Adaptation

May, 2025

The stage is set with a sofa, a table with a bowl of fruit, and several cardboard boxes. The actor for JOANNE stands in the middle of the collection of cardboard boxes, and the actor for JOHNATHAN is spinning an apple on the tabletop. 

JOHNATHAN: He’s been gone for five years.

JOANNE: Yeah I just. He knew how to stack a deck and he taught me when I was seven. He taught me to watch how long people hesitated before they played a card in bridge—so you could tell if they were almost out of the suit. 

JOHNATHAN comes around the table and wraps his arms around JOANNE from behind. She falls into him, away from the box she’s looking at.

JOHNATHAN: He sounds great, but he’s all here now. [taps JOANNE’s temple] These are just decks of cards, honey. Just sitting here. 

JOANNE: I know. I know. [quiet] Garage sale tomorrow. I’m… I’m ready.

JOANNE turns in JOHNATHAN’s arms and kisses him lightly. She drops her forehead onto his chest and they rock back and forth together. The lights go out on them. 

In the front row, at the very last seat on the right, Joanne sits. She clasps her hands and watches quietly as stage lights come back on and the actors jog onto the stage, waving and smiling and holding their co-stars’ hands. The cloak of their grief has been shed. 

The actress for Joanne takes her bow last, to the loudest cheers, and then gestures to Joanne in the front row, who stands and waves back at the audience. People cheer, though a little less than for the pretend Joanne. 

October, 2023

Joanne sits on a sofa in a silky dress that ripples around her ankles when she crosses her legs. Across from her sits a smartly dressed talk show host, grinning and holding a book up.

Host: (with extremely unconvincing acting) Oh, gosh, did I let the cat out of the bag? Oh hell! 

Joanne: (laughing) You let the cat out of the bag, yeah. (turning to the audience) You heard it here first—Sanctuary is going to be adapted into a stage play! 

Host: For those who aren’t in the know, Sanctuary is a memoir Joanne wrote two years ago, which rocketed to the top of the bestseller list. The New York Times said… ‘A sharp and honest portrayal of immense grief!’ Wow. Joanne, why don’t you tell us what we need to know about Sanctuary?

Joanne: Well maybe we should just keep asking the New York Times! (laughter) Uh, well, about six years ago I lost my dad, and it was just—it was devastating. He used to teach me card tricks, you know, when I was a teenager, and I was a rude teenager—

Interviewer: You? A rude teenager?

Joanne: I know, you wouldn’t believe—but anyway. I think Sanctuary is about a lesson that took me years to learn: grieving doesn’t mean you have to stop living.

Dec, 2020

I think there were still parts of my father that I couldn’t grieve because I hadn’t known them. My mother used to say he was a brilliant bridge player, and that he used to know how to stack a deck, when they were young. She’d nudge my father, like she was trying to suggest he should return to his sexier, card-shark youth. I got into bridge when I was a teenager, and by that age he was never around.

Joanne hunches over her chunky keyboard, peering at the monitor. She highlights a paragraph of her manuscript and cuts it. 

There were specific details about my father that I missed the most: his quick fingers, his quicker brain. He could stack a deck, could think circles around his bridge opponents, and I would watch him, entranced even as a surly teenager by the sureness with which he placed down every card. My mother would reminisce with me after he was gone: wasn’t he so quick, she would say, and I would say, so quick. 

June, 2019

Johnathan sets down his wine glass, looking stricken. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean, it was almost five months ago. It’s okay.” Joanne leans over the table, trying to catch his eye, but he’s looking down at the complimentary bread. 

Johnathan looks even more stricken. “That’s not that long. I mean—you don’t have to pretend. I get it. My mother died three years ago and I still haven’t been able to throw out the boxes with all her things.”

“Oh.” Joanne sits back slightly. “I mean—yeah, I still have a lot of his stuff and I feel like I could never get rid of it. I’ll have to one day, I know, I can’t just have all that crap sitting in my basement…”

“But it doesn’t feel like crap.” Jonathan studies Joanne’s face. “Oh—or does it.”

Joanne twirls her linguine. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Sorry, this has got to be the most morbid first date material ever. Do you want to get dinner again sometime, talk about something brighter?”

“Yes. Sure.” Johnathan shifts in his chair. “Or maybe it’s just not the right time of life for us.” 

Joanne sighs and waves her hand for the check.

January, 2019

Joanne’s mother comes up to her, holding up a deck of cards. “You’re selling these?”

“It’s a deck of cards, Mom. Garage sale people love cards.” Joanne counts the crumpled cash she’s accumulated over the course of the morning. 

“Your dad loved cards. Your dad loved these cards.”

“If you want them, take them.” Joanne stops counting but doesn’t look at her mother. “If I don’t know what the stuff he left me meant to him, it’s his fault.”

“Jo. Give him half a year of grace at least.”

“He should’ve been around to tell me he liked cards if he wanted me to know.” Joanne closes her eyes. She looks exhausted with anger. “Now I have all this shit and the most I can make of it is money.”