COURTYARD IN A BAD NEIGHBORHOOD

Characters (In order of appearance)

Felix: (male, adult) World-wearied blogger who comes to the courtyard looking for stories. Acts as narrator for the story

Troubadour: (male, adult) Blind, homeless musician who sits in the courtyard.

Melika: (female, adult) Sells fruit from a stall in the courtyard. Mother of Boone and wife of Gilroy.

Boone: (male, infant) Melika and Gilroy's son. Played by a baby doll most likely.

Hale: (Male, college aged) Incendiary young man who sits in the courtyard.

Mr. Swariski: (male, older adult) One of Melika's customers

Naomi: (female, adult) Hard-working divorced mother of Aleta, sister of Melika.

Aleta: (female, high school aged) Introverted daughter of Aleta, has something "different" about her mentally.

Jason: (male, college aged) One of Hale's roommates

Tyrone: (male, college aged) one of Hale's roommates

Mrs. Newbury: (female, adult) One of Melika's customers, disapproves of Gilroy.

Carol Skinner: (female, adult) One of Melika's customers disapproves of gossip.

Gilroy: (male, adult) Sullen husband of Melika, father of Boone.

Margaret: (female, adult) Neighbor no one really knows. Woman who works two jobs.

Student 1: (male or female, high school aged) A student from Aleta's school

Student 2: (most likely female, high school aged) A student from Aleta's school)

Student 3: (male of female, high school aged) A student from Aleta's school

Reporter: (male or female, adult) A newspaper reporter

Dominic: (male, adult) An old friend of Troubadour's.

[Author's note: The musical instrument Troubadour plays can be anything based on director and actor preference. When the text refers to [instrument] you can substitute it with the name of the instrument the actor plays]

Courtyard in a Bad Neighborhood

ACT 1 SCENE 1- Prologue

(The show opens to a blackout. FELIX's voice, prerecorded, is heard)

Felix's Voice: I have become known as the man who's walked the globe. I have seen remote villages nestled into hill sides, bazaars where all of humanity seems to be crammed into a single city block. Uganda, Iran, Ireland, Peru, you name it, I've been there. I am known as the one who is not just up to date on world news. I have lived it. Protests, wars, refugee camps. I have drunk the evil of man's heart, breathed it in, let it settle in my lungs like ash…

All right, don't tune me out just yet. This story does not take place anywhere unusual. The location isn't what's important here really. What's important to this story is people. I hesitate to say even that. That only grazes the surface of what this story means for me. It misses the extent to which I was truly impacted by these people I met, the way my heart was rearranged. I had borne witness to a hundred thousand stories before this, but only in this one did I become a character myself and realize the capacity to which my words could build up or tear down another man.

If I may, I would like to, as I've done many times before, tell you my story. You can decide then if it's a tale worth telling. Sound fair enough? First, I would like you to imagine this:

(As he begins to describe the neighborhood and the courtyard the scene slowly materializes on stage. First you hear the noises of the city street, then chattering people, perhaps Hale's music or Melika calling her wares.)

A neighborhood near downtown of a city of considerable size. There is always a constant humming of noise that those living there have learned to tune out. Cars, buses, the chattering of the neighbors, the shrieking of children playing in the streets. The buildings here are brick and the filth of the polluted city air has not only stained the buildings, but seems to have sunk into the mortar. People sit in doorways or at fire escapes to elude the heat when the air conditioning costs too much. This neighborhood is the "bad" neighborhood. It is the neighborhood they tell tourists to drive through with their doors locked, but it is very much alive. Do you have that in your head? Good.

(As he begins to describe the courtyard, the lights come up slowly on the courtyard itself, empty except for TROUBADOUR who sits on the floor against the wall with his instrument frozen, a part of the backdrop.)

Now imagine in the palpitating heart of this sick, sick town, tucked away inside of a wall of crumbling brick buildings, under banners of dirty clothes billowing from their lines and open windows from whence those living there call out to each other, a courtyard. Now, this courtyard is far from the lush lawns or lavish ornaments that the word "courtyard" implies. The ground probably hasn't been repaved since it was laid, empty vines cling to the walls, and too often trash is crowded in the corners just out of the pathways where the people who live in the surrounding buildings walk. Just like the town, this courtyard is alive, set to a rhythm that repeats day after day after day.

Now imagine an early afternoon in late spring as the citizens of the courtyard go about their business.

(MELIKA and HALE enter. MELIKA, holding BOONE, goes to the little ramshackle stall that she sells fruit from that most likely has a little crib set up by it and HALE sits against the wall opposite of TROUBADOUR. The lights are still dim)

This was the final stop on my last journey of walking the globe, and this is where my story begins…