what is it like to be enough? – Writers House Review

em savarese

cast: warren oleander

synopsis: warren clashes between his desire to be with someone he loves and his own fears of not being worthy enough, unable to get past his own perceptions of himself.

* * *

act one.

what is it like to be close to me?

At rise: Warren Oleander, 18, sits alone on a bench center stage. He is set to the stage-right-most side of the bench, leaving lots of empty space on the other side. He wears a light jacket most definitely not suitable for the cold weather, emphasized by him shivering.

WARREN

This bench is so cold. I hate the goddamn cold. I can’t imagine anyone in the world who enjoys the cold. But he seemed perfectly fine; it was like it didn’t even phase him. It’s almost like he’s some sort of space heater and heats himself up from the inside even when Jack Frost pokes his stupidly long nose up my- ugh. How can he stand it? He’s like the sun or something. All… sunshiney and sappy and whatever.

He’s so goddamn annoying, too. The guy follows me after a gig at a bar that practically no one goes to and he’s like “Hey, sit on this bench with me!” I said no, obviously, but he just couldn’t take no for an answer, so I gave up and I sat on the bench with him. But I’m sitting far, far right, you know, so normally a person would take the hint and sit on the other side, right? Wrong! He sits so close to me on the right side of the bench that our legs are touching. It’s absolutely revolting, and I hated every second of it. From the fabric of his pants to the way his leg was bouncing up and down like he’s got ADHD or something, it was all just awful. There was a whole other side of the bench for him to sit on, and yet he chose right next to me. What? Why would someone do that? That’s ridiculous. There is so much space available to you and yet you decide to both squish me and make yourself uncomfortable in a two-for-one deal. If you ask me, that’s idiotic.

And then he just started being nice to me. Why the hell was he being nice for no reason? It’s just so boring to be nice. What’s the point in it? Neither side benefits from it. I don’t want someone to waste their breath giving me a compliment when I know there are plenty worse things that could be said about me, and I’d prefer to hear them. Wouldn’t you rather someone tell you the truth than pretend you’re alright? He said he “liked my playing.” That doesn’t mean anything. He probably didn’t even know what the hell he was talking about. “Liked my playing.” So awful. He tried to be nice, sure. Whatever. But then, he started calling me stupid, but he did that about fifteen hundred times by the end of the conversation, so I’m starting to think he didn’t actually mean it. I don’t know why he wouldn’t mean it. I’m… I’m mixing myself up. I just can’t tell if he’s genuine with me or not. And because of that, I called him stupid too, but in the right amount where I actually mean it. Because he is. Stupid, that is. Sunshiney and stupid. I hate those kinds of people.

He’s always getting in my business, too. I hate it when people do that. He started asking me about myself, like asking me if my favorite color is ice blue- which it is, and I have no idea how he guessed that- and asking about how I started playing guitar. That’s probably the worst kind of small talk there is. You know, the one where you just talk in circles and nothing is learned and nothing is gained. It’s useless, and again, I hated every second of every word he said. He probably does that to everyone, I bet. It’s not good to get in other people’s business. If I wanted someone in my business, I’d get a therapist. Or a personal diplomat to talk to people for me, which honestly doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I’ll look into that, because I’m sick of this people stuff. I wish I could just live alone, far off somewhere and not have to deal with losers like him who think they can talk to me like we’re chums. We’re not, and I barely even know him, so I don’t care what happens to him. He can take a life-ending hike for all I care. He’d go up a steep, steep mountain with a high drop where he can fly like the Icarus-incarnate he is. Then he’d fall and crash and splat all over the mountainside, and his guts would rain down on a small country village, and…

Eh, maybe not entirely ideal. I guess he can live. I guess. That’s not exactly going to hinder my future, as long as he doesn’t get in my way again. Maybe I’ll luck out and never see him again, that’d be just peachy. I don’t even know where he lives. Does he live in town? Is he even 18? Ugh, that’d be weird. He was obviously taller than me, but if he was like… 17, that would be so gross. How’d he even get into a bar, anyway? He seems like the kind of person who would forget his ID at home and make the staff think he’s just a kid trying to get inside. I don’t think I saw him drink inside, either. He kept looking at me though… weirdo. I hope he’s not a goddamn stalker or something. Honestly, he probably just has no concept of social skills. That strikes me as just about right. It fits with the whole ADHD thing, I guess. Maybe he’s just a middle schooler trapped in an adult man’s body, just trying to get close to a cool guitar player he saw at a bar. What a loser.

But, I dunno. He was just being nice or whatever. That’s not the worst thing in the world. Nobody else said a thing about my playing. It was just him, and he followed me all that way just to say some stupid garbage like that. In a way, that’s… I don’t know, I’m not sure how to feel about that. I still think he should get as far away from me as possible. Serves him right for sitting as close to me as possible on the bench. After that stunt, there’s no way I’m letting him get close to me again. He should take some classes on social skills and take some adderall for his dumb leg bounce situation. It’s just so… annoying. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m confusing myself. Just don’t sit so close to me, ever again. I don’t like the cold, and you certainly weren’t cold, but don’t sit like that next to me. I didn’t ask.

