by Njel de Mesa
CHARACTERS:
YOUNG MAN/ OLD MAN
YOUNG WOMAN / OLD WOMAN
WAITER
(The future. At De Corail, a French inspired restaurant. A table for two. An old woman puts on some make-up in anticipation of something eventful.)
OLD MAN: (Accosting the woman.) Baby J.?
OLD WOMAN: (Winces.) Not so “baby” after 62 years.
OLD MAN: Ah well, your beauty hasn’t aged a day for me.
OLD WOMAN: (Smiles.) C’est très aimable de votre part.
OLD MAN: (Confused.) I’m sorry.
OLD WOMAN: (Flustered.) Oh. (Beat.) I’m sorry… I-I just thought… you were… (Beat.) I’m sorry, I know you from where?
OLD MAN: From when… (Beat.) From college.
OLD WOMAN: Eons ago.
OLD MAN: I know. Donkey’s years… plus, plus perhaps…
OLD WOMAN: And we were classmates?
OLD MAN: Modern Jazz.
OLD WOMAN: (Snickers.) The wonders of Physical Education…
OLD MAN: (Rolls his eyes.) I doubt we can re-live our high impact glory. Nobody wants to see geriatrics do high kicks these days.
(An awkward silence.)
OLD MAN: (Striving to make small talk.) So how are your kids?
OLD WOMAN: You mean grandkids?
OLD MAN: That too.
OLD WOMAN: Happily married.
OLD MAN: Happily married? Good. All of them?
(Silence.)
OLD MAN: You had like… what?
OLD WOMAN: Two kids.
OLD MAN: Two.
OLD WOMAN: A girl then a boy.
OLD MAN: I met them once.
OLD WOMAN: Oh, you met them.
OLD MAN: At a reunion.
OLD WOMAN: Oh, a reunion.
OLD MAN: You wouldn’t remember. 20 years ago.
OLD WOMAN: Ah yes, 20 years ago.
OLD MAN: I asked you if you wanted milk with your coffee.
OLD WOMAN: Oh, that was you. Yes, you did.
OLD MAN: (Jittery.) You know… I was always… in front.
OLD WOMAN: In front of what?
OLD MAN: Of you.
OLD WOMAN: Of me?
OLD MAN: During our classes.
OLD WOMAN: Oh, THAT. (Beat.) P.E.
OLD MAN: So I could see your reflection…
OLD WOMAN: (Clueless.) Oh, that was you.
OLD MAN: (Man sees the woman pouting and inadvertently making faces.) …and your futile attempts to make your face ugly.
(The woman smiles.)
(School bell rings. Lights change. The past. Man and woman is at their 20s. Inside a dance rehearsal hall.)
YOUNG MAN: (Accosting towards the woman.) Do you sing?
(Woman smiles but fiercely shakes her head “no”.)
YOUNG MAN: Well, your face does. (Beat.) And it’s a symphony.
(Woman blushes.)
YOUNG MAN: Do you talk… atleast?
YOUNG WOMAN: (Looks askance.) Yes I do.
YOUNG MAN: Good. Can we do that please?
(Woman blushes.)
YOUNG MAN: You DO have a name?
(Silence.)
YOUNG MAN: May I see some identification, ma’m?
(Woman giggles. Awkward silence.)
YOUNG MAN: (Desperately trying to initiate small talk.) Is blue your favorite color?
(Woman shakes her head.)
YOUNG MAN: Green?
(Woman shakes her head again.)
YOUNG MAN: You know, it would be so much easier if you’d just tell me.
(Silence.)
YOUNG MAN: Fine. Your favorite color’s orange. Take it or leave it.
(Desk bell rings. Lights change. Woman stares at her watch while inadvertently making faces. Man stares at her.)
OLD MAN: You know with that kind of a face, it’s impossible—really—you’ll ever succeed in making it ugly. (Woman smiles but continues to make faces.) But I guess, you’ll keep trying.
(Woman looks at her watch.)
OLD MAN: Waiting for somebody?
