Hi, I’m Anthony. I write. A blog is different from Twitter because you can blog sober, whereas Twitter users are generally irresponsible (college students, Sarah Palin).
This is a short play I wrote when I woke up a few days ago and I was convinced (convinced!) I had swine flu.
Fun Dancing
By Anthony Smith
Characters
Wallace, twenty-five
Jacob, twenty-five
1.1
(Wallace and Jacob’s bedroom. Wallace is furiously putting on his clothing. Jacob is in bed, in his pajamas, nursing a headache.)
WALLACE
Four Friday nights—count them, four—spent sitting in an audience of strangers watching a fat girl read naked poetry. Three perfectly good Sunday afternoons in Museums… and you know I don’t know a thing about art, Jacob, so don’t start with me about “Oh, Wally, you should enjoy those kinds of things. You should relish,”—that’s the word you’ll use—“You should relish the opportunity to get more cultured, to get to know me better.”
JACOB
Well, you should.
WALLACE
Well, I do. But it goes both ways, babe. I do all that artsy shit you like. You say, “Hey, Wallace, let’s go to a concert. In a graveyard. At 6 AM,” or you say “Hey, Wallace, let’s go see this movie at the Angelika— I hear there’s a five minute tracking shot of pancakes being made.”—
JACOB
You’ve been good about it—
WALLACE
I have been good about it! And that’s the thing! I don’t know the first thing about all this… crap. But I’m good, and you’re good, and I suffer through it because I like how good we are.
JACOB
I like it, too.
WALLACE
So here’s the plan: You’re going to get dressed. You’re going to get up and go out with me. We’re going to have fun dancing, and if we’re lucky—and this being the nineties and our being two dashing little monsters—we’re going to get lucky and bring a hott guy home with us and it’s simple that’s all there is to it.
JACOB
Mmm.
WALLACE
It’s best when it’s simple.
JACOB
Mmm.
WALLACE
So get dressed.
JACOB
Can’t.
WALLACE
Why?
JACOB
Headache. It’s kind of awful.
WALLACE
Do you want another line?
JACOB
No. (Laughing slightly) No, that’s probably why I have one in the first place. I’m tired of going hard.
WALLACE
Doing yay so you can write your little stories is hardly going hard.
JACOB
It is when you’re as boring as I am.
WALLACE
Don’t say that. You aren’t boring.
JACOB
Liar. I bore you and you hate me for it.
WALLACE
No, no, no. Just… just let’s get you dressed, okay?
JACOB
Wally…
WALLACE
Yeah?
JACOB
It hurts.
WALLACE
I’m telling you— you just need some coke in that pretty little nose of yours.
JACOB
Sure.
WALLACE
And then you’ll go out dancing with me?
JACOB
Sure.
WALLACE
And then we’ll have a good time, right? I’ll get a smile out of you, hm?
(Jacob smiles)
WALLACE
There we go. Your shit’s in the sock drawer, right.
JACOB
(suddenly defensive)
Hey, let me be the one to get it.
(He tries to get up, but his headache knocks him back down.)
JACOB
Agggh!
WALLACE
Aww, babe, don’t move. I’ll get it for you.
JACOB
No, please. I can do it.
WALLACE
Don’t be ridiculous. I’m already up, I’m already here.
JACOB
I just don’t want you going in there is all.
(Wallace opens up the drawer and rummages through it)
WALLACE
What? Afraid I’ll find your drugs?
(He laughs, until he finds a small prescription bottle. He reads the label. He’s no longer so fun, so glib.)
WALLACE
What the hell is this?
JACOB
Didn’t you read the label?
WALLACE
Of course I read the label!
JACOB
Then why the hell are you asking me what it is if you already know?
WALLACE
Jacob—
JACOB
God, you can be such a fucking sadist sometimes.
WALLACE
Since when?
JACOB
Since who knows. But I’ve known since yesterday. It explains everything, you know.
WALLACE
No.
JACOB
No?
WALLACE
No. No, no, no. Absolutely not. You’re not sick. You’re just—
JACOB
Melodramatic?
WALLACE
Exactly, you always overreact about shit like this. Remember when you thought you had melanoma and it turned out you’d slept on a milk dud?
JACOB
I think this is a little different.
WALLACE
Bullshit.
JACOB
I got it from you.
(Pause)
JACOB
I got it from you, and you’re sick, too.
WALLACE
You don’t know that. Jacob… we both fool around.
JACOB
I don’t fool around.
WALLACE
What?
JACOB
I don’t know. I just stay home, writing, being boring. You’re the one with the social life. You’re the one who fools around.
WALLACE
Fuck that. You fool around and you know it. Fucking admit it, it’s okay.
JACOB
There’s nothing to admit.
WALLACE
Exactly, because we’re not fucking sick.
JACOB
This morning, when you got out of bed, your pillowcase was covered in blood.
WALLACE
So?
JACOB
So.
WALLACE
So, a lot of people get nosebleeds. And it’s probably from all the yay. I’ve got one deviously deviated septum by now, no doubt, and that’s what all that blood is from. (A pause) Isn’t it? Jacob, isn’t it?
JACOB
Could be. I’m not a doctor. (He laughs) I’m not much of anything. (He lies back) And I won’t be much of anything for much longer.
WALLACE
Don’t talk like that.
JACOB
Like what?
WALLACE
Don’t talk like that and get dressed. We’re going out. We’re going to dance. We’re going to have fun dancing. And… and that’s all there is to it. What more do I have to say?
JACOB
Wallace…
WALLACE
(Angrily)
What?!
JACOB
I’ve been thinking.
WALLACE
You’re always thinking.
JACOB
I’ve been thinking about how we don’t have much of anything anymore.
(Wallace realizes he’s been too harsh. He sits on the bed with Jacob)
WALLACE
We have love.
JACOB
Yeah, but we’re running out of time.
WALLACE
We have love, and time, and all the drugs we could ever want. Work is good, sex is good, and condoms are free at STD clinics. It’s the American dream, baby, and all you have to do is wake up and realize we’ve got it and we’re there and… baby, we’ve got it.
JACOB
We sure do. (Pause) But other than that, we don’t have anything. Not anymore.
WALLACE
Do you really think that?
JACOB
Yes. No. Look, I have a headache. I’m sorry.
(Pause)
WALLACE
So, you’re not coming out with me?
(Jacob shakes his head. They stand in silence, looking at each other, as if they’re both about to be sick.)
WALLACE
You really fucking bore me sometimes.
(Wallace leaves. Fade out. End.)
