A New Musical
In a neighborhood shaped by watching and fear, a young man on the edge of collapse discovers that survival isn't something you do alone — it's something you do together, one breath at a time.
Book, Music & Lyrics by Richard Ehrlich
© 2025 Richard Ehrlich
Music demos created for reference only and are not intended for commercial distribution.
Click a song title to play the demo.
Now Playing:
Select a song
A New Musical
Book, Music & Lyrics by Richard Ehrlich
THE BREATH: COMING HOME is a musical about what it means to show up—not to save, not to fix, but simply to be present in someone else's crisis without flinching.
Set in a Latino neighborhood shaped by surveillance and constant threat, the show explores how marginalized communities create networks of protection and care. It's about earning trust, sharing burdens, and learning that sometimes the most radical thing you can do is breathe together.
This is theater that witnesses. Theater that says: I see you. You are not alone. We breathe together.
Runtime: 2 hours 15 minutes with intermission
Cast: 8-12 principals + flexible ensemble
Songs: 11 original musical numbers
Setting: Present day, urban Latino neighborhood
Themes: Community resilience, surveillance culture, hypervigilance, intergenerational trauma, chosen family, visibility as resistance
The score blends contemporary musical theater with authentic Latino musical elements—bolero, cumbia, and salsa. Songs range from intimate character solos to high-energy ensemble showstoppers, with tempos from 68 to 148 BPM ensuring dynamic variety throughout.
"The Wall Around Us" – The ensemble opening that establishes the community's network of watchers
"Belong" – A Latin fusion showstopper (cumbia/salsa) featuring ensemble celebration. The 11 o'clock number built for standing ovations
"The Breath" – The climactic title song, building from intimate 70 BPM to powerful 148 BPM, where Alex's personal breakthrough becomes a universal anthem
Richard Ehrlich is a composer, lyricist, and playwright creating work at the intersection of mental health, community resilience, and social justice. His musical ALL AT ONCE! explores neurodiversity and ADHD through authentic representation. TONIC: Finding Euphoria is a 30-minute transformational journey from chaos to catharsis. He is the author of nine books in the GoYou inspirational series and a member of the Dramatists Guild. THE BREATH: COMING HOME represents his commitment to creating theater that honors marginalized voices without exploiting their trauma—theater that witnesses rather than spectates.
Contact: Richard Ehrlich
Rights: All rights reserved. Inquiries through Dramatists Guild.
A New Musical
Book, Music & Lyrics by Richard Ehrlich
Evan arrives in a neighborhood he doesn't know, looking for a community center. Alex, an eighteen-year-old living under constant surveillance, mistakes him for a threat. Their first meeting is violent—a chokehold born from months of fear and hypervigilance.
But Evan comes back. Not to save anyone. Because he said he would. And that matters.
THE BREATH: COMING HOME follows two people learning to trust in a world where trust is dangerous. Alex has spent years protecting his family—his mother Marisol, grandmother Abuela Luz, and younger brother Miguel—by watching the streets, tracking suspicious cars, checking locks, counting exits. He carries the weight alone, believing that constant vigilance is the only thing keeping his family safe.
Through a series of encounters at the community center, Alex discovers he's not the only watcher. Tomás, Gabo, and Sofia—members of the community—have their own systems of protection, their own patterns of surveillance. When Evan, a recently unemployed teacher searching for purpose, asks to understand, Alex begins teaching him how to watch. In turn, Evan offers something Alex has never had: someone to share the burden.
The fragile trust they're building shatters when a rumor spreads through the neighborhood—raids, sweeps, disappearances. Families fracture under the pressure. Some flee to safety elsewhere. Some stay, making impossible choices between protection and presence. The community that once felt cohesive scatters in terror.
In the aftermath of loss and departure, those who remain must decide: continue hiding, or become visible on their own terms. Marisol calls for a gathering—a public celebration in the face of surveillance. It's dangerous. It's reckless. It might be necessary.
The gathering becomes an act of resistance through joy—dancing, singing, proclaiming "Aquí estamos / We are here." For the first time in years, Alex stops watching and starts living. For just a few minutes, surrounded by his community, he breathes.
THE BREATH: COMING HOME ends not with resolution, but with presence. The threat hasn't disappeared. The watching continues. But they face it together now—connected, supported, breathing as one. The banner they hang declares their existence: We are still here.
Alex (18) – Salvadoran-American, hypervigilant protector carrying intergenerational trauma
Evan (late 20s) – White American teacher, lost and searching for belonging
Marisol (40s) – Alex's mother, exhausted but fierce community organizer
Abuela Luz (60s) – Family matriarch, survivor of El Salvador's civil war disappearances
Miguel (8) – Alex's younger brother, perceptive and wise beyond his years
Tomás, Gabo, Sofia, Carlos, Lucia – Community members, each with their own reasons for watching, staying, or leaving
Runtime: 2 hours 15 minutes (Acts I & II)
Cast: 8-12 principals + flexible ensemble
Songs: 11 original songs with Latino musical influences
Themes: Surveillance culture, hypervigilance, community resilience, chosen family, visibility as resistance, intergenerational trauma
Richard Ehrlich is a composer, lyricist, and playwright whose work explores mental health, neurodiversity, and community resilience. His musical ALL AT ONCE! examines ADHD through authentic lens. TONIC: Finding Euphoria transforms anxiety into catharsis. He is the author of nine books in the GoYou series and a member of the Dramatists Guild. THE BREATH: COMING HOME represents his commitment to creating theater that honors marginalized voices—theater that witnesses rather than spectates.
A New Musical
Book, Music & Lyrics by Richard Ehrlich
Acts: 2
Scenes: 17 (9 in Act I, 8 in Act II)
Songs: 11 original musical numbers
Runtime: 2 hours 15 minutes with intermission
Scene 1: The Wall Around Us
Night. Community center exterior. Alex watches from the shadows. Evan approaches. Alex mistakes him for a federal agent and puts him in a chokehold. The encounter ends when Miguel and Marisol intervene. Alex flees. The ensemble creates the neighborhood's surveillance network. Song: The Wall Around Us
Scene 2: Community Center / Street / Confrontation
Two days later. Evan returns despite the assault. Miguel questions why. The children arrive. Alex watches from outside. Late evening: Tomás, Gabo, and Sofia stand watch. They reveal they're all watching too. They invite Alex to Friday's gathering. Song: Tell Me What You See
Scene 3: The Community Gathers
The family apartment. Marisol cooks. Abuela folds laundry. Alex checks locks obsessively. Abuela tells the story of her son Carlos, lost in El Salvador in 1982. She warns: "You're disappearing right in front of us." Song: Este Es Mi Barrio
Scene 4: The Return
One week later. Alex enters the community center for the first time since the assault. Eight-year-old Sofia asks for help with fractions. After the kids leave, Alex and Evan have their first real conversation.
Scene 5: The Wall Around Us (Reprise)
That night. Tomás, Gabo, and Alex watch together. A white sedan circles for the fourth time. They track it silently.
Scene 6: Miguel's World
The family apartment. Miguel draws a map of "safe places." Alex taught him this. When pressed to eat dinner, Alex breaks down: "I don't know how else to do it."
Scene 7: Something's Changing
Two weeks later. Community center, after hours. Alex and Evan connect. Song: Something's Changing
Scene 8: The Question
The following week. Marisol enters with devastating news: Federal agents swept Maple Street. Three families taken. Alex asks: "Even after this? You'll still stay?" Evan: "Especially after this."
Scene 9: Dangerous Breathing
Three days later. The fear spreads. Alex is everywhere—watching, checking, spiraling. Song: Dangerous Breathing
END ACT I
Scene 10: Look At Me
That evening. Alex hasn't come home in two days. Evan searches and finds him on a rooftop. Alex: "If I stop watching, something bad will happen." Evan: "Something bad already happened. And you were watching." Song: Look At Me
— INTERMISSION —
Scene 11: The Rumor
Morning. Community center. Routine day becomes chaos. Phones buzz with warnings. The room erupts in panic. Song: The Rumor
Scene 12: Evan's Choice
Late night. Evan has a job offer in Pennsylvania. Alex learns about it and feels betrayed. Evan pulls out his phone and declines the offer. "I'm staying."
Scene 13: Don't Go Yet
The next day. Seven families left overnight. Three vignettes of goodbye: those who leave, those who stay, and the pact they make. Song: Don't Go Yet
Scene 13 (continued): The Call to Gather
Two days later. Those who remain debate: Is gathering dangerous? Marisol decides: "We gather. Friday night. Somewhere they can see us." The banner hangs: "AQUÍ ESTAMOS / WE ARE HERE."
Scene 14: Belong
Friday night. The plaza. Maybe thirty people gather. Alex's panic attack transforms into defiant celebration. The ensemble floods in. Alex dances. He breathes. Song: Belong
Scene 15: The Breath
The morning after. Alex: "During the dancing, I stopped counting. And no one disappeared." Miguel: "You did it last night. So do it again. Until minutes become hours." Song: The Breath
Scene 16: After the Breath
Later that day. They hang the banner across the community center. Large. Visible. Alex: "Maybe if we all watch a little, no one has to watch all the time." Miguel: "And you'll come inside too?" Alex: "Yeah. I'll come inside too."
Scene 17: Still Here
Three weeks later. Some families returned. The watching continues—but it's different. Shared. Marisol calls: "Dinner!" Alex looks back once, then goes inside. The ensemble surrounds the building, holding space. Song: Still Here
END OF PLAY
A Musical in Two Acts
Book, Music & Lyrics by Richard Ehrlich
© 2025 Richard Ehrlich. All rights reserved.
Night. The community center exterior. A cracked streetlight flickers. Through the window, MARISOL and MIGUEL are visible inside, setting up chairs for tomorrow's program.
ALEX stands in shadow near the door, watching. He's been here a while—checking faces, reading the street, tracking every car that passes. His body language is coiled, alert.
Music underscores—quiet, tense. Heartbeat rhythm.
EVAN enters from stage left, carrying a backpack. He's clearly lost—checking his phone, looking around confused. The map app has failed him. He spots the community center—a lit building in a darkening street. Relief crosses his face.
ALEX's body language shifts immediately. He steps deeper into shadow, watching.
EVAN approaches the door. Pauses to look at a flyer on the wall. Turns slightly, presenting his back.
ALEX moves. Fast. Silent.
In three steps, ALEX is behind EVAN. His arm wraps around EVAN's throat—not violently, but immobilizing. Controlled. Protective instinct, not aggression. Both freeze.
ALEX
(low, controlled) Don't move. Don't say anything.
