of this gorgeousness? Oh, no, no, no. Blackjack, off with her
head.
(BLACKJACK “follows” JEWELL’s command, CICI feigns a dramatic death. ALL laugh.)
VANITY.
I’ve missed you all so much.
AMIR.
Damn, Vanity. It’s only been a few days since we last met. Now, I do understand if you missed me ... cause I am all that.
AIESHA.
Boy, puh-leeze.
VANITY.
Seriously, I do love everyone here. Y’all are like Family to me. I mean, I’m closer to you than I am to my own folk. You understand me better than they do.
ANGEL.
Si! Somos familia!
CICI.
More Spanish, girl? Really?
ANGEL.
De verdad. While you’re trying to figure out how to stay sober, would it hurt you to learn a little Spanish as well?
AIESHA.
Good point. At least that way we’ll know when you’re cursing us out.
(VANITY strikes up the “We Are Family” chorus, with EVERYONE eventually joining in and dancing, the singing finally fading into laughter.)
BLACKJACK.
Did you see the Queen over there rocking her throne?
JEWELL.
Now, if you children are done, let’s get started. Mental health news of the day?
AIESHA.
How about that Miss USA chick jumping out of an apartment building window and killing herself?
CICI.
Yea. She was a lawyer, hosted a talk show --
AMIR.
And was fine!
BLACKJACK.
None of that saved her from the demons. Mental illness don’t give a fuck about how you look or your resumé.
ANGEL.
And all those Olympic and professional athletes who are dealing, just like us, with mental illness. Dios mio!
CICI.
Yeah. Michael Phelps. That Osaka girl, Simone Biles and the twirlies.
VANITY.
(Timidly.) I think they’re called the twisties.
CICI.
Whatever. You get my point.
AMIR.
And when Antonio Brown stripped down to his pants during a football game and ran off the field, folks thought that shit was funny. I didn’t laugh cause I knew the brother needed help.
VANITY.
Maybe, it’ll make a difference by drawing more attention to us. Maybe people will start treating us with a little more ... understanding, compassion.
CICI.
I’d trade all of that understanding and compassion for more treatment centers, places to stay, better services.
(The comment is greeted with applause, affirmation.)
BLACKJACK.
Amen. We already get enough so called attention.There’s Mental Health Awareness Month in May, NationalRecovery Month in September, National Substance Abuse Prevention Month in October. What gen pop and especially politicians need to figure out is what all of us already know. That staying sober and dealing with depression and everything is a day in, day out battle. We need a 24/7/365 commitment, not lip service during a couple of months.
(This comment, too, is met with verbalized approval. MACK
enters from stage right.)
MACK.
Doesn’t sound like you need me to get the conversation going this morning.
(MACK is greeted warmly by everyone.)
CICI.
(Pointing to JEWELL.) The Queen got us started, but we always need you, baby.
MACK.
The Queen? I see I’ve missed a lot. We’ve gone from a democracy to a monarchy. Well, your highness, would you mind leading us in our daily affirmation?
JEWELL.
Would everyone hold hands, and join me in reciting the Serenity Prayer?
ALL.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change ... courage to change the things I can ... And wisdom to know the difference.
MACK.
We’re gonna put off the sobriety count up for a few minutes because we’ve got somebody new joining our group. He should be here any — (Responding to a text on his phone.) Well, he actually just arrived. I’ll be back with him in a minute. Do what you do, and make him feel at home.
(HE exits stage right.)
JEWELL.
Hey, Aiesha. We ran out of time last week when it was your turn to share the craziest thing you did before you got sober. We’ve got a few minutes now.
ANGEL. Si, dinos. Tell us, girl.
AIESHA.
Alright, alright. I told you my nickname was Squirrel, right. My little brother used to call me that ‘cause I was so good at climbing trees.
AMIR.
I thought it was because of those big ass cheeks of yours.
CICI.
Amir! Ignore that fool, Aiesha.
AIESHA.
(Indicating her buttocks.) I got your cheeks for you, Negro. Anyway, as I was saying ... One afternoon I was getting high with some friends of mine. We were living in the projects over off Woodland, and there was this tree in front of our apartment.
ANGEL.
A tree? What projects was that with a tree? You wasn’t living in the projects. You was living in siddity Project Heights.
