A ONE MINUTE PLAY
(She and He in a messy bed, she bolt up-right, he curled fetally around her, clenching. The room is small and very dark.)
She: Are you awake? Are you dreaming?
He: Sssssss—wha? I’m…I’m….choo. Shut.
She: I had a strange dream.
(He makes muffled grumbling noises, but no actual words.)
She: I dreamt I was eighteen, and on a date with a boy I was in love with when I was eighteen. I mean, no, I was almost in love with him, or I was falling in love with him? Or something. I don’t remember. I don’t remember how it happened in real life. Only the dream. In the dream we were in love together. And we were having dinner with his family.
She: In the dream he had a dozen little sisters and brothers, but I can’t remember how many he really had. None, I think. I think he was an only child.
(He makes a snort, flips noisily over, away from her.)
She: In the dream we did what older brothers and their girlfriends always do when they want to seem cool in front of a bunch of kids. We took them out for pizza. We held hands in the front seat of a Volkswagen bus and wore white socks and were utterly, boringly, happily square. He was big and smiling and he drank orange juice and did that thing where you trace someone’s jawline with a single finger and he blushed a lot and I loved him. I loved him.
(He spits onto the floor.)
She: I loved him so much I had to get rid of him.
(He makes a growling noise, throws out an arm, knocking something off the bedside table, which crashes to the floor, breaking.)
She: In the dream, he said “I’m starting to love you,” and I said “I’m keeping pace.” In real life, he said “I think I might really love you,” and I said, “Go fuck yourself.”
He: BE. QUIET.
She: Because I know what’s best for me.
(She gets out of bed, goes to window and opens it. She stands in the moonlight a long time. End.)