(A cruise ship off the coast of Nova Scotia, late at night. Summer 2000. R. Eric Thomas, a nineteen-year-old wisp of a thing, barely a notion really, sits alone near a buffet that never closes. Eden as an island, on the sea, offering every possible culinary delight the ship’s chef has it in their budget to prepare.
It’s almost midnight. The sounds of the ship’s casino echo from a distance—the tintinnabulation of winning, the vacuum of losing. A door at the far end of the room opens and R. Eric Thomas, age twenty-seven, enters. R. Eric Thomas, at nineteen—hereafter called Nineteen for clarity’s sake—looks up but does not nod or wave for fear of seeming overly eager to an apparent stranger also roaming the high seas in search of all-you-can-eat king crab legs.)
TWENTY-SEVEN
I have some news.
NINETEEN
Sorry, is this area closed?
TWENTY-SEVEN
I have no idea. God, you’re skinny. What year is it? Is that a lobster tail? I’m famished. Why don’t you have more on your plate?
NINETEEN
I’m not that hungry.
TWENTY-SEVEN
That is literally the last time you will ever say that.
NINETEEN
Are you going to kill me?
TWENTY-SEVEN
Why would I kill you?
NINETEEN
We’re on a cruise ship in the middle of the night. That’s where these things happen. Also, you are talking to me and honestly that’s a little weird.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Don’t you recognize me?
NINETEEN
Why would I recognize you?
TWENTY-SEVEN
I’m you. Don’t you see any resemblance?
NINETEEN
To what?
TWENTY-SEVEN
To what?! My God. To yourself. Hello! I honestly thought this would be easier. Eric, I am you. From the future.
NINETEEN
Is this theater? Are you acting at me right now?
TWENTY-SEVEN
I’m R. Eric Thomas. Age twenty-seven. I’m you.
NINETEEN
That’s a stretch, Meryl. But okay.
(Another R. Eric Thomas, this one thirty-five, enters the room. He looks fine, thanks. He’s moisturized. It’s fine.)
THIRTY-FIVE
He’s not an actor.
NINETEEN
Well, not much of one. But give the guy a break. He seems like he’s had a rough go of it.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I can hear you, you know.
NINETEEN
I’m just saying, that extra-“medium” shirt isn’t doing you any favors.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Wow. Am I an asshole?
THIRTY-FIVE
Eric! We are both you. From the future. Isn’t this what you wanted?
NINETEEN
I wanted another one of those blueberry muffins that they served at breakfast, actually. That’s why I came up here. Do you know that you can eat from this buffet any time of the day or night? Isn’t that beyond? This is totally worth the price of the cruise. Not that I have any idea how much this cost. My parents paid for— Oh. My. God. Are you me from the future?!
TWENTY-SEVEN
I was never this much of a mess.
THIRTY-FIVE
You still are.
NINETEEN
All last year—I’m a rising junior at Columbia; but you know that, I guess—I would wish that a version of me from the future would come through the door and tell me what happens. It’s just been really hard and I wanted some help. Everything seems to be falling apart for me. It seemed really hopeless for a lot of it. I wasn’t even really sure I was going to survive it, to be honest. So it’s good to see that I get old.
THIRTY-FIVE
Oh Jesus.
NINETEEN
You’re a little late, though. I mean, the school year is over and my parents took me on a cruise, so it all works out. I’m not sure what you came to tell me. Actually, when I thought about what it would be like in my head, we were making out by now.
TWENTY-SEVEN
You’re a disaster.
NINETEEN
Accurate. So, it all turns out great?
TWENTY-SEVEN
No.
NINETEEN
Oh no!
TWENTY-SEVEN
Yeah, you’re going to drop out and things are going to get really sad for a long time.
NINETEEN
Why are you telling me this?!
TWENTY-SEVEN
You asked, dum-dum.
NINETEEN
What about you? The other one. Surely things get better by the time you’re around. What are you, like fifty?
THIRTY-FIVE
I’m thirty-five.
NINETEEN
Oh no!
THIRTY-FIVE
Things get better. You get married! To a man! You become a writer!
NINETEEN
So, you both came back in time to tell me that things only get better-ish.
THIRTY-FIVE
And also to eat. I’m famished.