EVAN's hands instinctively go up—surrender position. His phone drops. He tries to speak.
EVAN
I'm—
ALEX
(tightening grip slightly) I said don't move.
EVAN stops struggling. Both breathing hard. Five seconds of silence—just breathing.
ALEX begins to turn EVAN slowly, keeping hold. Their eyes meet.
Recognition floods ALEX's face. Horror. This is not enforcement. This is a kid. This is someone lost.
ALEX releases immediately, stumbles backward, hands up.
They stand frozen, six feet apart. EVAN rubs his neck. Neither speaks.
Door opens. MIGUEL appears.
MIGUEL
(seeing them, understanding immediately) Evan?
EVAN
(voice rough) Yeah. I... yeah.
MIGUEL
(to ALEX, calm but firm) Alex.
ALEX
(can't look at EVAN) I thought—
MIGUEL
I know what you thought.
MARISOL appears in doorway.
MARISOL
(to EVAN) You're here for the program. After-school.
EVAN
(still shaken) Yes. I'm... I'm Evan.
ALEX
(quiet, to himself) I know.
Long silence. ALEX can't look up. EVAN can't stop staring at him.
EVAN
I should... maybe I should come back another time.
MARISOL
(to ALEX, not unkind but clear) Walk. You need to walk it off.
ALEX nods. Exits quickly, stage right. Doesn't look back.
EVAN stands there, still processing. Picks up his phone with shaking hands.
MIGUEL
He wasn't trying to hurt you.
EVAN
(quiet) I know.
MARISOL gestures inside. EVAN follows slowly. MIGUEL watches the direction ALEX went, worried.
TOMÁS (from nearby, low)
Every day we start over. Eyes open, hearts steady. Let's go.
[SONG 1: THE WALL AROUND US]
Music swells. Lights shift.
The ensemble enters—neighbors, watchers, protectors. They move through the space, creating walls of bodies, checking over shoulders. ALEX appears upstage, separate, watching them all. The song explores surveillance, protection, and the cost of constant vigilance.
Lights fade on ALEX alone, still watching.
Two days later. The community center — afternoon light through dusty windows. Children's drawings cover the walls. A few mismatched tables. Quiet, fragile normalcy.
EVAN enters hesitantly, backpack slung over one shoulder. He scans the room — unsure, curious, out of place but trying.
MIGUEL is setting up art supplies on a low table.
COMMUNITY CENTER — PART 1
MIGUEL You came back.
EVAN I said I would.
MIGUEL People say a lot of things.
EVAN sets his bag down, awkward.
EVAN Is he… is Alex here?
MIGUEL He doesn’t come inside much. Prefers the perimeter.
EVAN The… perimeter?
MIGUEL (matter-of-fact) Someone has to watch.
MARISOL enters from a back room, carrying a box of books.
MARISOL Evan. Good. The kids will be here in twenty minutes. You’ll help with reading?
EVAN Yes. Of course. Whatever you need.
She studies him carefully — deciding if he’s genuine.
MARISOL You don’t have to keep coming. If it’s too much.
EVAN It’s not too much.
She nods. Hands him a stack of children’s books.
MARISOL Start with these. The younger ones can’t sit still long.
She exits. EVAN watches her go, then turns to find MIGUEL watching him again.
MIGUEL Why are you really here?
EVAN What?
MIGUEL You could volunteer anywhere. Safer neighborhoods. Better funding. Why here?
EVAN (honest) I don’t know. I was walking. I saw the flyer. I just—
MIGUEL You just stumbled in.
EVAN Yeah. I guess I did.
MIGUEL studies him for a long moment, then nods.
MIGUEL Okay.
EVAN Okay?
MIGUEL Most people have a mission. They want to fix us. Save us. Feel good about themselves. You don’t seem like that.
EVAN I’m just… unemployed. I moved here a month ago. I don’t know anyone. I saw the flyer and thought maybe I could—
MIGUEL Maybe you could what?
EVAN (quiet) Be useful. To someone.
A beat. MIGUEL gives him the first real smile.
MIGUEL Okay. You can stay.
Children’s voices suddenly rise outside — laughter, shouting, energy. The door bursts open and kids flood in, swarming MIGUEL.
EVAN tries to keep up. He kneels, opens a book, reads with them. He is, for the first time, part of something.
Upstage, ALEX appears at the window — watching silently. Protective. Distant. EVAN glances up, sees him for a moment — and ALEX turns away.
Lights shift.
PART 2 — STREET CORNER (A CONTINUATION, NOT A NEW SCENE)
Late evening. A street corner. The same world, same night. The community is still in motion — this is the continuation of Scene 2.
TOMÁS stands watch, leaning on a wall. Checking his phone, not scrolling, just waiting.
GABO arrives from work, dusty.
GABO Quiet tonight?
TOMÁS So far.
They stand together, a silent system.
SOFIA emerges, exhausted from a long hospital shift.
SOFIA You’re here again.
TOMÁS Someone has to be.
They talk quietly about: — the white van that circled twice — the families considering leaving — the fear that won’t name itself
Then:
From the shadows, ALEX appears. He’s been watching them the whole time.
GABO Kid. You eat today?
ALEX I’m not hungry.
GABO gives him a look: that’s not the question.
They talk about who watches, who warns, who keeps track of who’s missing. Alex learns he’s not the only one. They’ve all been watching longer than he’s been alive.
It unsettles him.
Eventually everyone disperses, heading home.
ALEX begins to leave too — alone.
PART 3 — THE CONFRONTATION
EVAN appears at the end of the block — breathless but determined — catching up to Alex.
EVAN Alex. You can’t keep doing this alone.
ALEX stiffens.
ALEX You don’t understand what doing nothing costs.
EVAN Then help me understand.
ALEX turns — sharper than he means — but it’s fear underneath.
ALEX (shaken) You really don’t see me at all… do you?
Silence.
EVAN steps closer — not touching, just present.
EVAN (soft) Then show me.
The street noise drops away, replaced by a low pulse — the emotional oxygen shift.
A light isolates them.
[SONG 2: TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE] begins HERE
After the song ends:
Interior. Community Center — Evening. The room is lively, half-set up for an event. Folding chairs. Food containers. Children running around. ADULTS unpacking tables and decorations.
MARISOL directs traffic like a general holding together a tired army.
TOMÁS hauls in a crate of supplies. GABO tapes paper banners to the wall. SOFIA carries a tray of empanadas.
ALEX is in the doorway, half-inside, half-outside — watching.
MARISOL
Chairs go in rows. Not circles — rows. If we do circles it looks like a meeting and people won’t come.
GABO
Most already said they’re not coming.
MARISOL
Then we make it easy to change their mind.
SOFIA
Some are scared, Marisol. They think gathering puts a target on us.
TOMÁS
(grim) Staying home puts a target on us too.
Silence. They all feel that truth.
MARISOL
One night. That’s all I’m asking. One night where we aren’t just watching or hiding. One night where we’re… together.
ALEX shifts in the doorway. MARISOL sees him.
MARISOL
You can help, you know.
ALEX
I’m watching the entrance.
SOFIA
(smiling gently) You can watch and help at the same time.
GABO
Besides, kid — nobody’s sneaking past you. Go on. Bring those speakers inside.
ALEX hesitates… then steps fully into the room for the first time.
A small but powerful moment.
EVAN enters, nervous but willing.
Carrying a bag of donated art supplies.
EVAN
I… wasn’t sure if I was supposed to come early.
MARISOL
You came. That’s enough.
EVAN looks around — sees a community preparing something fragile and brave.
A growing hum of conversation rises — tension mixing with hope.
SOFIA
So what is this gathering, exactly?
MARISOL
It’s a reminder. That we're still here. That fear doesn’t get to decide who we are.
TOMÁS
(sotto, to Gabo) Or maybe it does. But tonight we fight back.
ALEX
(quiet, surprising them) People forget we exist unless we stand together.
Everyone turns. It’s the first thing he’s voluntarily said to the group.
MARISOL smiles — proud.
GABO
Well… that sounds like the start of something.
Music hums under the scene — a rhythmic pulse, a heartbeat.
A look passes between them all: Yes. This is exactly why we’re doing this.
MARISOL claps her hands.
MARISOL
Okay. Let’s show them who we are.
Music swells. Lights shift into color.
[SONG 3: ESTE ES MI BARRIO]
Evening. Outside the community center. The sky is lowering into blue-gray. Streetlights flicker on.
EVAN exits the community center, backpack over his shoulder. He pauses at the doorway, noticing ALEX half-hidden near the corner — watching the street, scanning shadows.
EVAN approaches slowly, cautious not to startle him.
EVAN You’re here again.
ALEX doesn’t respond. His eyes stay locked on the street.
EVAN (cont’d) You always do this?
ALEX Do what?
EVAN Watch like the world’s about to break open.
ALEX shrugs, but it’s not casual. It’s armor.
ALEX Someone has to.
A beat.
EVAN Miguel said the same thing earlier. (smiles faintly) You two ever take a break?
ALEX’s eyes flick at him — a mix of warning and something softer he can’t admit.
ALEX Breaks make you slow.
EVAN Or human.
ALEX stiffens. EVAN regrets saying it, then decides not to step back.
EVAN (cont’d) I’m not judging you. I’m… trying to understand.
ALEX finally turns toward him.
ALEX Why? You don’t owe us anything.
EVAN I know. But I come back here anyway.
That hits something in ALEX he hides quickly.
ALEX You shouldn’t.
EVAN Why not?
ALEX’s eyes sweep the street again.
ALEX Because it’s not safe. Not for you. Not for us. Not for anyone who thinks this place is just a— (he stops himself)
EVAN steps closer, gently.
EVAN Just a what?
ALEX looks away, jaw tight. A storm building.
ALEX Just a place to feel good about helping.
EVAN absorbs that. It hurts, but he doesn’t flinch.
EVAN I’m not here to feel good. I’m here because… (he searches for the truth) Something shifts in me when I’m here. When I’m around your family. Around you.
ALEX’s breath catches — not with romance, but with fear of connection.
ALEX Don’t say that.
EVAN Why?
ALEX Because things change when people say things like that. Because they leave. Or someone takes them. Or— (he cuts himself off, breathing sharp)
EVAN softens.
EVAN Alex… I’m not disappearing.
ALEX laughs — small, bitter.
ALEX People disappear all the time.
A beat of silence that lands hard.
EVAN steps closer — enough for honesty, not enough to threaten.
EVAN Maybe. But I’m here now. And something’s changing. I can feel it.
ALEX doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But his guard trembles — just enough for music to find its way in.
A low chord begins — gentle, pulsing, like a thought forming before a cry.
