Leaving Rhode Island: Brooklyn

Of course I'm not going back
What's to go back to?
I have tomatoes here
I have planted tomatoes
And they can't--

You can't just--uproot them
Ha!--No, but really, you can't
I mean, you might be able to, I don't know
I don't read up on this stuff
I'm not a gardener who reads
I'm a gardener who gardens

Which--

By the way, did you see the painting in the hallway?

Isn't it gorgeous?

This young man comes in--once, twice a week
Cleans the place
Because, you know, dust--everywhere
And it's not that I'm powerless to stop it
The dust
But a three-story house in Brooklyn, it's--

...I get tired

Isn't that a shameful admission?

I get tired

You get old and you get tired
And then you talk about how tired you are
Because it's this new thing to you
Because you were never tired when you were younger
And now you're tired
And you think it must be some new thing
That'll disappear eventually
As long as you keep talking about it
But it doesn't

It doesn't go away

So I'm tired
So I have a boy
A man, a young man
Who cleans the house
Funny thing--men cleaning houses
But he likes it
And he likes to paint
So he made me that painting
I tried giving him money
He says--you already give me money
I said, I know but it's beautiful
And he said--Beautiful things should be free
And I thought--God, you're young
You're so--ha--young
But I took it, I'm not an idiot
I don't turn down gifts
My mother would--
Anyway, I gave him some tomatoes

When they kicked me out of Rhode Island, I thought--

Well, I'm used to this

Got kicked out of Georgia when I was seventeen for being gay
Got kicked out of a commune when I was twenty for being loud--because I didn't like sharing, because I was too political--too political for a commune, can you stand it?

I got kicked out of a relationship because I was an idiot
Just an idiot, no other way to say it

Anyway, he was older
Kicked me out of his house
When he arrived home early from work one day
And found me with the maid

Yes, the maid
I was...adventurous back then

I got kicked out of clubs and bars because I used to drink too much and start fights
That was the 70's...and the 80's...and 1991

I got kicked out of my marriage
Because my husband didn't like
That I kicked the drinking

He said if I loved him
I never would have gotten sober
I said 'This may be one of those times
When I need to love myself more'

He packed the bag for me
He was nice
He was a nice drunk
Believe it or not, they do exist
And they're hard to argue with
Because they're so damn nice

I got kicked out of my niece's graduation
Because my sister's husband and I argued
He called me...a name
I called him...several names
And they asked me to leave

That was the last time I got kicked out of anything
Until I got the letter from the state

I thought...

Well...

Maybe it's a sign

Because when something that awful to you happens
Seeing it as a sign is the only way you don't lose your mind

So I moved to Brooklyn, because...Why not?
Too old for Manhattan, too young for Long Island
But Brooklyn I could do

I started a life here--a whole life
And I was careful
Because I didn't want to get kicked out
Of the life I'd created for myself
Not again

You know, when you're younger
You kind of get a kick out of burning the bridge behind you
Just to see it burn

But one day you wake up
And you're on an island
With no way off

That letter...it might as well have been a ticket
Saying, 'Here you go.  Here's a plane ride off the island.
Don't botch it up this time.'

Now here I am

Tomatoes and art my houseboy makes me

It's not the most exciting life
But I wake up everyday knowing it's going to be here for me
When I open my eyes

And that is...of value, to me
Great value knowing--
That even I can't screw this up

So no, I'm not going back

You ever get a look at the Brooklyn Bridge?
At night
Between eight and nine
On a Saturday night
When everybody's heading out to dance and drink
And make a million mistakes?

It's gorgeous, baby

Oh God, is it grand

Leaving Rhode Island: Tuscany

You meet a man in Tuscany
What are you doing in Tuscany?
You don't have the slightest idea

You had a cute little apartment in Providence
Then you get a letter one day
That removes you from your cute little apartment
And your cute little life
Which involves the apartment
And a job at a nearby bookstore
That was bound to go out of business one of these years
And a guinea pig because--well, because cats make you a cat lady
So--guinea pigs--are the new cats, I guess

Then you get the letter
And you have to...I don't know
Figure something out?

