New York, NY

Colby Poston

He, Him, His


     Who has the right to tell a story? It happened to Anne, but it also happened to April. In 1980 Northern Virginia, April has just come home from summer camp, and  everything is just as she left it: her mother, Anne, is still more concerned with dreams deferred than making dinner; her father, Eugene, is obsessed with work, while trying to outrun an inescapable guilt of home; and her brother continues to be a headache, as he isn’t growing into the man his father had hoped for— untold truths and unresolved conflicts continue to be out of sight, out of mind.

    April’s candor in her experiences forces her mother to confront her own past— a reality that cannot be fixed or numbed through writing. Eugene, on the other hand, is desperately trying to  provide opportunities for his son that he mourns not having for himself. The family begins to implode as the parents are forced to reconcile their pasts while struggling to maintain control of  the present, leaving April and her brother left to pick up the pieces of their shattered childhood. Through all of this we are left to wonder: who’s story is this? And does anyone have the inherent “story rights” to their trauma? Does it even matter if it transcends generations?


Adult April- Female, 40s Anush “Anne” Standish - Female, 40s April Standish- Female, 14 Eric Standish - Male, 13 Eugene Standish- Male, 40s