(Woman smiles.)
OLD MAN: Silence is indeed golden. And we’ve lots of it. Gold, I mean.
OLD WOMAN: (Suspicious.) We didn’t do high kicks in our P.E. class.
OLD MAN: What?
OLD WOMAN: Were you really in MY class? ‘Cause we didn’t do high kicks… and all… that… jazz. (Looking askance.) Who are you?
OLD MAN: (Jovial.) Finally, she talks! She admits she doesn’t recognize me but atleast she’s finally talking. (Takes a breath.) YES, we didn’t do high kicks! More like—what did our teacher call it—groove exercises ‘cause our class turned out to be—
OLD WOMAN: --Hiphop.
OLD MAN: They call it old school hiphop now.
OLD WOMAN: It was pretty new then.
OLD MAN: There you go! (They laugh.) What a scam. We were forced to take that class…
OLD WOMAN: It was okay.
OLD MAN: Well, you looked like you enjoyed it.
OLD WOMAN: We all had fun. Except for our teacher, I guess.
OLD MAN: Oh, believe me. He was probably enjoying looking at you. We were having P.E. But he was doing Art Appreciation. You should’ve charged him per hour.
OLD WOMAN: (Smiles.) Look, I’m sorry.
OLD MAN: It’s okay… he probably wouldn’t afford it if you did.
OLD WOMAN: No, I mean… I’m sorry, if I…
OLD MAN: Oh that. Don’t sweat it. You’ve gotten old. Forgetful.
OLD WOMAN: And you haven’t?
OLD MAN: Oh, I haven’t.
OLD WOMAN: Can’t be too friendly these days.
OLD MAN: Were you ever?
(School Bell rings. Lights change. The two are back at the dance rehearsal hall, prepping up for a class.)
YOUNG MAN: Have I mentioned today, how lucky I am to be in this class… ‘cause you’re here?
(Woman smiles.)
YOUNG MAN: (Presents a flower vase to the Woman.) I wanted to give you flowers but… I figured, with that insanely gorgeous face of yours, you probably have lots already to take home with you. So, here’s what your other inconsiderate suitors hadn’t thought of.
YOUNG WOMAN: I don’t know what to say.
YOUNG MAN: (Ecstatic.) Ha! She talks! Finally, she talks and says, “I don’t know what to say”! (Beat.) What else can you say?!
YOUNG WOMAN: (Smiling.) Shut up.
YOUNG MAN: So, if I keep yappin’ you’ll keep talking to me?
YOUNG WOMAN: Shut up.
YOUNG MAN: Ha! It works! (Beat.) So, do you have a boyfriend? Wait. Don’t answer that… I don’t think I’m ready to hear your answer. But if the answer is “no” then go ahead and answer.
YOUNG WOMAN: Shut up.
YOUNG MAN: YES, THANK YOU, JESUS!! (Beat.) Wait, was that a “yes” or a “no”?
(Desk bell rings. Lights change.)
OLD WOMAN: Oh, shut up.
OLD MAN: (Sarcastic.) Your vocabulary has improved.
OLD WOMAN: I won’t fall for that again… (Pensive. Realizes.) Wait, you’re…
OLD MAN: Yes, I’m… (Changes tone.) Took awhile…
OLD WOMAN: Oh, my God. (Sinks.) I’m so… so… sorry…
OLD MAN: (Kidding.) For everything, for every year, everyday that was hell without you… or for… just not being able to see past my wrinkles?
OLD WOMAN: I’m sorry.
OLD MAN: Can’t blame senility and dispensable lovers like me, right?
(Silence.)
OLD MAN: What an awkward silence…
OLD WOMAN: (Changing the topic.) You… You got married, right?
OLD MAN: No, that was you. ‘Cause… sadly, there are things you don’t forget though you get old. (Looks with sullen eyes to the Woman.)
(Silence.)
OLD WOMAN: It wasn’t a successful marriage, if that makes you feel any better.