So you say Tuscany, because...

Because as long as your entire, small-but-respectable life
Is going to be sent spinning down the drain
You may as well embrace the, you know, fantasy of it all
And by fantasy, I mean, the sheer insanity of it--all

So you--get on a plane
You get a ticket first, of course
To Tuscany
Because in your head, you're Frances-whatever her name is--Mayes?
In that book--about Tuscany
That they made into the really bad Diane Lane movie
And...in movies, things just...work out

Even in bad movies
Especially in bad movies
In bad movies, you get on a plane
You fly somewhere
You have no money?--so what?
You have no plan?--so what?
You know nothing about Tuscany
Other than that it's supposed to be Heaven on Earth

It'll be fine, right?

So you get on a plane

And you go to Tuscany
And it is an adventure
Just not the kind you thought you'd...

But you do meet a man
Shortly after finding a small apartment
--Yes, they have small apartments in Tuscany
And they also have bookstores
And you brought your guinea pig with you
So, before you know it, you're pretty much exactly where you were before
Except now you can say 'I live in Tuscany'
And that makes everybody jealous
And, just so you know, there is nothing lonelier in this world
Than being the object of jealously
When the thing making everybody else jealous
Isn't doing anything for you at all

But you do meet a man
In the bookstore
One day
Who is--the man, I mean, um, he's--nice
He's not some Italian prince, but he's...yeah, nice, you know?
And that's--nice

You like him, you do
You really like him

But you feel that your life...
Doesn't have that change in it
That sense that you've...left something behind
And moved onto something more exciting

And you think--Well, if all I did was move to another country
To create the exact same life I had in the first one
Why not just...but you can't go back
...Until you can

Because you get another letter
Saying--'It's fine.  Come back'

And the only argument you have to stay is--

Well, there's this nice man

But, like setting back a clock
You pack up the guinea pig
And close the door on another apartment
Leave another job
One you've had for five years
--Incidentally, your Italian was getting pretty darn good

You go home
You leave the nice man behind
You find another apartment two blocks from the one you left five years ago
And you get a job...at a book binding company
Close enough, right?

And why do you do it?

Because ultimately you...anybody, really--
Well, maybe I should talk for just anybody, but...

You're drawn to what you understand
You build something, you destroy it
You rebuild it all over again

But you paint it a different color
And tell yourself it's something it's not

Until somebody comes along
And a nice somebody
And starts chipping away at the paint

Then you panic, and...

...And you go home

But it was a nice little trip
Although, truth be told
It came and went so fast
It's almost like it never happened

It's almost like nothing changed
At all

Leaving Rhode Island: Paris

                (A small studio apartment in Paris.  MATTHEW and CLAIRE are at an impasse.)

MATTHEW:  I just can’t believe you’d think—

CLAIRE:  I’m sorry.

MATTHEW:  Why would I leave—

CLAIRE:  Oh, I don’t know.

MATTHEW:  It’s Paris.

CLAIRE:  So Paris is perfect?

MATTHEW:  Yes, Paris is perfect.  It’s Paris.  Paris is French for perfect.

CLAIRE:  Oh please.

MATTHEW:  It means ‘Never leave here, you’ve found home.’

CLAIRE:  I’m so happy I surprised you.  I’m so happy I didn’t call ahead because I assumed my little brother would be thrilled to come home after all this time.

MATTHEW:  I’m happy I can visit now.

CLAIRE:  You could have visited whenever you—

MATTHEW:  Not without being arrested!

CLAIRE:  We’re your family.  You should have taken the risk.

MATTHEW:  Just so you could have something else to yell about on tv?

                (A beat.)

CLAIRE:  What?

MATTHEW:  You’re still yelling about all this, Claire.  It’s been five years.  Everyone else has moved on.

CLAIRE:  Moved on?

