The stage remains dark, only slightly illuminated from upstage right.
Next to the light is an outdoor lounge chair, and next to this Conrad is lying
on the ground with his feet suspended high in the air. He is humming
a children’s song (this is for him to decide) and is lightly tapping his palms
against the stage. As the light on stage slowly rises, Patricia walks on with a
bucket of fried chicken and a blanket.
Patricia : Conrad Spenser, what in the fuck are you doin in my backyard again?
Conrad : (begins humming louder)
Patricia : Conrad! Get outta my fuckin backyard! I don’t wanna tell you again! OUT!
Conrad hums very loudly, enough to drown out Patricia calling his name.
Patricia : For fucks sake, why do we have to do this every goddamn morning?
Conrad : (loudly singing the children’s song, off key)
Patricia : Alright! Alright! You can lay there just shut the fuck up so I can enjoy whatever little fuckin peace and quiet is left in this fuckin morning!
Conrad goes completely silent, legs still in the air and palms still tapping.
Patricia slowly walks and lays in the lounge chair, covering herself lightly in
the blanket and reaching into the bucket to take out the first piece of chicken.
The stage is quiet except for her chewing and his tapping.
Patricia : Why do you always got your feet in the air like that?
Conrad :
Patricia : I let you stay there, the least you could do is answer my damn question. Hey!
Conrad : Such an irrelevant question does not warrant a verbal response.
Patricia : How about I kick you off my damn property, does that get me an answer?
Conrad : (loudly singing again)
Patricia : Alright! I’m sorry! (he stops) Jesus Christ, you oughta work on your social skills kid, I was only askin cuz I’m curious, you little shit.
Conrad : It’s restorative.
Patricia : (pause) What?
Conrad : Since you can’t seem to mind your own business…
Patricia : It’s my fuckin backyard!
Conrad : …this pose happens to be highly restorative to the mind and allows for the slow release of tension and stress that my body collects throughout the day.
Patricia : You coulda just said that you know.
Conrad : I don’t come here to engage in conversation with simple minded women who eat fried chicken for breakfast. (immediately starts singing loudly again)
Patricia : Listen here you piece of shit! If you don’t leave my property in 10 seconds I’m callin the fuckin cops! Are you listening to me? 10…
With every receding number, Conrad slowly lowers his legs to the ground. When
Patricia reaches 1, he is lying flat on his back, still singing to drown out Patricia.
Patricia : That’s it! I’m so fuckin tired of you ruinin my mornings! I’m callin the cops and you are outta here!
Conrad : (stops singing and stands) Thank you for your hospitality. I shall see you tomorrow.
Patricia : I think the fuck you won’t!
Conrad smiles and mockingly salutes her before quickly grabbing
the bucket from Patricia’s side and sprinting off stage.
Patricia : You fuckin bastard get the fuck back here!
She runs after him, and the stage goes dark.
walk with me across palms and i’ll show you how to get lost in a fingerprint. lost in the smooth-tallied and oil-worn, while i ramble across ribbed landscaping, wayward following a blind road map. sometimes i think i must remember how supple these hills felt on fresh skin. how it felt to cuddle against split earth talking of folded time, as if everything we touched was tattooed inside our throats. we step carefully around fault lines until the sun burns too low, and i ask you to picnic here, to stargaze at the bottom of these ravines. but while i am blinded by the compass insisting you are north, you have closed your eyes to hide from the shower of my conversations. you stand, sweat-slicked, and with matted tongue you ask why i brought you here. why i insist this is the frayed spine to stitch ourselves to.
but you never truly walked with me, did you? instead, you shared my shoes and forced me to drag you through our reflections, as if afraid to wrinkle the stiff-sole of your own. instead, you magnified yourself larger and buried me in dust so that i may rest as ashes rolled between palms. i know that you never meant to get lost with me, never cared much for my rambles, so go ahead. raise your glass higher and let the sun bring me home. shrink me into a sweaty memory, but know that if you watch my smallness closely, you will only see how beautiful i can be. i dare you to glean yourself an eyeglass and watch me learn to chart bread crumbs into suckled ground, watch me taste pools of salted-silk and still smell the sweet honey under your fingernails. so know i am lost to be lost, bare-buckled and wandering shoeless among the stars so that i might still find meteors in my itchy throat. you remember, the meteors you threw when i asked you to sew us into a burnt midnight. it is dark under your glowering, but at least now i can see the Big Dipper on your right cheek, or Orion’s Belt nestling above your chin, while i claim this world i have walked. i got lost in a fingerprint, in our fingerprints, now i want you to watch me leave some behind. to watch me birth a new horizon i will imprint into those stolen memories.
are you watching, darling?
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