EVAN watches him, then speaks softly into the truth rising between them.
EVAN (whisper) You feel it too.
ALEX looks at him — really looks — and for the first time, he doesn’t look away.
Lights warm around them, barely.
GABO: I keep a bag packed. Not because I want to leave—just so leaving doesn't catch me unready.
Later that night. A street corner. TOMÁS and GABO stand watch, as they do most nights.
The ensemble creates the nighttime neighborhood—shadows, whispers, the constant awareness of being watched.
TOMÁS
You see that car? Fourth time it's passed.
GABO
Could be nothing.
TOMÁS
Could be. But it isn't.
ALEX appears from the shadows.
ALEX
White sedan. Tinted windows. Been circling since six.
TOMÁS
You been tracking it?
ALEX
Someone has to.
GABO
(to ALEX) You should go home, kid. Get some sleep.
ALEX
Can't.
TOMÁS
You're eighteen. You should be out doing eighteen-year-old things. Not this.
ALEX
You're thirty. You should be doing thirty-year-old things. But here you are.
TOMÁS
(small smile) Touché.
They stand together in silence. The white sedan passes again. All three watch it.
The three of them sing about the unspoken agreement—the network of watchers who keep the neighborhood safe. Others join—neighbors peering from windows, workers finishing late shifts, teenagers walking in groups. Everyone watching, everyone protecting.
The song builds to show the invisible web of care and surveillance that keeps the community alive.
Lights fade on ALEX alone, still watching.
SOFIA: My mother says courage is quiet. But fear? Fear is loud. And lately my house is all volume.
The family apartment, evening. MIGUEL and ABUELA LUZ sit at the kitchen table. MIGUEL is drawing. ABUELA folds laundry.
ABUELA LUZ
What are you drawing, mijo?
MIGUEL
A map. Of all the safe places.
ABUELA LUZ
There are safe places?
MIGUEL
(points to the drawing) Here. The community center. Mrs. Rodriguez's corner store. The library. The church.
ABUELA looks at the drawing. It's elaborate, detailed, marked with symbols only MIGUEL understands.
ABUELA LUZ
You've been thinking about this a long time.
MIGUEL
Alex taught me. He said I should always know where to go.
ABUELA LUZ
He's trying to protect you.
MIGUEL
I know. But who protects him?
ABUELA has no answer for this. She pulls MIGUEL close.
MIGUEL
Abuela? The new teacher. Evan. Do you think he's good?
ABUELA LUZ
I think he's trying to be.
MIGUEL
That's not the same thing.
ABUELA LUZ
No. But it's a start.
MARISOL enters, exhausted from her shift. MIGUEL runs to hug her.
MARISOL
(to ABUELA) Where's Alex?
ABUELA LUZ
Where do you think?
MARISOL's face tightens with worry. She moves to the window, looks out. Can't see him but knows he's there.
MIGUEL
Mamá? Can I show you something?
He shows her the map. MARISOL studies it, emotions crossing her face—pride, grief, love, fear.
MARISOL
This is beautiful, mijo.
MIGUEL
Will you put it on the refrigerator?
MARISOL
(voice thick) Of course.
She pins it to the refrigerator with a magnet. The three of them look at it—a child's map of survival.
The door opens. ALEX enters, checking locks immediately.
MIGUEL
Alex! Look!
ALEX comes over, sees the map. Something in his face softens.
ALEX
You remembered everything.
MIGUEL
You're a good teacher.
ALEX pulls MIGUEL into a hug—rare, quick, but genuine. Then he moves to the sink, washes his hands, mechanical.
ABUELA LUZ
(to ALEX) Dinner?
ALEX
Not hungry.
MARISOL
Alex.
ALEX
(turning, defensive) What?
MARISOL
You need to eat. You need to sleep. You need to stop carrying all of this.
ALEX
Someone has to.
MARISOL
Not alone. Not like this.
ALEX looks at her, then at ABUELA, then at MIGUEL. His family. The people he's trying to protect.
ALEX
(quiet, breaking) I don't know how else to do it.
ABUELA moves to him, takes his face in her hands.
ABUELA LUZ
Then let us show you.
She pulls him into a hug. He stands stiff for a moment, then crumbles, a boy again.
Lights fade as they stand together in the kitchen, dinner cooking, Miguel's map on the refrigerator.
Two weeks later. The community center. After hours. EVAN is organizing supplies. ALEX enters, hesitates.
ALEX
I thought everyone was gone.
EVAN
Just me. Miguel forgot his sketchbook.
ALEX nods, moves to leave.
EVAN
You're good with the kids. Sofia asks for you every day.
ALEX
(defensive) I'm not a teacher.
EVAN
Neither am I. Not anymore.
This catches ALEX's attention. He stops.
ALEX
What happened?
EVAN
Budget cuts. My school closed. Thirty-seven teachers, no jobs.
ALEX
So you came here.
EVAN
I didn't have a plan. I moved to the city for that job. Then the job disappeared. I was just... walking. Saw the flyer.
ALEX
Lucky us.
It's not quite sarcastic. Not quite sincere. EVAN can't tell which.
EVAN
Can I ask you something?
ALEX tenses immediately.
ALEX
Depends on what you're asking.
EVAN
Why did you start coming inside? You were always outside before.
Long pause. ALEX considers lying, then doesn't.
ALEX
Miguel asked me to. Said the kids wanted to see me. Said you weren't leaving anytime soon, so I might as well get used to it.
EVAN
(small smile) Smart kid.
ALEX
Yeah. He is.
Silence. Not uncomfortable. EVAN continues organizing. ALEX doesn't leave.
ALEX
What you said. About showing up. You meant that?
EVAN
Yeah. I did.
ALEX
Why?
EVAN
(thinks) Because I spent ten years teaching in schools where nobody showed up. Parents didn't show up. Administration didn't show up. The district didn't show up. But the kids? They showed up every day. And I think... I think they deserved someone who showed up back.
ALEX studies him. Something shifts.
ALEX
The kids here. They're not projects. They're not charity cases.
EVAN
I know.
ALEX
And this neighborhood—it's dangerous. People disappear. It's not safe.
EVAN
I know that too.
ALEX
And you're staying anyway.
EVAN
Where else would I go?
Music begins—soft, tentative.
SONG 4: SOMETHING’S CHANGING
EVAN and ALEX sing—a duet about unexpected connection, about finding something you weren’t looking for, about the possibility that this—whatever “this” is—might be the beginning of trust.
By the end, they’re standing closer. Not friends yet. But not strangers anymore.
ALEX picks up Miguel’s sketchbook from the table, hands it to EVAN.
ALEX Lock up when you leave. The deadbolt sticks.
He exits. EVAN watches him go, holding the sketchbook.
Lights fade.
The following week. The community center, late afternoon. EVAN is reading to a small group of children. MIGUEL works with another group on art.
ALEX sits at a table with SOFIA, helping with homework. This has become routine now.
MARISOL enters, phone in hand. Her face is tight with worry.
MARISOL
(to MIGUEL and ALEX) Boys. Come here.
The tone freezes them both. They come immediately. EVAN notices, continues reading but watches.
ALEX
What happened?
MARISOL
Mrs. Rodriguez called. There was a sweep on Maple Street. Three families.
MIGUEL's face goes white. ALEX's entire body tenses.
ALEX
Who?
MARISOL
The Morenos. The Santos family. And—
She stops. Can't say it.
MIGUEL
(quiet) Carlos?
MARISOL nods. MIGUEL's friend. ALEX closes his eyes.
ALEX
When?
MARISOL
This morning. Five a.m.
ALEX turns away, hands in fists. MIGUEL just stands there, frozen.
MARISOL
We're okay. We're still okay. But we need to be careful. More careful.
ALEX
How much more careful can we be?
MARISOL has no answer. She pulls MIGUEL close. ALEX stands apart, vibrating with rage and fear.
EVAN has stopped reading entirely now. The children sense something wrong, quiet down.
EVAN
(to the children) Let's take a break. Go play outside for a few minutes.
The children file out, confused but obedient. SOFIA lingers near ALEX.
SOFIA
Alex?
He can't look at her. Just shakes his head. She leaves.
EVAN approaches slowly.
EVAN
What can I do?
MARISOL
Nothing. There's nothing anyone can do.
EVAN
I can—I can call someone. I can—
ALEX
(turning, fierce) Call who? There's no one to call. They're gone. That's it.
EVAN
I'm sorry. I—
ALEX
Stop. Just stop. You don't know what this is. You don't know what it feels like.
EVAN
You're right. I don't.
ALEX looks at him—expecting argument, but getting honesty. It deflates something in him.
MIGUEL
(quiet) Carlos was in my art class. He was drawing a picture of his dog.
MARISOL pulls him closer. ALEX moves to them, wraps his arms around both.
EVAN stands apart, witnessing. Understanding now what he's stepped into.
After a long moment, ALEX pulls away. Looks at EVAN.
ALEX
You said you'd stay. That you'd keep showing up.
EVAN
I will.
ALEX
Even after this? Even knowing what can happen?
EVAN Especially after this.
[MUSICAL SEQUENCE: "THE PROMISE"]
A quiet underscore begins — haunting, determined, but not a song. Just atmosphere. Evan’s voice drops, gentle, steady — almost like a prayer spoken into the dim room.
EVAN (soft) I can’t promise answers. I can’t promise safety. I can’t promise I’ll know what to do when things get hard. But I can promise this… I’ll keep showing up. Not to fix things. Not to save anyone. Just… to be here. With you. All of you. Every time. Every day. I’ll stand in this room with you. I won’t disappear.
ALEX watches him — the anger drained, replaced by something rawer, quieter.
ALEX (quietly) Showing up isn’t small. Not here.
MARISOL pulls MIGUEL close, listening. ABUELA watches Evan with a measured, grateful understanding.
ABUELA LUZ Presence is a kind of protection too.
Evan steps closer — not imposing, simply present.
EVAN We don’t have to do this alone. None of us. Not anymore.
Alex lets this land. A long silence. Then he gives the smallest nod — barely there, but real.
ALEX (softly, breaking) Okay.
The underscore deepens — not music, but breath, warmth, connection. They stand together — not as strangers, not as rescuer and rescued — but as people in the same fight.
Lights slowly fade on them in the empty center. A small circle of people choosing, finally, not to face the night alone.
[SONG 5: DANGEROUS BREATHING]
Three days later. The neighborhood, various locations. The ensemble creates a montage of fear spreading.
TOMÁS and GABO stand watch, but now more people have joined them. The network is visible, urgent.