NINETEEN
Is this good news or bad news?
THIRTY-FIVE
It’s fine. I wish I could tell you all the mistakes you’re going to make that I really wish you wouldn’t make, but I don’t think it works like that. However, I think it’s important for you to know that you’re here. In the future. And it’s whatever.
NINETEEN
Wow. A glowing review.
THIRTY-FIVE
Maybe the next guy will have better news?
(Another Eric, age forty-three, walks through the door. Wow, has he been working out?)
FORTY-THREE
I do not have better news.
THIRTY-FIVE
(mouth full of food)
Oh no!
FORTY-THREE
I mean, it’s kind of the same thing. I hate to break it to you all, but life is a mixed bag.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Am I happy?
FORTY-THREE
I don’t know how to answer that question. Are there things that make you happy? Absolutely.
NINETEEN
More than there are now?
FORTY-THREE
Yes. Definitely. Life is better.
NINETEEN
See, it gets better.
(Another Eric, fifty-one, very rich, enters.)
FIFTY-ONE
I have bad news.
NINETEEN
Oh no!
FIFTY-ONE
Yeah, the future is very yikes.
THIRTY-FIVE
That’s a very expensive-looking suit, though.
FIFTY-ONE
Oh yeah, I’m rich as hell. But things are still sort of figuring themselves out.
TWENTY-SEVEN
How do you mean?
FIFTY-ONE
Uh, like destiny.
THIRTY-FIVE
(mouth full of food)
What are you talking about? The planet?
FIFTY-ONE
Sure. The planet. Things do not magically transform.
FORTY-THREE
How are the ice caps?
FIFTY-ONE
Drinkable. But we’re turning it around.
(Eric, fifty-nine, enters. Same suit, but worse for the wear.)
FIFTY-NINE
I have some bad news.
FIFTY-ONE
Oh no!
(Eric, sixty-seven, enters. Rich again!)
SIXTY-SEVEN
I have some bad news.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Does it ever get better?
(Eric, seventy-five, enters. In a caftan.)
SEVENTY-FIVE
Eh. It’s fine.
NINETEEN
What are you wearing?
SEVENTY-FIVE
It’s a caftan. Is that a lobster tail? I’m famished.
NINETEEN
Why?
SEVENTY-FIVE
I had an early breakfast. Plus, time-traveling really makes you work up an appetite. Is there drawn butter anywhere? It’s fine. I don’t need it. My arteries!
NINETEEN
No, I mean, why the caftan? Also, there’s drawn butter in a little urn over on the condiments station.
THIRTY-FIVE
Oh my God.
(Erics Twenty-Seven, Thirty-Five, and Fifty-One go to the drawn-butter urn.)
SEVENTY-FIVE
Why the caftan? The breeze for one. Also, who likes pants? Do you like pants?
NINETEEN
I do, actually. The right pair can really accentuate my butt.
SEVENTY-FIVE
You know what a caftan accentuates?
NINETEEN
What?
SEVENTY-FIVE
How happy your butt is to not be trapped in pants. Look at me: I’m basically lying in bed, wrapped in a blanket, but also upright. I am living my full Nancy Meyers–heroine truth right now. I haven’t worn a pair of pants in at least three years. You wish you could be me. Pass me one of those cookies.
NINETEEN
So, listen, I kind of just wanted someone to come back through time and tell me that if I came out, my parents wouldn’t hate me or that I’d graduate and get a job or that maybe one day I have a boyfriend. This is like an Eric conference and it’s a lot. Three of them are standing around the condiments station screaming about the woman from Destiny’s Child.
SEVENTY-FIVE
Do you not know Beyoncé?
NINETEEN
Yeah, I know Beyoncé. But why are they screaming about her? Does she do something special in the future?
SEVENTY-FIVE
Oh Lord. You have so much life left. (Pause. He looks at the doorway.) I guess I’m the last one through. Look, I don’t know what you want to get from this. Things are going to happen, some of them good, a lot of them bad. People will die. People will break your heart. You’ll disappoint people. You’ll disappoint yourself even more. You’ll try things that don’t work. You’ll dare to hope and sometimes that will be rewarded and sometimes it will be mocked. You’ll write a book and end it with a short play for some reason.
