Rabbit Hole Read online

  Yeah.

  JASON

  Sure. I mean, if space is infinite, which is what most scientists think, then yeah, there have to be parallel universes.

  BECCA

  There have to be?

  JASON

  Yeah, because infinite space means ... it means it goes on and on forever, so there’s a never-ending stream of possibilities.

  BECCA

  Okay.

  JASON

  So even the most unlikely events have to take place somewhere, including other universes with versions of us leading different lives, or maybe the same lives with a couple things changed.

  BECCA

  And you think that’s plausible.

  JASON

  Not just plausible—probable. If you accept the most basic laws of science.

  BECCA

  Huh.

  (Beat.)

  So somewhere out there, there’s a version of me—what?—making pancakes?

  JASON

  Sure.

  BECCA

  Or at a water park.

  JASON

  Wherever, yeah. Both. If space is infinite. Then there are tons of you’s out there, and tons of me’s.

  BECCA

  And so this is just the sad version of us.

  (Beat.)

  JASON

  I guess.

  BECCA

  But there are other versions where everything goes our way.

  JASON

  Right.

  (Beat. A change.)

  BECCA

  And those other versions exist. They’re not hypothetical, they’re actual, real people.

  JASON

  Yeah, assuming you believe in science.

  BECCA

  Well that’s a nice thought. That somewhere out there I’m having a good time.

  JASON

  (After a pause) So, could you tell your husband for me? How I might’ve been going a little over the limit? I know he’s probably still mad but—

  BECCA

  He’s not mad. Nobody’s mad.

  JASON

  Okay.

  (Beat.)

  Can you tell him though?

  (Beat.)

  BECCA

  Sure.

  (Jason goes for the milk. He drinks it as the lights fade.)

  SCENE FOUR

  Eat-in kitchen. Dusk. Nat enters with a box of toys and books from Danny’s room. She places them on the table. Izzy follows, reading The Runaway Bunny.

  IZZY

  I don’t remember The Runaway Bunny book being so weird. The mother’s like a stalker.

  NAT

  Oh come on. She’s not a stalker.

  IZZY

  Well of course you don’t think so. But look, she turns into wind and shit, a mountain climber. Poor kid needs to get himself a restraining order.

  (Izzy puts the book in the box, and finds the obnoxious yappy dog toy she had given to Danny.)

  Heyyy, I remember this. She said I could have it?

  NAT

  Oh yes, that one especially she wants you to have.

  (Becca enters with a recipe she’s printed out for Izzy.)

  BECCA

  Here. I typed it all out for you. I put down lime zest in the filling, but you can also use orange zest, or even a little grapefruit. Or lemon, obviously.

  IZZY

  (Looking at the recipe) Jesus. It’s like three pages long. This looks hard, Becca.

  BECCA

  It’s not. I promise. I put everything down.

  IZZY

  I hope the oven works. I don’t think Auggie’s ever used it. He keeps dishes in there.

  BECCA

  If you get stuck, you can call me.

  IZZY

  Okay.

  (Beat. Chuckles.)

  Me—baking. Auggie’s gonna be shocked.

  NAT

  Well, anyone in their right mind would be.

  IZZY

  Ha ha.

  (Howie enters, home from work, calling as he enters:)

  HOWIE

  Hello-hellooo ...

  (He’s carrying something in tinfoil. Becca is surprised to see him.)

  IZZY

  Hey, Howie.

  NAT

  Hello.

  HOWIE

  Hi.

  BECCA

  You’re home.

  HOWIE

  (Taking off his jacket) Yeah.

  BECCA

  I thought you had group.

  HOWIE

  I decided to skip it.

  (Beat.)

  IZZY

  Mom, we should get going, if you wanna get to bingo.

  NAT

  Why, what time is it?

  IZZY

  We gotta go. Auggie wants me to register for lamaze, so I can learn how to shove a baby out of my body.

  (Regarding box of toys) Thanks for the stuff.

  BECCA

  You’re welcome.

  IZZY

  Bye, Howie.

  NAT

  (To Becca) Bye, sweetie.

  HOWIE

  Bye, guys.

  (As they exit with the box of stuff ...)

  NAT

  Bingo’s just at Saint Catherine’s, you know. What’s the bum’s rush for?

  IZZY

  Can we talk about this in the car please?

