Joan

Slessneck Play Writers Group

1200 Broadway

New York, NY. 10021

Dear Sirs,

I am submitting this one act play called Joan for your consideration. It is sure to be a smash hit on Broadway if given a chance. I eagerly await your opinion and would like to talk about licensing possibilities as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Marty Mitchell

“Joan”

(This is a single act play with one actor. The male actor is sitting center stage at a small writing table. He is writing a letter and reading as he writes. The stage is dark, the song starts, and the spotlight comes up at the end of the first chorus. The actor begins.)

Song begins:

It had to be you, it had to be you,

I searched all around, finally found, somebody who,

Could make me feel sad, could make me feel glad

It had to be you, it had to be you, it had to be you.

Spotlight comes up on actor on center stage.

Actor:  Dear Joan, I just thought I would take a little time from my busy schedule to write you a note. I’m sorry about the accident. If there had been any other option, it wouldn’t have happened that way. You know that don’t you Joan?

Oh Joan, beautiful Joan, how I love you so.  We were such a unique pair. I remember the first moment we met, we stood face to face holding each other’s eyes. It was odd and it stung a bit. Finally, you said, “There is a hunger in your eyes.” “Yes,” I said. “The rest of me could use a hamburger too.”

As our dating progressed, we began to know each other’s thoughts. I remember being at a dinner party with some friends. As the conversation moved around the table, I opened my mouth to speak but you jumped in. I realized that I either have a big mouth or you have small feet. I also believe that we made it to a stage in our relationship where we became comfortable sharing households with each other. Coming into my apartment one day I found you on my computer. I remember admiring your agility, but I didn’t think that my laptop could handle the weight.

Oh Joan, unsinkable Joan; we love nature despite what it did to us. Before my extensive dental work, when I would smile, my unevenly spaced teeth made me look like a picket fence and I had so many cavities that when I talked, I developed a harmonic resonance which caused an echo. And you, with your size 14 men’s shoes looked like a capital “L” from your profile.

But we did have fun in my sports car, didn’t we? Oh yes, my sports car. I may have made an unfortunate choice with my priorities. I remember driving up to your apartment on that sunny, warm day. You sat in the front next to me. Not wanting to mess your hair, you wore your Sunday bonnet pulled down so tight it looked as if it had made a forced landing on your head. We drove for miles in the country with the convertible top down. I let my hair fly in the breeze and then I would have to stop the car and go back and pick it up.

You know that I had just made the final payment on the Mazda MX-5 Miata. It was my baby. I wanted to show you how it performed so we drove the switchback road to Mount Baker. I remember feeling the tires drift as we climbed the hairpin turns to the top like the professional racers on Pikes Peak, but I knew that the real thrill would be the drive down the mountain. Spinning the car in a large drifting circle at the top parking lot we headed back down.

I assumed that you were also enjoying the speed coming down the mountain. Perhaps I misread your feelings. Your mouth was open, and your tongue was flapping next to your right ear. I know that that in itself made it hard to shout, “Slow down,” but I was happy to see that your hand/eye coordination had improved as your left hand hit my right eye. And suddenly, my brakes failed.

Panic swept over me. What was I to do? Faster and faster the car picked up speed at an enormous rate. 60-70-80 miles per hour. It was almost impossible to make the corners. Then, suddenly in one of the hairpin turns, I completely lost control of the car and a jerk threw me from the driver’s seat. Which reminds, I wanted to ask you why you did that. I grabbed the back bumper and slid on my chest across the blacktop. A pothole then bounced you from the car, but I grabbed you by your right hand as you slid on the pavement. When everything came to a stop and the dust settled, I found myself lying on the edge of the switchback still on my chest, my arms hanging over the cliff. In my left hand I held the bumper of the MX-5. The car was literally unscratched. In my right hand, I gripped your hand. Both of you were slipping gradually through my fingers. I only had enough strength to pull one of you back to the road. I looked down at my sports car and then I looked at you. Which one would I let drop?

Spotlight goes to black, and song begins.

It had to be you, it had to be you,

I searched all around, finally found, somebody who,

Could make me feel sad, could make me feel glad

It had to be you, it had to be you, it had to be you.

“The End”

Marty Mitchell

Ferndale, WA 98248

Dear Mr. Mitchell,

Words cannot begin to express our thoughts on the quality of your one act play. It would be our suggestion, that if you have a parakeet, you use the pages of this play to line the bottom of its cage. Clearly, your talents do not lie as a playwright but may instead be useful for – no – actually, we can’t think of anything.

Sincerely,

Slessneck Play Writers Group

**With sincere apologies to Isham Jones and Gus Kahn for butchering their song, “It Had to Be You.” This story is not 100% my creativity. As a freshman at Northwest Nazarene College in Nampa Idaho, I watched a glee club perform a version of the story. I created a version of the story which we performed at different venues with my singing group. It was made famous by the acting talent of my friend Dave. This is the latest and last version.

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