Oasis Madrid

Synopsis: Hunter recalls a time in his childhood when he learned first-hand how God provides.

Character: Hunter

Time: The present

Place: Anywhere

Props: None

Notes: There is very little suggested in the way of dramatic interpretation in this script. This restraint was intentional. The actor may, if he so wishes, add variety to the performance through “pretending” to be the various people to which Hunter refers. Of course, the actor is encouraged to use his imagination in utilizing variety of pitch, rhythm, tempo, volume and emotion in order to create dramatic tension and resolution.

Copyright Note: This play is protected under copyright law and performance is strictly prohibited without the express consent of the author. Though production is generally granted royalty free, please contact Troy Cady at troy@oasismadrid.org for permission to perform this play.

HUNTER’S GIFTS

HUNTER (enters): I think it was when I was seven that I first became aware we were poor. My friend, Mike Baden, got a new GI Joe action figure and naturally I wanted one too. So, that night as Dad was tucking me into bed I asked him if I could get one.

He said, “I’m sorry, Hunter, we can’t afford a GI Joe action figure.” I must have had some kind of confused look on my face because he said, “Do you know what that means, Hunter? That we can’t afford one?”

I said, “Does it mean we don’t have enough money to buy one?”

He smiled and said, “Yes, that’s right, Hunter.”

I sighed. And Dad did, too.

But then, his voice changed: “But, I tell you what Hunter: I’ve got an idea. Let me see what I can do, okay?”

“You mean, I might be able to get one, after all?”

“No, no, you won’t be able to get a new GI Joe guy but I’ve got something else in mind, okay?”

“Okay.” I trusted him. Whatever idea he had, I knew it would be good, because, well, he’s Dad. He kissed me and I slept well that night, knowing Dad would make good on his promise.

It was a while before I got my surprise, but it was worth the wait. It was a little hand-made action figure Dad made during his lunch breaks at work from some scrap wood they had laying around there. One night when he came home, he opened the door, smiling to beat all. “Hunter! Hunter! I’m home! And I’ve got a surprise for you!” It was beautiful.

The next day was Saturday and, after gulping down my breakfast, I raced over to Mike’s place to show him my action figure.

“Cool! What’s his name?” Mike asked.

“Forrest, ‘cause he’s a Fire Ranger and also ‘cause he’s made of wood.”

“Cool! Hey, maybe Forrest could be a partner for GI Joe.”

“Yeah, cool!” We played all day that Saturday, skipping lunch and stopping when our voices got hoarse.

A few weeks later, I was over at Mike’s and he told me he was going to go see “The Jungle Book” in the movie theater that coming Saturday. He asked if I could come along. I went home and asked Mom. She said, “Oh, Hunter, honey. You know we can’t afford that.”

“What do you mean, Mom?”

“Well, honey, it costs money to go to the movies.”

I had no idea. That night it was hard to sleep. I kept thinking of how I could get some money to go to the movie with Mike.

Next day, I went over to Mike’s and he asked me if I talked to my parents about going to the movies with him.

I said, “Yeah.”

He said, “What’d they say?”

I said, “They said no.”

He said, “Why?”

It was embarrassing to tell him why: “I can’t go to the movies because we don’t have any money.”

He couldn’t relate to that at all. He just said, “Oh.” And we sat there for a while, thinking.

Then he said, “I have an idea. Why don’t you sell me something of yours and then you can go?”

I thought about that and said, “That’s a good idea, but I don’t really have anything to sell you.”

“Well, how about Forrest?” he asked.

I hated to give up my special guy, but I just wanted to be like a normal kid and go to the movies like everyone else so eventually I did.

The following week, the money was gone and I wished I hadn’t sold Forrest. The week after that, I really wished I hadn’t sold him: Dad got laid off and we needed the money.

One night just after I had gone to bed, I heard Mom out in the living room. She was upset. Dad was trying to calm her down. From my bedroom I could just make out words like “groceries” and “rent.” I crept to my bedroom door. It was slightly open. I peered through the crack and I could see Dad holding Mom. She was crying.

That next night, Dad tucked me into bed and he could see I was upset. He asked me what was wrong. I told him I was worried about stuff. He asked what.

I told him: “I’m worried about money.”

The words surprised him. He said, “You don’t need to worry about money, Hunter, okay?”

I said, “But you don’t have a job now, so how are we gonna get money to buy food and stuff?”

He was even more surprised: “What makes you think we don’t have enough money?”

I said: “Well, I heard you and mom talking about it last night.”

He said, “Hey, buddy, listen to me now, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Let me ask you: have we ever gone without? Have you ever gone hungry?”

“No.”

“Have we always had a place to live? Have you always had clothes to wear? A bed to sleep in?”

“Yeah.”

