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by Steve Munson
GENRE: Drama
TIME: Six minutes
CAST BREAKDOWN: 2F, 1M
THEME: Worldly possessions; Contentment; Strength in adversity and loss
CHURCH YEAR SEASON: Any
SUGGESTED USE: Worship Service
SYNOPSIS: How important are material possessions? What would you do if you lost everything you ever worked for? What is really important? This drama poses these very important life questions.
CHARACTERS:
CHRISTIE– woman, 35, bright, married with children
MRS. BROPHY– 80, kindly woman with sprightly sense of humor
FIREMAN
PROPS: Two blankets, thermos, two Styrofoam mugs
COSTUMES: Woman in housecoat and curlers, Fireman in uniform
SOUND: Three cordless microphones
LIGHTING: General stage
SETTING: Bare stage
SCRIPTURE REFERENCE: Isaiah 35:3-4
DIRECTOR'S TIP: To enhance the feel of this setting, flashing orange/red lights would work.
Christie, 35 yr old woman, bright, attractive, sits on the curb, huddled anxiously with a blanket wrapped around her. Her hair is a mess and her face stained with tears and smoke. She looks like she’s just escaped from a fire. The flashing orange-red lights of a fire truck play across her face and lend a weird light to the scene. It’s morning. A fireman passes through in a hurry, looking blackened and haggard.
CHRISTIE: (Jumping up, anxious, almost hysterical) Excuse me, sir! The woman in that house, (Points) Mrs. Brophy. Is she all right?
FIREMAN: The old lady? Yeah, she got out. Just in time too. (He turns to go, yelling to someone offstage) Hey, back that up here!
CHRISTIE: (Desperate, grabbing his arm) Oh wait! When can we go back inside? I just need to get a few things.
FIREMAN: Not for a few days yet, I’m afraid, ma’am. The fires are out, but everything’s still smoldering. It’s not safe.
CHRISTIE: Well, could I just have a look? I live in that house there. (Points)
FIREMAN: That one? (Pauses, scratches his jaw, not knowing how to tell her) No ma’am. I’m afraid you’ll never be able to go back there. All these old houses, so close together. Went up just like Christmas trees. (Shakes his head sadly) Must have been a beautiful home too. I’m sorry, ma’am.
FIREMAN exits. Girl sits slowly, stunned, then begins to weep. Enter Mrs. Brophy, 80, a kindly old woman, in housecoat and curlers, face and clothing stained with smoke.
MRS. BROPHY: Is there room for two on this ashpile?
CHRISTIE: (Jumps up) Mrs. Brophy! (They embrace) Thank heaven, you’re all right.
MRS. BROPHY: Yes, thank heaven. (Concerned) What about Wayne and the kids?
CHRISTIE: The kids are at school. I phoned Wayne. He’s on his way home. I mean, he’s on his way here. I… I don’t know what I’m going to tell him. (She weeps softly)
MRS. BROPHY: My dear, you won’t have to tell him anything. (Hands her a handkerchief then pauses)
CHRISTIE: Your cat? Is she…?
MRS. BROPHY: Souffie? Ohhh. She took off when the fire trucks first arrived. She’ll turn up. They always land on their feet, you know.
CHRISTIE: How is the… I mean…?
MRS. BROPHY: The damage? (Deep sigh) Well, I asked them. They said they couldn’t save anything. Try as they might, they couldn’t save a thing.
CHRISTIE: (Weeps and embraces her) Oh, Mrs. Brophy!
MRS. BROPHY: (Pats her) Now, now, save that. You have your own to worry about.
CHRISTIE: But your home. All your photographs and… and heirlooms. And your memories.
MRS. BROPHY: Memories? (Arranging her hair with dignity) Well, I still have those, thank the Lord. My mind’s not what it used to be, but I still have those. No, I’m afraid the only heirloom they could save was this old thing. (Points to herself. Pause. A wave of memories and sadness floods her. She tries to rouse herself.) But what about you?
CHRISTIE: They won’t let me go back in. They said it’s really bad. Oh, Mrs. Brophy, this was our first home. For ten years.
