O Padaria - Day 3

A bakery in Portugal. The bakery serves a butcher’s shop as well as an espresso bar. It’s not a popular bakery, there is little to no business most days. Usually the rushes come in Saturday mornings through to Sunday evening. Its 3 in the afternoon on Friday.

Maria is the daughter of the owner. She works at the bakery and has since she was 13. She is now 23. She hopes to become a journalist after she finishes school, but for the time being Maria finds herself counting money. 

Maria washes her hands and begins arranging meat pieces in the display case. She get frustrated by the way things are placed and begins to frantically reorganize everything. José enters. 

Maria: José!

José: Bon dia.

José is 38 years old and it a family friend. He is very wealthy, but it is not evident by the way he presents himself. 

Maria: I'm glad you came by.

José: I am always here, every Friday.

Maria: Is it Friday already? I swear it was Wednesday, when I woke up I thought it was Thursday.

José: If it was Wednesday you would have seen your mother at noon, and if it was Thursday, your diary delivery would have been delivered to you by 9am. Has any of those things happened?

Maria: Why no! Because it's 3pm and your here.

José: So it must be Friday.

Maria: Must be.

Maria begins shuffling meat around the icebox. She drops three steak packages. 

José: You seem a bit frazzled, Maria. 

Maria: Oh I'm not! Really. I'm just... You know!

José: No, I don't.

Maria: My mother just told me some unfortunate news about a friend, yesterday-

José: Wednesday.

Maria: Hmm, yes Wednesday that's when I saw her.

José: Who was the news about? Unless it's something you can not share.

Maria: I don't think this person would like for me to be talking about them.

José: Oh! So I know them!

Maria: I did not say that. 

José: It's perfectly okay, I'm just bugging you. I don't need to know.

Maria: Well, she told me she saw something behind the farm that was concerning- to her. She doesn't know what to do. I don't really know what to do.

José: We I would be more than happy to give you my advice. 

Maria: You and your advice.

José: It’s my advice that keeps this bakery standing, no?

Maria hands him some sausages and rolls of cheese.

Maria: How has your week been?

José: Extremely busy. I had a day off on Wednesday though I went to the Algarve. 

Maria: You work too hard. 

José: I don’t think meetings with people means I work too hard, I feel like I talk too much. 

Maria: You don’t talk much with me.

José: Every Friday I come in here and I talk to you. We do nothing but talk.

Maria: Yes, but then on Sunday nights...

José: Well there is only so much talking one can do over chicken and turkey. Are you doing anything this Sunday night? I was thinking of taking you up to the Algarve.

Maria: I’m busy.

José: You’re not working on Sunday.

Maria: You don’t know that.

José: Yes I do.

Maria: Mai makes the schedule.

José: I’m sure I can rearrange that-

Maria: And I am working until the evening. I have papers to get done for next week, and I don’t have any extensions, so I have to get them done. 

José: I can help you with your homework.

Maria: I work better by myself.

José: So you haven’t like our Sunday nights together?

Maria: I am just always tired Monday mornings, that’s all. I have to be up so early.

José: I understand. 

José turns to leave.

Maria: Have you seen Rui?

José: Why?

Maria: Well, he’s in the hospital. 

José: Since when? Maria, what happened?

Maria: You don’t know? 

José: Why would I know? Is that what happened on Wednesday?

Maria comes around the counter, she opens the door wide to let the breeze in. She faces José

Maria: Rui was meeting Mai to discuss some business. He was persuading her to hand the business over from you to him. He said he had ideas that would help the business thrive instead of fumble. Mai said she would think about it. So when she was wrapping up the hose on the side of the farmer after seeing Rui out, she heard people fighting. She called emergency before she saw anything, she was so scared, José.

José: What were the ideas Rui have for this business.

Maria: José! You know everything, Mai saw you.