MATTHEW:  For the most part, yeah.

CLAIRE:  Matthew, our family was torn apart!

MATTHEW:  Families are torn apart all the time.  Divorce—

CLAIRE:  Mom and Dad did not get a divorce.  You and Mom got exiled and Dad and I had to stay behind and try to get you back.

MATTHEW:  You’ve been trying for five years.  Everybody else gave up a long time ago.

CLAIRE:  You don’t give up on your family.

MATTHEW:  No, but you…adjust.  You…you don’t waste your life fighting a losing battle.

CLAIRE:  I don’t see how it’s a losing battle when we won.  Do you get that?  We won.  You can come home, and now you’re saying you don’t want to?

MATTHEW:  Mom and Dad are gone, Claire.  Our house is gone.  My friends, everybody—everybody’s gone.  What would I be coming home to?

CLAIRE:  Wow.  Okay, that makes me feel great.

MATTHEW:  I said I’d visit—

CLAIRE:  I don’t want a visit!  I want my brother back!

MATTHEW:  You’re…I…

CLAIRE:  Not enough, right?  Isn’t that what you want to say?  I’m not enough to get you to come back.  I’m your sister and I’m not enough.  That’s—I mean, it says more about you than me,  so—I guess living in Europe really does make you a heartless asshole.

MATTHEW:  Yes, and living in America makes you a teddy bear full of hearts and lollipops.

CLAIRE:  Do you have any idea how bad this is going to look?  Do you?  All these years I’ve been fighting, and finally—FINALLY—we get what we want, the exile’s lifted, and now you’re saying you don’t want to come back?  I’m going to look like a total idiot.

                (A beat.)

MATTHEW:  Is that what this is about?  You looking bad?

CLAIRE:   No, it’s—It’s part of it, sure, but—

MATTHEW:  So all this sibling affection is just—what?  A tool you’re using to guilt trip me so you can get me back to the states for a couple more photo ops and an interview on Good Morning, America?

CLAIRE:  First of all, I do The Today Show, not Good Morning, America.  I’m not an animal psychic.  Second of all, I’m sorry people care about us.  I’m sorry they’re invested in what happens to our family.

MATTHEW:  There is no more family!  Dad had a heart attack three years ago!  Mom had cancer and—You know, I didn’t want to bring this up—

CLAIRE:  Oh, I know what this is going to be about.

MATTHEW:  You’re mad at me for not wanting to come back but nobody was stopping you from coming here when Mom got sick.

CLAIRE:  I was going to come.  I didn’t know she was that sick.  By the time you called me, she had two days left.  It takes a day just to get here.

MATTHEW:  She didn’t want to bother you, that’s just how she was.  But you never got on the plane.  You never came here, not even for the funeral.  And now you’re here and you want it to be some kind of big happy reunion?  You should be grateful I’m not throwing you out of my apartment.

CLAIRE:  Maybe if the funeral hadn’t been on the same day of the memorial service—

MATTHEW:  Oh Jesus.

CLAIRE:  It’s on the same day every year.

MATTHEW:  C’mon, Claire.

CLAIRE:  And you knew that.  You knew what day it was and you still went ahead and planned the funeral for the day.

MATTHEW:  I’m sorry I didn’t keep the fake memorial service in mind.

CLAIRE:  What do you mean fake?

MATTHEW:  Nobody’s dead!  You only have a memorial service for dead people!  Not people who are living in other countries or other states and cities!  It’s ridiculous!  You look ridiculous!  You missed an actual funeral for your own mother so you could have a symbolic funeral for people who aren’t dead!

CLAIRE:  They might as well be!

                (A beat.)

MATTHEW:  Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?

CLAIRE:  It’s not like you—like you—like you made any effort to—

MATTHEW:  To what, Claire?  To what?  And what effort did you make, huh?  Mom and I were the ones calling all the time.  Mom and I were the ones who were good about staying in touch.  Mom and I only saw you and Dad when we turned on the tv so we could hear you talking about how much you missed us.  Maybe instead of telling reporters, you could have just told us.

