bekah brunstetter
Bekah Brunstetter I care deeply. About a lot of things. Like really, really deep. Ow
playwright in brooklyn, NY

Hot

June 25th, 2014 by Bekah Brunstetter

1. HOW GREAT IS THIS?

IT IS LITERALLY CALLED JEALOUSY.JPG. She’s so mad because she’s like, But I SAID I WAS GOING TO WEAR BEIGE.

2. It’s really important to me that I’m accessible via the internets, so that anyone, anywhere, anytime, if they’re working on something I wrote, can email me with questions. I like being forced to answer questions about what the H I was trying to say and do. I just got a message with some questions about a play I wrote years ago — People Don’t change (they just change their hair) for an — evening of plays  that raised funds for breast cancer research? Yes. That. Then, I was beyond fixated on Hot. Like, what it means, what it doesn’t mean, how to be it, why to not be it, the power it gives, it’s fleeting nature, etc etc etc. I dug through the old hard drive, sifted through old plays, elephants and bible camp and carbon emissions, and found it. It is thrilling and weird to visit your brain, eight years ago.

ABBY: Okay so then how. HOW do I be hot.

JEN: You have to find it inside of yourself.

ABBY: Gross.

JEN: I’m serious.

ABBY: Like in my belly button?

JEN: In your soul, stupid.

ABBY: My soul is not hot. My soul eats a lot of doughnuts.

JEN: Tell it to stop.

ABBY: It can’t.

JEN: Train it to eat carrots instead.

ABBY: But I want to be happy. I want to be happy.  And also hot.

JEN: You have to start with Happy.

ABBY: And carrots.

JEN: No. Start with: I love myself.

ABBY: Gross.

JEN: No. Abby. Look in the mirror.

ABBY: No.

JEN: Come on. Look at yourself. Really look at yourself.

ABBY: I don’t want to. It hurts.

JEN: Why?

ABBY: Not even my mom thinks I’m hot. If my mom doesn’t think I’m hot, who will?

JEN: You want your Mom to think you’re hot?

ABBY: I want to be beautiful.

JEN: Look. Look.

ABBY looks in the mirror.  Tears come to her eyes.

There is no one else like you.

ABBY: True.

JEN: And that’s beautiful.

ABBY: I’d rather be you.

JEN: You don’t wanna be me.

ABBY: Yep – yes I do. I want to have affairs with violinists. I want them to write me songs –

JEN: And then be done with me –

ABBY: Buy me organic dinners –

JEN: And then use me –

ABBY: Kiss me without me having to ask –

JEN: Show me off to their friends –

ABBY: Wake up in their lairs filled with string instruments —

JEN: You own yourself. You have control over yourself.

ABBY: But that’s pretty much it.

JEN: But at least you have that.

ABBY: You don’t?

JEN: I belong to every person who’s ever touched me. I don’t belong to myself anymore. I wish I was you.

ABBY: I wish I was you.

JEN: I wish I was you.

ABBY: It’s exhausting. All the time we spend wishing we were each other.

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