Work Text:
[Nagomi]
A One-Act Monologue
By crabmoney3
The stage is dark. We hear the crack of a bat against a ball, the slow roar of the crowd, chants of “Na! Go! Mi! Na! Go! Mi!” echo and fade as a spotlight illuminates NAGOMI, standing center stage in a plain white and grey blaseball uniform, holding a bat.
NAGOMI
Whose turn is it now to cheer my name? Who do I call home now? I hear whispers in the wind, but cannot make them out.
The spotlight widens, filling most of the stage. A green wash comes over. Sounds of the ocean play softly.
NAGOMI
I will always love Hawaii. I miss the cold water and sandy shores. The sea breeze against my skin, the salt in my hair. I grew up there. I fell in love there.
Pause.
Love. I wonder, does she still call my name? The girl who was my first kiss. The woman whose child I brought into the world of blaseball. Could she still love me when I cannot answer her call? Does she know I think about her every day?
And then there’s the child, a prodigy. If this were to happen to him, could she even forgive me? I hope he will never be as successful as myself. Not for selfish reasons, or reasons of vanity, no. For safety. For security. He should be able to stay home, to grow up there. It’s simpler that way. Less room that way for
A blue wash. NAGOMI is pulled SR.
Sudden
A red wash. NAGOMI is pulled SL. The spotlight tightens.
Change.
NAGOMI
The ocean here is different. Darker. Murkier. Things lurk beneath the surface, and I hesitate to take the plunge. Wouldn’t you, after being thrown from city to city? Not even touching down long enough for your roots to dig in? How do you trust that you will be welcome when even the home you loved and adored since childhood couldn’t keep you in its grasp?
The spotlight tightens slightly more. NAGOMI prepares to bat.
NAGOMI
But what else could I do besides the one thing I knew best?
Organ music begins, playing “CHARGE”, slowly, tensely. NAGOMI swings. We hear “STRIKE ONE.”
NAGOMI
This is what they sent me here to do, right?
Swing, miss, “STRIKE TWO.”
NAGOMI
Who am I if not what they imagine me to be?
Swing, the bat makes contact, cheering resumes. “Na! Go! Mi!”
NAGOMI
If I do what they expect, maybe I’ll belong.
Pause.
And for a while, I do. I want to belong. I want to be home again, so I become the thing they want me to be, and I do what I am expected to do. But they ask me if that’s really who I am.
They ask me.
I do not have an answer.
But to them, that is okay. They’re always changing. Always growing. Trying to become the best versions of themselves they can be. They want me to change with them, to grow with them.
A twinkling sound. Shooting stars begin to fall onstage, little beams of light. Nagomi runs towards them at center.
NAGOMI
And I think, for just a moment, that this could be the me I want to be.
She is struck by a star.
NAGOMI
That this could be home.
The crack of a bat. Thunder. The blue wash returns.
NAGOMI
But again I am wrong.
She begins her journey SR.
NAGOMI
Again, I am lost. The mountains here in Breckenridge are beautiful, yes, but they’re so different from anything I’ve ever known. They tell me I’m where I belong now. That I was supposed to be here all along.
I miss Hawaii.
I miss Baltimore.
Breckenridge is different. Not bad, just different. But they’re so insistent that this will be my home now. That this is where I’ll stay. I don’t think I believe them.
So I go back to doing what I know best.
NAGOMI sets up to bat. A swing, a hit. Cheering.
NAGOMI
This is what they want me here to do, right?
Another swing. Another hit. Chants of “Na! Go! Mi!”
NAGOMI
Isn’t this what they want from me?
She swings. She hits. She drops the bat and runs to center as the crowd escalates. The wash begins to switch back and forth. Blue, to red, blue, to red, a flash of green, blue, red, etc.
NAGOMI
This is why they idolize me, isn’t it? This is why they call my name?
Blue, red, blue, red.
Always calling, so loud, cheering for the person they want me to be.
Blue, red.
But who is she? Do they know? Could they tell me?
Blue, red. “Na! Go! Mi!”
They say they’ve made me a god, but their goal has always been deicide. So tell me where, then, do I fit in?
Blue, red, “Na! Go! Mi!”
NAGOMI
Who am I supposed to be?
The lights go dark. Silence. Tight spot on NAGOMI, peanut-shaped if possible.
NAGOMI
I can’t hear them anymore. Shelled in from the crowds. I feel myself being moved, but where I do not know. I hear thuds, sometimes. My world shakes. I think for a second I can make something out, but it’s all beyond me.
Pause.
Who am I now? Unable to do what I know best. No bat to hide behind, no bases to run from myself.
Whose turn is it now to call my name?
I wonder, does anyone still call?
Pause.
Sometimes, if I place my ear against the shell, I can hear the sound of the sea, and I almost think I’m home.
Lights fade. The slightest hint of a red wash. The faintest cheers of Na! Go! Mi!, then nothing. The stage goes dark, and we hear the sounds of the sea.
Fin.