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Revived from a coma after a traumatic event, Megan’s injuries leave her capable of great violence, forcing her desperate physician Cassandra to recruit Alison, an Indigenous clinician, as her consultant. Alison uses an innovative form of technologically enhanced expressive arts therapy to augment the rehabilitative effects of speaking Lenape, their shared (and almost extinct) language. However, this reminder of cultural expression and identity triggers Megan, putting herself into a life-threatening situation. With Megan’s safety in jeopardy, Alison must internalize a life-changing lesson to save her: pain is often unjust, but it also reminds us that we’re alive.

Everything I Couldn’t Tell You is a potent reminder of the healing and rehabilitative power within Indigenous languages.

Read this riveting excerpt from the play below:

***

A fancy doctor’s office in a shiny hospital.

DR. CASSANDRA BARRY, forties, a physician and scientist with the sneer of someone smarter than most physicians and scientists, braces for the worst of a therapy session turned storm.

MEGAN CORNELIUS, thirties, a brain-injured Indigenous hurricane, makes white knuckle fists in lieu of strangling CASSANDRA. A letter is stuffed in MEGAN’s bra, in plain sight.

CASSANDRA: I assume it’s some kind of personal correspondence. I thought you might want to discuss it. Given you have it on prominent display.

MEGAN: Doctors shouldn’t stare at my tits.

CASSANDRA: You’ve baited another argument. To prevent us from discussing something upsetting.

MEGAN: We both know it’s coming. The punch. The punch. Trauma, trauma, yak, yak. Scars don’t mean as much as healing.

CASSANDRA: If you don’t face the reason for those scars—

MEGAN: You’re like a kid. Playing a song week after week, just to piss up the same note. Twinkle, twinkle, little—damn, they never get it right. You win. From now on, all we talk about is me getting hit. Until practice makes perfect.

CASSANDRA: Yet again, you’re distorting my therapeutic intentions.

MEGAN: He was between me and the door. I couldn’t get out. Boom. He was between me and the door. I couldn’t get out. Boom. He was between—

CASSANDRA: Megan, please.

MEGAN: When someone says ouch like me, they heal like me. I want a Native doctor. Who doesn’t torture me.

CASSANDRA: The hospital’s Elder remains available, however reluctant you—

MEGAN: For the tenth frickin’ time, Uma told me never to see one. Or God would cry. City girls need fancy city medicine.

CASSANDRA: I hear the hospital’s latest Indigenous social worker—

MEGAN: I put the last two on sick leave. I’ll crap gold nuggets before another under-trained fool does me any good. Give me a doctor.

CASSANDRA: The more you narrow the field of potential helpers, the more you sabotage your recovery.

MEGAN: Push my button again. Please.

CASSANDRA: Don’t make me call security.

MEGAN: Ke-hu-loo-neh-soo-wa?

CASSANDRA: I didn’t catch that.

MEGAN: Ke-hu-loo-neh-soo-wa? Find a doctor who can answer. Or I’ll sue.

***

Find out how this thrilling story unfolds by ordering your copy of Everything I Couldn’t Tell You today!