  NAT

  I didn’t even get a lemon square.

  (And they’re gone.)

  HOWIE

  (Regarding tinfoil) Alan brought in his zucchini bread again. He made me take what was left. He wants you to try it.

  BECCA

  That was nice of him. You’ll have to thank him for me.

  (Howie gets himself a beer.)

  We had paillard if you’re hungry. It’s in there.

  HOWIE

  No, Alan kept pushing that bread on me all day.

  BECCA

  Okay.

  HOWIE

  (After a couple beats) So how’d it go with the kid?

  BECCA

  Fine. It was totally fine.

  HOWIE

  What’d he want?

  BECCA

  Just to ... I don’t know, introduce himself, I guess, talk a little.

  HOWIE

  Did you let him off the hook?

  BECCA

  What do you mean?

  HOWIE

  Well, he seemed pretty intent on sitting down with us. I assumed he wanted to be absolved or something.

  (No response.)

  Is that what he wanted?

  BECCA

  Not really. Not in so many words, no.

  HOWIE

  Huh. Did you tell him we didn’t blame him?

  BECCA

  We don’t blame him.

  HOWIE

  No, I know, but did you let him know that?

  BECCA

  I guess so.

  (Beat.)

  HOWIE

  That’s good.

  (Beat.)

  So I don’t have to meet him then, do I?

  BECCA

  Not if you don’t want to, no.

  HOWIE

  Okay.

  (He sits at the table.)

  BECCA

  Why aren’t you at group?

  HOWIE

  I just decided to skip it tonight. Wasn’t up to it.

  BECCA

  How come?

  HOWIE

  I think I might be done. With the group. I don’t think I’m gonna go back.

  BECCA

  Why, what happened?

  HOWIE

  Nothing. I just don’t think it’s as helpful to me anymore. I wanna try it on my own for a while. I mean, not on my own, obviously, but ... without the group.

  (Beat.)

  That sound okay?

  BECCA

  Sure. If you’re not getting anything out of it then why go?

  HOWIE

  Exactly.

  (Beat.)

  BECCA

  Are you oka
y?

  HOWIE

  Yeah. I’m just tired. And full of zucchini bread.

  BECCA

  All right. I’m gonna have a piece. It’s good?

  HOWIE

  Yeah, it’s great.

  (Becca goes to cut a piece of the zucchini bread.)

  BECCA

  So Rick and Debbie invited us over for a cookout this weekend.

  (Beat.)

  HOWIE

  Really?

  BECCA

  Sunday they said. Are you free?

  HOWIE

  Yeah. You talked to Rick?

  BECCA

  No. Debbie.

  HOWIE

  You talked to Debbie.

  BECCA

  Yeah. I called her.

  HOWIE

  Wow. She must’ve been surprised.

  BECCA

  She was.

  HOWIE

  What’d she say?

  BECCA

  Oh you know, she cried mostly, and then apologized about sixty times, and then cried some more.

  HOWIE

  Sounds great.

  BECCA

  It was okay. She said she kept meaning to call, but she felt freaked-out about everything and so she kept putting it off, and before she knew it months had gone by, and so then she really couldn’t call because she felt like such an asshole, and assumed I hated her, so it just seemed easier to not pick up the phone.

  HOWIE

  And that was good enough for you?

  BECCA

  I don’t know. Probably. We’ll see how the barbecue goes.

  (She joins him at the table.)

  HOWIE

  Are the kids gonna be there?

  BECCA

  Of course.

  (Beat.)

  HOWIE

  That’ll be hard.

  BECCA

  Yeah. It’ll be good to see them though. We should get something for Emily. We missed her birthday. She turned four last week.

  HOWIE

  Right. Okay.

  (Beat.)

  Danny’s is coming up.

  BECCA

  I know.

  HOWIE

  That’s gonna be a tough one.

  BECCA

  Yeah.

  (Silence as Becca eats the bread.)

  (Regarding zucchini bread) It’s good.

  HOWIE

  I’ll tell Alan you liked it.

  (More silence.)

  It’s so quiet.

  BECCA

  That’s because I slipped Taz a couple Ambien.

  HOWIE

  (Smiles) You’re funny.

  BECCA

  You think I’m joking.

  (Becca takes another bite of zucchini bread.)

  (After a beat) You think we should reconsider the house?

  (Beat.)