ALEX moves through the space, hyper-vigilant. Every sound makes him jump. Every car that passes makes him tense.
EVAN appears, trying to approach. ALEX waves him off.
EVAN
Alex. You need to rest.
ALEX
I can't.
EVAN
When's the last time you slept?
ALEX
Doesn't matter.
EVAN
It does matter. You're going to—
ALEX
(turning on him) I'm going to what? Collapse? Break down? You think I have that option?
EVAN holds his ground, doesn't back away.
EVAN
I think you're human. And humans need rest.
ALEX
Not here. Not now.
He turns away. EVAN doesn't follow, but doesn't leave either.
Music begins—tense, building.
The ensemble sings about the constant state of vigilance, the way fear becomes background noise, the way survival becomes the only goal. ALEX at the center, trapped in the rhythm of watching, waiting, protecting.
The song escalates, showing how the pressure builds—on Alex, on the family, on the entire community. Everyone holding their breath.
Lights shift, isolating ALEX alone in the chaos.
Lights isolate ALEX. The world narrows to just him — the noise of the street fades, even the ensemble falls still.
ALEX
(quiet, terrified)
If I stop watching…
even one night…
someone disappears.
A shadow passes outside the window. ALEX sees it. EVAN does not.
EVAN
Alex…?
ALEX
(sharp whisper)
Shh.
A single phone buzzes.
Then another.
Then another.
Within seconds, EVERY phone in the room vibrates at once — a chilling, synchronized alert.
All eyes go to ALEX.
ALEX
(whisper)
…they’re here.
**BLACKOUT.**
[SONG 6: LOOK AT ME]
That evening. The family apartment. ALEX hasn't come home. MARISOL paces. MIGUEL sits at the table, worried.
A knock at the door. Everyone freezes. MARISOL checks the peephole.
MARISOL
(opening the door) Evan?
EVAN stands there, uncertain.
EVAN
I'm sorry to bother you. I just—I'm worried about Alex.
MARISOL
So am I. He hasn't been home in two days.
EVAN
I saw him earlier. Near the community center. He's... he's not okay.
ABUELA LUZ
(appearing from the back room) He's spiraling. This happens when he's afraid.
EVAN
Can I—is there anything I can do?
ABUELA LUZ
Find him. Bring him home.
EVAN
I don't think he'll listen to me.
ABUELA LUZ
You'd be surprised.
Lights shift. EVAN searches the neighborhood—the community center, the street corners, the places Alex watches from. Finally finds him on a rooftop, staring at the street below.
EVAN
Alex.
ALEX doesn't turn.
ALEX
Go home, Evan.
EVAN
Your mom asked me to find you.
ALEX
I'll go home later.
EVAN
That's what you said yesterday.
ALEX finally turns. His eyes are hollow, exhausted.
ALEX
If I stop watching, something bad will happen.
EVAN
Something bad already happened. To Carlos. And you were watching.
ALEX flinches like he's been hit.
ALEX
Don't.
EVAN
I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm trying to tell you the truth. You can't watch everyone. You can't save everyone. It's not your job.
ALEX
Then whose job is it?
EVAN
I don't know. But it's not just yours. Not alone.
ALEX sits down heavily. EVAN sits next to him, not touching, just present.
ALEX
I'm so tired.
EVAN
I know.
ALEX
But if I stop—if I rest—
EVAN
Someone else will watch. Tomás will watch. Gabo will watch. Your mom will watch. I'll watch.
ALEX looks at him, searching for the lie. Doesn't find one.
ALEX
You don't know how.
EVAN
Then teach me.
Music begins—soft, a lullaby almost.
EVAN sings about learning to breathe in a place where breathing feels dangerous. About the rhythm of watching and being watched. About sharing the burden. ALEX doesn't sing—just listens, letting the words wash over him.
By the end, ALEX is crying—silent, exhausted tears. EVAN doesn't try to fix it. Just sits with him.
EVAN
Come on. Let's get you home.
He helps ALEX stand. They walk down from the rooftop together.
Lights fade.
— INTERMISSION —
[SONG 7: THE RUMOR]
Morning. The community center. Several families gathering for a regular ESL class.
SOFIA is setting up chairs. TOMÁS is helping. CARLOS brings coffee. Normal day. Routine.
LUCIA enters quickly, pulling her children inside. She looks shaken.
SOFIA
Lucia? You okay?
LUCIA
(trying to be calm) I'm fine. Just—did you see anything unusual this morning?
TOMÁS
Like what?
LUCIA
Vans. White vans. Unmarked. I saw three on my way here. Different streets but all circling the neighborhood.
CARLOS
Probably deliveries—
LUCIA
At six in the morning? No logos, no plates?
TOMÁS and SOFIA exchange looks.
SOFIA
Could be nothing.
LUCIA
Or it could be something.
GABO enters, on his phone. He's upset.
GABO
(on phone) No, I can't come in today. Family emergency. I know it's a problem, but—
He hangs up abruptly.
GABO (cont'd)
(to the group) They're doing raids. Downtown. My cousin just texted. Federal agents hit three workplaces this morning.
TOMÁS
Which ones?
GABO
Restaurant suppliers. He said they took fifteen people. Just walked in and—
He makes a gesture—swept away.
CARLOS
Downtown is far from here. That doesn't mean—
LUCIA
The vans. White vans. That's what they use.
SOFIA
We don't know that the vans here are connected—
A knock at the door. Everyone freezes.
TOMÁS opens it carefully. It's a NEIGHBOR—older woman, not part of the regular group.
NEIGHBOR
Is this the community center?
SOFIA
Yes. Can we help you?
NEIGHBOR
I'm looking for my brother-in-law. Miguel Ramirez. Someone said he comes here for English class.
CARLOS
He usually comes on Wednesdays. This is Tuesday.
NEIGHBOR
He was supposed to meet me this morning. He didn't show up. He's not answering his phone.
LUCIA
(tense) When did you last see him?
NEIGHBOR
Last night. He was walking home from work. Near the bus stop on Franklin Street.
GABO
Franklin Street. That's where I saw the vans this morning. Three of them. Parked.
NEIGHBOR
(starting to panic) He wouldn't just disappear. He has a daughter. He wouldn't—
SOFIA
I'm sure he's fine. Maybe he overslept, maybe his phone died—
NEIGHBOR
Or maybe they took him! Maybe that's what the vans are for! Maybe they're going street by street—
TOMÁS
(firm but kind) Ma'am, we don't know anything yet. Let's not assume—
The door bursts open. MARISOL enters with ALEX and MIGUEL. She's breathless.
MARISOL
Has anyone seen Evan?
SOFIA
Not since yesterday. Why?
MARISOL
He was supposed to come by this morning to help Miguel with homework. He didn't show. He's not answering texts.
ALEX
(from the window, watching) There's another van. Same one from earlier. It's circling again.
NEIGHBOR
(to MARISOL) Is your friend white? American?
MARISOL
Yes, why?
NEIGHBOR
They wouldn't take him. It's us they want. It's always us.
LUCIA
(to her children) Get away from the windows.
GABO
(checking his phone) My cousin says the raids are expanding. Not just workplaces. Neighborhoods.
CARLOS
We don't know that for sure—
GABO
(holding up phone) It's on the news. Local Facebook groups are blowing up. They're saying federal agents are doing a sweep.
TOMÁS
(to CARLOS) Call your contact at the legal aid. See if they know anything official.
CARLOS pulls out his phone, starts dialing.
SOFIA
(to the room) Everyone stay calm. We don't have confirmed information yet—
Another knock. Louder this time.
Everyone freezes. Parents pull children closer.
ALEX
(from window) I can't see who it is.
TOMÁS moves to the door, looks through the peephole.
TOMÁS
It's Mrs. Chen. From the laundromat.
He opens the door. MRS. CHEN enters, elderly, frightened.
MRS. CHEN
They're asking questions. At the laundromat. Men in suits. They want to know who comes in, who pays cash, who doesn't speak English well.
LUCIA
Did you tell them anything?
MRS. CHEN
I said I don't keep records. But they're going business to business. The grocery store, the check cashing place. They're asking about all of us.
The room erupts in overlapping worried voices:
"We need to leave—"
"Where would we go?"
"Should we take the kids out of school?"
"My sister said she heard they're watching the bus stops—"
"Someone said they're checking papers at the subway—"
"We can't just hide—"
"We can't just wait here—"
CARLOS
(hanging up phone) Legal aid says there are no official raids announced. But that doesn't mean they're not happening.
GABO
What do we do?
TOMÁS
We need to stay calm—
LUCIA
Calm? My children are asking me if we're going to be taken away. How do I stay calm?
NEIGHBOR
I need to find my brother-in-law. Someone help me find him.
ALEX
(still at window) Another van. That's four now. Different plates. They're coordinating.
MARISOL
(to ALEX) Step away from the window—
ALEX
Someone needs to see—
MARISOL
Not you. Not right now.
SOFIA's phone buzzes. Then TOMÁS's. Then CARLOS's. Everyone's phones start lighting up.
GABO
(reading) It's a group text. "They took José Martinez. Near the community center. Thirty minutes ago."
LUCIA
José? From the church?
GABO
(reading more) "Stay inside. Don't go out. They're everywhere."
The room descends into chaos. Phones buzzing, voices overlapping, fear spreading like contagion.
MIGUEL
(to MARISOL) Mamá, are they coming for us?
MARISOL
(holding him) No, baby. We're safe here.
But her face says she doesn't believe it.
ALEX
(from the window, louder) Everyone needs to see this.
They all move to the window. In the street below—two white vans, parked. Watching. Waiting.
NEIGHBOR
(breaking down) They took him. They took Miguel. I know they did.
SOFIA
(trying to be rational) We don't know that—
NEIGHBOR
Then where is he? WHERE IS HE?
Her panic is a match to gasoline. The fear that's been simmering explodes.
[The chaos reaches a peak—everyone talking, phones buzzing, fear spiraling. The rumor has fully spread. The community is fracturing in real time.]
[This chaotic moment transitions directly into SONG 7: "THE RUMOR"—the song gives voice and structure to the panic we've just seen build]
[Panic chaos ensemble - 140 BPM]
The community center, late night. A few days after the rumor/panic. Most people have gone home.
EVAN sits alone at a table, laptop open, phone beside it. He's been crying or close to it. He's staring at an email on the screen.
The door opens. MARISOL enters, sees him, almost leaves, then decides to stay.
MARISOL
I thought everyone went home.
EVAN
(quickly closing laptop) I was just—finishing some lesson plans.
MARISOL
(sees through it) At midnight?
She sits across from him. Doesn't push, just waits.
