(Sharon enters the messy dorm room, dragging a massive duffel bag behind her. Debbie is on the bed, reading a Seventeen magazine while painting her toenails purple.)
Sharon: OHMYGOD! You’re back already! So, how was break?
Debbie: It was totally awesome, I slept all day, partied all night, got a boyfriend, broke up with him, you know how it goes. How was yours?
Sharon: Wait, so who was this guy? Was he nice, fun?
Debbie: Oh, he was fun. But totally not worth talking about, I dumped him after he took me to this bar and ended up getting completely wasted and like, flirting with this other girl right in front of me. Such a loser. But tell me about your vacation, you were the one who actually got to leave this dump of a city.
Sharon: I had such a good time, it was soo incredible. I feel like I belong in Israel, like it really is my homeland. I just don’t want to be back here. And I actually got stoned!
Debbie: WHAT?
(The nail polish brush slips, getting purple polish all over her toes. She doesn’t seem to notice.)
Sharon: Yeah, it was pretty crazy.
Debbie: Wait, you? But you, like, read and write and stuff.
Sharon: What does that have to do with anything?
(She opens her suitcase on her bed and begins unpacking)
Debbie: Well, my God, even I wouldn’t do that!
Sharon: Do what?
Debbie: Hello, what do you think we’re talking about? Get stoned!
(Debbie takes an already-crumpled tissue and starts wiping the nail polish off her toes, only succeeding in further smudging it)
Sharon: Yeah, it was scary.
Debbie (looks up): Wait, so where were you? Why’d you do it? What happened? If you’re gonna act crazy, you have got to fill me in on the details. Like I want to hear all about it, every little detail.
Sharon: So I was in this car…
Debbie: What? Don’t tell me you were driving stoned. No way.
Sharon: You think I’m brave enough drive in that country? Drivers in Israel are totally crazy.
Debbie: Ok, fine, so go on. But wait, was the driver stoned?
(As soon as she asks the question, she turns back to her toenails and starts painting them again)
Sharon: What do you mean, was the driver stoned? I said I was in the car. They couldn’t hit me and not the driver.
Debbie: Oh, wow, this is getting better and better. You are like crazy, Sharon. Hey, can I call you Crazy Sharon?
Sharon (wincing): Please don’t.
Debbie: Wait, so go on. So you were in the car and you and the driver were stoned. Was there anyone else there?
Sharon: Well, my dad.
(Sharon pulls a wrinkled shirt out of her suitcase, stares at it for a moment, and throws it into her laundry bag)
Debbie: Oh my God. You have got to be kidding. You mean you were stoned with your dad? Is he like a hippie or something? One of those flower children who never grew up?
Sharon: Nah, he was more scared than I was. But I mean, we really were pretty safe. Our driver had a gun, and he knew how to use it.
(Sharon walks around the room, putting away clothing)
Debbie: What? Ok, now I know you’re making this up. No way in hell would you be in a car with a driver with a gun, stoned. Like, that is a totally cool story, but no way its real!
(Debbie turns her attention back to the magazine while waving her foot around to dry the nail polish.)
Sharon: What, you don’t believe me? You want pictures? Sorry, I was too busy trying to keep my head away from the window to take out a camera.
Debbie: So you thought you were about to go out the window? That’s so freaking cool. My friends say the hallucinations can be pretty bad.
(Debbie puts her waving foot back on the bed.)
Sharon (stares at Debbie in utter confusion): Hallucinations? Now I have no clue what you’re talking about.
Debbie: Uh, oh, do I mean halogens? You know, when you see something that’s not there.
Sharon: Well, you got the word right, but I’m telling you, someone was definitely there. I mean, we saw these two kids, teenagers, about our age or something, and they were standing on top of the cliff hanging over the road, throwing…
Debbie: Throwing up? They were probably stoned too, assuming they even existed.
Sharon (sarcastically): Ha, ha. No, they were the stoners, not the ones who were stoned. Very funny.
Debbie: Oh, so you’re trying to tell me there’s a difference? Thought I was the one who was supposed to know all about being stoned.
Sharon (looks slightly confused by Debbie’s comment but shrugs it off): Really? I guess you’re there often enough, but I didn’t know you’d been back since the violence started.
(Debbie turns the page in the magazine, she seems to have missed Sharon’s last sentence as she continues her previous thought)
Debbie: Well, I mean I haven’t been stoned, but my friends over there have. But why did you get stoned? I mean it’s pretty scary that you, Miss bookworm-who-wakes-up-at-6-AM-to-do-her-homework got stoned.