OLD MAN: (Bitter while pretending to be jocund.) Good for you. But I don’t want to hear the fact that I could’ve made your marriage better: had I been there instead.
(Silence.)
OLD WOMAN: Why are you here?
OLD MAN: Same reason you’re here. (Beat.) To meet the man who ruined both our lives.
(Lights change.)
YOUNG MAN: A secret admirer!?! Well, that’s new. And I mean it like it’s soooo old!
YOUNG WOMAN: I knew you’d laugh at me.
YOUNG MAN: No, no, no, baby. I’m laughing at him, not you. Wait. Are you even certain he’s a “him”?
(Silence.)
YOUNG MAN: (Laughs.) I can’t believe I’m—I can’t believe this—I’m competing with a secret admirer!?! Do you actually think… I mean, what the f—(Holds his tongue. Riled up.) I can’t cuss ‘cause that would be a turn-off and I can’t edit what I say like… like… that Mister Anonymous would… so… (Beat.) …damn it! Is this for real? Is this really happening?! What? We’re in the movies now? “Girl torn between two lovers… but wait, the other one’s a secret admirer… A heart torn between the fascinating or the familiar!” I’m definitely not buying tickets for that. But, damn it… (Laughing.) …girls like you would. Apparently, you’re buying his cheap movie-esque romantic set-up. What, he’s like… speaks in French?
YOUNG WOMAN: (Correcting.) Writes in French.
YOUNG MAN: (Sarcastic.) Oh, so now it’s a comedy.
YOUNG WOMAN: Why are you mad at me like we’re…?
YOUNG MAN: Rub it in, please. There’s free salt in the cafeteria, I’ll wait for you here. Let’s have a party.
YOUNG WOMAN: (Stands up.) Look, if you’re going to be like this…
YOUNG MAN: (Calms down.) I’m sorry. It’s just that… I can’t believe, you’re actually considering… (Beat.) Does he have good handwriting?
YOUNG WOMAN: Yes.
YOUNG MAN: Damn it. Can I atleast read some of his letters?
YOUNG WOMAN: Shut up.
(Desk bell rings. Lights come up again.)
OLD MAN: We’ve both been waiting for far too long. (Looking at his watch.)
OLD WOMAN: True love takes long.
OLD MAN: (Snickers.) You say it like we’re still in college.
OLD WOMAN: You don’t have to keep reminding me you remember everything…
OLD MAN: Including this date… Only date I’ve been looking forward to all my life. “The” date of reckoning. It’s like going through college… ain’t it? It’s only after experiencing the rest of your life that you’d want to go back and actually do some serious studying. But by that time, you also know you’ve missed the whole point.
OLD WOMAN: And you remembered me.
OLD MAN: Oh! Believe me, I tried desperately to keep you away from my memory. So I don’t remember, I haven’t forgotten you.
OLD WOMAN: I was never away. You were.
OLD MAN: Ah, well… It’s not funny what pride can do to make our lives miserable… I kept convincing myself that… that was how much I respected your decision: that you didn’t want to be with me. I worked hard to stay away… though, everyday… every part of me… longed to be with you. You have no idea how difficult—
OLD WOMAN: --Yes, I do know.
(School bell rings. Lights change.)
YOUNG WOMAN: Maybe I love him!
YOUNG MAN: You love him?! Baby, you really think communicating by long-hand and making your stupid locker a damn pigeon box count as “love”? I’m here! In the flesh! Love me. Are you sure he’s not just trippin’ on you?!
YOUNG WOMAN: He loves me.
YOUNG MAN: Who the hell cares?! Lemme ask you: what’s the point of loving him if you can’t see the friggin’ guy?!
YOUNG WOMAN: He says he wants to show me—and the rest of the world—what true love is… He doesn’t pressure me to reciprocate… like you do… He loves me, not because I like him… In fact, I don’t even know if I like him. He loves, (Beat.) …asking nothing in return. Isn’t that love?