EVAN
(after a long pause) I got a job offer. Teaching position. Pennsylvania. Good school district. Benefits, pension, the whole thing.
MARISOL
Congratulations.
EVAN
It's what I was supposed to do. Before I came here. Before—
MARISOL
Before you promised to stay.
EVAN
I didn't know what I was promising. I didn't know it would be like this.
MARISOL
Like what?
EVAN
Dangerous. Not theoretical danger—actual danger. The rumor yesterday, everyone panicking, people getting ready to run—that was real. That's always real.
MARISOL
(gently) Yes.
EVAN
And I'm sitting here thinking—I could leave. I could take this job and go somewhere safe and teach kids about books and nobody would blame me. Nobody would think I'm a coward because I'm not—I don't have to stay.
MARISOL
No. You don't.
EVAN
But you do. Alex does. Miguel does. You don't get the choice to just leave when it gets hard.
MARISOL
We have the choice. It's just that all the choices are hard.
EVAN turns his phone over in his hands. Screen lights up—a text notification.
EVAN
My sister. She's been texting all week. She says I'm being reckless. That this isn't my fight. That I'm putting myself in danger for people who aren't my family.
MARISOL
She's not wrong.
EVAN
(looks at her) You want me to go.
MARISOL
I want you to be honest about why you're here.
EVAN
I told you. I wanted to teach, to help—
MARISOL
(cutting through) No. I mean really. Why are you still here, Evan? Because if it's guilt, or some savior fantasy, or because you made a promise you didn't understand—those aren't good enough reasons to stay now.
EVAN
Then what is?
MARISOL
That's what you have to figure out.
Silence. EVAN looks at the email on his laptop again.
EVAN
The job offer expires tomorrow. I have to respond by noon.
MARISOL
What are you going to say?
EVAN
I don't know. What would you say?
MARISOL
I'd say that I don't get job offers in Pennsylvania. I'd say my choices are stay here or uproot my entire family to a place where we might be just as afraid but with no community around us. I'd say you have options I've never had.
EVAN
That's not fair.
MARISOL
No. It's not. But it's true.
EVAN
So you think I should go.
MARISOL
I think you should choose for the right reasons. Not because you promised. Not because you feel guilty. But because you actually want to be here—knowing what it costs.
EVAN
And if I don't know?
MARISOL
Then leave. We'll be fine. We've been fine before you came. We'll be fine after.
EVAN
(stung) That's—
MARISOL
—the truth, Evan. We need people who choose to be here. Not people who stay out of obligation or pity. This community isn't a project you work on. It's people's lives.
EVAN
You think I don't know that?
MARISOL
I think you know it intellectually. I don't know if you know it in your bones yet.
She stands to leave.
EVAN
Alex. Does he—does he know about the job offer?
MARISOL
I don't know what you've told him.
EVAN
Nothing. I haven't told him anything.
MARISOL
Maybe you should. Before you decide.
She leaves. EVAN sits alone with his laptop, his phone, his choice.
He closes the laptop. Opens it again. Looks at the email. His cursor hovers over "Reply."
The door opens again. ALEX enters, surprised to see EVAN still there.
ALEX
I thought you went home.
EVAN
(quickly) I was just leaving.
ALEX
(noticing something's wrong) What's going on?
EVAN
Nothing. Just tired.
ALEX moves closer, suspicious.
ALEX
You're lying. You do this thing with your hands when you lie. You did it when you first came here and said you were "just visiting for a few weeks."
EVAN
(caught) It's nothing. Just—work stuff.
ALEX
What work stuff?
EVAN
(sighs, gives in) I got a job offer. Teaching. Pennsylvania. Good school. Safe neighborhood. Everything I thought I wanted.
ALEX goes very still.
ALEX
When do you leave?
EVAN
I haven't decided yet.
ALEX
(bitter laugh) Right. You haven't decided. So when were you going to tell me? Or were you just going to disappear like everyone else?
EVAN
Alex—
ALEX
No, I get it. I always knew you'd leave eventually. Everyone leaves. I just thought—
He stops himself. Turns away.
EVAN
You thought what?
ALEX
(not looking at him) I thought maybe you were different. That maybe when you said you'd stay, you meant it.
EVAN
I did mean it. I do mean it. But that was before I understood what staying actually means.
ALEX
It means you're here. That's what it means. You're here when things are hard. When things are dangerous. When it would be easier to leave.
EVAN
I'm not—I'm not strong like you. I'm not brave like your mother or your abuela. I don't know how to live like this.
ALEX
(finally turning) You think I know how to live like this? You think I'm not terrified every single day? You think watching and counting and checking is some kind of strength?
EVAN
You protect your family—
ALEX
I make myself sick trying to protect people from things I can't control! I don't sleep. I don't eat. I don't breathe without wondering if this is the moment something breaks. And you—
His voice cracks.
ALEX (cont'd)
You were the first person who made me think maybe I didn't have to do it alone. Maybe I could—
He stops. Can't say it.
EVAN
(quietly) What?
ALEX
Maybe I could breathe. Just for a second. With you there, I could breathe.
EVAN moves toward him, then stops.
EVAN
The job expires tomorrow. I have to respond by noon.
ALEX
Then you should go. Take the job. Be safe.
EVAN
You want me to go?
ALEX
I want you to stop pretending you're one of us. You're not. You get to leave. We don't. So stop torturing both of us with this 'I don't know what to do' thing and just go.
EVAN
What if I don't want to?
ALEX
Then you're an idiot.
EVAN
(slight laugh despite himself) Probably.
Silence. They're close now but not touching.
EVAN (cont'd)
I keep thinking about what you said. On the rooftop. About breathing. About how you haven't had a breath that didn't hurt in years.
ALEX
That's different—
EVAN
No. I get it now. I came here thinking I'd help, thinking I'd teach, thinking I'd make some kind of difference. But really? I was hiding. From a life I didn't want. From expectations I couldn't meet. From being alone.
ALEX
And now?
EVAN
Now I'm still alone. But I'm alone with people who see me. Who need me, maybe. Or at least let me need them.
ALEX
That's not a reason to stay.
EVAN
Maybe not. But it's my reason.
ALEX
Evan. If you stay—if you choose to stay—it might not end well. For any of us.
EVAN
I know.
ALEX
And you'll stay anyway?
EVAN
(decides) Yeah. I'll stay anyway.
He pulls out his phone. Types quickly. Hits send.
EVAN (cont'd)
There. Email sent. Job declined.
ALEX
You just—you didn't even think about it—
EVAN
I've been thinking about it all week. But it took you calling me an idiot to realize: I don't want safe. I want here. I want this. I want—
He stops. They look at each other.
EVAN (cont'd)
I want to be part of something that matters. Even if it's hard. Especially if it's hard.
ALEX
You're really staying.
EVAN
I'm really staying.
ALEX
You're an idiot.
EVAN
(smiles) You said that already.
For the first time in a long time, ALEX almost smiles back.
ALEX
My mother's organizing something. Friday. A gathering. She thinks we should be visible. Stop hiding.
EVAN
What do you think?
ALEX
I think it's dangerous. I think it's reckless. I think—
He pauses.
ALEX (cont'd)
I think maybe she's right. Maybe hiding hasn't saved anyone.
EVAN
Then we'll be there. Together.
ALEX
Together.
They stand in the quiet community center. Outside, the watching continues. But inside, something has shifted.
A choice has been made. Not forced, not obligated. Chosen.
[Lights fade]
[SONG 8: DON'T GO YET]
The next day. The community center. Only a handful of children show up. The room feels empty.
MIGUEL sets up art supplies for three kids instead of fifteen. EVAN reads to two children instead of seven. The absence is deafening.
MARISOL enters, holding her phone. Her face is tight.
MARISOL
(to MIGUEL and EVAN) The Rodriguez family left this morning. The Herreras too.
MIGUEL
Where did they go?
MARISOL
They didn't say. Safer that way.
One of the remaining children, SOFIA, looks up from her book.
SOFIA
Are we leaving too?
MARISOL
No, mija. We're staying.
SOFIA
Why?
MARISOL doesn't have a good answer. EVAN steps in.
EVAN
Because this is home. And sometimes you fight for home.
ALEX enters. Sees the empty room. His jaw tightens.
ALEX
(to MARISOL) How many?
MARISOL
Seven families so far. Maybe more by tomorrow.
ALEX walks to the window, looks out at the street. EVAN joins him.
EVAN
They're scared. You can't blame them.
ALEX
I'm not blaming them. I'm just—
He stops. Can't finish.
EVAN
You're scared too.
ALEX
If everyone leaves, who's left to watch?
EVAN
The people who are staying. Tomás. Gabo. Your family. Me.
ALEX
That's not enough.
EVAN
It has to be.
Music begins—mournful, determined.
[Grief ensemble ballad - 68 BPM]
---
GOODBYE #1: MARIA AND HER DAUGHTER
The community center, packing boxes. MARIA (30s) is taping up a box of her daughter's school supplies. Her daughter ELENA (7) sits nearby, holding a stuffed animal.
SOFIA enters, carrying a box.
SOFIA
I brought extra boxes. In case you need—
She stops, seeing MARIA's face. MARIA is crying silently as she packs.
MARIA
(wiping her eyes) Thank you.
SOFIA sets down the boxes, sits next to her.
SOFIA
You don't have to go, you know. We'd help. We'd figure it out.
MARIA
I know. That's what makes it so hard.
ELENA
(to SOFIA) Mamá says we're going to live with Tía in Arizona. She says it's safer there.
MARIA
(to ELENA) Go check if you packed your books, baby.
ELENA leaves reluctantly. MARIA breaks down as soon as she's gone.
MARIA (cont'd)
I don't want to go. This is home. Elena's friends are here. My job is here. But last week, at the grocery store, a man followed us to the car. He didn't say anything, just followed us. And Elena asked me, "Mamá, why is that man watching us?" And I didn't have an answer.
SOFIA
We're all being watched—
MARIA
I know. But I can't—I can't raise her like that. Always looking over our shoulder. Always afraid. My sister says in Arizona, the schools are better. There's a Latino community. We can breathe there.
SOFIA
Can you?
MARIA
(desperate) I don't know. But I know I can't breathe here anymore.
TOMÁS enters with a dolly for boxes.
TOMÁS
Car's loaded. Just these last ones.
MARIA stands, hugs SOFIA tightly.
MARIA
(to SOFIA) You'll tell Miguel I said goodbye? Elena wanted to see him one more time, but I think it's easier this way.
SOFIA
I'll tell him.
