Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of sexual content.
CHARACTERS:
Cornelius Plumb: An autistic, musical genius child, age 12, in an era when little was known about autism, and one diagnosed as such was generally institutionalized. While he is highly dysfunctional on the social level, he is intellectually far advanced over his classmates, most of whom ignore him, but some of whom bully him and treat him unmercifully. When he speaks, it is in a clipped, non-fluid manner, but the content of his speech is generally uncensored. He is uncommonly handsome for a 12-year-old, well-groomed, and well-dressed.
Cililla Queez: An apparent product of Cornelius’ mind, there to guide him through a rough emotional patch. Only Cornelius can see Cililla. And while they are able to converse openly with each other, no one else is privy to these conversations. [This is accomplished by fading into shadow all but the two, who are in full light.]
Mr. Hiney: 8th-grade teacher. A real sleaze whose wandering eyes reveal an interest in what’s going on beneath the young girls’ desks. The students generally know what’s going on, and occasionally some of the girls test their theories.
SETTING:
An early 1950s 8th-grade classroom. A prominence of charts and pictures of branches of government, portraits of presidents, and historical figures populate the walls. A large teacher’s desk, metal-skirted on the sides and front, sits CENTERSTAGE, right, and faces left. Neat stacks of books and papers are on the desk. Traditional 1950s students’ desks with lift-up tops and book storage compartments beneath, are in the usual rows facing the teacher’s desk and extend back to stage left. The exit door is UPSTAGE right. An oversized clock is above the door. [Remember this is from the actors’ perspective, not the audience’s. To the latter, what’s given as left is right, upstage is, to them, downstage. That’s “theater” tradition.]
AT RISE:
Students are chatting with one other animatedly, while MR. HINEY’S eyes wander the room, anchoring at times under some of the girls’ desktops. He looks at his watch and raps on his desk for order. Most respond. A few boys continue their conversations in the rear. They are looking covertly at CORNELIUS and whispering.
MR. HINEY:
(Calmly, without looking at his intended targets, speaking evenly)
Mr. Jones. Mr. Delaney. Please confine your chatter to the playground.
(Waits until order is restored. He stands and addresses the class as he strolls up one row and down the next, touching a desk now and again.)
Class… I’m afraid most of you aren’t taking the matter seriously enough. Forty-two school days remain until summer break. Thirty-five days remain until that day when each one of you sits at your desk—it will be a Friday morning—and your little hearts will be pounding under your little blouses and, you fellas, under your sweaty t-shirts—and do you know why class?
(A few mutter, “Constitution Day …”)
(At some point during MR. HINEY’S address to the class, the door opens and a very confident and unselfconscious CILILLA QUEEZ enters. She appears to be the age of the other girls, if a bit more physically developed. She is wearing a quite short (for the times) skirt, cut three inches above her knees, compared to the other girls’ skirts, which are required to be below the knees. No one, except CORNELIUS, notices her. She passes by the teacher’s desk and makes her way to the occupied desk in the row to CORNELIUS’ right and directly across from him. She slides onto the desktop and stares curiously at CORNELIUS. The little girl who occupies that desk looks straight ahead, as if she is staring through CILILLA. CORNELIUS is clearly agitated. He keeps his eyes averted from hers. His breathing is loud.)
MR. HINEY [continued]
(Turning to CORNELIUS)
Mr. Plumb … are you quite all right?
CORNELIUS:
(Blinking, looking straight ahead)
Mr. Plumb … is … quite … all right.
MR. HINEY:
Excellent! Then I may proceed?
CORNELIUS:
(Clearly confused)
Yes …
(His words are attended by general tittering in the classroom.)
MR. HINEY:
That’s quite enough, class …. Thank you, Cornelius. I shall proceed. So … yes, Constitution Day! That Friday, you will be expected to pass the Constitution test. To fail the test means you will repeat the eighth grade. Do you understand that, class? You will repeat the eighth grade.
(He continues strolling up and down the rows, touching desks.)
Multiple-choice, short answer, true-and-false. After you turn in your 250- response answer sheet and leave the classroom, I suspect that weekend will be the longest in your young lives. That weekend will be followed by Shock Monday, during which the school will be closed, but the names of those who will be continuing on to high school will be posted on the classroom door. If you see your name on that list … I’m sure you will enjoy your extra day away from school.