Sharon: I got stoned because I’m Jewish. Plain and simple.
Debbie: Oh, come off it. I’m Jewish too. Just because I don’t live up to your high standards of religion, I know enough to know that it’s not, like, a requirement of Judaism to get yourself stoned. I mean, we sure have a hell of a lot of requirements, but that is so definitely not one of them. But like, you did something crazy, it’s ok, just admit it.
(Debbie holds the magazine next to her head and looks in the mirror, comparing a model’s hair to her own.)
Sharon: What? I did nothing wrong!
(Debbie puts the magazine down)
Debbie: Excuse me? Little miss perfect gets stoned, and somehow it’s not your fault?
Sharon (stares at Debbie in disbelief and anger): Oh, so now you’re trying to be like those Arabs? It’s my own fault I got stoned?
(Sharon turns away and pulls a large Israeli flag out of her suitcase)
Debbie: No, I didn’t mean it like that. Come on, you know me, you see me Thursday nights. I don’t think I’m responsible for the way I come home so I wouldn’t judge you for what you do…but I always thought that you thought I did something wrong or something.
(Sharon takes her head out of her suitcase and straightens up)
Sharon: First, I do not judge you. I don’t care what you do Thursday nights. That’s your business. But second, that is totally different. I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation.
Debbie: We’re having this conversation because you finally did something not up to your usual miss perfect standards, and you refuse to admit it.
Sharon: What did I do wrong? It was soo important for me to travel there. All Jews belong in Israel right now. We need to show support for everyone who lives there, for our country. I was just in a car, driving in my own land. I don’t care area A, area B. In the Bible God tells Abraham ‘I promise this land to you and your descendants.’ He means Hebron, where our forefathers are buried, the West Bank where the Temple stood for hundreds of years. Our people prayed for this land. They died for this land. Just think about the pioneers, Herzl, Ben-Gurion, those people dedicated their lives so I can drive there. You think I should tell the heroes buried on Har Herzl, sorry I’ll visit your grave, but I won’t visit the land you died to protect? Come on, I didn’t have a choice whether to go. It’s our land and I could never live with myself otherwise.
Debbie (taken aback): Wow, its ok. Listen, I have no issue with you going to Israel, or even the West Bank. I was just there last year, remember? I had that little boy thing going on there? You don’t have to convince me. It’s just the getting stoned part that’s freaky. But listen, its totally cool. I mean I never expected it of you, but hey, most of my friends have gotten stoned at least once, so like its not like I’m that against it or anything.
(Debbie shrugs and turns back to her magazine, her defense concluded)
Sharon (breathes deeply): No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. Its just I’m neurotic about being back on campus, I don’t feel like having to defend myself against all the Palestinians here, so I just kind of took it out on you.
(Debbie looks up at Sharon and flashes a smile)
Debbie: Hey, don’t worry ‘bout it. That’s what roommates are for. I mean, if you can’t tell me your stories about being stoned, who can you tell?
Sharon (gives Debbie a hug): Thanks, you’re the best. I just feel like no one can understand, though.
Debbie: Yeah, but I think I can come pretty close…Ok, listen, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone.
Sharon: Of course
Debbie: So I got stoned too, once.
Sharon: Oh, wow, so you do know. It’s just so scary.
Debbie (enthusiastically): Yeah, there’s nothing like it. You have this weird, exhilarating, freaky feeling, like you don’t know what’s going on and everything is speeding by…
Sharon: I know. When those rocks were raining down on us, and the driver started shooting into the air at those damn Arab kids, I was just sitting in the backseat, paralyzed.
Debbie (confused): Huh?
Sharon (ignoring the interruption): Like these kids didn’t even know me, but they hated me just because I was Jewish and driving around Israel. I mean, they could’ve killed us!
(Debbie closes her magazine and stares, horrified)
Sharon: And then I felt kind of safe because the driver was calling the army on his panic button and shooting in the air, but it was like, the stones just didn’t stop coming. There was all this traffic backing up, and I mean, the army was incredible. They got there like two minutes later, closed off the road, and we heard later that they arrested the kids.
Debbie: What?!
Sharon: Yeah. It was just so scary. I was totally shaken. I called my Israeli friend and she said she was also once on a bus that got stoned, and I just realized what these people go through every day and its just…I don’t know.
Debbie: What? Wait, hold on a sec, why wasn’t this the first story you told me? What happened with the rocks and the Arabs?
Sharon: What do you mean? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, I got stoned.
By Shira Schoenberg
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