NINETEEN
Yikes. Seriously?
SEVENTY-FIVE
The important thing is you’ll live. Isn’t that really what you wanted to know? That’s the question, for all of you, “Do I survive to the end?”
(Pause)
NINETEEN
Yes.
SEVENTY-FIVE
Well, then I come bearing good news. You will not kill yourself today. Or tomorrow either. You will find a way to gather yourself up and push yourself into the next day. And sometimes that will feel like a blessing, sometimes a burden. But we will not go quietly into the night. We will not vanish without a fight! We’re going to live on! We’re going to survive! Today, we celebrate our Independence Day!
TWENTY-SEVEN
I think you got a little lost in there.
NINETEEN
Is all of that from the movie Independence Day?
SEVENTY-FIVE
The what? No, that’s all an original thought.
TWENTY-SEVEN
It’s objectively not.
THIRTY-FIVE
Bill Pullman.
SEVENTY-FIVE
What?
THIRTY-FIVE
Said that.
SEVENTY-FIVE
Doesn’t ring a bell.
SIXTY-SEVEN
At a certain point, you forget where you end and pop culture begins.
SEVENTY-FIVE
Well, who cares if I didn’t think of it. I meant it. Be inspired.
NINETEEN
This all seems depressing.
SEVENTY-FIVE
Okay, well, be depressed then. I could have stayed my ass in the future. You gonna finish that cake?
NINETEEN
Yes.
SEVENTY-FIVE
So salty.
NINETEEN
It just doesn’t seem fair. Like, what’s the point of going on?
SEVENTY-FIVE
Do you want to hear about all the good things? Or do you just want someone to coddle you and tell you there’s a happy ending?
NINETEEN
Isn’t that the same thing?
SEVENTY-FIVE
No! It absolutely is not. If you asked any of these versions of yourself around this room to stop screaming about Beyoncé and list what’s good in their lives, we’d be here all night. But you have this idea that what you’re headed for, what the world is headed for, is some sort of resolution.
NINETEEN
And I guess you’re here to tell me that it’s not.
SEVENTY-FIVE
At the end of the story you die.
THIRTY-FIVE
(mouth full of food)
Oh no!
NINETEEN
Are you here to kill me?
SEVENTY-FIVE
Eric. Get yourself together. No one is here to kill you…(Pregnant pause; he looks at the doorway.) Okay, yeah, no one is here to kill you.
FIFTY-NINE
You’ve gathered us all here today. It was a lot of work; I hope you know that. This excursion. I had to rearrange a lot of things.
THIRTY-FIVE
Oh, she’s busy! She’s a businesswoman in the future!
NINETEEN
So, that’s it? We live. We go through things. We die. For what?
SEVENTY-FIVE
You say you want a happy ending, but neither of those words is really what you’re searching for. For instance, you will not live to see a just world. But you will live to see acts of justice.
NINETEEN
And that’s good enough?
SEVENTY-FIVE
That’s extraordinary. Life will take your breath away. Life will— Oh! Chocolate éclairs! Grab me one of those.
NINETEEN
Wow, we really are unbearable.
SEVENTY-FIVE
You’re exactly who you need to be. Each of you. It may not feel like it; it may seem like it would be much easier being anyone else. You may look back at the person you were at one point and wish that you could instead be the person you are now at that far distant, unreachable point in the past. But you had to be who you were to get to who you are. Every page in the story is successive; they’re all numbered and bound like a book.
THIRTY-FIVE
(mouth full of food)
I’m a spoiler kween.
SEVENTY-FIVE
This one you have to just be present for.
NINETEEN
What you’re saying seems harder than life is supposed to be.
SEVENTY-FIVE
Well, I don’t know how it’s supposed to be for anyone else. The only story I can tell you is my own. And in that story, you keep turning the pages. That’s hope. We hope with words and we hope with deeds. And in so doing, manifest the things that we need, the things that fulfill us, the things that give us life when we fear that all is lost.
(A burst of smoke, a flash of light, a squealing horn. Another Eric, impossibly old, comes through the door.)
ERIC ANCIENT
I have some news.
(A confetti cannon explodes behind him.)
END OF PLAY