CLAIRE:  I don’t know where you’re going with this.

MATTHEW:  You know, honestly, I’m surprised you’re happy about the exile being lifted because now you don’t have anything left to keep you in the spotlight.

                (A beat.)

CLAIRE:  I should go.

MATTHEW:  I don’t even know why you’re here.

CLAIRE:  Because—

MATTHEW:  I mean, I’ll give you this, I’m surprised you don’t have a film crew with you.

                (Pause.)

MATTHEW:  They’re downstairs, aren’t they?

CLAIRE:  It’s just one camera guy.

MATTHEW:  Oh my God.

CLAIRE:  You know, you got Paris.  Mom found a job here and the two of you left and now you’ve had all these years in this beautiful city.  That’s what you got.  And what did I get?  What did I get, Matt?  Five years with Dad, who, I mean, God rest his soul, but he was out of his mind.  And too afraid to leave Rhode Island so we could just come move here with you.

MATTHEW:  He wasn’t the only one who was afraid, Claire.

                (Pause.)

CLAIRE:  I would have…I…

MATTHEW:  You had a panic attack when Mom brought up having you stay here for a summer.  You had a panic attack when you and Dad were going to get on a plane to come here for the first time and he had to cancel the trip.  You had a panic attack anytime the suggestion of moving even came up—

CLAIRE:  Well it’s not like you were one state over.

MATTHEW:  No, but don’t go on and on about what I had or what I got out of living here when you could have lived here too.  Nobody was stopping you from coming here.  And, you know, it never ceases to amaze me that somebody who was so terrified to get on a plane could be totally in comfortable in front of a camera.

CLAIRE:  Fear’s funny that way I guess.

MATTHEW:  So the prospect of some sappy, filmed reunion special with me was enough to get you on the plane without any problems?

CLAIRE:  No, I just took Xanax and drank the whole way here.

                (MATTHEW laughs a little laugh.)

MATTHEW:  You know, now that you’re here, you could just…hang out for awhile.

CLAIRE:  I can’t.  I have to get back.  I thought I was just going to help you pack your stuff and then—

MATTHEW:  What are you ‘getting back’ for, Claire, honestly?

                (A beat.)

CLAIRE:  I have…there’s…

MATTHEW:  Just stay.  It doesn’t have to be forever, just…give it a shot.  You might like it.  You want to be enough for me to come home?  Let me be enough for you to stay here.

CLAIRE:  I don’t speak French.

MATTHEW:  The French don’t care if you speak French.  They prefer it, actually.  That way they can make fun of you without you knowing what they’re saying.

CLAIRE:  I don’t have any of my stuff—

MATTHEW:  We’ll buy you new stuff.  Or we’ll wing it.  I don’t know.  Just stay.

                (A beat.)

CLAIRE:  I’ll try.  Is that enough?

MATTHEW:  That’s enough for me.

CLAIRE:  Okay.

MATTHEW:  Go see if the cameraman wants to have dinner with us.  It’s the least we can do.

CLAIRE:  Right after I call Matt Lauer.  He’s going to be so disappointed.

(Lights.)

Leaving Rhode Island: Philadelphia

                (KELLY and SARAH at a coffe shop.  Mid-conversation.)

KELLY:  …I mean, I’d have to be out of my mind, right?

SARAH:  Well—

KELLY:  I mean, I don’t even know why they bothered sending us that letter.  Who just scraps the last five years of their life and says, ‘Yeah, let’s pretend time travel exists and jump back to 2009?’

SARAH:  Yeah, you’re right.  That’s—

KELLY:  I mean, I was fifteen when I left here.  Fifteen.  I barely remember even living here.

SARAH:  You don’t remember anything before the age of fifteen?

KELLY:  I mean—I remember some things, but not a lot.  You just—I guess you kind of block things out when you go through something traumatic like that.