JEWELL.
Were you at the end of a cul-de-sac, too?
(ALL laugh.)
AIESHA.
Y’all are too funny. Anyway, my friends and me were smoking on the front stoop. Now, I climbed up the tree and was lighting it up, up there with the birds. We was allbuzzed.
BLACKJACK. Lucky you didn’t fall out that tree and break your fool neck.
AIESHA.
Tru dat. So, I don’t know. Maybe thirty minutes, an hour later, we hear footsteps coming towards us and voices yelling, “Hands up!” It was the damn police. They started handcuffing, arresting folk. They got everyone ... except me. Never saw me chillin’ up in the tree.
(They ALL crack up.)
AIESHA.
I remember one of my girls, as they were leading her away, looking back at me like she was gonna snitch on me, but I hit her with my “bitch you bettah not” face.
AMIR.
Now that’s some seriously funny shit right there.Blackjack, I know you’ve got some stories, OG.
(Before BLACKJACK can speak, MACK enters with WILL.)
MACK.
As you can tell, we’ve got a pretty lively team here at the Phoenix Society. Friends, let me introduce you to Will, the newest member of our distinguished group.
(There follows a mix of greetings — “Hi, Will,” “Nice to meet you,” “Welcome, Will,” etc. MACK and WILL sit down.)
WILL.
(Reserved.) Thanks. It’s good to be here.
JEWELL.
Will, I’m Jewell, the president of this rag-tag cast of characters.
BLACKJACK.
She’ll also answer to Queen.
JEWELL.
Don’t pay him any mind. We are a pretty odd bunch, but you’ll find what you need here to help you along your journey. (Beat.) Mack, can we count up now?
MACK.
You’re in charge. So, as you will, milady.
JEWELL.
Then, I’ll start. My name is Jewell. I’ve been sober for 22 years, ten months and seven days, praise the Lord. I suffer from depression. Next?
BLACKJACK.
Youngblood, they call me Blackjack. Twenty, six, and four for me. Kinda late in life I was diagnosed as bipolar.
ANGEL.
Hola. I’m Angel, and I’ve been sober 17 years, two months, 23 days, nine hours (checking her watch) 42 minutes and 12 seconds, but who’s counting?
(They chuckle and nod in agreement.)
CICI.
All of us damn sure are.
ANGEL.
I struggle with severe anxiety and depression.
AIESHA.
Hi, Will. I’m Aiesha. Sober for 13 years — I hope that’s not an unlucky number — one month and 18 days. I’m pretty fortunate. Not dealing with any mental health challenges, but Lawd do these folk here challenge my sanity on the daily.
(AIESHA is jokingly peppered with “Will you listen to her,”
“Oh, no she didn’t,” and “She’s why the doctor upped my
prescription.”)
CICI.
I’m Cici. Tomorrow I will have been sober for eight years, but since we’re all making it one day at a time, I’ve been
sober for seven years and 364 days. I’m dealing with manic depression, anger issues, and a whole lot of other shi— ... stuff.
AMIR.
Hey, brother. Amir here. I’m the opposite of Aiesha. Never really had a problem with drinking or drugs, but, uh, schizophrenia keeps trying to do a job on me. It’s getting better, though.
JEWELL.
And last, but not least. Ms. Vanity?
VANITY.
Hi, Will. I guess you know my name. I’ve only been sober for one year, eight months, and thirty days.
AIESHA.
In the battle to stay straight, there’s no such thing as “only.”
VANITY.
I guess you’re right. I hear voices sometimes. They say I have psychotic tendencies.
MACK.
I’ve already told you my story, and now you know a little bit about everyone here. I say “a little bit” because there’s a lot more to us than our addictions and our mental health struggles. You’ll find that out as you get to really know us. As you can see, we’re brutally honest about ourselves. It’s the only way we can recover, heal. (Beat.) Will, you don’t have to, but if you’d like to share anything about yourself with the group, the floor is yours.
WILL.
No. I’m good for right now.
VANITY.
(Breaking an awkward silence.) Will, as you probably guessed, I haven’t been a member of the Phoenix Society nearly as long as everyone else here, but I don’t how I’d make it without them. This addiction, mental illness thing is hard, but whenever I feel close to giving up, I think about what I’ve learned from my friends here, and I can push through for one more day. I know it seems like all I need are a couple of pompoms and a cheerleader sweater with TPS on it, but I’m being real. If you need family, you’ll find it here in this room.