* * *

act two.

what is it like to be stuck with me?

At rise: Two weeks later, Warren again sits on the same bench, dressed in different clothes. He’s more centered than before, but still leaves a great deal of room on the other side.

WARREN

I thought I’d made myself abundantly clear that I wasn’t enough for you. You sat there calling me “nice” and “sweet” for maybe ten whole minutes- which is such a waste of time, by the way- when you should know for a fact that my actions have never aligned in any possible way that even gets close to being similar. I’m not nice. I don’t like sitting out in the cold freezing my ass off just to talk to you. And let’s face it, there’s nothing that’s going to make me want to do something that idiotic. When the time comes, I’m not going to stick my hand out to rescue you. I’ll try, but it’s going to be a failed effort when it happens. I am not a hero, or a good person, or a good boyfriend. I’ve never been a boyfriend to a… well. A boy. It’s basically an experiment for me, and experiments never guarantee the results you want. I’m not a scientist, either, so this isn’t my job. I’m not a professional at love, or at caring. I don’t put in the effort, and you chased me down anyway because, what? You “saw something good inside me”? That doesn’t exist. That doesn’t exist in anyone. We’re all the same. We’re all monsters waiting to fulfill our selfish desires without a moment’s thought for anyone but ourselves. I don’t think of you like you think of me. I don’t think about your face, or your kindness, or how much you mean to me. I don’t think about all the places I could kiss you for the first time. I don’t think about what life could be like with you. I. Don’t. Think. Of. You. I think only of myself, and what I want. You’re just a want for me. You’re barely even a person to me. I just want you, the concept of you, of someone. I told you not to sit so close to me, and now you’re stuck with me. I hope you’re happy.

My only question is why do you keep on throwing yourself at me? You know there are other options, right? There are people who don’t play hard to get, and who actually give two shits about you. It’s not that hard for a normal person who’s not emotionally stunted, so go look for someone normal. There’s going to be people who ask you how you are and don’t push you away, and give you things and make you smile on purpose. I’m not going to do that. I’m not even sure why you smile around me. Don’t you want someone whose goal is to make you smile? Aren’t you curious how it might feel to be cared about instead of ran from? Why do you insist on chasing me? Who in their right mind is going to like someone that doesn’t show interest back? If you’re not mentally well, maybe that makes a lot of sense. I don’t know if you think you’re trying to fix me, or just understand me or whatever the hell, but it’s not what you should be doing when there’s clearly more fish out in the proverbial sea. You know I’m not all there is, don’t you? So why do you insist on me above everybody else? Don’t you think it’s unfair to the people who deserve that?

Like, what about that DJ guy? He makes you laugh constantly. He genuinely tries to make you laugh, I’ve seen him. And he’s not especially funny, but at least he’s actually trying, for all it’s worth. And he’s nice. Sure, he’s not Casanova, but again, he tries. I don’t try. I don’t want to try. I don’t put in the effort, or seek anything out like guys like him. I’m not in this life to get a relationship. It’s not me. He can go right ahead, though, and pull his stunts all over the place and act like a hotshot around you to make you laugh. It’s not like I actually want him laying a finger on you, but… Why don’t I want him laying a finger on you? You know what? Fine, go with him. Two-time me. I don’t care. I don’t want anything to do with you, so go ahead and live your life without being assigned to me. Commitment was never my thing anyway, and it’s probably not his either. He’ll hurt you, and I won’t care one bit. You’ll just be a shared thing for me, and I can handle that just fine. It’s fine. I’m fine.

… But god, I just don’t want him near you! Sometimes he gets too close, you know? You look like you both talk a lot. Does he ask about us? What does he know about what’s happened with us? What does he know about me? I don’t want him knowing anything about me. If I pass you two talking one day and he side-eyes me- like, with malicious intent, you know what I mean- then I don’t know what I’m going to do. I might punch him in the face for looking at me wrong. He’d deserve it, because he’s obviously making you think I’m bad and that he’s the good guy. He doesn’t seem right in the head, you know? He seems like he’d take out all his anger on you and push you away at the slightest hint of commitment or emotion. He seems like one of those guys. He’d leave that bench the second you sat down on it and never say a word to you ever again. He’d hurt you in ways even worse than I could. So nevermind, I don’t want him near us. Good riddance if you never talk to him again. He’s nothing but a waste of time and a waste of breath and just… bad news. Goddamn stupid DJ guy.

Maybe better yet, don’t be with anyone. I think you’re too good for that sort of emotionally charged nonsense. It doesn’t get you anywhere good. I’m obviously not enough for you, and that guy… I don’t want to even think about him. I think you should just focus on yourself. Leave me, leave him. Go find a hobby that’s not following assholes after underground shows because you “want to get to know them better” and sitting on cold-ass benches with them even though you’re obviously freezing your ass off. Because now that you’ve gone ahead and done that stupid move, you’re with me now. You’re stuck with me. You’re stuck with me, and I hope you’re happy.

To some extent, I guess I am too.

* * *

act three.

what is it like to be enough?

