Niki Hatzidis is an award nominated playwright and writer based in London. Her plays have been presented in New York, Massachusetts, California and the UK. Niki has been a contributing writer and features editor for OnStage Blog and a satirical writer for Ladyspike Media, as well as numerous other publications and podcasts. She is a recent graduate from Goldsmiths University of London with a masters in dramaturgy and writing for  performance. nikihatzidis.squarespace.com

Ariathne

A graveyard.

ARI stands in front of a fairly fresh grave stone looking pensive. She appears to be waiting for something. She looks uncomfortable and agitated. JAMES stands at another grave a short distance away. He has a bouquet of white daisies in his hand.

ARI and JAMES make eye contact and respectfully nod, then avoid eye contact.

ARI
Hi.

JAMES
Hi.

ARI
How are you? Sorry.

JAMES
It’s fine.

ARI
I meant I’m sorry for your loss.

JAMES
And yours.

ARI
Thanks. It’s my mom.

JAMES
My wife.

ARI
How long has she been died? Sorry. I’m bad at... all this.

JAMES
Four years.

ARI
Oh. Is that long? Do you still feel sadness? See, my mom died a week ago. Well, I only found out yesterday. They didn’t know she had a daughter.

JAMES
Oh.

ARI
We were estranged, you see. We haven’t talked in a really long time. Which is probably why I’m taking this so well.

JAMES
Uh huh.

ARI
And well, I don’t really feel anything. Like, nothing. I’ve been trying to feel something. I know I’m supposed to be crying or feel anger or whatever, but nothing.

JAMES
Okay.

ARI
I mean she was old. She had me when she was older. And she had a brain aneurysm. She died in her sleep. I mean, that’s the dream, right?

JAMES
I guess?

ARI
How did your wife die?

JAMES
Cancer.

ARI
Oh. That’s bad. I’m sorry. Any kids?

JAMES
No.

ARI
They say that makes things easier. I don’t know why. If the kid doesn’t like the parent then what does it matter? But you look young. Your kids would have been young. Young kids don’t get that stuff. Did you like your wife?

JAMES
She was my wife.

ARI
Sorry, of course. But the two aren’t always mutually exclusive, you know? I hated my husband. Well, more toward the end. During the divorce. But I don’t know if I ever liked my mom.

JAMES
Look, I’m really sorry to hear that but-

ARI
The truth is I haven’t thought about her in a while. That sounds bad, but when someone is no longer a part of your day to day why should they pass through your mind, right?

JAMES
I suppose.

ARI
That probably makes me sound like a horrible person. But sometimes there are people you don’t want in your life. And then they die and you have to go to their grave and try to feel something like guilt, or regret, or sadness and that’s a lot of pressure, okay?

JAMES
Fine. Sorry, but I’m trying to...

ARI
Oh, right. I’m sorry. I’ll let you... do what you need to do.

JAMES goes through the motions of visiting a loved one’s grave, replacing flowers, silently paying respects, etc…ARI watches him intently. JAMES notices.

Sorry. I’m just... I’ve never known anyone who has died.

JAMES
Oh. Umm...

ARI
I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do.

ARI stares at the gravestone, as if to burn a hole in it.

JAMES
Don’t make it so hard. You just remember them. You keep their memory. Maybe tell them how you feel about them, how much you miss them. That sort of thing.

ARI
Oh.

Beat.

JAMES
This is really for you, not them. So do whatever feels right.

ARI
I don’t think I can do that. Sorry, you must think this to be very odd. That it’s really fucked up or something.

JAMES
Family is complicated.

ARI
See, I think normal people say that about their family to make them seem more interesting. There’s complicated and then there’s a Bronte novel. My mom hated the Brontes.

JAMES
What’s your name?

ARI
Ariathne.

JAMES
Really?

ARI
Yup. My mom was a Greek Mythology nut. She was a professor. She liked that it was Ariathne, a woman, who was smart enough to figure out how to get Theseus out of the labyrinth.

JAMES
That’s nice.

ARI
My friends call me Ari. What’s your name?

JAMES
James.

