What We Talk About When We Talk About

February 24, 2010

I just wrote a small piece today. I don’t know what it’s about. Maybe the language that lovers speak, and how no one can understand that kind of intimacy, and sometimes even the lovers can’t understand that kind of intimacy. Although inadvertently, everything I ever write about love also has an intense food motif moving through it.

Maybe I’ll do a collection of vignettes called What We Talk About When We Talk About, but either way, it’s the title of this one play.


Beau: Dressed? No, I’m… I called in sick to work today.
Charlie: Are you—
Beau: Sick? No, I’m not sick. I never get sick. I’m basically invincible.
Charlie: Basically invincible?
Beau: Well, even superman had kryptonite.
Charlie: Superman had bright spandex, too. Let’s get you some spandex. You’d look good in—
Beau: Where did you go last night?
Charlie: I went for a walk. Why are you home from work today?
Beau: Answer my question first.
Charlie: I did.
Beau: A walk where?
Charlie: Answer my question first.
Beau: It’s a special day.
Charlie: Why?
Beau: A walk where?
Charlie: Around. I went to a playground.
Beau: All night?!
Charlie: Free country. I sat on the slides and I… I just sat. It was wonderful. There was the, um, the sound of cars. I wasn’t thinking. It was wonderful.
Beau: (Pause) I don’t want you leaving the apartment that late.

A nice three-minute play about waking up in the morning. Mmmmm.


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