MRS. BROPHY: Yes, I know. And it won’t be your last neither. You’ll get through it, you and Wayne. You’re young and you’ve got each other, and the kids, and that’s what counts.
CHRISTIE: I wish I could be brave like you.MRS. BROPHY: (Sadly, a little distracted) Oh, heavens, I’m not brave. Just old. No, when you’re my age, you…you realize things, that’s all. (Rallying) It’s like my husband used to say: “Possessions are just like drinking beer. They’re not yours to keep.” (Christie laughs slightly through her tears. Mrs. Brophy embraces her) There now.
CHRISTIE: He must have been a wonderful man.
MRS. BROPHY: He was. A good man. And I miss him. But call me Ellen. “Mrs. Brophy” sounds like my mother-on-law. And she’s been dead for 30 years. (Pause. Sighs) No, it’s times like this that you realize… I guess…what’s really matters, I mean. There’s only two things that matter in the end. There’s God. And there’s people.
CHRISTIE: What will you do?
MRS. BROPHY: (Sighs) I don’t know. And that’s the truth. I don’t know. I hadn’t counted on this. I’ve been in that old house for 45 years. I hadn’t planned on leaving it—except feet first. No… I don’t know.
CHRISTIE: I suppose Wayne and I will have to live with his parents for a while. They live in Morningside. You could stay with us.
MRS. BROPHY: Oh, now, that’s just what you two need. Another old lady bossing you. No, I’m not sure what I’ll do. (More to herself) I’m sure He has something in mind… I just can’t imagine what.
CHRISTIE: Didn’t Mr. Brophy have a pension?
MRS. BROPHY: Yes. It keeps me in hairpins. And I’m not complaining. (Pause. Turns to Christie, takes her hand, as though about to share something she’d never shared with anyone before.) You know, when Donald—my husband— died, I thought the bottom had just dropped out of my world. Oh, I was still young. Well…young-er. But I couldn’t imagine going on… not without him. It was like someone had scooped out a big hole, right here (Presses her other hand to her stomach), and then just left.
CHRISTIE: How did you get by?
MRS. BROPHY: Oh, it wasn’t easy. There weren’t the opportunities there are today.
CHRISTIE: You and Mr. Brophy never had any children?
MRS. BROPHY: No. But we always thought we’d have each other. You know, it’s strange. I guess I’ve lost just about everything I’ve had in the world. I never thought I‘d have to say that. But …for some reason…it doesn’t matter. Huh. Isn’t that strange?
CHRISTIE: (Awkwardly) I’m sorry… I didn’t mean—
MRS. BROPHY: (Squeezing her hand affectionately) I know you didn’t mean. And it’s all right. I didn’t mean to trouble your head with an old lady’s problems. (Shivering) My, it’s cold. In all the excitement I hadn’t noticed.
CHRISTIE: Oh, forgive me. Here, take my blanket. (Offers it to her)
MRS. BROPHY: Nonsense. You need it. No, I’ll…
Fireman enters with blanket and thermos
FIREMAN: (To Mrs. Brophy) Would you like a blanket, ma’am?
MRS. BROPHY: Thank you, young man. (He wraps it around her.)
FIREMAN: And here’s some hot coffee. (Hands her the thermos and cups) The Red Cross has opened up a temporary shelter at the firehouse. You can go there when you’re ready.
MRS. BROPHY: Florence Nightingale! Bless you. You’re a dear. (FIREMAN exits. She turns to CHRISTIE, smiles) Well, I guess that was a reminder. (She pours them both a cup. Long pause. They sit silently sipping, warming their hands around the cups)
CHRISTIE: Mrs. Brophy. I mean, Ellen. Do you think…I mean…(Breaks into tears. Mrs. Brophy embraces her.) I just don’t know how I’m going to do this.
MRS. BROPHY: Oh, child. Yes, I know. I know. (She quiets her, gently rocking)
Performance and photocopying rights:
Your purchase of this script grants your church unlimited use of these sketches within your programs and worship services. You may photocopy the script for each cast member in your church. Scripts and performance rights are not transferable between churches and cannot be resold. You may not use the sketches for any commercial or fundraising purpose, and usage rights do not extend to video, radio, television or film.Copyright © 2002 by Steve Munson