Secret Garden
2023-2024
A Thousand Words
By Joey Del Santo
By Joey Del Santo
CHARACTERS:
MATT, a college freshman
CHRISTOPHER, a college freshman and MATT’s boyfriend
TIME:
The continuous present.
PLACE:
Matt’s dorm room.
Scene: Matt’s Dorm Room
At Rise: MATT is typing at his desk. CHRIS is lying on MATT’s bed, scrolling on his phone.
(CHRIS throws his phone down on the bed.)
CHRIS
Are you done yet?
MATT
No.
CHRIS
Are you anywhere close to being done?
MATT
No.
CHRIS
Will you be anywhere close to being done anytime soon?
MATT
No.
CHRIS
I guess I won’t be either.
(He picks up his phone, scrolls for a minute then puts it back down on his lap.)
CHRIS(cont’d)
How can you be typing so much and so fast and not be close to being done? How many words do you have?
(MATT highlights the text and checks word count.)
MATT
Two-forty-two.
CHRIS
Of how many?
MATT
One thousand.
CHRIS
Definitely not going to be done for a very long time.
MATT
Definitely. I maybe here all night. All year even.
(CHRIS flops his head back onto the pillow.)
MATT(cont’d)
Why don’t you go see Gabby or something?
CHRIS
No. I want to be with you.
MATT
Well I kind of think that you’re with me right now but I’m not really with you.
CHRIS
Yeah.
(Beat.)
How many?
MATT
Huh?
CHRIS
How many words?
MATT
Oh. Um, Two-sixty-four.
(Beat.)
CHRIS
How many fish is my life worth?
MATT
What?
CHRIS
How many fish is my life worth?
MATT
I’m working.
CHRIS
Please. How many fish is my life worth?
(MATT stops typing.)
MATT
How am I even supposed to answer that?
CHRIS
It’s like... how many fish would there have to be for you to save the fish over me?
MATT
I don’t know. A lot?
CHRIS
Give me a number.
MATT
Three thousand.
(CHRIS is visibly hurt.)
MATT(cont’d)
What? Is that not enough?
CHRIS
I was thinking more like a million.
MATT
Okay. A million.
(MATT goes back to typing. CHRIS is still upset. MATT stops typing again.)
MATT(cont’d)
Where did you even get the idea to ask me that?
CHRIS
TikTok.
MATT
You have TikTok now?
CHRIS
Gabby does. And Gabby asked me.
MATT
(Shaking his head.)
Okay.
(MATT goes back to typing. It stays uncomfortably quiet.)
MATT(cont’d)
You’re really upset.
CHRIS
No. I’m not.
(Beat.)
How many?
MATT
I told you. A million.
CHRIS
No. How many words?
MATT
Oh. Two-fifty-nine.
CHRIS
That’s less than you had before.
MATT
I know. I had to go back and rewrite. That sentence was too complex.
(CHRIS exhales heavily.)
MATT(cont’d)
What?
CHRIS
Nothing.
MATT
No. It’s something. What is it?
CHRIS
It’s just... how long have you known about this paper?
MATT
A while.
CHRIS
And when’s it due?
MATT
Tomorrow at noon.
CHRIS
And when did you start working on it?
MATT
Tonight.
(Beat.)
I always do that. You know that. You know that’s how I am.
CHRIS
I know. It’s just starting to feel like there’s always a thousand words between you and me.
MATT
There isn’t. There’s only seven-hundred-forty-one. Remember?
CHRIS
You know that’s not what I mean. We’re not as close as we were before.
(MATT gets up and sits beside CHRIS on the bed.)
MATT
We’re close now.
CHRIS
(Coldly.)
Finish your paper.
(MATT goes back to his desk.)
MATT
If I could... I would fill this essay with a thousand words about you and me.
CHRIS
If you can find that many.
(MATT is about to start typing again, but he hesitates.)
MATT
Find me a million fish and I’ll find you a thousand words.
(CHRIS smiles.
He gets up and wraps his arms around MATT holding him for a minute and then
pulling away and smiling again..)
The End.
The Tunnel
By Tesfay Saleh-Batts
By Tesfay Saleh-Batts
When I was a kid I used to hold my breath under tunnels. It’s so interesting how my mind
works because even now I try to find analogies in everything. The same way I see eyes as
portals and smiles as mirrors, I see you as a tunnel. I hold my breath every time I see you.
Maybe it’s because my parents told me it would give me good luck, and that’s all I need when it
comes to you. Or maybe it’s because it gives me the reality of time and that’s all I need when
it comes to you. Or maybe you’re a tunnel because you always remind me to see the light, and
that’s all I need when it comes to you. I guess that’s why I can’t talk to you because I always
need to hold my breath. Because you always keep me up from drowning in myself even when I
don’t know the depth.
-The Tunnel
Legacy Is Easier With Webbed Feet
By Alex Crowthers
By Alex Crowthers
a whisper in the wind follows ruffled feathers;
sputtered squawks lost by haunting lullabies threatening flooded frozen fractals
there’s a map we don’t see, we dare to know, they must follow.
embedded deep within great goose generations — a task so grand,
geographical separations don’t dare disturb them.
i, a human, admire this feat; a deliberate duty designated from delivery to death.
often i yearn to fly south, a straight shot to my famed fate.
but for now, i’ll settle spying canada’s bird namesake from afar;
myself lost, waiting for wind whispers that will guide me to my
fleeting, flightless future.
Girls and Goats
By Grace Finin
By Grace Finin
To persuade him that I was no willing subsite for girls and goats is to
wish that you could live and to do so without causes or cares. For
someone, I will always be savage enough to let them impress me for
not more than too many hours which would rather be spent in
isolation. As much as I don’t try, I don’t think I can reach the
gloriousness that they all swear upon me. Recently, mockery has felt
misused with no guidance in thought. And if I were to climb like they
say, I don’t think love would continue to be the same as it stands now.
Filled with shame, ashamed, I am not a present you enjoy
unwrapping. I am the loose bottlecap you kept from your father’s
drink the first night you realized that really any liquid is stronger than
blood.
When I dreamed as a girl, I wanted to no longer be seen. And then I
found out that if I was not seen, then there could be no help given if it
should be needed. I know all the exits; my casket is empty, but the
altar boys follow down only by the trace of my purges.
