Player of Gender

(As the audience enters, there is an overwhelming orchestral piece full of dissonance. Lights come up on Player, standing center stage, frozen in a clear moment of discomfort. They are a queer individual who seems to be nervously twitching in their skin, eyes are squeezed shut. They stand awkwardly, shoulders tense and up, a clear discomfort as the expectation of society is displayed on them. What seems to be feminine clothing adorns their body, a dress. This dress does not fit them. Underneath this dress is a shirt, one that does not fit with the dress at all. And pants and a pair of ragged old sneakers. Makeup, smeared almost in a clownish matter, accentuating a deep sorrow.

There is a shift in lighting as they slowly unfreeze, the music snaps off. The audience sits in silence.)

PLAYER: (a groan, followed by a sob and sharp intake of breath, as Player opens their eyes and realizes there is an audience. Frustration remains.) Why are you here? This is supposed to be my place to reflect. It’s not like you care. 

(Silence. They stare out at the audience, shifting their gaze across the room.)

PLAYER: You even probably think it’s funny. Don’t you. What I look like? The way that I’m uncomfortable, you probably want to look away, but you can’t. My sorrow is the entertainment for you. 

(Silence. PLAYER bursts out laughing. Pointing at the audience, a long chuckle, that turns into a sob, along with a collapse to the ground. A moment of isolation.)

PLAYER: (Looks up.) It’s so funny, isn’t it? You made me this…this…Thing. I started as a person. Just like all of you. And then there was blue and pink and right toys and wrong toys and girls and boys. Everything had this expectation tied to it. This fucking gender. (Stands.) When I said “no” that I didn’t like those things, you didn’t listen. Why are my choices…funny? (Referencing their makeup) Why am I the clown?

(Silence. They start pacing, throwing their hands up in the air.) 

PLAYER: I have no name! I have no real status! If you don’t recognize me, am I a person? Or am I a joke? (Slows, turns to face them again.) No one really knows me. They think they do. But to them, I am she/he/he/she/him/her/they/them/thing/it/whatever. And to me, I simply sometimes am nothing. I just exist. For some reason-that’s not okay. I am asked to choose. Or not even to choose, to remain as I was born, but to embrace expectations. 

(In all encompassing frustration, Player bunches up the fabric of their dress and is frozen in a tableau just as in the beginning. The music comes back. And Player screams.)

PLAYER: (Yells over the music.) You don’t know how to handle me; you want me to harmonize with you. I won’t. I’m not going to compromise myself to fit in your box. I am not a doll. (The music dulls as the PLAYER stomps through the audience.) You can’t expect me to bend to your will. You can’t force this on me. I don’t want your pretty. I don’t want your handsome. You have been telling me to “be myself” my whole life. But when I am, and it’s not what you expect? When I exist as I am in my head, you want me to put it back don’t you. (Gets on the floor and crawls.) It’s. the. Skies. The. Limit. But. Somehow. I. Have. Hit. The. Sky. (Collapses, groans.)

(The music stops. Rolls over. Stares up. Puts hands up to block the light.)

PLAYER: Sometimes, I have dreams so big… that I don’t know how to keep them in my head. One after the other they all start to slip out. I am made of my own dreams. I walk along the stars, and I think that scares you. I dream so big that I start with the sky and sometimes I can’t come down. You are different, you start at the ground, and you build up. I reach down and I try to help you up. I try to let you sit on the clouds with me and watch as everyone else is building too. But you fall. You fall because you don’t believe. 

(Silence.)

PLAYER: How do I fit in a world that doesn’t dream the same way? You don’t even think it’s possible to dream the way I do. If you were up in the clouds too, with me, I could show you this point of view. If you were in my head with me, seeing the way that you make me feel.

(Gets up. Frolics back to stage. Player dances in silence and sings a song full of random sounds and unexpected rhythms. Spinning so fast and so joyously giggles form and they are so excited they flap their arms and squeal.)

PLAYER: Well? Hm! (Pause.) I think I know what you want.

(PLAYER reaches down, pulls up their skirt to reveal a holster that has a gun. PLAYER unsheathes this gun. They let their dress plop to the floor. Eerie sounds emerge as they hold it up, take aim at the audience, realize the gun is pointed the wrong way. Then turn it towards themself.)

PLAYER: This is what you want? Right? Right?! When you talk to me this is what it seems like you want. When you don’t accept me. When you make me your doll. Ok, I’ll try. I’ll be your doll. 

(Gun to the side of head. Player waits, watches. Shifts their gaze, wide eyed. There is great suspense as no one knows what will happen. PLAYER pulls the trigger. 

Water comes out and the stage is filled with bubbles. There is color everywhere and the Player laughs and jumps around. Shooting the audience with the water.)

PLAYER: I scared you. Didn’t I. You didn’t know what was going to happen. Good. I think I lifted you up. Maybe you’ll stay up in the clouds with me now. (stands still and begs) Start here, please. I never know what’s going to happen when I try to lift you up, I’m always afraid that you won’t understand it up here. This space that I exist in sometimes. Welcome to my space, I am choosing to trust you. 

(Silence. They put the gun on the ground. Kick it off to the side. They plop down again. They take a moment. Head in hands, smearing the makeup all over. Breathing. PLAYER peeks out of hands at the audience, and there is a seat that is empty in the center front row that is illuminated. The dissonance softly reemerges. PLAYER steps towards the audience, carefully hops off the stage, and cautiously takes this seat among the audience. There is a blackout, and houselights come up the music continues louder than the beginning of the show, yet PLAYER remains frozen for as long as people are in the theatre.)

END