“So what makes you think we’re in trouble now? God has always taken care of us, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You ‘guess so’? You know so, don’t you, Hunter?”

“Yeah, Dad. I know so.”

“Okay, that’s better. Now why don’t you thank God for taking care of us, okay?”

“Okay.”

After I prayed, Dad said, “Hey, Hunter. Guess what?”

“What?”

“Your birthday is only a week away! You’re gonna be eight soon!”

“Oh, yeah…that’s right!”

“Let me ask you: What would you like for your birthday?”

I hesitated: the first thing that came to mind I knew we couldn’t get.

Dad asked again: “Well, buddy. What would you like?”

“I can’t say.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know we can’t get it.”

“Well, now, how do you know we can’t get it unless you ask?”

“Because I just know, okay?”

“Well, ask anyway. You never know. You just might get your wish.”

I paused and said, “Well…Mike Baden has a slide in his backyard. I’d like to have a slide, too.”

Dad said, “A slide?”

I said, “Yeah, like the one Mike Baden has.”

He asked me what Mike Baden’s slide was like.

I said the two most important words to a seven year old boy: “Big and shiny,” but I knew full well that I would never be able to get a big and shiny slide like Mike’s for my birthday.

But Dad just said, “Well, Hunter, I tell you what, I’m gonna see what I can do, okay? I can’t make any promises, but let me think about it, okay?”

I said “okay”, knowing that was just Dad’s way of saying, “You’re not getting a slide on your birthday, so don’t set your heart on it.”

Well, the day came for my birthday. I invited Mike over for the party after we had a small dinner. Dad gave me his gift first: I was shocked…See, the thing is: mom and dad couldn’t afford a big, shiny slide like Mike Baden’s, so instead Dad made a makeshift slide in the living room with a small piece of plywood propped up by the back of the couch. Dad apologized that he couldn’t get me what I really wanted, but said he figured this was “the next best thing.” He was wrong: it wasn’t “the next best thing”; it was better. After going down the slide a few times, I decided the plywood was a ramp and I was a stuntman: Instead of going down the slide, I ran up it and jumped off when I got to the top, landing on the carpet in front of the couch. I surprised my Mom and Dad with that initial trial run, and they told me not to do it again: I could get hurt. But I begged, and they gave in. Dad got me his work helmet and told me to wear it, “just in case”. I didn’t mind: it only helped improve the stuntman routine. I ran to the bathroom and grabbed 2 towels to serve as capes for Mike and me. Meanwhile, Dad put the couch cushions on the floor to serve as a landing pad. I took my position and revved my make-believe engine. The crowd cheered, and I let loose just when my imaginary motorcycle was running at a high-pitched scream. I reached the plywood, scrambled to the top of the couch and launched myself through the air, landing on the cushions below. The crowd clapped and shouted and I stood up, taking a bow, triumphant, smiling. It was my moment of glory.

Mike and I took turns playing stuntman. With each jump, the room got louder. Mostly, I remember the sound of laughter. My goodness, how we laughed that night! Mom and Dad laughed so hard they were sweating, I swear it. Mike and I must have jumped off of that ramp about twenty times each, getting bolder and bolder each time. Till, finally, on one jump I missed the cushions and hit the floor hard. I couldn’t stop myself and crashed into the wall. I broke my arm. On my eighth birthday.

Dad sent Mike home. We got in the car and drove to the emergency room in silence, believe it or not.

(Pause)

I’ll never forget that ride.

(Pause)

Mom was holding me, soothing me saying, “Shhhh…Shhhh….”

She whispered to Dad, “Matthew…How we gonna pay for this? We can’t afford this.”

Dad reached over and held Mom’s hand. I looked up at Dad’s face. He wasn’t worried. I looked at Mom. She was.

“Well? How we gonna pay for this? We can’t afford this.”

Dad kept his eyes on the road and just said, “God will provide, honey. Don’t worry. God will provide. He always has.”

Mom looked at Dad, and Dad glanced at Mom. He smiled. She wept.

That was all I remember of that day. I fell asleep.

Next thing I remember, it was morning. When I woke up, I had a cast on my arm, and there was Mike. He had a package in his hand.

He said, “Here: I never got to give this to you last night. Happy birthday, Hunter.”

He helped me open it up and there was Forrest.

“Thanks, Mike,” I said.

Then, I looked up, smiling. Mom was there, Dad was there, and Mike was there.

Then, I’ll never forget what I saw next.

On the wall: a picture.

It was a painting of Jesus.

He was holding a boy who must have been about eight years old—just like me!

And that’s when I realized:

(slowly) “You know what? I have everything I need right here.”

(Pause)

So, I looked up, smiling.

(Pause. HUNTER exits.)
END OF DRAMA