(A very long dramatic pause, as he gathers the eyes of all students)
If, on the other hand, your name is not on that list—
[Stepping away from the play with a little stage direction: The moment CILILLA QUEEZ speaks, all other speech is interrupted, sinking into a kind of suspended animation. Simultaneously, all but CILILLA QUEEZ and CORNELIUS go into shadow, while a circle of light surrounds the two.]
CILILLA QUEEZ:
(In full voice, staring directly at CORNELIUS)
Cornelius Plumb … My name is Cililla Queez.
CORNELIUS:
(Rattled by her voice, blinking, avoiding her eyes. As he speaks the rest of the classroom returns to full stage light.)
Do not … talk. Mr. Hiney … is … talking.
(Scattered, partially subdued laughter, stopping when Mr. Hiney speaks.)
MR. HINEY:
(Glancing, confused, at CORNELIUS, regains composure.)
Yes. Thank you for telling them, Cornelius. So … if your name is not on that list, I can only imagine the gnashing of teeth and the beating of … the beating of breasts.
(Accompanied by snickering from some quarters of the room, Mr. Hiney resumes up the row and to his desk where he sits.)
MR. HINEY: [Continued]
Ladies and gentlemen, those who just chittered like a treeful of monkeys at my use of the word breast will probably be the very ones whose names will not be on that list. I suggest if anyone thought the word breast was even worthy of an inward smile—or if the word breast causes you embarrassment or unease—that you occupy your summer break coming to grips not just with your hormonal changes, but with gaining a level of maturity. Of course, if you fail the Constitution test you will have an extra year to raise the level of—
CILILLA QUEEZ:
(All others, save CORNELIUS, are frozen in suspended animation. She speaks to CORNELIUS who is anxiously averting his eyes from hers and in two inches of space above his desk, is tracing the infinity sign, like a recumbent figure- eight, with a little movement of his forefinger.)
Mr. Hiney is a pervert, of course. He thinks his secret is safe. The kids know, though. Some little girls have picked up on his restless eyes and are conducting their own little experiments.
(CORNELIUS squirms, blinks madly, breathes heavily, but does not look at her, and does not speak, remembering the classroom’s laughter a moment earlier.)
CILILLA: [Continued]
You can speak. No one, except me, can hear you now, Cornelius. I am the new director of your drama. You’ve outgrown Pidely-Poo and his pixie dust.
(CORNELIUS jerks his head to her at the mention of PIDELY-POO, but immediately turns away, still terribly confused.)
CILILLA: [Continued]
I know you want to talk to me, Cornelius. But I frighten you. And that’s okay. Just remember, no one can hear us. Just like with Pidely-Poo’s pixie dust, only cleaner. Look at me, Cornelius.
(Cornelius turns, but holds up his palm to block his sight from the indiscreet separation of her legs.)
CILILLA: [Continued]
Ah, you do understand … I had to find out. We’ve got work to do.
(Crosses her legs.)
So … Pidely-Poo served you well from Kindergarten ’til now. In fact, you wouldn’t have survived childhood without him. You know you’re different from the rest of the kids. You speak in a special language with an obscure alphabet that only you and Pidely-Poo knew the subtleties of. Pidely’s only job was to keep you safe from those who were afraid of you and your language they didn’t understand. And that was pretty much everybody. He had to protect you while keeping you in the same social … corral as everyone else. Pidely-Poo did a great job, Cornelius.
(Uncrossing her legs, but keeping her knees together.)
Now you face some special challenges that are beyond what Pidely-Poo could do.
CORNELIUS:
Give me … back … Pidely-Poo.
CILILLA:
There is nothing to give back, Cornelius. I know you miss him, and that change is really hard for you. But Pidely-Poo’s fairy powers worked on you only while you were a child. Things are going on inside you now, Sweetie Pie, that were beyond Pidely-Poo’s grasp.
(CORNELIUS squirms and emits a small moan. Then his eyes close and he visibly relaxes. His head and shoulders begin to replace the movement his forefinger had been making of the infinity sign. He moves in a rhythmic swaying motion, as though keeping time with an unheard inner melody.)
