Issue #14 Online Exclusive Content
Anniversary
Bella Poynton
CHARACTERS
CLARE: Female. 30ish. Studious. Contemplative. Any race.
IAN: Male. 30ish. Pragmatic. Logical. Any race.
VOICE: Two lines said offstage, could be recorded, a police officer.
SYNOPSIS
Ian has come to visit Clare after not seeing her in quite some time. As they clean up dinner together, shocking details emerge as to the reason for their long hiatus. Clare’s disappearance (and subsequent reappearance) due to a presumed kidnapping has rattled their family and community. Ian, worried for Clare’s mental well-being, insists on staying to help her... but no one is listening to Clare’s side of the story in all this, and no one seems to care that she doesn’t see these events as a kidnapping at all.
At rise: CLARE’S kitchen in a small house in the middle of western Nebraska. Evening. CLARE is standing holding a few dishes in her hands, staring out the window, up into the sky. The two have just finished eating. IAN is at the sink, washing the dishes. He turns to grab the last dish, but she does not hand it to him. Instead, she stares out the window before starting to speak.
CLARE: Ian…it’s time for you to leave.
IAN: What?
CLARE: You need to go. I’m sorry. It’s been nice to see you. I’m happy you came. But, you have go, okay?
IAN: Ok… Sure. No problem. Just let me just help you finish cleaning up.
CLARE: You don’t need to help. I can clean up—
IAN: Let me wipe down the table—
CLARE: Ian—
IAN: I brought some pie for des—
CLARE: Ian, please! Just stop.
CLARE: It’s just dishes.
IAN: What’s wrong with you?
CLARE: Nothing. I just have a big day tomorrow. It’s late.
IAN: It’s 8:00.
CLARE: That’s late for me. I have an appointment in the morning. At work.
IAN: Tomorrow is Sunday.
CLARE: It’s a breakfast meeting.
IAN: Clare, you’re unemployed.
(There is a pause. CLARE composes herself.)
CLARE: I’m sorry, but this is my house. I live here and I am saying you need to go.
(IAN sits. He does not leave.)
CLARE: Ian, I swear if you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.
(CLARE picks up the PHONE)
IAN: On me? What’s going on? Is someone coming over? You got some big, strong new boyfriend who’s gonna show up?
CLARE: You know that’s not it. And anyway, I shouldn’t have to explain anything. We shouldn’t have even done this to begin with.
IAN: Well, what was I supposed to do? Every time I try to see you, it’s something. You don’t answer the phone, or the door, or you say you’re busy. I had to know you were all right.
CLARE: Well, now you know. I’m all right.
IAN: Are you?
CLARE: Yes! Look at me! I’m conforming well enough, aren’t I? I’m part of society! I have a nice house and there’s food in the fridge and I see my therapist… and I don’t have a job yet, but I’m working on it. Now go. Or I’m calling the police.
IAN: Fine. Call them, then.
CLARE: Fine! I will.
(CLARE dials)
CLARE: Hello? Yes. There’s a man in my house. Oh—no. No—He’s not an intruder. I just want him to… Oh, no, I’m not hurt. Pardon? Oh, yes. I’ll hold.
(IAN stares)
CLARE: What? I’m holding…. Oh, yes, hi! Yes. I keep asking him to leave, and he won’t.
I live at 25-65 4th Road. Barrel County. Yes, I’ll be here. Thank you.
(CLARE hangs up)
IAN: 911 puts you on hold in Barrel County?
CLARE: I think they serve more than one county. Anyway, they’re coming, so this is your last chance to go.
IAN: Will you tell me one thing? Before I leave?
CLARE: What?
IAN: You have to be honest.
CLARE: Fine.
(Pause)
IAN: Why do you keep staring at the clock?
CLARE: What?
IAN: Why do you keep staring at the clock?
CLARE: I’m not.
IAN: You are.
CLARE: So? I can look at the clock if I want. What does it matter?
IAN: Tell me why.
CLARE: Stop it. This is—
IAN: You promised you’d answer, and I want to know. So, what is it? Who’s coming here?
CLARE: No one!—
IAN: Then why? Why do you keep staring? If it’s nothing, then—
CLARE: Because!
IAN: Because what? Say it.
CLARE: You know why!
IAN: I want to hear you say it!
CLARE: Because it’s my anniversary, okay!?
(IAN stops. He stares at CLARE, deeply disappointed. He shakes his head.)
IAN: Your anniversary.
(CLARE is silent. She stares at the ground)
IAN: Jesus. I knew you weren’t ready to be discharged.
CLARE: Stop it—Just—just—shut up!
IAN: I knew! When they told me they were letting you go, I knew it was too early. I said, no, she’s not ready to be out on her own. And then they told me you were moving to the middle of fucking nowhere town Nebraska. Population 15!
CLARE: I like it out here!
IAN: Do you think I don’t know why you want to be out here? You think I don’t know why you never get in touch with anyone? Just sitting out here… waiting.
CLARE: I have no obligation to contact anyone if I don’t want to—
IAN: Why all the wind chimes? All the radios? All the fucking antennae??
CLARE: Those have nothing to do with anything.
IAN: Bullshit they don’t!
(IAN composes himself)
IAN: I don’t… I don’t presume to understand what you went through. Something awful happened to you and I—
CLARE: Nothing awful happened to me.
IAN: This is what I mean, Clare. You need to come to terms with what happened, instead of reinforcing this ridiculous replacement story!
CLARE: It’s not a replacement story. Nothing bad happened to me.