SARAH:  Of course.

KELLY:  I mean—my parents and I were basically refugees.

SARAH:  You moved to Pennsylvania, right?

KELLY:  Yeah, but, I mean, against our will—like refugees.

SARAH:  I don’t think that’s—I mean, the word ‘refugee’—

KELLY:  They shouldn’t have even exiled kids.  That was so wrong.

SARAH:  Well, it was all random.  They just picked random social security numbers and—

KELLY:  No one’s, I mean, I’m not trying to contradict what you’re saying, but—no one’s entirely sure how they picked who they picked.

SARAH:  I guess the important thing is that you’re doing okay now.

KELLY:  Oh my God, I’m better than okay.  I mean, I’m doing really well.  I would call the whole thing a blessing in disguise, but I mean, my parents really suffered because of it, so it’s—I mean, it definitely benefitted me in the long run, but they still had a hard time of it, so—

SARAH:  They found jobs right away, didn’t they?

KELLY:  Well, yeah, I mean, Pennsylvania had a way better job market at the time than Rhode Island did, but still, it’s just—it was very stressful for everyone involved, you know?

SARAH:  I guess maybe it’s hard to remember stuff that happened five years ago.

KELLY:  Well, it shouldn’t be that hard.

SARAH:  Well, you don’t remember anything before you were fifteen so—

KELLY:  Are you, like, mad at me or something?

SARAH:  No, I just—Okay, to be totally honest—I’m not really sure why you called me.

                (A beat.)

KELLY:  Well, because we were friends.  We were best friends.

SARAH:  I—Wow, okay—I really don’t want to be mean, but—we weren’t really friends.

KELLY:  What?

SARAH:  We definitely weren’t best friends.

KELLY:  Sarah!

SARAH:  Kelly, I’m sorry, but—it’s just not—it’s not accurate to say that—

KELLY:  Accurate?  What are you a mathematician?

SARAH:  Um, no.

KELLY:  I reached out to you because I thought…

SARAH:  What?  What was it you thought?

KELLY:  I don’t know, I guess.  I guess I don’t know.

SARAH:  That’s what I mean.  I’m not sure why you’re here.  You said yourself that you’re doing really well.  And I’m happy for you.  I’m not trying to make it sound like I think being exiled was easy.  I know it wasn’t, but—your whole family is in Philadelphia now, right?  So why bother coming back here?  Like you said, you can’t just…time travel.

                (A beat.)

KELLY:  I guess I was…curious about what I was missing all these years.

SARAH:  Honestly?  Not much.  It’s just Rhode Island.

KELLY:  Right.

SARAH:  A couple new buildings maybe?  Some new people, but other than that--?

KELLY:  Right, right.  Yeah.  I just…uh…

                (A beat.)

I mean, I do remember being happy here.  That I…I can remember that.  And then after we moved, I…I didn’t have that many friends, and I got really depressed, and my parents had me see this shrink—who I still see, by the way, because, I don’t know, I guess, why not, right?  And things are—okay, I mean, I am doing well, but it’s like—I just wonder, you know?  Like what would my life have been like if they hadn’t made me leave?  Would I have been just as depressed here?  Was that just something that was bound to happen no matter what?  I mean, is it a grass-is-always-greener kind of thing?  I don’t know, you know?  I just don’t know.  But not knowing is really hard.  It’s like—you have this big thing, this, I don’t know, not a milestone, but a—something—in the path of your, you know, life, and no matter how well you do for yourself, you can’t help but wonder, like, what would have happened if you didn’t have that thing there in your past.  That thing that made you go the way you weren’t planning on going.  I feel like I’m always looking back at it and just…wondering.

                (A beat.)

SARAH:  I was sort of jealous of you.

KELLY:  Really?

SARAH:  Yeah.  I always wanted to leave, but—there was never any reason to, so I stayed here.  I guess, maybe, I was scared too, if I’m being honest.  But you—you got to move away.  I thought—Well, this is really insensitive, but—I thought it sounded like an adventure.