MARIA
(breaking) I'm a coward. I'm leaving you all to face this alone—
SOFIA
(firm) No. You're a mother protecting her daughter. That's not cowardice.
MARIA picks up the last box. ELENA returns with her backpack.
ELENA
(to SOFIA) Will you tell Miguel I'll write to him? And that I'll come back when it's safe?
SOFIA
(kneeling down) I'll tell him. And he'll wait for you.
MARIA and ELENA leave with TOMÁS helping. SOFIA stands alone in the empty space where MARIA's things were.
SOFIA
(to herself) When it's safe. If it's ever safe.
---
GOODBYE #2: CARLOS REFUSES TO GO
Outside the community center. CARLOS is loading his sister's car. His sister ISABEL (40s) is arguing with him.
ISABEL
Carlos, please. Just come with us. For a few months. Until things calm down.
CARLOS
Things won't calm down. You know that.
ISABEL
Then come permanently! We have room. You can find work in Seattle. You can—
CARLOS
I can run. That's what you mean. I can run somewhere else and hope they don't follow.
ISABEL
Yes! That's exactly what I mean! What's wrong with that?
CARLOS
(stops loading boxes) I've been running my whole life, Isabel. We ran from Guatemala when I was ten. We ran to Texas, then California, then here. Every time, we thought we'd be safe. Every time, we started over. When does it stop?
ISABEL
When you're alive to ask that question!
CARLOS
I'm tired, Isabel. I'm tired of starting over. I'm tired of being afraid. I'm tired of leaving people behind.
ISABEL
Then you'll die here? For what? For pride?
CARLOS
Not for pride. For the idea that maybe, just maybe, if enough of us stay, if enough of us refuse to disappear—maybe something changes.
ISABEL
(crying) That's a fantasy. Nothing changes. They always win.
CARLOS
Maybe. But I'd rather lose here—in a place I chose—than keep running to places I don't want to be.
ISABEL
(desperate) What about Mamá? What do I tell her when you're gone?
CARLOS
Tell her I stayed to fight. Not with fists or weapons. But with presence. With refusal. Tell her I stayed because someone has to.
ISABEL
That someone doesn't have to be you!
CARLOS
Yes, it does. Because if it's not me, then who?
He closes the trunk of her car gently.
CARLOS (cont'd)
Drive safe. Call me when you get there.
ISABEL
(grabbing his hands) Come with us. Please. I'm begging you.
CARLOS
(kissing her forehead) I love you. But I'm staying.
ISABEL
You're an idiot.
CARLOS
(slight smile) I know.
She gets in the car. Through the window:
ISABEL
If anything happens to you, I'll never forgive you.
CARLOS
If anything happens to me, I'll never forgive me either.
She drives away. CARLOS watches until the car disappears. Then he turns back to the community center. Still here. Still standing.
---
GOODBYE #3: TOMÁS, GABO, AND LUCIA DECIDE TOGETHER
Inside the community center. Empty chairs. TOMÁS, GABO, and LUCIA sit together—the ones who are left.
GABO
My wife wants to leave. She's packing right now. She says if I don't go with her, she's taking the kids and going anyway.
LUCIA
Will you go?
GABO
I don't know. Part of me says—she's right. The kids deserve better than this.
TOMÁS
And the other part?
GABO
The other part says—if I leave, I'm teaching them to run. That when things get hard, you abandon your community.
LUCIA
That's not fair, Gabo. Leaving isn't abandoning. Sometimes it's surviving.
GABO
Then why are you still here?
LUCIA
(pause) My mother. She's too sick to move. And honestly? I don't know where else we'd go. At least here, we have each other.
TOMÁS
That's what Marisol keeps saying. That we need each other.
GABO
Easy for her to say. She doesn't have a wife giving her ultimatums.
LUCIA
She has two sons she's terrified of losing. We all have something we're afraid of losing.
Silence. They sit with that.
TOMÁS
What if we made a pact? The ones who stay—we watch out for each other. Not like Alex watches, alone and frantic. But together. We divide the burden.
LUCIA
And if they come for us anyway?
TOMÁS
Then at least we don't face it alone.
GABO
(to LUCIA) Your mother—if something happens, if you need to leave suddenly—we'll help. Money, transportation, whatever.
LUCIA
And your family—if your wife decides to leave—
GABO
I'll go with her. I have to. But I'll come back. To help. To check on everyone.
TOMÁS
So we're agreed? We're staying. For now.
LUCIA
For now.
GABO
For now.
They sit together in the quiet. Not celebration. Not defeat. Just commitment.
TOMÁS
Marisol mentioned something about a gathering. Friday night.
GABO
A gathering? Now?
TOMÁS
That's what I said. But maybe—maybe that's exactly what we need. Something to hold onto that's not fear.
LUCIA
Or maybe it's dangerous. Drawing attention when we should be invisible.
TOMÁS
We're already visible. They're already counting us. Maybe the question is—do we disappear one by one, or do we stand together where they can see us?
GABO
That's a hell of a choice.
TOMÁS
Yeah. It is.
They sit with that impossible choice.
LUCIA
Friday, you said?
TOMÁS
Friday. Seven o'clock. Community center.
LUCIA
(nods slowly) I'll be there. My mother too, if she's well enough.
GABO
I'll talk to my wife. See if we're still here by Friday.
TOMÁS
And if you're not?
GABO
(stands) Then you'll know I chose my family. And I'll hope you understand.
LUCIA
We'll understand. We all have to make our own choice.
GABO
But you'll be here. Friday.
LUCIA
I'll be here.
TOMÁS
We'll be here.
GABO nods. Leaves. TOMÁS and LUCIA sit in the quiet.
LUCIA
Think he'll stay?
TOMÁS
I don't know. I hope so. But I understand if he doesn't.
LUCIA
How many people do you think we've lost this week?
TOMÁS
Fifteen families. Maybe twenty. I stopped counting.
LUCIA
And how many are left?
TOMÁS
Enough. Not many, but enough.
LUCIA
Enough for what?
TOMÁS
For a gathering. For a community. For something worth staying for.
LUCIA
(stands) I should check on my mother. Make sure she took her medicine.
TOMÁS
Go. I'll lock up here.
LUCIA starts to leave, stops.
LUCIA
Tomás? Thank you. For staying.
TOMÁS
Thank you for staying.
She leaves. TOMÁS is alone in the community center. He looks around at the empty chairs, the children's drawings on the walls, the space that used to be so full.
He picks up a drawing—Miguel's, of houses and rainbows.
TOMÁS
(to the empty room) We're still here. Not many. But still here.
He pins the drawing back up on the wall. Turns off the lights. Locks the door.
Outside, the watching continues. But inside, choices have been made.
Some left. Some stayed. Both are survival.
[Lights fade. This transitions into NEW SCENE 13B: "The Call to Gather"]
The community center. Two days after the departures. Late afternoon, golden light through dusty windows.
The space feels emptier. Chairs stacked against walls. Children's drawings half-removed from bulletin boards—the ones whose families left.
MARISOL enters carrying a box of supplies. Sets it down heavily. Looks around at the empty room.
ALEX sits in a corner, watching the street through the window. He's been there for hours.
MIGUEL enters from the back room, holding a drawing.
MIGUEL
Maria's daughter left this.
He holds it up—a crayon drawing of two houses, a rainbow between them.
MIGUEL (cont'd)
She said she'd come back. Do you think she will?
MARISOL doesn't answer. Takes the drawing gently, pins it back on the board.
MARISOL
We keep it up. In case.
ABUELA LUZ enters, slower than usual. Tired. She's carrying her prayer candles.
ABUELA LUZ
How many stayed?
MARISOL
Counting us? Maybe twenty families. Thirty people. The Rodriguezes left this morning.
ABUELA LUZ
And the Martínezes?
MARISOL
Gone.
Silence. ABUELA LUZ lights a candle, places it on the windowsill.
ABUELA LUZ
I've seen this before. When I was young, in San Salvador. The disappearances started slowly. Then families left—one by one, then all at once. The ones who stayed...
She doesn't finish. Doesn't need to.
EVAN enters hesitantly, carrying grocery bags.
EVAN
I brought food. For whoever's left. I wasn't sure how many—
He stops, seeing their faces.
EVAN (cont'd)
I can come back later.
MARISOL
No. Stay.
She starts unpacking the bags. Cans, rice, beans. Practical.
EVAN
Where's everyone else? Tomás, Sofia, Carlos—
MARISOL
Carlos is still here. Tomás and Sofia, I think. Gabo left yesterday. Took his family north.
EVAN
And you're... you're staying.
MARISOL
(sharp) Where would we go, Evan? This is home.
EVAN
I know. I just meant—
MARISOL
You meant we have a choice. We don't.
She's not angry at him. Just tired. Bone-tired.
ABUELA LUZ
(gently, to MARISOL) Neither did they. The ones who left.
MARISOL nods. Softens.
ALEX stands suddenly from the window.
ALEX
Three cars. Same three cars. They've circled the block twice in the last hour.
EVAN
Alex—
ALEX
Four times yesterday. Five times the day before. They're counting us. Seeing who's left.
MARISOL
(to EVAN) See? This is what he does. This is all he does now.
ALEX
Someone has to—
MARISOL
—watch. I know. You've been watching for two years, Alex. And people still left. People are still leaving.
ALEX
Because I'm not watching well enough.
MARISOL
(breaking) Because you can't watch away the fear! You can't count away the danger!
Silence. MIGUEL, scared, moves closer to ABUELA LUZ.
EVAN
(carefully) What if... what if he's not supposed to watch alone?
They all look at him.
EVAN (cont'd)
I'm not saying stop watching. I'm saying—what if that's the problem? That he's the only one carrying it?
ALEX
No one else sees—
EVAN
Because you won't let them. You carry it all. You watch for everyone. But Alex—
He moves closer to ALEX, careful, like approaching something wounded.
EVAN (cont'd)
—you're disappearing too. Right in front of us.
ALEX looks away. Can't face it.
TOMÁS enters from outside, followed by SOFIA and CARLOS. They're carrying something—a banner, partially finished.
SOFIA
(to MARISOL) Are we interrupting?
MARISOL
No. Come in.
They enter. Set down the banner. It reads, in both Spanish and English:
"AQUÍ ESTAMOS / WE ARE HERE"
CARLOS
We made it last night. Tomás had the idea.
TOMÁS
I thought—if we're staying, maybe we should say so. Out loud.
SOFIA
It's probably stupid—
ABUELA LUZ
It's not stupid.
CARLOS
We're tired of hiding. Tired of being quiet. They know we're here anyway. They're counting us, like Alex said. So maybe we stop pretending to be invisible.