WILL.
That’s good to know, but I’ve got family. Plus, I probably won’t be coming here for that long. I’ve got my PTSD under control, and I haven’t gotten high, uh, used in a few months. Starting a new job next week. So, I’m pretty set.
(THE MEMBERS shoot each other knowing looks.)
MACK.
(Breaking yet another awkward silence.) You haven’t asked why we’re called the Phoenix Society.
WILL.
(With a slight smile.) I figured it was because all of you like to vacation in Arizona.
CICI.
(Laughing.) Alright now. Mr. Will’s got jokes.
WILL
So, why do you call yourselves the Phoenix Society?
JEWELL.
We’re named after the mythological bird that keeps rising time after time from its own ashes. That’s us.
MACK.
“Out of the wreck, I rise.” (Beat.) The English poet, Robert Browning.
(WILL nods, the sincerity of his fellow Phoenix Society
members finally registering just a little.)
AMIR.
Hey, Blackjack was going to tell us a tale from his pre-sobriety days. How about it, Old School?
ANGEL.
Let me go get my Snicker’s bar ‘cause Blackjack don’t believe in short stories.
BLACKJACK.
(Feigning aggravation.) Vete al diablo!
ANGEL.
(Laughing. To WILL.) That MF just told me to go to hell. .. in Spanish. I’m impressed.
BLACKJACK.
(To WILL.) She don’t know that among my many talents is the ability to cuss somebody out in a number of languages. I didn’t spend all of my youth in unproductive activities. For example, there’s foutez vous in French. Culo a tua madre is Italian, but you better be ready to fight if you use that one, Youngblood, ‘cause it means up your mother’s ass.
CICI.
Jesus, Blackjack, would you stop trying to corrupt thism young man at his very first meeting. Just get on with your story, please.
BLACKJACK.
Everybody ready to hear this? Well, here we go then. Now back in the nineties, I had a job in the Ford plant making real good money. And I needed to make good money ‘cause I was getting high just about every day. And, oh, did I have a badass whip. I was pushing a 1995 ... blood red ... Cadillac ... Eldorado convertible. Man, was I crazy about that ride.
AMIR.
I knew you was the man back in the day.
BLACKJACK.
Anyway, one day, I’m fiending like a motherfucker. I mean, I need a hit in the worst way. I was trembling and shaking and shit. You know what I’m talkin’ about. So, I called my plug, who lived four miles away. Now, it was a hot summer day and the sun was shining, so naturally, I drop my top. I’m just cruising along, music blaring, checking out the ladies, thinking about the high I’m about to get. Now, I’m about halfway there when all of a sudden the skies turn dark and it starts raining cats and dogs. And, as hard as I try, I just can’t get my top back up. So, what to do? I only have one choice, right?
CICI.
Yeah, find some cover for your car.
BLACKJACK.
Naw, wrong answer. Keep on driving and get that fix.
AIESHA.
You didn’t!
BLACKJACK.
I sure did. When I reached my destination, I was drenched, my car was full of water, but damn, was that one of the best smokes ever.
(EVERYONE is cracking up.)
VANITY.
So, what happened to the Cadillac?
BLACKJACK.
Took me a week to dry it out. Never could get completely rid of that musty smell. Anyway, I sold the car a year or so later. By that time I had it bad. Sold it for pennies on the dollar. Used the proceeds to buy more dope. Burned through it in a couple of days. I guess you can say
I smoked me a Cadillac Eldorado convertible. I loved that car, but I loved dope more.
JEWELL.
And the moral to this story is — if you’re a junkie, take the bus.
(They laugh cryptically.)
MACK.
I hate to say this, but we’re running out of time for today’s session. I think it would be helpful for Will if we talked about the twelve steps. Who’d like to start it off?
VANITY.
I’d like to try.
MACK.
Sure. Go right ahead.
VANITY.
(Reaches in her purse for a pamphlet.) The first step is that we admit that we were powerless over our addiction, that our lives had become unmanageable.
(The LIGHTS BEGIN TO DIM as VANITY begins her recitation. They have faded to dark by the time she says the final
word.)