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Address House of Corrections Johnson
LTK91021690850X
The first of a trilogy series inspired by the lives of my mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, "Address: House of Corrections" is the empowering, fictionalized story of my grandmother that begins with Merry – a 32-year old ex con and recovering dope friend – being released from prison. Shifting back and forth through the past and the present, the story opens with her as a nine-year-old girl with big dreams growing up in the small town of Locus Grove, GA with her grandmother, Dora, and sweet, baby brother, Johnson. The tale then follows Merry as she moves to Detroit with her estranged mother, Excellent, falls prey to drugs and drops two bastard children, Felton, Jr. and Juliette as a wild teenager. Then, ends with Merry – in mourning over the death of grandmother – fighting to stay straight and make peace with her mother, her children and her torrid past. The actors will need to have a southern, specifically Georgia accent for the first 100 pages at least. Then the accent slowly becomes less harsh, but it always remains.
Please quote per hour of delivered audio. Sep 17, 2007 12:48:55 Pacific Time (US & Canada) Oct 23, 2007 15:00:00 Pacific Time (US & Canada) Yes (click here to learn more about
)
Closed
7
7
1 direct invitation(s) have been sent by the voice seeker resulting in 0 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far.
Voice123 SmartCast is seeking 100 auditions and/or proposals for this project (approx.) Invitations sent by SmartCast have resulted in 0 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far.
Please quote per hour of delivered audio. Sep 17, 2007 12:48:55 Pacific Time (US & Canada) Oct 23, 2007 15:00:00 Pacific Time (US & Canada) Yes (click here to learn more about
)
Closed
7
7
1 direct invitation(s) have been sent by the voice seeker resulting in 0 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far.
Voice123 SmartCast is seeking 100 auditions and/or proposals for this project (approx.) Invitations sent by SmartCast have resulted in 0 audition(s) and/or proposal(s) so far.
Project Parameters
None
To be defined
Promos
English - North American
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There are no special pre-, post-, or production requirements for this project.
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No
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Script Details
Yes
NARRATOR
Merry knew exactly which switch from the tree in her
yard she was going to pick. She had been gone so long, Johnson with his chicken self had probably told her momma already where she had been, so it didn't make no sense to lie about it. No, this time, she was going to be a big girl, march into the house with her switch, get her licking and get it over with.
That was her plan, at least, as Merry walked up to her house, fully expecting to see her angry momma standing on the porch waiting to beat her. Instead, Merry saw something she never dreamed she'd ever see parked in her front yard - the car from up North that she saw earlier in town. And its handsome military driver, muscular, tall and the color of sweet buttermilk, stood outside on the porch smoking a cigarette.
Merry smiled, excited. The handsome man smiled back.
CORN
Oh, my. I'd recognized that pretty smile anywhere. You must be Merry.
MERRY
Yes, suh.
CORN
No, no, baby, my daddy's suh. I'm Cornelius. Folks call me Corn.
MERRY
Hi, Mr. Corn. Do I know you?
NARRATOR
Corn chuckled, exposing a gap in his front teeth large enough for Merry to stick her fist through.
CORN
Straight out just like yo' momma. No, you don't know me, but I know yo' momma. Baby Girl, you look just like she spit you out.
NARRATOR
Merry's heart skipped a beat, then she glanced toward the doorway, remembering her licking.
Army soldier or not, this fine stranger wasn't going to be able to save her from her momma's wrath. And to make matters worst, Merry figured his beautiful companion was surely inside tossing more wood on the flame, telling Dora all about how she was in town.
MERRY
Is my Momma inside?
CORN
Yes, Baby Girl. She been lookin' for you.
NARRATOR
The air inside the house felt hotter than usual. Stickier. The windows in the front room were open, but there was no breeze.
Not that it would have mattered anyway. By all white folks accounts, Merry's small shack of a home wasn't really a house. It was more like an old hot box, a wooden makeshift three room shelter, in danger of tumbling over from the next high wind, with a leaky tin roof and rotting floor. Not fit enough for a white man's beloved family hound to live in.
But to Merry, it was home. All she knew. All she had. But here lately for reasons she wasn't consciously aware of, didn't understand, nor could explain, she had been yearning for more.
Dora and the pretty woman sat in two chairs by the radio, sipping on lemonade. Johnson panted at the woman's feet, gazing up at her like a lovesick puppy dog. Merry quietly entered, hoping no one would notice her. The screen door creaked. All eyes turned on her.
DORA
Merry! Gurl, you alright?
NARRATOR
Dora rose and walked over to Merry, who stood frozen.
NARRATOR
Dora was what Colored folks called red bone. Two years shy of 60, but not looking a day over 40, Dora was the color of Georgia clay, her weary face randomly spotted with freckles. She was willowy, tall, and always wore her wavy black hair plaited into two long pony tails.
Dora felt Merry's forehead and pushed her hand into her daughter's soaked shirt, touching her flat chest and back. Her touch was rough. Like her love.