MARISOL
And if that makes it worse?
CARLOS
Worse than living like ghosts? Worse than watching our friends leave one by one? I don't know. But I know I'm tired of being afraid to exist.
LUCIA enters with her children, carrying food.
LUCIA
Carlos told me you were gathering. I brought rice. And my mother's recipe for tres leches—we can't eat it all ourselves.
SOFIA
We're not gathering. Not yet. We're just—
LUCIA
We're here. That's gathering, isn't it?
She sets the food on the table. Her children immediately go to MIGUEL, who shows them the drawing.
ABUELA LUZ
(quietly, to no one specifically) In San Salvador, the ones who survived—we didn't survive by hiding. We survived by refusing to disappear. By saying: We are still here. By gathering where they could see us.
MARISOL
And some of them—
ABUELA LUZ
—were taken. Yes. Some were. But the ones who hid? They were taken too. At least we were seen. At least we were counted as human beings.
Silence. The weight of this.
ALEX
(from the window, still watching) There's another car. Different one. Slowing down.
Everyone tenses. Waiting. The car passes.
EVAN
What if that's what we do? What if we gather—not to hide, not to fight—just to be seen? To say: We're here. We're not leaving. Count us.
MARISOL
And if they take that as a threat?
EVAN
Maybe they will. But what's the alternative? Keep shrinking? Keep disappearing one family at a time?
CARLOS
We could make it public. Not just us—everyone. Invite the whole neighborhood. Make it a celebration.
SOFIA
A celebration of what?
CARLOS
Of still being here. Of still breathing. Of refusing to be erased.
TOMÁS
(to MARISOL) What do you think?
MARISOL looks at ALEX, still at the window. Then at MIGUEL, watching her.
MARISOL
I think... I think my son has been watching alone for too long. I think if we're going to be seen, we should be seen together.
ALEX turns from the window.
ALEX
You want to gather. In public. Where they can watch us.
CARLOS
Where they can see us. There's a difference.
ALEX
I've spent two years trying to keep everyone safe by staying invisible—
ABUELA LUZ
—and it didn't work, mijo. We're still afraid. Still shrinking. Still losing people.
ALEX
Because I wasn't watching well enough—
ABUELA LUZ
(firm but loving) No. Because you can't protect us by making us disappear. That's their job. Our job is to stay visible. Stay present. Stay together.
ALEX looks at EVAN. At his mother. At MIGUEL. At the faces around him—fewer now, but still here.
ALEX
(quietly) I don't know how to not watch.
EVAN
Then watch with us. Watch from the center of the circle, not the edge.
MARISOL
(to the group) When?
CARLOS
This week. Friday night. Before anyone else decides to leave.
SOFIA
We'll need music. Food. Something worth gathering for.
LUCIA
I'll cook. My mother too.
TOMÁS
I'll spread the word. To whoever's left. And maybe some who are thinking about leaving.
MARISOL
(decisive) Then we gather. Friday. Here, or in the plaza—somewhere they can see us.
ALEX
And when they come?
MARISOL
Then they come. But they'll come to a gathering, not a hiding place. They'll come to a community, not scattered, frightened people.
ABUELA LUZ
(lighting another candle) We've been breathing quietly for too long. Time to breathe loud.
The group begins to move with new energy. SOFIA and CARLOS unfurl the banner. LUCIA's children help MIGUEL hang drawings back on the walls. TOMÁS pulls out his phone, starts making calls.
EVAN moves to ALEX, who's still at the window.
EVAN
You okay?
ALEX
I don't know. I've been watching the perimeter so long, I don't know how to be in the center.
EVAN
Maybe that's something you can learn.
ALEX
(looks at him) You're really staying. Even for this.
EVAN
Especially for this.
ALEX nods. Turns back to the window—but this time, he's not alone. EVAN stands beside him. They watch together.
Behind them, the community prepares. The empty room fills with purpose.
MARISOL
(to ABUELA LUZ) Do you think this is the right thing?
ABUELA LUZ
I think hiding didn't save anyone. Maybe being seen will.
MIGUEL
(to MARISOL) Are we really doing this? A gathering?
MARISOL
(pulling him close) We are.
MIGUEL
Will Maria's family come back for it?
MARISOL
I don't know, baby. But we'll be here. That's what matters. We'll still be here.
The room buzzes with quiet determination. Not celebration yet—but decision. Choice. Commitment.
ALEX watches the street. But he's standing closer to the group now. Still watching, but not alone.
The banner hangs in the window: "AQUÍ ESTAMOS / WE ARE HERE"
Lights shift as the group moves into action, planning, preparing.
The decision is made.
Now they have to follow through.
[SONG 9: BELONG]
That evening. The community center. Despite everything, the remaining families gather. It's become a ritual—coming together, checking in, being seen.
MARISOL serves food—whatever she could scrape together. ABUELA LUZ sits with the older women, talking quietly. MIGUEL helps set out plates. Children play in the corner, trying to be normal.
EVAN helps carry chairs. ALEX stands near the door, as always, watching.
TOMÁS and GABO enter, nodding to ALEX. They exchange information in low voices—nothing urgent, just the constant update.
TOMÁS
(to the room) Can I say something?
The room quiets.
TOMÁS
I know things are hard right now. Harder than usual. Some of us have decided to stay. Some of us didn't have a choice. But we're here. And that matters.
GABO
We're not just surviving. We're living. Right here. Right now.
ABUELA LUZ stands.
ABUELA LUZ
My grandmother used to say: 'They can take our homes, but they can't take our hearts.' We carry our home with us. In here.
She places a hand over her heart. Others do the same.
MIGUEL
(standing, nervous) I drew something. Can I show it?
MARISOL nods. MIGUEL holds up a large drawing—all of them, together, a web of connections.
MIGUEL
This is us. We're all connected. See?
He points to the lines between the figures—showing how they watch out for each other, how they support each other.
MIGUEL
If one person leaves, the whole thing gets weaker. But if we stay together—
He doesn't finish. Doesn't need to. They all see it.
EVAN speaks, surprising himself.
EVAN
I'm not from here. I know that. But I want you to know—I'm not going anywhere. Whatever happens. I'm here.
Some people nod. Others remain skeptical but soften slightly.
ALEX
(from the door, loud enough to hear) He means it.
Everyone turns to look at ALEX. He rarely speaks in groups. This is an endorsement.
ALEX
I didn't trust him at first. But he's shown up. Every day. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard.
EVAN looks at him, grateful and a little embarrassed.
The gathering continues—people eating, talking, being together. Music begins to underscore the scene.
Then—
ALEX stiffens. Something outside. Everyone notices immediately. The room goes silent.
ALEX
(quiet, controlled) Everyone stay calm. It's probably nothing.
But his body language says otherwise. TOMÁS and GABO move to the windows. ALEX steps outside.
EVAN starts to follow. MARISOL grabs his arm.
MARISOL
Stay with the children.
EVAN nods, moves to the corner where the children have gone quiet, scared.
Outside, visible through the windows, ALEX scans the street. Nothing. But the feeling doesn't go away.
He comes back inside, shaking his head. False alarm. But the mood has shifted—the fragile safety broken.
People start to leave, quickly, quietly. The gathering dissolves.
Soon it's just the family—MARISOL, ABUELA, MIGUEL, ALEX—and EVAN.
MIGUEL
(to ALEX) You okay?
ALEX
Yeah. I'm—
He stops. His breathing is wrong. Rapid. Shallow.
MARISOL
Alex?
ALEX tries to answer. Can't. His chest is tight. He's panicking.
It's happening. The panic attack. Public. Unavoidable.
Lights narrow on ALEX, struggling to breathe.
[Latin celebration showstopper - 120 BPM cumbia/salsa]
[SONG 10: THE BREATH]
[This section adds to the BEGINNING of Scene 15, setting up Alex's breakthrough]
The morning after the gathering. Dawn light. The plaza where they gathered is empty now, evidence of last night still visible—banners, confetti, footprints in the dirt.
ALEX sits alone on the edge of the plaza. He's exhausted. He hasn't slept. But something is different.
EVAN finds him there.
EVAN
I've been looking for you.
ALEX
Sorry. I just needed to—
He gestures at the empty space.
ALEX (cont'd)
I needed to see it. In the daylight. To make sure it was real.
EVAN sits beside him.
EVAN
It was real. All of it.
ALEX
I watched the whole time. The whole gathering. Every person who came, every face. I counted them. Made sure everyone was accounted for.
EVAN
I know. I saw you.
ALEX
But here's the thing—
He stops, struggling to articulate.
ALEX (cont'd)
—at some point during the dancing, during the singing, I stopped counting. For maybe thirty seconds. Maybe a minute. I don't know. But I stopped.
EVAN
And?
ALEX
And no one disappeared. Everyone was still there when I looked again. Like the watching didn't—like maybe it wasn't necessary. Just for that minute.
EVAN
(gently) Maybe it's never been necessary. Not the way you've been doing it.
ALEX
I don't know how else to do it.
ABUELA LUZ approaches from across the plaza. She's been up early, cleaning.
ABUELA LUZ
(to ALEX) You've been out here all night?
ALEX
I couldn't sleep.
ABUELA LUZ
Because you were watching?
ALEX
No. That's the strange part. I wasn't watching. I was just—
He struggles for words.
ALEX (cont'd)
—I was just being. Here. Present. And I didn't feel like I needed to count or check or—
ABUELA LUZ
(sits beside him) You breathed.
ALEX
What?
ABUELA LUZ
Last night. During the gathering. I saw you. You stopped watching and you breathed. Really breathed. Maybe for the first time since you were Miguel's age.
ALEX
I don't remember—
ABUELA LUZ
That's because when you're actually breathing, you don't have to think about it. It just happens.
MARISOL enters, carrying coffee. She hands one to ALEX.
MARISOL
You scared me. I woke up and you were gone.
ALEX
I'm sorry. I just needed—
MARISOL
I know. You needed to process. To watch. To check that everyone made it home safe.
ALEX
Actually—I just needed to sit here. To remember what it felt like.
MARISOL
What what felt like?
ALEX
Being part of something instead of standing outside it. Being in the center instead of on the perimeter.
MARISOL and ABUELA LUZ exchange a look—hope, cautious.
MIGUEL runs up, excited.
MIGUEL
Alex! You have to see what people are posting! Photos from last night—everyone's sharing them. Look!
He shows ALEX his phone. Images of the gathering—people dancing, laughing, holding up the "AQUÍ ESTAMOS" banner.
MIGUEL (cont'd)
We're everywhere! We're visible!
ALEX
(looking at the photos) That's—that's dangerous. They can see us now.
