Emergence (or The Second Goodbye)

by Dennis Schebetta

ROBYN, 19, enters walking down the steps of the house, a rolling suitcase cascading clumsily behind her. She is anything but graceful as she tries to maneuver with the weight of it. 

When she gets the suitcase to the bottom step it topples over and she almost trips over it. 

She screams at it then kicks it. 

She hobbles to the couch and sits, rubbing at her foot. Her attention focuses on the house around her. 

She takes a long, deep breath.

Well. 

I guess this is it. 

Goodbye.

Mom is going to get impatient

You know how she gets

Trying to beat traffic

But I don’t care

I needed…

I needed this moment just to say…

I know I already said goodbye to you. 

When I was 10. 

At your funeral.

But now I’m leaving this house

The first house you owned as a U.S. citizen

The house where I was born

The house where you died.

(Beat.)

Papa? 

Are you listening?

(Beat.)

You used to call me your butterfly

Tell elaborate bedtime stories about how I could

Transform

Into someone else

To fly away

Like you did from your home.

But this, now, this saying goodbye 

To you

Your spirit

in this house

This goodbye seems so…

Permanent.

I guess death is like that.

(A beat. She stands and moves around the space, breathing it in.)

Change is like that, too.

Were you the one who told me 

The only constant is change?

Or was that some famous scientist I read?

(Shit.

I hope that’s not on, like, one of my first tests at Stanford. 

God, I already feel behind.)

Can I tell you a secret?

Maybe it’s not so secret…

I don’t want to go.

I don’t want to leave this house

I don’t want to get in that car with mom.

I don’t want to be at an airport.

I don’t want to get on that plane. 

I don’t want to be the first to go to college.

I don’t want to start a whole new school.

A whole new life.

I don’t want to make friends

Make a career

Make anything

I don’t want to be a butterfly

I want to stay safe in my cocoon

But the problem is…

Mostly

I don’t want to disappoint you.

I know I won’t – you always told me:

“I love you and I’m proud of you.”

And I’d say

I know.

(A beat.)

I wish you were here right now

You’d tell me I worry too much

I overthink things

I need to be present

In the moment

Focus on what matters 

Not to take things too seriously

You always had good advice.

(She looks around again as she picks up the suitcase.)

I have so many questions

You’ll say that it’s in the seeking that we find ourselves

Not necessarily the answer we want

But the answer we need

But what I need

Right now

Is for you to wrap your arms around me

And tell me everything will be okay.

But I believe matter is energy

And that energy never really disappears

And I can believe you are here

In the air

Around me.

Is that belief enough?

I don’t know.

I wish you had some words for me right now, Papa.

A whisper of wisdom.

Anything?

(Silence. She listens. 

Does the room answer?

 She smiles either way. 

Takes a deep breath and exhales deeply.)

I know. 

Enough.

Off I go to change the world

Or 

Let the world change me.

(She exits the door with her suitcase.)