Merry knew her momma loved her. No doubt about it. But Momma Blankface - that's what mean folks called Dora, because her face so called showed no emotion and was hard to read - didn't love like other folks with flowery words and hugs and kisses. Instead she showed what was in her heart to Merry, Johnson and those around her through her hands. By doing instead of saying.
If Merry had seen it once, she'd seen it a thousand times. If man, woman or child had something ailing them, her momma would heal them. If a soul was hungry, she'd feed them. And if someone was homeless, she'd house them. But love? Dora's love was practical, something Merry could touch and see, not so much feel.
Merry wiggled from her momma's touch. It tickled.
DORA
Well, you hot, but you ain't got a fever. I swear, if you had been gone five mo' minutes, I was gone come afta you mysef.
NARRATOR
Merry peeked around Dora to read Johnson's face to see how she should answer, but he was still starring up at the pretty stranger. The woman, nervous and just as surprised to see Merry, looked at her with knowing eyes and smiled hello. Again.
MERRY
Momma, I'm sorry.
DORA
Sorry 'bout whut?
NARRATOR
The love spell with the woman suddenly broken, Johnson shot Merry a petrified look that she couldn't decipher.
DORA
Merry, whut you sorry 'bout?
MERRY
'Cuz I was gone...
JOHNSON
Merry mus' still be sick, Momma! She was worried you would be mad, 'cuz I had tuh pick fo' her, 'cuz she was gone so long in duh outhouse.
NARRATOR
Johnson stood up, eye balling his sister, telling her not to say another word. Merry glanced at the pretty woman to read her reaction. She nodded. Merry bit her tongue.
DORA
Why would I be mad at you 'bout dat, girl? If you was sick, you shoulda come and tol' me.
EXCELLENT
Well, maybe she was scared to. Could be her time. I started 'bout her age.
NARRATOR
The pretty woman's voice sounded strange to Merry, yet familiar. It had a melodic quality to it, almost as if there was a song behind her words. Merry looked at her, hoping she would speak again.
DORA
Lawd, dat's all I need. Jesus, gurl, you bleedin'?
MERRY
Ma'am?
NARRATOR
Dora spun Merry around to examine her backside.
DORA
I said, did yo' monthly come? You bleedin'?
NARRATOR
Merry peered at her fingers. The fresh cuts from this morning's cotton picking were already healing.
MERRY
No, momma. Not no more.
NARRATOR
Dora paused, then laughed. Relieved. Merry loved to hear her Momma's laugh. These days, she didn't get to hear it often enough.
Dora shook her finger, fussing at the woman.
DORA
Don't you be comin' down here startin' no mess. Merry gettin' her monthly. Lawd, have mercy! You almost gave me a heart 'tack.
NARRATOR
Dora, still chuckling, sat down with a thud and took a sip of her lemonade. Merry didn't move. Johnson and the pretty woman also stayed where they were. No one said it, but they were all waiting for Dora to tell them what they could do next.
DORA
Whut wrong wit' yaw? It ain't been dat long, for yaw tuh be actin' like yaw don't know each other. Merry, Johnson, stop actin' silly and come ovah here and give yo' momma a propuh greetin'.
NARRATOR
Merry and Johnson looked at each other, confused. Neither moved.
DORA
I said, come say hello to yo' momma. You hear me? Or do you want tuh go outside and git a switch. Merry...
EXCELLENT
Momma, don't. It has been a long time. Too long. < Portion of the script provided for audition purposes only >
Merry mus' still be sick, Momma! She was worried you would be mad, 'cuz I had tuh pick fo' her, 'cuz she was gone so long in duh outhouse.
NARRATOR
Merry knew exactly which switch from the tree in her
yard she was going to pick. She had been gone so long, Johnson with his chicken self had probably told her momma already where she had been, so it didn't make no sense to lie about it. No, this time, she was going to be a big girl, march into the house with her switch, get her licking and get it over with.
That was her plan, at least, as Merry walked up to her house, fully expecting to see her angry momma standing on the porch waiting to beat her. Instead, Merry saw something she never dreamed she'd ever see parked in her front yard - the car from up North that she saw earlier in town. And its handsome military driver, muscular, tall and the color of sweet buttermilk, stood outside on the porch smoking a cigarette.
Merry smiled, excited. The handsome man smiled back.
CORN
Oh, my. I'd recognized that pretty smile anywhere. You must be Merry.
MERRY
Yes, suh.
CORN
No, no, baby, my daddy's suh. I'm Cornelius. Folks call me Corn.
MERRY
Hi, Mr. Corn. Do I know you?
NARRATOR
Corn chuckled, exposing a gap in his front teeth large enough for Merry to stick her fist through.
CORN
Straight out just like yo' momma. No, you don't know me, but I know yo' momma. Baby Girl, you look just like she spit you out.
NARRATOR
Merry's heart skipped a beat, then she glanced toward the doorway, remembering her licking.
Army soldier or not, this fine stranger wasn't going to be able to save her from her momma's wrath. And to make matters worst, Merry figured his beautiful companion was surely inside tossing more wood on the flame, telling Dora all about how she was in town.
