a short play

[The scene: A girl in her mid-20s, HANNAH, is in a rundown apartment filled with mismatched furniture. On top of the couch sits a cat. Furniture everywhere is slightly askew, as though the apartment has been raided. The closet doors are flung open. HANNAH stands in the middle of the chaos, holding a can of roach spray.]

HANNAH: Fucking cockroaches. Fucking goddamn cockroaches. [She sprays a cockroach for an extended period of time, watches as it dies, then sighs heartily and picks up the broom to sweep it up and dumps it in the trash can. The cat lies on the couch disinterestedly].
HANNAH: Really nice job, Iris. Your ancestors would be proud.
[Door buzzer rings. HANNAH goes to wall to press buzzer] Who is it?
[A man's voice -- JASON -- replies] It's me.
HANNAH: Ok, come up. [She buzzes him in, turns and opens the door, leaving it ajar while returning to the center of the room to survey things. A few moments later, JASON, her brother, enters. He is slightly older than HANNAH].
HANNAH: [turning toward door] Just in time. This place is a war zone.
JASON: [surveys roach spray she is holding] Cockroaches, eh?
HANNAH: Yep.
JASON: [Gives HANNAH a sympathetic look] Well, if it makes you feel any better, cockroaches are really good at taking care of their young.
HANNAH: That doesn’t make me feel better at all. Why the hell would I want the cockroaches to take care of their young? I would rather have them not take care of their young. I would rather have them dead, actually, then running around my apartment all day long taking care of their goddamn young.
JASON: Just saying. Jesus.
HANNAH: [sighs loudly]
JASON: [sounds annoyed] What’s wrong with you?
HANNAH: I think I’m getting laid off.
JASON: [still annoyed] And why would you think that?
HANNAH: Just a hunch.
JASON: Well, there are plenty of other restaurants in the city…
HANNAH:[cuts him off quickly, out of exasperation] Yeah. I guess.
JASON: [pauses. then:] This is about Dad, isn’t it?
HANNAh:[defensively] No.
JASON: [stares at her]
HANNAH: [stares out window – is obviously distracted] Maybe.
JASON: Yeah. [sounds very uncomfortable/nervous] Look… it’s going to be fine. I’m sure you’re not going to be let go. You’re just being paranoid.
HANNAH: [is unconvinced] Maybe.
[Long silence]
JASON: Well. I should probably get going. Gotta get back to the shop. Just wanted to stop by and say hey.
HANNAH: Well, hey. [pauses] Guess I’ll see you at Mom’s later tonight?
JASON: Yep. Bye.
Hannah: Bye. [they hug quickly, then JASON exits out original entrance and shuts door behind him. HANNAH stares at the closed door for a moment, then walks to the couch and flicks on the TV. Nothing is on. She flicks it back off. Sighs. A cockroach runs across the floor. She throws hands up helplessly, grabs purse, and exits.]

bug lamp

we used to have a bug lamp in our backyard, by my dad's garage. when bugs got too near it we heard the telltale "ZAP" -- their funeral dirge, our relief. sometimes they were mosquitoes, but mostly they were moths. this is because, my dad told me, moths are attracted to light; they use it for navigation. In the direct light of the moon they can actually fly in a straight line. in the deceptive yellow glow of our artificial light they flew forward hoping to find their way, only to falter and hover up and down as they were helplessly drawn toward the very thing that killed them.