José: Saw me what? I was in the Algarve Wednesday. I did not know anything about Rui and his ideas! I can’t believe you of all people-

Maria: I’m not accusing you, I am telling you what Mai saw, I was in class... Rui is in the hospital with three broken ribs. He-

José: He what?! He’s saying I beat the shit out of him.

Maria: He said he was walking around the farm to get back home when he saw you twisting a chicken’s neck and you said that, “this chicken I’m killing is going to have the same fate as you”.

José: How poetic!

Maria: José.

José: If I had known he was trying to get your poor mother to hand the business over to him I would have run him over with my car 60 miles an hour.

Maria: That doesn’t help you, José.

José: I don’t need you to believe me, I didn’t touch Rui. I hope when he recovers he can save this business because I’m done.

Maria: José, please, just tell me.

José: You are not interested in me or my business, Maria. And if you think I would have done that to Rui, so cowardly behind your mother’s farm, I have no interest in you.

Maria: Please talk to Mai and Rui, to clear all of this up, please.

José leaves.

The Grip - Day 2

It’s a lonely life, I didn’t think I was going to live this long. I always thought I was going to keel over by the time I was 16. But I’m now 20. Ellys died when she was 14, tragic accident. She was crossing the road. Why would she do such a thing is beyond me. 

Her and I left Ma’s nest before we were really even able to. Ma feel off a roof after Farmer Pete scared her. This happened right after Ellys’ first lesson. Ma finished teaching and had to pick up some food, why she would go to Farmer Pete’s roof is beyond me as well. Her and Ellys surprised and frustrated me that way. Now that they are gone, I don’t find myself getting as frustrated, or all up in arms about things anymore, maybe its the solitude of my old age that is getting the better of me. 

Anyhow, I had to teach Ellys the ropes after Ma fell. Ellys was not a natural. She was terrified that the wind was going to open up a window in the sky for her to fall through. She should have been a tortoise or a sloth. Nevertheless she learned how to fly and she never once fell through a window in the sky. Once she managed our simple transport, she was the most elegant raven I’d ever laid my eyes on, and that’s saying something because Ma was brilliant and gorgeous as she swooped down and around our nest every night, just before we snored away the moon. 

I was a decent flyer, I never thought I was any worse than the average winged creature. I picked up flight with Ma’s first lesson and I’ve since then always preferred using the wind rather than the ground. Let the human’s walk and jostle about, I can circle the sky and protect them if trouble comes from above. But that was a naive thought, I had in my youth and I quickly let that go after Ma’s last encounter with Farmer Pete.

I shouldn’t have been thinking about humans and their safety from the great big sky because they never think about us. They see us as vermin or as pets. If we aren’t in their possession, then the dirt on our worn out feathers wasn’t considered by them as patches from a hard days work, but that of grime spewed over our rabid bodies. 

Why do they think of me as a monster? My heart is the size of their ear and their claws have done more damage to me than my talons have scratched on the roof of their house. The cattle think I’m over reacting.

“You should be grateful for being cared for, Farmer Pete is on your side now, rather than the side you must battle to survive.” They clunked along in their heard. 

Little did those foolish spotted brains know where they were headed with the caring of Farmer Pete, they were so gracious to receive. I’ve seen where those cattle wind up, something a creature would never let happen to another creature they cared about.

They’re slopping sucks who don’t know the difference from up to down, how could they know? If I were them I would probably be as gracious as them, blind to Farmer Pete’s ways.

But he has clipped my wings and destroyed my nest that I have been building to withstand earth’s sudden attacks of storms since Ma fell. My only source of survival, flight has been snatched away from me. Now I’m a grounded bird, old and tired.

I’m been this way since I was 16. I honestly felt I was going to meet Ma that day when I picked at the scarecrow. Ellys never liked me going near the scarecrow, just because of the fear it instilled in her, but it’s stuffed body never frightened me. Ellys was gone, so her constant nagging had ceased and I needed stronger material for my nest. I began picking and dropping pieces of the scarecrow’s hat, making a pile below on the ground. I couldn’t have been there for very long until I saw Farmer Pete bolt across the field. He was going to shoot me, I thought. But as he approached I didn’t see a shot gun, or even a shovel to whack me away with. What was he going to do? Grab me by my neck and twist me to my death?

