THE PERFORMER

The curtain rises.

An actress, the sole character in the play, appears on-stage and begins delivering a soliloquy:

"Woe is me, my brethren. I am in deepest agony, and this because I have decided to quit smoking...

"My decision to quit preoccupies my every thought -- night and day. I have done all I can do, tried every method for quitting known to mankind, given my all, but alas, I cannot quit. I am wretched and tormented and my aching soul can take it no more. I have failed, failed, failed. I confess, I am hopelessly and utterly addicted to cigarettes... "

Even this early in her delivery some of the members of the audience are moved to tears. Sniffles can be heard. Inspired by this response, the performer draws a deep breath and continues....

"Pleeease don't misunderstand me! It is not that I do not wish to quit. I do wish ... I swear it ... more than anything else in the world! It's simply that I cannot."

Just then a member of the audience stands and boldly cries out, "Ruuuubbish! You haven't the first desire to quit smoking! You don't want to quit at all. You are merely putting the blame on addiction; in this way, you can keep right on smoking and not be the responsible party. But worse, you would have all of us believe you! Shame on you, madam!"

"How daaaaaaare you!," cries the actress.

But unabated, the audience member turns up the steam, "I only tell you this madam because it was time you stopped giving us your same, tired performance. Always, it is the same, day after day after day, in the kitchen, in the car, on the way to school, at work, after work, in the garden, at the grocery store, here, there and everywhere!.....'I can't, I can't, I can't, and it's all addiction's fault, not a smidgeon yours'"....

"Liar! Scoundrel! Thrrrow him out!," screams the actress to a passing usher.

"Listen to me," says the audience member raising his voice as he is being escorted from the theatre, "It makes no difference who among us believes your performance and who among us does not. The fact is, you're dying just the same. Don't you understand? You're dying, whether we boo you or applaud you, whether we believe you or disbelieve you. It is not the place of addiction to let YOU go, madam. It is rather your responsibility to let IT go. Either you are going to kill it -- or -- it is going to kill you."

The stunned actress walks to the side of the stage, grabs the golden tassel that controls the great curtain, and drops the giant velvet drapery around herself.

"I am leaving you, all of you" she whimpers, a hand thrown across her throat and breast, "For how can I possibly continue?"
She races to her dressing room enraged, where she grabs her script and rips it to shreds. She will rewrite the entire soliloquy tonight, even if it means she does not sleep, because tomorrow the curtain will rise again and the audience will be waiting for the scheduled delivery of her now-famous "I Can't Quit Smoking" performance.

As she writes, she imagines the applause the new performance will bring, the cries of approval and the shouts of "Bravo!" that will rise like thunder from thousands of admiring fans who have come to see her.

It is nearly dawn when she has finished. She is exhausted by the effort. She leaves the theatre through an alley door and stops at the all-night tobacconist. "Hello Chuck," she says in a deep, raspy voice. "The usual carton" she tells the young man, and while he's getting her smokes, a paperback catches her eye ... "The Smoke Stops Here."
"Howww ridiculous!," spits the actress, thumbing nervously through the rival script.

"Pardon, mam?," responds the tobacconist.

"Nothing," she says, pitching down the paperback and handing him $30. She opens a fresh package, lights a cigarette, chokes a little, and leaves.

Stars that sparkled brightly earlier that evening now fade in the approaching truth of daylight. The actress shudders, not nowing why, and disappears round a corner.

She wonders how well her performance will go tomorrow...

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