YOUNG MAN: (Belching.) BLEHhhhh! LOVE! LOVE! All this talk of love’s strangling me. (Strangles himself.) Man, I never thought you’d fall for THAT act. Can’t you see he’s playin’ you? Treating you like your some kind of experimental microphone… so that the world will make him… some kind of… benchmark of true love?! It’s common knowledge that you’re beautiful. Surprisingly, what’s uncommon is that you’re shallow.
YOUNG WOMAN: Nice.
YOUNG MAN: Any chances you’d be actually meeting this guy?
(Woman nods.)
YOUNG MAN: Oh, you have to tell me when! I need to meet the guy!
YOUNG WOMAN: And what? Punch another hole in the wall?
YOUNG MAN: Just his face. Kidding.
YOUNG WOMAN: (Takes a breath.) Can you wait 40 years from now?
YOUNG MAN: (Hysterical.) Hahahaha!! You got to be kidding me. You’re willing to wait THAT long?
YOUNG WOMAN: Maybe. Who knows.
YOUNG MAN: I wouldn’t. Hope he doesn’t die on you. Man, you really dig this whole giddy concept of mysterious romantic love… to the max. Got to give you that. (Beat.) Love is indeed blind as a bat… ‘cause I can’t see why you’d choose him over me.
YOUNG WOMAN: You talk all the time. He listens to me.
YOUNG MAN: (Fumes.) Has it ever crossed your mind, in order for me to listen to you, you have to actually talk? (Beat.) TO ME?!!
YOUNG WOMAN: Maybe I don’t talk but… but maybe I’m actually saying something when I don’t. Maybe I don’t talk ‘cause your mouth rambles 24/7 about you, you, and nothing but you and how marvelous you are!
YOUNG MAN: (Riled up.) What?! All I do is talk about you, you and nothing but you AND how marvelous YOU are! You want to press play or rewind. ‘Cause I’m damn sure, I loved you. For the record, I truly loved you. YES, ‘cause of your face… but also of the fact that you didn’t want to be noticed. And you know how ridiculous that is… Ridiculous and fascinating at the same time: to have a face like THAT and expect people NOT to notice you! (Beat.) Damn it! You see, it’s a force of habit, here I go again ranting how beautiful you are and yet you see nothing but me raving about me… (Silence.) I guess, I’ll never understand… how you can stand there… and say the things you’ve been telling me all along… (Long silence.) Yeah, I thought you’d say that. (Prepares to leave.) Goodluck, I hope 40 years from now you’d actually meet this secret admirer of yours. I’d hate to see that day, we’d both be crying over spilt milk. I know I am today. (Beat.) Goodbye. (Snickers.) Forever.
(Desk bell rings. Lights change.)
OLD WOMAN: He said I should meet him here today; a post-script to his last letter.
OLD MAN: Ah, karma. And you’re still hoping?
OLD WOMAN: After 40 years, no. I just want to ask him, “why?”
OLD MAN: Why he stopped writing?
OLD WOMAN: Why after 40 years?
OLD MAN: (Takes a breath. Laughing.) ‘Cause I thought then… that by today we’d be old and happily married. And it would be sweet. That’s why.
OLD WOMAN: What?
OLD MAN: It was an estimate. By age 22, fresh from college, we’d be together for the next five years. By 25, we’d start planning for our vows. By 27, we’d be wed.
OLD WOMAN: Stop… please…
OLD MAN: And after 35 years… we’ll be dining here… De Corail… and I’d be telling you… and then giving you this… (Shows a necklace.) Collier de corail… Happy anniversary.
(Silence. The old woman slaps the man fiercely.)
OLD MAN: I was hoping you’d say that.
(Woman fumes and decides to leave quietly.)
OLD MAN: Tu est comme un milkshake pour moi. Avec toi je suis tres comfortable. Et j’adore les milkshake. (You are like milkshake to me. You make me feel better. And I really like milkshake.)
OLD WOMAN: I have suffered enough. (Stops in mid-movement.)
OLD MAN: Quand je regarde a toi, je dois dire, Le Dieu est le meilleur Artist. (When I saw you, I finally agreed that God was the better artist.)