(Pause)
IAN: You went missing, Clare. You went missing for a whole year. From October 28th, 2020, to October 28th, 2021, you were missing. That night, we made dinner, just like this. I thought you were cleaning up… then before I went upstairs, I realized you were gone. Back door was wide open. Cops said you must have disappeared between (He glances at the clock) 8:00 and 8:30.
We lost our minds looking for you. I lost my mind looking for you. Because we were happy, weren’t we?
CLARE: I don’t want to talk about this.
(Pause)
IAN: They found you 25 miles outside of Chadron state park wandering in the woods. Not too far from here, actually.
CLARE: I know where I was found.
IAN: Do you? Because it seems like you need a reminder; it seems like you have other ideas. Ideas that aren’t real. Things you’ve made up to cope—
CLARE: None of what I say is made up. I know what happened to me. Because it happened. To me. Not to you.
IAN: (sadly) Clare, they found your DNA—your blood and your hair and—in the dugout basement of a log cabin 40 miles from Chadron. Someone was living there—the person they think kidnapped you. They found his DNA too. They proved it. The psychiatrists say you blocked it out.
CLARE: I haven’t blocked anything. All that evidence was planted—put there. They never found him, did they? No! Because he’s not real; he never existed.
IAN: I’m sorry, planted? By whom? Who put it there, Clare, huh? (Pause) And I’m supposed to believe this story? I’m supposed to believe that you were taken away on a UFO and kept there for what—testing? That aliens planted the DNA of some non-existent person in that cabin to make it look like you had been kidnapped? That’s the explanation you’re going with? I’m sorry, but it’s absurd—and yet this is what you’ve been telling these ridiculous late night paranormal radio programs you call into.
(CLARE looks up)
CLARE: You’ve been listening?
IAN: Of course, I’ve been listening. I’ve been desperate for any word from you. One of the detectives said something about you talking to Richard Dolan. So, I set a Google alert for your name. I’m supposed to believe these radio shows, but not the FBI?
CLARE: You can believe whatever you want. But I think it’s telling that you believe them, and not me.
IAN: Have you ever told your therapist that you call into those shows?
(CLARE looks at IAN like he must be the most ignorant man alive)
CLARE: No. Because I know she would do the same thing you’re doing now.
IAN: And what does that tell you?
CLARE: That believing people only goes so far. MeToo? Believe women? Sure—up to a point. But there’s an invisible line everyone silently agrees on where it goes too far. Where you don’t believe anymore, because it makes you look silly. Because you can’t imagine there are truths outside your own experience.
IAN: The invisible line is for people who are troubled, Clare. It’s not because we don’t believe them.
CLARE: I’m not mad at you, Ian. I know cognitive dissonance makes it impossible for you to relate. It’s not your fault. It’s like… trying to describe a color you’ve never seen.
IAN: They say you’re trying to protect him. The man who kidnapped you.
(CLARE slaps IAN’S face. Hard.)
CLARE: Fuck you.
IAN: I’m sorry. I’m trying to understand.
CLARE: You’re holding onto this version of me that doesn’t exist anymore. I’m not the same person I was.
IAN: That’s not true. We needed each other, didn’t we? Before all this? I miss you, Clare.
CLARE: …Are you trying to be romantic right now?
(Pause)
IAN: Do you know why I came here tonight?
CLARE: To ruin everything?
IAN: To try to help. Because I knew it would be a hard day.
CLARE: That’s very thoughtful, but I just want to be alone.
(IAN glances at the clock again, and then to CLARE)
IAN: You think they’re coming back for you, don’t you?
CLARE: I never said that.
IAN: Do you think they’ll hurt you if you don’t comply?
CLARE: Haven’t you been listening? I’m not afraid of them Ian. I never wanted to come back.
IAN: …What?
CLARE: I was happy. I know that might be hard for you to hear. Everything was bright and beautiful and simple. It’s this place. Here. This is hell.
(IAN tries to speak but doesn’t know what to say. Then, there’s a knock on the door, and a VOICE offstage)
VOICE: Hello! Hello, Barrel County Police! Open up!
CLARE: Get the door.
IAN: Clare— let me take you back / to Chicago—
CLARE: No.
(More knocking)
VOICE: Police! Police— Open up!
CLARE: If you don’t get it, they’ll break my door. And I don’t have the money to replace it.
IAN: Just—just stay where you are, okay?
(IAN runs off)
IAN: All right, all right I’m coming!
(Silence. Stillness. There is commotion offstage as IAN opens the door. CLARE turns away from the commotion, closes her eyes and breathes deeply. The lights shift into a bright, warm, beautiful glow emanating from the opposite direction IAN exited. CLARE opens her eyes, sees it, and is filled with a soft, quiet joy.)
CLARE: There you are. I’ve been waiting.
(CLARE slowly and carefully walks towards the warm light and disappears offstage. The light fades. A moment. Enter IAN.)
IAN: Clare—the officer wants to speak to you. You have to fill out a—Clare? Clare?? Where’d you— (He looks around for her. She is nowhere.) Clare? God damn it!!
(He looks off into the same direction CLARE left before looking upwards towards the sky)
IAN: I’ll be waiting.
(Blackout)
END OF PLAY
Bella Poynton is a playwright, director, and performance studies scholar. Her plays have been published with Concord Theatricals and can be seen in The Best Ten-Minute Plays of 2024, The Best Ten-Minute Plays of 2019, The Best American Short Plays 2018-2019, The Weirdest Plays of 2020, WE-US: Monologues for Gender Minority Characters, Fleas on the Dog, and CLOCKHOUSE. Her scholarly work can be found in Comparative Drama, Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism, Global Performance Studies, and Theatre/Practice among others. MFA, Iowa Playwrights Workshop; PhD, University at Buffalo.