MIGUEL
We wanted them to see us. That was the whole point.
ALEX
But if they come—
EVAN
(interrupting) Then they come. But Alex—look at these faces. Really look.
ALEX looks at the photos. His mother dancing. Abuela with her candles. Children laughing. The community alive, visible, present.
EVAN (cont'd)
You spent two years trying to keep everyone safe by making them invisible. And people still left. People were still afraid. But last night—for a few hours—no one was hiding. And everyone is still here.
ALEX
For now.
MARISOL
(firmly) Yes. For now. And maybe tomorrow. And maybe the day after. We don't know. But last night proved something.
ALEX
What?
MARISOL
That being invisible didn't save us. But being visible—being together—gave us something worth staying for.
ALEX looks at his family. At Evan. At the empty plaza that hours ago was full of life.
ALEX
I don't know how to stop watching.
ABUELA LUZ
Then don't stop. But watch from the center of the circle, not outside it. Watch while you're living, not instead of living.
ALEX
(almost to himself) I don't know if I can.
MIGUEL
(taking his hand) You did it last night. You were dancing with us.
ALEX
For a minute—
MIGUEL
So do it again. For another minute. And then another. Until minutes become hours. Until breathing becomes normal again.
ALEX looks at his little brother—this kid who shouldn't have to teach him how to live.
ALEX
When did you get so smart?
MIGUEL
(shrugs) I watch you. I learn what not to do.
Everyone laughs—even ALEX, a real laugh, surprised and genuine.
MARISOL
(to ALEX) Last night, when you were in the center of the gathering—what did it feel like?
ALEX
(thinking) Like I could breathe. Like the air was—
He stops, feeling something. A realization building.
[This moment of recognition transitions into SONG 10: "THE BREATH"]
[This section adds to the END of Scene 15, showing the aftermath of Alex's breakthrough]
The lights shift. It's later the same day. The community is still in the plaza, but the energy has settled.
TOMÁS approaches ALEX.
TOMÁS
You okay?
ALEX
I don't know. I feel—different. Lighter, maybe. But also scared.
TOMÁS
Scared of what?
ALEX
That if I stop watching, even for a moment, I'll lose this feeling. Or something will happen.
TOMÁS
Something will happen. Eventually. The watching was never going to prevent that.
ALEX
Then what do we do?
TOMÁS
We breathe. We stay present. We watch together instead of alone. And when something happens—we face it together.
CARLOS joins them.
CARLOS
(to ALEX) You know what's different about today?
ALEX
What?
CARLOS
Yesterday, you were watching for threats. Today, you're looking at your family. There's a difference.
ALEX looks across the plaza. MARISOL is talking with SOFIA and LUCIA. MIGUEL is playing with the other children. ABUELA LUZ is lighting candles. EVAN is helping clean up.
His family. His community. Still here. Still visible. Still breathing.
GABO approaches, phone in hand.
GABO
My wife called. She wants us to come home. But she also said—if we're staying for now, she'll stay too. She saw the photos from last night. She said it reminded her of why we came here in the first place.
ALEX
And if they come? If the threats are real?
GABO
Then we'll deal with it. Together. But we can't spend our whole lives preparing for the worst moment. Sometimes you have to live for the best ones.
SOFIA
(calling out) Alex! Come help us with this banner!
ALEX hesitates—old instincts saying stay on the perimeter, watch, check.
EVAN
(beside him, quiet) You can do both. You can help with the banner and still see the street. You don't have to choose between living and watching.
ALEX
(to EVAN) How do you know that?
EVAN
Because I've watched you for months. And I've seen the cost of choosing only watching.
ALEX takes a breath—deep, real, intentional. Then he walks toward SOFIA and the banner. EVAN follows.
As they work together, ALEX looks up periodically. Old habits. But he's not frozen in place. Not paralyzed by vigilance. He's present. He's here.
MARISOL watches from across the plaza. ABUELA LUZ joins her.
ABUELA LUZ
He's different.
MARISOL
For now. It might not last.
ABUELA LUZ
Or it might. That's the thing about breathing—once you remember how, it gets easier.
MARISOL
He's still watching. You see him looking up every few seconds?
ABUELA LUZ
Yes. But he's also working. He's also laughing. He's also here. That's the difference.
MIGUEL runs up to ALEX with a marker.
MIGUEL
Sign the banner! Everyone's signing it!
The banner reads "AQUÍ ESTAMOS / WE ARE HERE" with signatures all around it.
ALEX takes the marker. Hesitates. Then writes his name—clear, bold, visible.
ALEX
(to the group) What do we do with it now?
SOFIA
We hang it. Outside the community center. Where everyone can see it.
ALEX
That's—that's inviting them to see us. To know exactly where we are.
CARLOS
Yes. That's the point.
ALEX
And you think that's safe?
CARLOS
No. But neither is hiding. At least this way, we're visible on our own terms.
ALEX looks at the banner. At his name written there. At the names of everyone who stayed.
ALEX
Okay. We hang it.
TOMÁS
You sure?
ALEX
No. But I'm doing it anyway.
They work together to hang the banner across the community center entrance. Large. Visible. Defiant.
"AQUÍ ESTAMOS / WE ARE HERE"
EVAN
(to ALEX) You know they'll see this.
ALEX
I know.
EVAN
And you're okay with that?
ALEX
(looking at the banner, at the community around it) I'm okay with us being seen. Together. Not hiding. Not invisible. Just—here.
EVAN
That's a big change from two days ago.
ALEX
Two days ago, I thought protecting everyone meant making them disappear. Now I think maybe protection means being visible together. Being counted.
MARISOL
(approaching) You really believe that?
ALEX
I'm trying to.
MARISOL
That's enough. Trying is enough.
The community stands together in front of the banner. The sun is setting. Another day survived. Another day visible. Another day breathing.
MIGUEL
(to ALEX) Are you going to watch all night again?
ALEX
Probably. Old habits.
MIGUEL
Can I watch with you? Just for a little while?
ALEX
(kneels down to his brother's level) You don't have to watch, Miguel. That's my job.
MIGUEL
But maybe it shouldn't only be your job. Maybe if we all watch a little, no one has to watch all the time.
ALEX looks at his little brother. Wise beyond his years.
ALEX
Yeah. Maybe.
MIGUEL
So can I?
ALEX
(smiles) Yeah. You can watch with me. But only for an hour. Then you have to go inside and be a kid.
MIGUEL
And you'll come inside too? And eat dinner?
ALEX
(looks at MARISOL, at ABUELA LUZ, at his community) Yeah. I'll come inside too.
They stand together as the sun sets. The banner visible above them. A community breathing together.
The threat hasn't ended. The watching continues. But something fundamental has changed.
They're no longer hiding. They're here.
[Lights fade as the community gathers inside, together, still visible through the windows]
[Building theatrical anthem - 70-148 BPM, Alex's breakthrough]
[SONG 11: STILL HERE]
Three weeks later. The neighborhood, early evening. The threat of the sweep has passed—or maybe just faded into the background noise of constant threat.
Some families have returned. Others haven't. The community is smaller, tighter, changed.
The community center is open. Children play outside. MIGUEL shows his art to ABUELA. MARISOL talks with neighbors.
ALEX and EVAN stand together on the street, watching. Not with fear now, but with awareness. The watching continues—it has to—but it's different. Shared.
ALEX
You're getting better at this.
EVAN
At watching?
ALEX
At being here. At seeing what needs to be seen.
EVAN
Good teacher.
ALEX
You're still not one of us.
EVAN tenses slightly.
ALEX
(continuing, not unkind) You can leave anytime. We can't. You have to know that.
EVAN
I know.
ALEX
But you're here anyway. That matters.
They watch the street together in comfortable silence.
EVAN
Do you think it'll happen again? Another sweep?
ALEX
Probably. Eventually. It always does.
EVAN
And when it does?
ALEX
We'll be ready. Together.
TOMÁS and GABO join them.
TOMÁS
Everything quiet tonight?
ALEX
So far.
GABO
(to EVAN) You planning to stick around?
EVAN
If you'll have me.
TOMÁS
(gruff but affectionate) I guess we're stuck with you.
MARISOL calls from the center.
MARISOL
Dinner! Everyone inside!
The children rush in. Families gather. MIGUEL waves to ALEX and EVAN.
MIGUEL
Come on! Abuela made arroz con pollo!
ALEX
(to EVAN) You coming?
EVAN
Yeah. I'm coming.
They start to head inside, then ALEX stops. Looks back at the street one more time.
EVAN
It'll be there when we get back.
ALEX
(small smile) I know.
They enter together. The door closes. Warm light spills from the windows.
The ensemble appears—neighbors, watchers, the web of community. They surround the building, protecting it, holding space.
Music begins—the final song.
The entire cast sings—about survival, about showing up, about the quiet defiance of still being here. The song doesn't promise safety or resolution. It promises presence. Community. Breath.
The threat hasn't ended. The watching continues. But they face it together now—connected, supported, breathing as one.
The song builds to a powerful affirmation: We are still here. We will still be here. Together.
Lights slowly fade on the community, holding each other in the warm glow of the center.
Final image: ALEX and EVAN visible through the window, sitting at the table with the family, eating together. No longer strangers. No longer alone.
Blackout.
END OF PLAY
PRODUCTION NOTES
INTIMACY & SAFETY
This story includes themes of surveillance, fear of detention, community trauma, and family separation. Any staging should prioritize a trauma-informed rehearsal process, including: - A consent-based approach to all physical contact. - Clear boundaries and choreography for any moments of distress, panic, or confrontation. - Space for actors to de-role and decompress after intense scenes.
CASTING
The world of the play is a predominantly Latinx immigrant community. Casting should reflect the cultural specificity of the neighborhood while allowing for inclusive, non-tokenizing representation. Actors may double in ensemble roles as appropriate, but the central family (Alex, Miguel, Marisol, Abuela) should be cast with care for continuity and authenticity.
MUSIC & ORCHESTRATION
The score blends contemporary musical theater with Latin influences, acoustic textures, and rhythmic ensemble work. Arrangements may be adapted to the resources of the production, but the heartbeat of the piece should remain: a human-scale sound that keeps the voices and text at the center, with percussion and rhythm driving the sense of watchfulness and community.
STAGING & DESIGN
The staging should honor both the intimacy of family spaces and the exposure of the street. A flexible unit set can suggest apartments, rooftop, street corners, and the community center without full realism. Sound and light are crucial tools in conveying the sense of being watched: sirens, distant engines, phone alerts, and shifting shadows can create a constant low-level tension that the characters live inside.