Rather Soap Opera-y Play, But Whatever

Lights up. Mark, a young man wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt, is standing at a kitchen table. He is shuffling cards. He looks unhappy.

Enter Beth, his girlfriend, wearing slippers and a bathrobe over pajamas. She walks up and hugs him from behind. He jumps and spins around, forcing her to let go. The cards fall onto the table.

Mark:

Jesus Christ!

Beth:

Sorry!

They face each other for a moment: Beth smiling playfully, Mark unhappy. He turns back to the table and begins picking up the cards. She advances.

Beth:

Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. (no response) Don’t get all hot and bothered about it…(she reaches to hug him again, but he grabs her wrists to stop her. After a brief moment of hesitation, he lets go and allows her to embrace him.)

Mark:

I’m not hot and bothered. You just sort of snuck up on me, that’s all.

Beth:

It’s easy to get sort of jittery when you’re up at two in the morning.

Mark:

It’s this house. Too many bad memories. I can’t sleep.

Beth:

Me neither. (Mark turns and frowns, concerned. He takes hold of her shoulders.)

Mark:

You can’t sleep? Are you feeling sick again? Did you throw up? (Beth smiles and hugs him again.)

Beth:

No, I feel fine. I woke up after you left. I can’t sleep without someone kicking and shoving and snoring next to me all night.

Mark:

Oh. Sorry.

Beth:

No worries. I’ll forgive you, eventually. (She tries to kiss him, but he turns his face away. Freeing himself from the embrace, Mark walks around the table and sits down. He begins to gather up the cards. Beth is still for a moment, then silently sits in the chair beside him. He finishes gathering the cards, shuffles once, and looks at Beth.)

Mark:

Wanna play?

Beth:

Well, that depends. What’d you have in mind? Seven card stud? Five card draw? Texas hold-em?

Mark:

Go fish.

Beth:

Ah, just like the cowboys used to play in the saloons out west. (Mark doesn’t react.) Sure, why not. (Mark shuffles. Beth gets up and walks behind him, resting her arms on his shoulders. He ignores her and continues to shuffle.) You gonna tell me what’s up, or do I have to guess until I hit the bulls-eye?

Mark:

Nothing’s up, Beth.

Beth:

What was the point of coming all the way down here if you weren’t going to talk to anyone? I swear, your mom is this close to spiking your coffee with Jack Daniels or something. At least then you might yell drunkenly at her instead of giving her the silent treatment.

Mark:

I talk to you.

Beth:

I don’t count. I’m not family.

Mark:

What’s so special about family?

Beth:

Do you know what Paul asked me last night? He wanted to know if you were high. You’re acting so weird your own brother thinks you’re under the influence of something illegal.

Mark:

(beginning to deal) I just don’t feel like getting into the whole how’ve-you-been, what’s-the-buzz, look-at-the-happy-family-Christmas-card holiday kind of thing. I’m not in the mood.

Beth:

Christmas card? You’re Jewish.

Mark:

Pick up your cards. You go first.

Beth:

Seriously, Mark, can’t you tell me—

Mark:

It’s your turn. (Beth hesitates, then sighs and sits back down in her chair. She picks up her cards and fans them, then considers them.)

Beth:

Got any threes?

Mark:

Go fish.

Beth:

You never have threes.

Mark:

Luck of the draw, I guess.

Beth:

Some luck.

They play a few turns: tens, sixes, queens. When it’s Mark’s turn again, he doesn’t move. He is thinking.

Beth:

Hey? Honey? Your move?

Mark:

I was thinking…do we really need to bother moving everything else in? I mean, I do have a lot of shit, and your place isn’t huge or anything. I don’t want to crowd all your stuff.

Beth:

It’s our stuff, babe. Seriously. I keep telling you not to sweat it. Believe me, I went through the whole codependency paranoia garbage too. It’ll pass.

Mark:

But—I mean—won’t Rory want more space? I don’t want him pissing all over my couch because he’s…um…

Beth:

Pissed off?

Mark:

He’s already gonna be annoyed with us for ditching him for a week. That kennel was nasty as hell.