MERRY
Is my Momma inside?
CORN
Yes, Baby Girl. She been lookin' for you.
NARRATOR
The air inside the house felt hotter than usual. Stickier. The windows in the front room were open, but there was no breeze.
Not that it would have mattered anyway. By all white folks accounts, Merry's small shack of a home wasn't really a house. It was more like an old hot box, a wooden makeshift three room shelter, in danger of tumbling over from the next high wind, with a leaky tin roof and rotting floor. Not fit enough for a white man's beloved family hound to live in.
But to Merry, it was home. All she knew. All she had. But here lately for reasons she wasn't consciously aware of, didn't understand, nor could explain, she had been yearning for more.
Dora and the pretty woman sat in two chairs by the radio, sipping on lemonade. Johnson panted at the woman's feet, gazing up at her like a lovesick puppy dog. Merry quietly entered, hoping no one would notice her. The screen door creaked. All eyes turned on her.
DORA
Merry! Gurl, you alright?
NARRATOR
Dora rose and walked over to Merry, who stood frozen.
NARRATOR
Dora was what Colored folks called red bone. Two years shy of 60, but not looking a day over 40, Dora was the color of Georgia clay, her weary face randomly spotted with freckles. She was willowy, tall, and always wore her wavy black hair plaited into two long pony tails.
Dora felt Merry's forehead and pushed her hand into her daughter's soaked shirt, touching her flat chest and back. Her touch was rough. Like her love.
Merry knew her momma loved her. No doubt about it. But Momma Blankface - that's what mean folks called Dora, because her face so called showed no emotion and was hard to read - didn't love like other folks with flowery words and hugs and kisses. Instead she showed what was in her heart to Merry, Johnson and those around her through her hands. By doing instead of saying.
If Merry had seen it once, she'd seen it a thousand times. If man, woman or child had something ailing them, her momma would heal them. If a soul was hungry, she'd feed them. And if someone was homeless, she'd house them. But love? Dora's love was practical, something Merry could touch and see, not so much feel.
Merry wiggled from her momma's touch. It tickled.
DORA
Well, you hot, but you ain't got a fever. I swear, if you had been gone five mo' minutes, I was gone come afta you mysef.
NARRATOR
Merry peeked around Dora to read Johnson's face to see how she should answer, but he was still starring up at the pretty stranger. The woman, nervous and just as surprised to see Merry, looked at her with knowing eyes and smiled hello. Again.
MERRY
Momma, I'm sorry.
DORA
Sorry 'bout whut?
NARRATOR
The love spell with the woman suddenly broken, Johnson shot Merry a petrified look that she couldn't decipher.
DORA
Merry, whut you sorry 'bout?
MERRY
'Cuz I was gone...
JOHNSON
Merry mus' still be sick, Momma! She was worried you would be mad, 'cuz I had tuh pick fo' her, 'cuz she was gone so long in duh outhouse.
NARRATOR
Johnson stood up, eye balling his sister, telling her not to say another word. Merry glanced at the pretty woman to read her reaction. She nodded. Merry bit her tongue.
DORA
Why would I be mad at you 'bout dat, girl? If you was sick, you shoulda come and tol' me.
EXCELLENT
Well, maybe she was scared to. Could be her time. I started 'bout her age.
NARRATOR
The pretty woman's voice sounded strange to Merry, yet familiar. It had a melodic quality to it, almost as if there was a song behind her words. Merry looked at her, hoping she would speak again.
DORA
Lawd, dat's all I need. Jesus, gurl, you bleedin'?
MERRY
Ma'am?
NARRATOR
Dora spun Merry around to examine her backside.
DORA
I said, did yo' monthly come? You bleedin'?
NARRATOR
Merry peered at her fingers. The fresh cuts from this morning's cotton picking were already healing.
MERRY
No, momma. Not no more.
NARRATOR
Dora paused, then laughed. Relieved. Merry loved to hear her Momma's laugh. These days, she didn't get to hear it often enough.
Dora shook her finger, fussing at the woman.
DORA
Don't you be comin' down here startin' no mess. Merry gettin' her monthly. Lawd, have mercy! You almost gave me a heart 'tack.
NARRATOR
Dora, still chuckling, sat down with a thud and took a sip of her lemonade. Merry didn't move. Johnson and the pretty woman also stayed where they were. No one said it, but they were all waiting for Dora to tell them what they could do next.
DORA
Whut wrong wit' yaw? It ain't been dat long, for yaw tuh be actin' like yaw don't know each other. Merry, Johnson, stop actin' silly and come ovah here and give yo' momma a propuh greetin'.
NARRATOR
Merry and Johnson looked at each other, confused. Neither moved.
DORA
I said, come say hello to yo' momma. You hear me? Or do you want tuh go outside and git a switch. Merry...
EXCELLENT
Momma, don't. It has been a long time. Too long. < Portion of the script provided for audition purposes only >
Merry mus' still be sick, Momma! She was worried you would be mad, 'cuz I had tuh pick fo' her, 'cuz she was gone so long in duh outhouse.
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