Velvet

SCENE: Psychiatrist’s office. On stage left is a couch (MARCUS) with a matching velvet pillow. Across from the couch is a chair (PSYCHIATRIST) with a side table.

PSYCHIATRIST—Good afternoon. My name is Dr. Pearien, and I’ll be your Psychiatrist. I’ve already spoken with your mother about the matter, but I’d like to ask you some questions before we get started. What would you like me to call you?

MARCUS—Marcus is fine by me.

PSYCHIATRIST—All right then, Marcus. Would you say that your life is bad at all? Difficult, stressful, anything wrong with it?

MARCUS—(Thinking) Not really, no.

PSYCHIATRIST—(Taking Notes) I see. So…why are you here?

MARCUS—(Sarcastic) Is that question meant to be rhetorical, or are we now having philosophy sessions?

PSYCHIATRIST—(Laughs slightly) I guess that could be rhetorical, but I was asking if you knew why your parents sent you to me.

MARCUS—Mother. Why my Mother sent me to you. And no…I don’t. I suppose that she feels something is wrong with me, but she hasn’t really consulted me about my feelings for a very long time.

PSYCHIATRIST—So there is something bad in your life, then.

MARCUS—I guess you could say that

PSYCHIATRIST—Well, what do you see as the root of the problem with your mother?

MARCUS—Her. She is the problem.

PSYCHIATRIST—So you’re dissatisfied with the way that your mother acts?

MARCUS—(Angrily) This has nothing to do with me, okay? She is the one with the problem, and she is the one who should be sitting here!

PSYCHIATRIST—(Calmly) Calm down, Marcus. Anger will get you nowhere in here. There’s no reason to yell at me. I’m only trying to help. (Pauses for some time while taking notes on yellow legal pad, stopping occasionally to glance over her glasses at MARCUS)

MARCUS—(To Audience) I really don’t know why I’m here. I’m not suicidal or crazy, and I’m a rather content person. If one of us needs to see a shrink, it’s her. But I guess that she can’t accept the fact that something is wrong with her. Its me that’s the problem, so she sends me here to fix it. I mean, I don’t mind the idea of seeing a psychiatrist, but I don’t like being forced onto one. Especially this one. This office makes me uncomfortable. It’s only a house, but it’s masquerading as something much more. These pillows, for instance! A simple pillow will do, but these pillows have to be velvet, of all things! Rich toys for rich nut cases. I hate velvet, anyway. Have since I was a child, though I called it ‘one-way fabric’ then. It just feels so…weird. I don’t see why its a sign of wealth. I don’t see why that’d matter.

(Awkward pause between the two. PSYCHIATRIST flips through her notes and stumbles on a point of interest)

PSYCHIATRIST—(Hesitant to speak at first) Your mother expressed some distress about, I believe she said — King Edward, was it?

MARCUS—(Amused) Well, first off, it’s Edward the Sixth, by the Grace of God, King of England, France, and Ireland, Defender of the Faith and of the Church of England and also of Ireland in Earth Supreme Head. (Pause) And if you’re referring to my sexual fixation on him, I hardly see what’s irregular about that. Kids are always falling for famous people.

PSYCHIATRIST—Yes, this is true. But King Edward is dead.

MARCUS—So is Kurt Cobain.

PSYCHIATRIST—Yes, but King Edward has been dead for over 400 years.

MARCUS—That changes nothing, now does it? At least there’s a reason to look at him. He was a king. A king. All England was his! He is great by virtue of existence. All Kurt Cobain did was kill himself. Couldn’t even sing.

PSYCHIATRIST—Yes, I see. Well, Marcus, why are you obsessed with him? You are a heterosexual, are you not?

MARCUS—I am. It started with generic Anglophilia—linguistic ties to England. But, as I learned more about English culture, I fell in love with the crown. It makes so much sense, because the ruler’s job is just as social as it is political. It just seems so…so (with emphasis) right. Monarchy is just a better system than what we have now. So, naturally, I was drawn to the monarch closest my age. Edward was only sixteen when he was king. Only sixteen when he died. There’s just something so tragic about his life, so…so palpable. To be honest, the entire idea excites me greatly.

PSYCHIATRIST—But why does it excite you? That’s what I want to know.

MARCUS—I don’t know why. It’s unfair. No one remembers him. He was Henry VIII’s only boy. His only kid to the only wife he loved. I just think about him, and all at once his life seems so tragic and forgotten. Like Emily Brontë. She only wrote one book, and I love her for that.

PSYCHIATRIST—Death takes many in their prime age.

MARCUS—Yes, it does. But that is hardly the point, now is it?

PSYCHIATRIST—Then what is the point, Marcus?

MARCUS—As I was saying, or at least trying to say, the point is that the problem doesn’t lie with me, and I have no reason to be here.

PSYCHIATRIST—I would argue otherwise.

MARCUS—That’s because I’m a source of income for you. You get sixty dollars an hour to just talk to me.

PSYCHIATRIST—Your mother is obviously worried about you. I’m only here to help.

MARCUS—But she’s the one that needs help. I’m fine. You’re trying to fix something that isn’t broken. It’s a waste of both of our times.

PSYCHIATRIST—Lets talk about something else, then, shall we? At least until your mother arrives.

MARCUS—All right.

PSYCHIATRIST—What’s on your mind?

MARCUS—I hate velvet.