ARI
Of course it is. I mean, it’s a nice normal name. Having a normal name must be nice. I’m not usually this strange. I’m actually very put together.

JAMES
Ari, people grieve differently.

ARI
That’s the thing, I don’t know if this counts as grieving.

JAMES
I’ve been through grief counseling and nothing is out of the ordinary. Trust me.

ARI
Grief counseling? Maybe I should do that? Maybe they can teach me how do be sad about my dead mom?

JAMES
That’s not really what it’s... ok. So your mom and you didn’t get along? Sorry to pry but you kinda reeled me in here.

ARI
Yeah, sort of. She wasn’t really a good parent. She tried, I think.

JAMES
Do you have a happy memory of your mom and you?

ARI
Um... I must have, right?

JAMES
You don’t have to say anything. I am just a complete stranger. I’ll just...

ARI
What do you think about? When you come here?

JAMES
My wife’s snoring.

ARI
Okay...

JAMES
She snored. A lot. And loudly. It would keep me up most nights. Why is it that the people who snore always fall asleep first? And she used to sing, really badly. When she cooked or cleaned, while we watched t.v. or were getting ready for work. I hated it. Now it’s really quiet in the house. I’d give anything for noise.

Beat.

ARI
When I was six or seven, my mom came into my room in the middle of the night. She woke me up and told me we were going on an adventure. Her voice was sweet and kind, and her eyes shown with something close to euphoria. We were living with her boyfriend at the time and I asked her if he was coming with us. She said no, it was going to be just us. It was going to be a special trip. I leapt out of bed so fast I tripped over the tangle of blankets. I flung a couple of T-shirts and pants into a backpack. I did’t know how long we would be gone. I didn’t want to ask too many questions. I didn’t want to make her sad. I carried my stuffed elephant, Lucy, and we snuck out of the house and got into the boyfriend’s old station wagon. He wasn’t a bad guy, he even played with me a couple times, but it hadn’t been just us in a long time and I started to get really excited. I did feel a little bad for taking his car. It was that time of early morning where it felt like the whole world was asleep, this sort of dark and eerie stillness. I got to sit in the front, and with Lucy on my lap, I tried to take in every street and house from this new vantage point. I tried really hard, but it was late and with the rhythm of the car, Mom’s careful turns, I quickly fell right back to sleep. When I woke up the sun was up halfway in the sky. I looked over at mom and she was beaming. She seemed so happy. She handed me a jelly donut, I was never allowed donuts and I remember it was as big as my face. I couldn’t finish even half of it. We drove and drove. Mom sang along to songs on the radio, I hadn’t heard her sing. I wanted it to last forever. We drove to the ocean. Mom promised we would go someday, but I never thought we’d make it. And there it was, this endless blue. I didn’t think something could go on forever like that. We camped on that beach for three days. We swam, we rolled and ran in the sand, and at night, we’d sleep under the moon and swarms of stars, waves crashing in the distance. It felt... it felt like we were starting over. I felt like we were through with the unsteadiness, the mood swings, the days of silence so deafening I would scream into a pillow desperate to break it. I thought she was finally better. But it was only the beginning of another breakdown, the crest of a downward slope. I never trusted the good parts again. We rode on those waves until I graduated high school and then I couldn’t take it anymore and I left. Now that I’m older, I sort of get it. I wished she stayed on the medication, kept going with therapy, but those pills made her numb. She never got the lows or the highs and she couldn’t have a life like that. But I couldn’t take a life so tumultuous either. I think she wanted me to be the one to lead her out of that labyrinth, but I didn’t understand how. I don’t hate her anymore, but I can’t say I miss her. I can’t say I wish she was still here. But I guess... I hope that now, wherever she must be- I don’t believe in heaven or anything like that, but I do think souls make an imprint somehow, you know? They have to because they cause and feel so much. So I don’t think they can ever simply go away. Anyway, wherever she rests, I hope she doesn’t have that heaviness over her anymore, that she can feel everything to whatever limits she wants and that she can do it without any pain.

Beat.

Did I do that right?

JAMES
That was perfect.

End of play.