KELLY:  Well, when my mother accidentally packed her Xanax with the silverware and had to do the entire road trip to Philly stone cold sober, so that was definitely an adventure.

SARAH:  You know, I didn’t mean to make it sound like we can’t be friends now.  If you want a reason to visit, you’re always welcome to, you know, get coffee with me, or something.

KELLY:  I don’t know, Sarah.  A six-hour drive for coffee is a little outrageous.

SARAH:  There’s also, you know, the phone.  The computer.  Carrier pigeons.

KELLY:  I appreciate that.  I’d appreciate it even more if you could tell me what I was like back then.  I mean, if you remember anything about me.

SARAH:  You really don’t—

KELLY:  Barely anything.  My therapist says I need to start…exploring that part of my life.  She thinks I’m just afraid to because I’ll find out that the person I was back then is the person I’m supposed to be, and that I’m nervous I won’t be able to, you know, find that again.

SARAH:  Well, it’s like I said, I don’t remember much either.  2009 feels like—

KELLY:  I know, isn’t it weird?  It’s like forever.

SARAH:  Maybe it’s more like fifteen was forever ago.  Fifteen to twenty is a pretty big patch of somebody’s life.

KELLY:  Yeah.

                (A beat.)

SARAH:  I do remember going to your house for your birthday party.  You invited the whole class, that was nice.

KELLY:  Oh right—at the end of freshman year.

SARAH:  There were, like, a hundred kids running around your backyard, jumping in the pool, making out underneath your deck.

KELLY:  Making out at fourteen?  Wow.

SARAH:  I think you were one of them.

KELLY:  I—Oh yeah, Brian Terasanni.  You’re right.

SARAH:  But that was the day my little sister was born.  Fourteen years apart—my mother says that why you should never go on a second honeymoon to Lourdes.  Miracles might happen.  Anyway, my mom and dad were at the hospital, and my sister was coming a month early, so they were panicked, and they completely forgot to pick me up.  I was the last one at your house, but you were being so cool about it, I didn’t even feel weird, even though we didn’t really know each other all that well, you acted like I was your sister or something.  You were that nice to me.

KELLY:  Maybe that’s why I remember us being so close.

SARAH:  When your parents found out what happened, they said I could stay the night, and you let me wear your pajamas, and we stayed up all night watching movies and talking about how weird it was going to be for me to have a little sister who was so much younger than me.  And we talked about high school, and all the stuff coming up—the semi-formal, and proms, and, you know, everything.  We planned out everything.

KELLY:  Isn’t that funny.

SARAH:  The weird thing is—all that stuff still happened.  I still went to the semi and both my proms.  I still graduated.  None of it happened the way I thought it would, but it still happened.  It just wasn’t what I thought it was going to be.  And then that becomes a trend, you know, that you sort of experience and re-experience your entire life.  Just a series of things happening in a way that’s less than what you would have imagined, until finally your entire life is like that—this one big thing that doesn’t feel right, because it’s not what you planned on, you know?  So one day you’re sitting with this person who you felt related to once, just because she was so kind to you, who you thought you were eventually going to be best friends with, and now you’re just…It’s like, why couldn’t it all just go according to plan, you know?

KELLY:  Yeah.

SARAH:  Because it was a really good plan, wasn’t it?

KELLY:  (Laughs a little.)  I mean, I don’t remember it exactly, but it sounds nice.

SARAH:  (Laughs a little as well.)  It was.  It was really nice.

KELLY:  People don’t really talk about plans that way, huh?  Like boys.  Like nice boys that you should have dated, but didn’t.  Like, ‘Oh, he was such a nice boy, what happened?’

SARAH:  ‘Why was I such an idiot?  I should have stuck with him.’

KELLY:  ‘He made sense.’

SARAH:  ‘He was good for me.’

KELLY:  ‘I’d be happy now if I was with him.’

SARAH:  ‘He had it all figured out.’