CILILLA: [Continued]
Yes, my dear, lovely Cornelius … this is your language communicating to you. It’s the music that bubbles up from some deep channel within you. Enjoy it with me for a moment. It was Pidley who understood how lovely and dangerous your inner music was. He watched you develop it in private, but before they caged you up in Kindergarten, he taught you how to channel all that musical energy into that ritualized movement of your index finger.
(She slides off the desktop. Standing before CORNELIUS, she grasps his arms and gently urges him to his feet. He is stiff, almost robotic. Guiding him between the desks to an open space beyond the last row, she places his left hand on her waist, his other hand in hers, and they begin to move in a stiff, awkward circle. Their movement is crude and jerky at first, then becomes more fluid as they move about; soon, their bodies are twirling and swaying as one, and CORNELIUS is smiling, his eyes closed in a kind of singular ecstasy.)
CILILLA: [Continued]
(Speaking as they dance)
See? You’re letting me be your instrument, your piano. You are lost in the music you are creating. It’s a beautiful thing because it is just you and your piano.
(She disengages from his arms, and while he continues to circle that portion of the room in self-rapture, she returns to slip back onto the desktop and bobs her head to the imagined melody.)
CILILLA: [Continued]
(In a loud voice)
Cornelius!… Cornelius!
(Stopping with a jolt, CORNELIUS appears disoriented. Then deflated, shoulders sagging, he returns stiffly to his desk. Resumes, after a moment, tracing eternity with his forefinger on his desktop.)
CILILLA: [Continued]
I’m sorry I had to interrupt you. You were having such a lovely time, Cornelius. Just you and your music. Kind of floating out there among the planets. Sorry to crash you back into your earth, but it’s where you belong. It’s where everyone belongs. It’s just a shame you have to stay in the same corral with all the people who don’t understand your music.
(She extends her foot to nudge CORNELIUS’S attention.)
CORNELIUS:
Pidely makes … me laugh.
(He smiles but it is trembly.)
CILILLA:
I know he did, Sweetie. And you need to laugh more. And smile. You have such a glorious smile.
CORNELIUS:
Where’s Pidely-Poo? I … want … Pidely-Poo.
CILILLA:
Pidely-Poo has been sent to help someone who is very young—like you used to be. I’ve been sent to help you now.
CORNELIUS:
I don’t … want you.
CILILLA:
I know you don’t want me, Cornelius. I frighten you. But you need me. You’ll see very soon just how much you need me.
(Sliding off the desk.)
Now I must go, Sweet Cornelius. I’ll be back tomorrow. You’ll learn to like me. I promise. It’ll be fun.
(She turns, makes her way back toward the door. When she gets to MR. HINEY’S desk, she stops and overturns the full glass of water, laying it on its side, and while it drips to the floor, she smiles back mischievously at CORNELIUS. She proceeds on through the door. The moment the door closes, the stage comes into full light, and MR. HINEY and the classroom are reanimated.)
MR. HINEY:
(Confounded upon seeing the flooded desk, he rights the glass, opens a drawer, removes some paper towels, and sops up the water; then, holding up stacks of saturated papers and shaking them, he addresses the class.)
As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, we have a minor disaster here. I want you to proceed quietly out the door, and without talking, make your way to the far side of the playground. Mingle there until the bell rings in five minutes. Then you may go home.
(As the children file out the door, CORNELIUS is the last to approach MR. HINEY’S desk.)
MR. HINEY: [Continued]
Good day, Cornelius. I will see you tomorrow.
(As CORNELIUS passes his desk.)
MR. HINEY: [Continued]
Cornelius?
(CORNELIUS turns, jerkily.)
MR. HINEY: [Continued]
You see things, Cornelius. Things the others don’t see. Isn’t that …?
(CORNELIUS is visibly conflicted, confused, breathes heavily, seems to be suffering through a fit of blinking tics.)
MR. HINEY: [Continued]
I’m sorry … Never mind.
CORNELIUS:
(Turning back from the door)
Mr. … Hiney … Um … Yes.
END OF SCENE ONE
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Author Notes
Thanks to Jason Rosewell on Unsplash for the photo.
My apologies for the length of this scene. I am largely unfamiliar with the ins and outs of playwrighting. This first scene required some explanation of the spotlighting of Cornelius and Cililla while the rest of the actors are in shadow and suspended animation. In later scenes, I suspect I'll be able to use more of a shorthand explanation. In the meantime *throwing up hands* it is what it is.
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