Well, that’s what he attempted to do and he was half successful. Why didn’t I fly? Why didn’t I back away? Why didn’t I fall to the ground? I just froze and allowed this man to wrap his claws around me. As he tried twisting my neck in his beefy sweaty hands, he was pulling and snagging my ebony feathers, which seemed to wound me more than the crushing pending death he was forcing on me. I managed to squeal and squeak as each feather got plucked from my body. These sounds scared Farmer Pete as he lost his grip around my body. He fumbled with me as if I were a stray piglet running away, and a piglet would have been more graceful than me in this very moment as I hurled to the ground.

The next thing I opened my eyes to were iron rods of grey. I was confused. I was certain as I dropped to the ground, that if the fall didn’t kill me, surely Farmer Pete would have. He instead locked me in a cage. Was thing going to be funny for him? How did I serve him as pet in a cage?

It would have been better if I had fell like Ma and keeled over. I wouldn’t be the laughing stalk of the entire farm as I hop around in my cage like a rabbit tying to get around. All I think about is my nest now and how it’s enduring the weather without my supervision over it. It probably has fumbled to the ground, a place where no animals of flight belong.  

The Need to Pee in Westminster Abbey

I’ve been waiting my entire life to visit this majestic, gothic, stone beauty; Westminster Abbey. All the life and death that these walls have seen from the inside is unfathomable to my 18 year old being. I’m standing at the threshold with Jess. She shares the same excitement, but she has walked on top of those graves before with her family.

“This might be my favourite place in London, I can’t wait to see your reaction.” She is giddy at the thought of how giddy I will be, and I am already giddy. I’m so giddy I keep chugging my water, because heat and giddiness really parches me. 

“It’ll be 9 pounds for you and 18 for you.” The admissions lady says as she hands back our Canadian passports.

“Hold on, I’m a student just like her! I should be paying 9 pounds as well.” Jess never likes to be overpriced, a trait her and her mother share.

“You’re 19, only people 18 and under pay 9 pounds.” She spoke so elegantly with her English dialect, I could do nothing but smile. I was way too excited to be here.

“This is ridiculous! The world is against me!” Forking over her money. Jess leads our way into the Abbey, “I don’t know why you are smiling, I had to pay double the price.”

“Because to be 18 in London means you get to pay children’s admission for most things and are legal to drink, and not to mention I’m in the most beautiful place on earth!” I explained walking into the very cool, air conditioned Abbey. 

Jess got over paying double the admission, but she would never let down that that was a prime example of ageism. We began a tour throughout the Abbey with a very knowledgeable man, Hubert. He wore a robe that looked as if he belonged in the Supreme Court, all Hubert needed was the wig. 

We walk over Charles Darwin’s resting place, something I feel is very ironic. As we pass other dignitaries and famous people’s plots, all that water and my tiny bladder begin failing me. The cold isn’t helping and the dry air from the air conditioner just makes me more thirsty, though every time I raise my water bottle I panicked, debating whether I should interrupt our tour guide to ask where the bathroom would be in this historic building. I could hold my bladder until the tour was over... hopefully.

“How long does this tour usually last?” 

“Do not tell me you have to go to the bathroom again,” Jess looking at me with her annoyed Sarah Jessica Parker eyes, as if she were Carrie Bradshaw talking to Miranda.

“No.” Damn it! She knows me too well!

Hubert took us up the nave, past the quire, to the shire. This was where royalty was  buried! But who was here? Which of my favourite royal figures laid to rest here? I could feel my heart racing... and my bladder, needing desperately to be emptied. 

“Hubert, where are...?” 