Beth:

You know, much as I love our little hell-dog, I’m not going to force any of my friends to take care of a bitchy old beagle with bad bladder control. Not for a whole week, anyway. I mean, these are people I would prefer to remain friends with.

Mark:

Yeah. I guess so. Makes sense. (he stares down at the table, thinking. Beth is obviously troubled by his silence.)

Beth:

Mark? Is that what’s wrong?

Mark:

Huh?

Beth:

Is it…moving in? Are you upset about it? Too big a change, too fast?

Mark:

Beth, that’s not the problem.

Beth:

Because it’s totally okay if you want to slow down the process a bit. You know, sleep at Jonathan’s a couple nights a week or something. I wouldn’t mind.

Mark:

(laughing without humor)

Trust me, sleeping at Jonathan’s would not solve anything here.

Beth:

So you admit there’s a problem and it needs to be solved.

Mark:

Jesus Christ, what am I supposed to say? I’m not a goddamn course model in shrink school, okay? You can’t wrap me up in a tidy little pile of depression or denial or whatever you people have in there.

Beth:

I wasn’t trying to do that.

Mark:

Just stop trying to analyze me.

Beth:

If you stop yelling and try to not to wake the whole house up, it’s a deal.

Mark looks like he’s about to get mad again; Beth is sitting silently, looking at her cards. After a pause, Mark picks up his cards.

Mark:

Any jacks?

Beth:

Go fish.

Mark picks up a card and looks to Beth. She’s shuffling her cards and doesn’t go. He sighs and reaches out to put one hand over hers.

Mark:

Sorry. I’m sorry I’m such a spaz. Peace?

Beth:

Mark—

Mark:

Wait. Peace?

Beth:

(smiling a little)

Peace. (looking at her cards) Got any sevens?

Mark:

I do, actually. (hands her cards, then plays a turn; Beth is distracted and does not take her turn) Okay, seriously, I said sorry. I thought you peaced.

Beth:

I did peace. It’s not that.

Mark:

So what’s wrong? (realizes what’s going on) Hey, role reversal! That’s a shrink thing, right?

Beth:

Um, sorta. I’m proud of you. (still thinking) Mark, I want to ask you about something.

Mark:

Yeah?

Beth:

What do you think is scarier: commitment or uncertainty?

Mark:

I don’t…Beth, what are you talking about?

Beth:

With uncertainty, you don’t know what you can and can’t do, or can and can’t say. Even to someone you love. Because if there’s no real commitment, there’s nothing to stop them from running for the hills if they don’t hear something they like. You know? You don’t know if anything will be okay, there’s no guarantee that it will, or that they will. It’s sort of terrifying, actually.

Mark:

(clearly very affected by what she’s saying)

I think I know the feeling.

Beth:

But with commitment, you might be safe, but you’re sort of stuck. There’s a guarantee for both you and the other guy. They can’t run, but neither can you. And if it turns out to be something you don’t want…something that you can’t live with, or makes you into a person you don’t want to be, then you can’t run either. You’re just as committed as everyone else.

Mark:

(getting up)

Like even when you think you might want commitment, if you were thinking it might make everything better…it turns out you were wrong. You were kidding yourself.

Beth:

(getting a little excited)

Exactly.

Mark:

And even if what’s wrong with the whole thing is beyond your control, and it’s something you hate and want to just go away…when you’re committed, there’s no excuse. For running away, I mean.

Beth:

But what if the problem…what if it’s not always a bad thing? What if it seems scary at first, and huge, and completely inescapable, but it turns out to be…the best thing that ever happened to you? To us?

Mark:

(not looking at her, upset, didn’t catch the last two words)

That doesn’t happen. These kinds of problems never get better. They never go away. They’re just there, and you can’t change yourself. You can’t get rid of it.

Beth:

(confused, standing)

It? What’s “it”? What are you talking about?

Mark:

(turning to look at her)

Wait, what are you talking about? What’s this commitment-uncertainty stuff?