OLD WOMAN: Those letters were private…
OLD MAN: (Scoffs.) You never even had me check for typos.
OLD WOMAN: (Shaking her head.) No. (Walking out.)
OLD MAN: How would I know I’m supposed to be here… and not somewhere else?
OLD WOMAN: (Staggering back to her seat.) I already said I’m sorry… please… let me go…
OLD MAN: There you go again, trying to make a scene meant for the movies.
OLD WOMAN: (Riled up.) I hate myself.
OLD MAN: If I were you, I’d hate myself too.
OLD WOMAN: (Denying her tears.) A joke! And it took years for me to get it…
OLD MAN: The joke was on me, when my plan backfired 40 years ago.
OLD WOMAN: (Starts crying but smiling.) I am never talking to you again. (Silence.) And it would bring me much pleasure if my silence would make you more miserable than you already are. (Scoffs.) To do that to me and think you can get away with it?!
OLD MAN: Got away from it? I’m here, am I not?
OLD WOMAN: Shut up.
OLD MAN: It was the only way for me to understand you. To get to know you. Who you really were. Don’t you get it?! I really wanted to get to know you. That was the reason! That was the only reason!! I wanted to get to know the real you. Not just the bluster of your beauty but… but also the beauty of your silence. I wanted so much for you to have someone… someone in me that you’d feel safe to share your inner most thoughts and feelings with! I wanted to be familiar with the ugly in you… because I really wanted to love you!
OLD WOMAN: (Fumes.) I am not your mother. Stop whining like the schoolboy that you still are.
OLD MAN: I wanted you to choose me. I wanted you to choose the person. (Beat.) Instead, you chose to love the feeling I made you feel… I wanted you to love the person that I am, and since you just couldn’t love that: what’s the point of revealing my secret to you? It was just like losing you to another man.
OLD WOMAN: And I was under the impression you loved me?
OLD MAN: Of course, I did. But did you love me?
(Silence.)
OLD WOMAN: I’m so sorry. It was so unclear to me at that time.
OLD MAN: Likewise. (Beat. Laughs.) You never asked me my favorite color.
OLD WOMAN: Well, small talk is cheap.
OLD MAN: I wanted you to get to know me, very much like how much I wanted to get to know you… You wrote me letters about you, you and nothing but you—not that I mind… never asking about how curious you were about me… not even curious how close I was to you… Your fault for not even asking clues… There was never much difference about me and your secret admirer. Both were living for the single purpose of waiting for your reply… That’s my juvenile excuse. What’s yours?
OLD WOMAN: I was a kid. I was confused.
OLD MAN: My love wasn’t.
(Silence.)
OLD WOMAN: It’s not too late is it? We can still turn this around…
OLD MAN: Baby, we’re too old for romance.
(Silence.)
OLD WOMAN: (Wiping her tears.) You came. I should be thankful.
OLD MAN: I had to see you. I wanted to feel better. (Haling the waiter.) Garçon!
WAITER: Bon soir, M’sieu dam! Que desirez vous?
OLD WOMAN: (Answers in behalf of the Man.) Two milkshakes, si’l vous plait. Chocolat.
WAITER: C’est parfait! Is that all?
(Silence.)
OLD MAN: Oui, merci… That would be all… (Beat.) …for now.
WAITER: Merci bien.
(The waiter exits.)
OLD MAN: A familiar quiet… I like this ending better.
OLD WOMAN: I’ve had enough drama in my life. I’d rather this ending too. (Beat.) So what IS your favorite color?
OLD MAN: (Sheepishly smiling.) You’re asking me?
OLD WOMAN: Yes, I’m asking you. (Reaching out to touch the Man’s hand on the table.)
(They chat while the lights fade to black. School bell rings.)
CURTAIN
* No part of these plays may be staged without a written permission from the author. For performance rights, permit to play, and inquiries email ktfi2001@yahoo.com or call 386.3278 /text (0917)9726514.
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