KELLY:  ‘So what happened?’

SARAH:  Right.

KELLY:  Yeah.  Right.

SARAH:  What happened.

KELLY:  How in the world did we end up here?

                (Lights.)

Leaving Rhode Island: Seattle

                (A kitchen.  BETH sits at the table.  KATE has just finished bringing on a plate of burgers.)

KATE:  (Upon entering.)  Sooo…are you excited?

BETH:  I’m…God, I don’t know what I am.

KATE:  It’s like prison, huh?

BETH:  Prison?

KATE:  Like he’s being released from prison.

BETH:  He’s been living in Seattle, Kate.  It’s not exactly prison.

KATE:  Well, no, but—

BETH:  Some people would say it’s nicer than here.

KATE:  But he doesn’t have family there.  He doesn’t know anybody.

BETH:  It’s been five years.  He knows people there now.

KATE:  But it’s not the same.  They’re just—temporary people, you know?  They’ve just been—

BETH:  What?  Keeping him company?  Until all of a sudden, out of the blue, he can come home again?  This is so—I mean, there’s something really sadistic about this.

KATE:  I agree with you.  I completely agree with you.  Playing with people’s emotions like this—it’s sick.  I agree with you, Beth.  But you gotta be happy about what you can be happy about, and this is something to be happy about, right?

BETH:  Yeah.

KATE:  You know what you should do?  Renew your vows.  When he gets back?  Have a little ceremony.  You can do it at my house if you want.  I’ll make Rich fix up the yard.

BETH:  Do people talk about me?

                (A beat.)

KATE:  What do you mean?  Talk about what?

BETH:  About me.

KATE:  No, I know but—what would they talk about?

BETH:  About the fact that I didn’t go with him—John—when he left.

KATE:  Well, I mean, you had the house.  You couldn’t just leave the house.

BETH:  It’s been five years.  We could have sold it.

KATE:  The market was—I mean, they picked the worst time—the state did—to go throwing home-owners out of the state.  Most of the goners—

BETH:  Please don’t call them that.

KATE:  I’m sorry, I was just watching the news and—

BETH:  Exiles.  They’re exiles.

KATE:  Right—I was just saying that—and some of them call themselves gone—I mean—nevermind—Look, you couldn’t leave.  That’s all there is to it.  Nobody’s talking about why you stayed here.  A lot of people stayed when their—whoever—when they left.

BETH:  But some people left with them.

KATE:  And some people didn’t.  Besides, you love this house.  What if you had sold it and then a year later they told you that the two of you could come back?  And now, see, it’s a good thing you didn’t move out there with him, because—

BETH:  Because why?  Because then we’d have to move back here and start all over?

KATE:  Yes!

BETH:  …Or we could have just stayed out there.

                (A beat.)

KATE:  Well, yeah, I guess.

                (A beat.)

The point is, nobody’s talking.  Nobody’s saying anything.  You have your—it’s your business.  You and John’s.  Nobody else’s.

BETH:  I’m just surprised people don’t think it’s strange.

KATE:  So what if they do?  And it’s not strange.  It’s not like you’re the first couple to do long distance.

BETH:  Voluntarily.

KATE:  What?

BETH:  I mean, we’re doing it voluntarily.  If you think about it—

KATE:  Beth, I don’t understand what’s going on here.

                (A beat.)

BETH:  John isn’t coming back, Kate.

                (A beat.)

KATE:  What?

BETH:  He’s not coming back.

KATE:  But—

BETH:  He’s happy out there.  In Seattle.  And I’m happy here.  And there’s no reason for him to come back here or for me to go out there.  There never was.

KATE:  What are you talking about?  You guys were crazy about each other.

BETH:  Isn’t it sad that two married people who don’t hate each other have such an easy time pretending to be in love?

KATE:  What?

BETH:  --When really it’s just…something else?  Indifference.  Boredom.  I mean, it was never anything that was going to bring us to a divorce.  We didn’t fight.  We didn’t do anything to hurt each other.  But we weren’t really in love, Kate.  We were just…co-existing with each other, I guess.