At rise: Warren again is at the same bench, this time sitting on the floor at center, his back against the seat of the bench, his head resting on the wood with his face turned toward the sky.

WARREN

I thought I wouldn’t be back here again. It’s cold. I hate the cold. But it’s become the only place I can sit and think. Well… I guess I’m not sitting on the bench this time. I don’t want to, though. It feels tainted or something. I can barely get my thoughts out anywhere else, though. So I’m here. I’m here, and I’m stuck here, and there’s nowhere else for me to go. I can’t go home. I can’t go to… your house. I can’t go to the bar. I can’t go anywhere in the world but here, and I just couldn’t tell you why. Nothing is enough. Here isn’t enough either.

But I don’t even know what “enough” means. Why am I using that word, “enough”? It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not scientifically measurable, there’s no qualifying factor that makes something “enough,” it’s just… a word that people use to make themselves feel awful. That’s it. That’s all. So when I asked you if I was enough for you, you said yes, that I was more than enough for you, but you didn’t get what I was saying. And you didn’t say anything more than that. That I was enough. It doesn’t mean shit, and yet it still hurts to think of that phrase. Being enough. Enough. It doesn’t even sound like a word to begin with. It’s so awkwardly spelled. E-N-O-U-G-H. It’s hard to believe it’s six letters. Enuff. E-N-O…

…I hate him so much. I never want to see his face again. If I so much as cross paths with him I’m going to tear him to shreds. I’ll tear his… off of his… Ugh! I just don’t understand. It’s just, I saw how much he makes you laugh. I saw how much you smile around him. Why don’t I make you smile anymore? Why am I not… enough? Why is he enough? He’s nothing. He’s just some stupid DJ guy who’s actually not even a DJ at all. He delivers mail for a living. He’s a mailman. He doesn’t serve any purpose except delivering people’s mail. I play guitar. I serve a purpose, I make art. He doesn’t make art like I do. You loved my playing, or at least I thought you did. And I was going to play for you last night. And then you…

I just didn’t expect it. I didn’t expect you to come up to me like that in the middle of everything. I thought we were going to have a good time with everyone. I don’t know how you thought it was the time for it. Were you high? I know you’ve been stressed lately. I don’t know why, but I know it makes you smoke more. It just doesn’t make sense, because I’ve been stressed too- about keeping you with me and making sure you wouldn’t leave me. You know that Toby had… he had said stuff about us, at the party. I didn’t want to tell you and I’m still not going to, but it made me so angry for you. I know you would have told him straight, but I did it for you. I thought you would be proud of me for standing up for us. Because that’s what I did, I stood up for us, and for you, and for our relationship. But you came up to me later that night, and… you ended it. You said you needed space from me, and you broke it off.

I can’t live with that. I can’t live without knowing you’re going to be there when I need you. He’s not there for you. He’s just going to use you when you least expect it, and you can quote me on that. I saw him pretending to comfort you after you came over to me. I saw you right here. I saw you on this bench, overlooking the icy lake and throwing snowballs at it as hard as you could. Toby’s house isn’t far. You weren’t hiding from me, it was like you wanted me to see you in our spot. Our goddamn spot, Alan. It was our spot, and he took it from me. From… from us. Now I can’t even bring myself to sit here. Because I just saw him… put his arm around you, and hold you, and I could bet you that I saw his fingers crossed behind you, even from that distance. It’s like he’s waiting to strike at me and tell me off and destroy you. I know he’s going to destroy you. And I won’t be able to stop it anymore, because I’m not…

…Enough. I’m not enough to be able to save you. I don’t even know if he’s bad for you. Maybe he’s going to be good to you, and treat you better than I ever did. He doesn’t gripe to you about his problems. He doesn’t act possessive. He doesn’t call you names or get jealous or think you would be better off if you isolated yourself from the world. He’s not me. I think he’s enough. I don’t know why, but I just feel like he’s… better to you. He’s good for you. He’s enough for you, and don’t you let that go. I hope you have a happy life together and that he doesn’t end up hurting you irreparably like I have. He’s going to be good for you, and you’re going to be good for him, and I don’t think you can lose that spark from each other.

But me? I’m not going to be enough. I’m never going to be enough. I could spend all my life searching for the answers, looking for someone to tell me how to be enough for you, or for anyone like you, and I would come up with nothing. I just know it would be a fruitless effort to try and find anything. You’re already his, and I’ve accepted that. I’ve come to see why it’s better for you to be his.

So all I have to do now is look out into the lake. It’s not painful. You’re right, my favorite color is ice blue. I wouldn’t mind if the view from this bench was the last thing I ever saw. I’m never going to be enough, but at least this bench is enough. This view would be enough to last me the rest of my life.

WARREN stands.

And maybe it can be.

Em Savarese is from Spotswood, NJ, and expects to graduate in 2025 with a BM in music composition and a minor in creative writing. In October of 2020, Em submitted a monologue to Manhattan Theatre Club’s Student Monologue Challenge, seeing it come to be presented at the “Old Friends, New Works” benefit event by actor Joshua Boone. Em wrote this piece in a creative writing course taught by Professor Janice Lowe, who selected the work for inclusion in WHR.