No, Lisa, do not ask where the washrooms are in front of the dead royals. Oh! like it matters! But that voice was right, what if -

“Where are the queens buried?” Hubert read my mind... too bad he could sense my shifting legs as a sign that I need a washroom desperately. This is ridiculous, I am not in Kindergarden, I should be able to ask where the toilets were without shame and without-

“Queen Elizabeth is right in there.”

“Oh!” I silently whimper. Caught off guard by the news, I suddenly feel like an 80 year old woman who forgot to wear her diaper... nope it’s just a dribble, nothing to worry about. I take a deep breath and feel a wave of calmness wash over me. I don’t have to go anymore, maybe a little leak was all I needed to hold me off the toilets for a few more moments.

“The second? Since when did she die?!” Jess stormed into the little alcove of a room.

“Jess, this is Queen Elizabeth I.” I’m utterly amazed as I inch near the encasement.

“Oh, so like that chick you think you were in your past life.” Jess said as she rounded the room.

I could only have made up such a tale in my head of being Queen Elizabeth I in my past life, but hey! A girl can dream.

“What’s underneath the Queen?” I ask as I peered below.

“Mary I.” 

“Her sister?! The sister who wanted to kill Elizabeth?!” Slightly, I was proud for Lizzie, but felt slightly offended for Mary.

“Ha! I relate to Mary so much right now!” Jess exited the Chapel.

Even though I was the only one in the room now, my claustrophobia was creeping up on me. The thing with my fear for small spaces brings about a reaction that makes me want to go the washroom... so naturally my full bladder made itself present to me again.

Just ask Hubert now, you’ve already seen Queen Elizabeth I.

“My favourite place in the entire world, Poets’ Corner, all these writers and artist are buried there.” Jess saying as she leads me to the literal corner. 

“Jess... I really need to go...”

“Lisa! You can not interrupt this tour.”

“I can’t control my bladder!”

“Just do a quick round of the corner and then ask Hubert where you can deposit your waste.”

I take a shallow breath and began my brisk walk around Poets’ Corner, knowing full well that I will be needing to be making a proper round after my bladder became emptied.

I suddenly turn and Shakespeare’s head is two inches above mine.

“Whoa, hey there Billy.”

I step back a few feet and noticed the gaze of the Shakespeare head was staring at my feet. Uh, actually no, he’s gazing at Laurence Olivier!

“Whoa, Laurence!”

This was so cool, but I was basically dancing on Olivier grave, preventing myself from urinating on the great actors resting place.

Hubert was coming up to me, “Doesn’t this just tickle your fancy?”

“Definitely Hubert! But I really need to know where the washrooms are.”

“Washrooms? You must mean the toilets, they are around the corner.”

“Yes thank you!” I turn to hurry off, but stomped on Olivier’s grave and forcibly whispered to the ground “I will be right back to say a nice little non denominational prayer for you and Billy’s souls, I’ll just be right back, don’t go anywhere.”

And I run off to the nearest toilet as Jess shakes her head from Charles Dickens’ grave. 

My Challenge

The new year has begun!
I've started the first few weeks of 2015 questioning what it is I really want to do with my life. Because my inherit nature involves creation and story telling I've realized what I need to challenge myself and exercise and push myself.
This being my last year at Humber in the Theatre Performance Program, I feel myself as a performer has come a long way and I have a lot to offer and I will be continuing to learn and grow as a performer, even long after I graduate.
As a creator, I need to work and work tirelessly. I need the challenge to build myself into the story teller I want to be.

So my challenge will be to write 1000 words everyday. Essentially I want to be writing short stories, poems, plays for the next 1000 days. Many have done something similar and I've thought before "How absolutely fucking crazy that is", but as an artist and a writer I must do this for the health of my mind, body and spirit. It'll be good for my artist and person as well... at least I hope.

This will be difficult, but I am going to do it. So please follow along and I encourage any followers from my social media outlets to drop suggestions into what they want to see me write about (ie themes, story ideas, motifs, etc.)

WISH ME LUCK

Lisa Alves