KATE:  You never said—

BETH:  I’m not sure I knew.  Not until I got that letter saying he could come back.  Honestly, all these years, I’ve been…so happy.  And I didn’t want to admit it.  Isn’t that funny?  I didn’t want to admit that I was happy without my husband here, but the truth is—I was.  I am.  And when I admitted it to John he said he felt the same way.  He’s happy without me too.  And if they hadn’t made him leave the state, we probably would have died married to each other all the while never owning up to the fact that we were just a few notches above miserable.

KATE:  Is that why he moved so far away?

BETH:  Well, maybe subconsciously.  That was where he found a job.  But I guess he could have held out a little longer—lived in a motel on the state line the way some of the other people who were exiled did.  Instead he took the Seattle job, and…I mean, I haven’t seen him in five years, Kate.  Do you realize that?  Five years.  He’s a stranger to me now.  I don’t even have pictures of him in the house.

KATE:  So…what now?  Are you going to separate or--?

BETH:  We don’t see the point.  A long distance marriage is one thing, but a long distance divorce would be hell.  And like I said, we don’t hate each other, we’re just not in love.  I don’t mind being legally tied to John—there are worse people I could be tied to.  I think we’re just going to leave things the way they are.  Like I said, I’m happy.

KATE:  He’s not even going to come back to get his things?

BETH:  I offered to ship him whatever he wanted, but he said I could just keep it all, or sell it.  He didn’t seem too concerned.

KATE:  This is…I’m…I’m a little surprised, Beth.  Shocked.  I guess I would say I’m shocked.

BETH:  I know this must be hard for you.

KATE:  No, I mean, if it’s not hard for you, why would it be hard for me?

BETH:  Well, because you and he were having an affair for all those years.

                (A beat.)

I really hope you don’t try and deny it.  This doesn’t have to be awkward, but if you try lying about it, I’ll probably get angry.  Furious, probably.  Rage-filled.

KATE:  How long have you known?

BETH:  When haven’t I known?

KATE:  Does Rich—

BETH:  I don’t know.  He’s your husband.  You’d have to ask him.

KATE:  So John told you.

BETH:  Well, I told him I knew.  He didn’t deny it.  And it wasn’t awkward.  Just like this isn’t awkward because you’re being honest.

KATE:  I feel very awkward, Beth.

BETH:  Well, the point is, I don’t, and that’s all that matters.

KATE:  Do you want me to apologize?

BETH:  You don’t have to.  Finding out another woman slept with the husband you aren’t in love with is like finding out somebody stole a car you never drove.  You’re upset on principle, but it’s hard to muster up any real indignation.

KATE:  I’m still very sorry.

BETH:  How strange.

KATE:  That I’m sorry?

BETH:  That all these years you were probably more devastated about him leaving than I was.

                (A beat.)

KATE:  I wanted them to pick me too.  To make me leave too.  That way I could go with him.  I could say I was going somewhere else, and then I could move to Seattle, and how would anybody know?  Rich wouldn’t follow me there.  He doesn’t love me anymore than you love John.  But when I didn’t get picked, I couldn’t…

BETH:  You needed the push.

KATE:  Yes.

BETH:  I understand, Kate.

KATE:  I was so happy when I found out he could come back.

BETH:  Kate, if you want to go, go.  That makes more sense than getting excited about the prospect of rekindling an extra-marital affair.

KATE:  How can you tell me to do that?  You, of all people?

BETH:  Because when you’re happy—when you’re really happy—it’s hard not to want it for everybody else too.

                (A beat.)

KATE:  I don’t suppose you find my husband attractive?

BETH:  Would you be offended if I said ‘No?’

                (They laugh.)

KATE:  I have to admit, I’m a little terrified at the idea of starting over.

BETH:  Oh honey, aren’t we all?

                (Lights.)