  HOWIE

  If nobody bids, we might have to.

  BECCA

  There are worse things, I guess.

  HOWIE

  Yeah.

  BECCA

  It’s a nice house.

  HOWIE

  I know.

  BECCA

  (After a pause) So what are we gonna do?

  HOWIE

  About what?

  BECCA

  I don’t know, pick something.

  HOWIE

  Well ... (Thinks it over) We could go to Village Toys tomorrow and pick up Candy Land for Emily. That’s probably something she’d like.

  BECCA

  Okay, Candy Land. That’s a start. Then what?

  HOWIE

  Then we wrap it.

  BECCA

  Uh-huh.

  HOWIE

  And then on Sunday we go to the cookout, and we give her the gift, and we talk to Rick and Debbie, and to make them feel comfortable we ask the kids a bunch of questions about what they’ve been up to, and we’ll pretend that we’re really interested. And then we’ll wait for Rick and/or Debbie to bring up Danny while the kids are playing in the rec room. And maybe that’ll go on for a little while. And after that we’ll come home.

  (Beat.)

  BECCA

  And then what?

  (Beat.)

  HOWIE

  I don’t know. Something though. We’ll figure it out.

  BECCA

  Will we?

  HOWIE

  I think so. I think we will.

  (Silence. They just sit for several beats, not even looking at each other. They’re scared.

  Then Becca takes Howie’s hand. They hold on tight.

  And the lights slowly fade.)

  END OF PLAY

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Rabbit Hole is a delicate play tonally, and its balance can be easily thrown out of whack. With that in mind, a little guidance from the playwright ...

  Yes, Rabbit Hole is a play about a bereaved family, but that does not mean they go through the day glazed-over, on the verge of tears, morose or inconsolable. That would be a torturous and very uninteresting play to sit through. The characters are, instead, highly functional, unsentimental, spirited and, often, funny people who are trying to maneuver their way through their grief and around each other as best they can. Sure, they hit bumps along the way, and are overcome by various emotions, but I’ve tried to be very clear about exactly when and how that happens.

  It’s a sad play. Don’t make it any sadder than it needs to be. Avoid sentimentality and histrionics at all costs. If you don’t, the play will flatten out and come across as a bad movie-of-the-week.

  Tears: if the stage directions don’t mention tears, please resist adding them. Howie gets some at the end of Act One. Becca cries at one point during her scene with Jason. Nat might almost cry when she finds Danny’s shoes in his room. But I think that’s about it. I’m pretty sure Izzy doesn’t need to cry in this play. And I know Jason shouldn’t cry, ever. (Yes, he’s haunted by the death of Danny, but his emotions aren’t especially accessible to him. Please, no choked-up kids openly racked with guilt. That’s not who he is. Restraint, please.)

  Laughter: there are, I hope, many funny parts in the play. They are important. Especially to the audience. Without the laughs, the play becomes pretty much unbearable. Don’t ignore the jokes. They are your friends.

  Please, no extra embracing, or holding of hands. Avoid resolution at all costs. Becca and Nat, for example, shouldn’t hug at the end of their scene in Danny’s room. It’s not that kind of play. There can and should be moments of hope and genuine connection between these characters, but I don’t ever want a moment (not even the very end) where the audience sighs and says, “Oh good, they’re gonna be okay now.” Rabbit Hole is not a tidy play. Resist smoothing out its edges.

  DAVID LINDSAY-A BAIRE is the author of Fuddy Meers, Kimberly Akimbo (L.A. Drama Critics Circle Award, Kesselring Prize, Garland Award), A Devil Inside, Wonder of the World and Rabbit Hole. His plays have been produced at theaters throughout the U.S. and around the world, including Manhattan Theatre Club, Minetta Lane Theatre, Soho Rep, Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company, South Coast Repertory and the Arts Theatre on London’s West End, among others. David is currently working on the Broadway-bound musicals High Fidelity and Shrek. He is a graduate of Sarah Lawrence College and the Juilliard School, as well as a proud member of New Dramatists, The Dramatists Guild and the Writers Guild of America. He was born in Boston, and currently resides in Brooklyn with his wife, Chris, and their five-year-old son, Nicholas.

  Rabbit Hole is copyright © 2006 by David Lindsay-Abaire

  Rabbit Hole is published by Theatre Communications Group, Inc.,

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  Profes
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