Beth:

(coming towards him)

This stuff is about us. It’s about something amazing that could happen…something that seems really big and bad and…uncertain. Something that makes you uncertain and committed at the same time.

Mark:

You’re freaking me out, okay? Just letting you know.

Beth:

You don’t need to be freaked out. (goes up to him, takes his hands) I promise. Actually, it freaked me out at first, but then I started thinking. And I realized how wonderful it is. Mark, it’s beautiful.

Mark:

Beautiful? What’s—what’s beautiful?

Beth:

(putting her arms around him, getting a little jokey)

C’mon, babe. You can’t be this thick. I mean, I’ve known for at least a couple weeks, and I’m not even the one living with me.

Mark:

(suddenly very, very wary, almost shocked)

Wait—are you talking about—are you saying what I think you are? (Beth nods) And you’re okay with it? Now that you know, after all this time?

Beth:

I wasn’t in the beginning. But like I said, I started thinking. And I saw that it could be the best thing in the world. It could be perfect for us.

Mark:

(aghast)

Perfect for us? Perfect? Are you insane? What’s wrong with you? (he pulls away and runs to the other side of the table: Beth is confused) This isn’t perfect. This is sick and wrong and…and…I can’t believe I did this to you. And I really, really can’t believe you’re not trying to kill me right now.

Beth:

Mark, what the hell are you talking about? I don’t understand.

Mark:

This isn’t beautiful, Beth, it’s not wonderful. It’s unnatural. I’m disgusting. I thought I could make it all better, so I didn’t let you go when I had the chance and now you’re stuck and you’re committed and I love you so much. I never wanted to do this to you, okay? I want you to know that. If I could change one thing about this, I would make it so you didn’t have to be a part of it. I used you, and I’m sorry, and if I’d known that you knew I would have said sorry a long time ago. God, I’m such a fuck-up, I’m so sorry. Beth, I’m sorry.

Beth:

(completely overwhelmed, holding onto a chair)

You’re not making any sense. I can’t understand you.

Mark:

I’m not okay with it, Beth. I know you might think it’s all right, for other people, but I’m not okay with it. It’s wrong, it’s not just…it’s wrong. I hate it.

Beth:

But I thought…I thought you would be happy. I thought you would want this.

Mark:

You thought I would want what? For you to be all right with all of this? Because I—oh god, you have no idea how much I’ve wanted that. I’m a selfish son of a bitch, I know. I love you, and I’ve never met anyone else that I—that I wanted to tell. I’ve never wanted anyone to tell me it was all okay as much as I wanted you to tell me that. But I can’t ask it of you. Don’t you get it? I can’t ask you to do that for me.

Beth:

You—wanted to tell me—what?

Mark:

But you know now. Christ, I can’t even imagine how you found out. Did you talk to Jonathan, did he tell you? Did Paul tell you about when I—(decides not to continue) or did you just guess? Could you tell when you met me?

Beth:

(suddenly understanding, completely overwhelmed)

Oh my god.

Mark:

I know. I know, oh god, Beth, I’m so sorry.

Beth:

Jonathan…and you…and…oh my god, oh Jesus Christ, this is not happening. This is—-this is—-such bull.

Mark:

(realizing something is wrong)

Beth? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just exploded like that. But this month or two, it’s just been…and then coming here, being with my family, I couldn’t handle it, I just shut down. I can’t believe that you knew, all this time. I had no idea.

Beth:

Neither did I.

Mark:

What?

Beth:

I can’t believe it. I cannot believe that this is my life. I thought I knew every possible way the world could blow up in my face, but screw that. I don’t know shit.

Mark:

What are you talking about?

Beth:

You know, I actually have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m having trouble thinking clearly right now, because I’m nine weeks pregnant and my boyfriend is a faggot.

Long silence. Mark is unable to speak; he stands beside the table, watching Beth. Beth picks up her cards, fans them out, and examines them. Then she picks up Mark’s cards and looks at them. She takes two out and holds them up.

Beth:

Thanks for the threes.

She walks past Mark without looking at him. He turns to watch her go, then sits down and brings all the cards together. He begins to shuffle. Lights down.