Our Ouija board,
The games we played,
the shit we conjured,
& the dead dude we hate-fucked
Bec and Saph are hosting a ten year high school reunion dinner for the graduates of Second Swamp Secondary School. As the guests start to arrive, it becomes clear that it's more than a reunion. There's tension and inside jokes and lots of irresponsible drinking. Saph doesn't quite understand, because she was homeschooled, but she's a good sport and an even better host.
Something happened ten years ago...something scary. And now the Second Swamp Seven finally have to come to terms with that went down between the Crocodile and the Ouija Board in that abandoned pool a decade ago...
A reunion play about communal trauma, kinky sex, crocodiles, Kelly Rowland, circle jerks, celebrity ghost hunters, and all the shit that still haunts from about high school.
My abuela taught me three things growing up: 1) Don't share your car, 2) Don't share your spouse, 3) Never touch a Ouija Board. I have broken all of these rules except for one (#nobody's perfect). This bitch will never touch a ouija board (someone else had to buy and handle the prop for this production).
This is a play I wrote as I walked laps around a frozen lake in Minnesota. At the time, my ten year high school reunion was impeding and it hit me like a ton of bricks: holy fuck, I'm getting old. As my year unfolded in the frozen hellscape that is Minneapolis, I reflected on my high school years in Prince George County, Virginia and watched slack-jawed as my class struggled to plan a class reunion via facebook.
3F, 2M; Full-length; Comedy, Horror, think Riverdale (but gay)
Junyce: Alpha; badass; new to-town; queer woman of color
Kyle: Vice-President of Student Government; Nervous; woman of any race
Huck: Quarterback of the football team; hot-shot; cocky; man of any race
Beecher: Takes German; shy; awkward; gangling; queer man of color
The Mayor, Principal Roman; The Detective:
clueless straight white dudes; woman of any race
READ IT HERE.
"...a glorious piece of theatrical fuckery."
-Brad Rothbart, Broad Street Review