--------SCENE 1
The cupboard

It protects Henry from strangers; the users of his building.

Of his place of occupation.

And his life with me.


There he is protected from the others who will use him.

Who will abuse him.

Who will use his tube to clean the dirt they have brought into this place of meditation.

Destroying our ritual.

They will use him for convenience, as if he was an inanimate object.

As if he was not real.

As if he could not talk.

“Oh gosh! Look at the filth I’ve brought in on my shoes. Look at all those leafy crumbs! I will go hoover them up.”

No.

No.

No.

That is not part of our ritual.
That is not part of our routine.


Henry is a squatter of his cupboard.

It was not made for him. It is too small for him. His pipe is crammed inside like a knotted piece of wire, bouncing off, wall to wall.

He is bursting out at the seams, and I am pushing the door shut;
his rounded, red body fits safely inside, but his arms are flailing about,

pressing outwards forcibly. (move the walls)

But Henry is not stuck, for when Henry is with me he becomes himself.

We are him together.

I activate him.

We activate each other.

And so he wants to occupy this space.

He is seduced by the claustrophobia, as he waits for the ritual to restart.

He wants to squat the cupboard!

He wants to squat this unoccupied space that was not made for him to fit inside. The unused space that, with him in it, becomes unusable for anything else.

For mats, or blocks, or belts.


---------Scene 2:

Henry and I are connected in the action we create together;

In the action of cleaning this space.

A space neither of us own, but both of us occupy.

We are keeping it clean together, for others.

Only occasionally do we reap from the benefits, when we get drunk side by side on Friday nights.

It’s complicated, this thing.

Him and me.

Henry and I.

We aren't even made of the same material, but we depend on each other.

We love each other.

We need each other.


—————————— Scene 3:

Henry is an anomaly in the yoga studio, just as I am!

The mats, the blocks, the belts are meant to be there, but he with his wide smile, and me with my hectic attempts to dust the dust from the cupboards, to wipe the muddy footprints from the floor, and to peel the used pads from the toilet sinks, are not.

We are not supposed to occupy this space.

But without us, its image can not be maintained.

We maintain it together in our ritual.

And so I am still washing the floor.

I wash it until it is clean.

Just clean enough for it to be enough.

This Space!

This space!

It remains with me and my shadow here. Or you and your shadow, if you were ever asked.

For I think he, Henry, or you, as I am talking to you am I not? You must be here,
but I can’t see you

A thick tube between my two legs, with underwear shining through tights.

Thick pipes and cords.

Pipes and cords.

I wrap them around my body and they squeeze me tightly.

They hold the pieces together.

You hold my pieces together.

And oh!
SOMEONE HAS left a tampon on the toilet sink.

It has unwrapped itself.

It reveals itself to me. Its insides red and bloody, as its plastic sleeves stick to the ceramic bowl.

A gift for me to clean.

For us.
For us.

I roll it up and wrap it in some toilet paper, transferring it to the bin.

I will move that outside later.

And so I move outside.

Step, step, step,

step and move the gated door.

step and I can see you now,

you’re out there waiting to enter in.

Waiting to enter in.

I can’t let it go. But I’ll let you back in.

Protect me.

Protect me.

Protect me instead!

Protect yourself.

Yourself and You. And me. And we.

Protect us.


You look different now as you stand there waiting, but I still know you, and what you are made of.

We look different now as we stand there waiting, but we still know what we are made of.

You’ve been damaged too many times on the outside, so now I have to protect you myself.

You will never be hurt again because I am here.

I will restore your life and shape it anew.

I will teach you.

I will show you
I will show you emotional release.

I will show you.

I will teach you how to cry.

I will make you cry. For crying is necessary to flush out the toxins of the mind, the soul, and the experience.

A trauma perhaps.

This is a need we accept together without shame or guilt.

In a space that neither of us own, but both of us occupy.

The space we make together.

We still keep it clean together.

For the others.

And only occasionally do we reap from the benefits, when we get drunk side by side on Friday nights.


Sip on tin cans, but make sure they don’t slice your upper lip wide open.

Wipe open,

Wide open, fleshy and bloody.

Open

Open your mouth

And Now “SMILE”!

“Smile”

“SMILE” for the turkey.

He's right over there and he's going to eat you otherwise.

So Smile. Smile for the turkey.

Click.
Click.
Click.

Its fixed - a moment fixed.
But I didn't see the camera. Where was the camera?

I didn't see the flash

I boop you once. You boop me once.

I boop you twice in that moment.

BOOP.

Laugh.

Laughing.

Laugh for me, love.

Laughing at me, love.

Laugh and smile.

Smile.

SMILE!

Smile for the turkey.

Smile for me.

For me.

You’re doing it.

Your fingers curled around that cold green vessle.

Fill yourself up!
Fill your insides!

Up up. Up love, fill yourself up.

Clean yourself up.

Clean.

Up.

Your.

Mess.

You’re a mess.

Clean yourself from inside out.

Inside-out now?


She did.

Wrap around me like a rope.

Legs looping over legs, and through, and around each other.

Intertwined.

Fixed.

Now you’ll stay.

We’ll Stay.

Stuck.

In a box.

You speak to me.

One colour fades into another. Into the next and we are in conversation.

Your eyes are fixed on my forehead as the sweat drips down slowly.


It sucks.

You suck. Suck. Suck. Suck. Suck Through.



Follow the dead bee through your trunk and into your stomach.

It shines.

It clings on.

It gets stuck and you choke. For a moment.


But now Smile!
Smile!
Smile for the turkey! Fix this last moment.

Make it stick.

Follow henry down a path until you stop.

You both stop.


Step into this world. Into the painting. Inside this Henry.

Do you hear the music?

Maybe it grazes your skin like it does mine, as I lie here. Still and Airless.

Maybe now you’ll understand me.

Maybe now we will understand each other.
Like me and Henry do.

But now you just linger in my memories.



You just linger in my fingers, like he does.



You linger.

EXCUSE US FOR THE MESS WE'RE GOING THROUGH SOMETHING

EMILY STEVENHAGEN

A SCRIPT: