Leaving Rhode Island: Boise

            (TEA and GUS on a train.)

TEA:  It would be a mistake for you to think the dog wasn’t talking to me.

GUS:  We’re not going to have this conversation.

TEA:  You can put me away if you want, but the dog talked to me.

GUS:  Just like the manatee talked to you last year.

TEA:  I only thought the manatee talked to me because I was high.  This time I was not high, and the dog talked.

GUS:  You have been pulling this bullshit ever since we left Rhode Island.  You are not Dr. Doolittle, and this shit isn’t funny.  You need help.  I’m getting you help.

TEA:  I don’t much about having somebody committed, but I’m pretty sure you can’t be the one doing it if your only relation to the person is ‘drug dealer.’

GUS:  I’m all you’ve got.

TEA:  I have Ditzo.

GUS:  Ditzo is a hampster.  You don’t have him, he has you, and he doesn’t even have you, because you don’t feed him.  I do.  He’d be dead if all he had was you.  And you’d be dead if all you had was me.  It’s math, Tea.  Figure it out.

TEA:  He loves me.

GUS:  He is a she, and you named her Ditzo.  You’re an abusive, neglectful parent.  You may as well be sitting in a pantry somewhere rocking back and forth.

TEA:  Did you have that dream too?

GUS:  What dream?

TEA:  About the woman—in the pantry—rocking back and—

GUS:  It’s just an example of something.  It’s just me talking.

TEA:  Pretty specific example.

GUS:  I’m taking you to a good place.  A nice place.  Boise’s got a nice facility.

TEA:  A facility.  What a word.  What. A. Word.

GUS:  The only reason I’m even doing this is because we got Exiled together.  That’s it.  You’re the only person from Rhode Island who I knew when I got on that bus to New York, and that is the only reason I feel any kind of obligation to you, do you get that?

TEA:  And because I give you money for drugs.

GUS:  Well that doesn’t hurt.

TEA:  I don’t get it.  You’re always telling me you’re not my friend.  And now you’re saying you are my friend?

GUS:  Oh no no no—please don’t misunderstand me.  I am not.  Your friend.  We have a connection.  Whether I like it or not, you and I—are connected.  You can’t be from the same place as somebody else without being connected to them.  You don’t have a choice.  It’s like family.  You might stab each other in the shoulder on Thanksgiving, but as soon as you leave the house, it’s you and your kin against the world.  You’re my kin.  That’s how it is.

TEA:  But you don’t believe I can talk to dogs?

GUS:  No, I do not.  But that’s not why I’m having you treated.

TEA:  Then what is the reason?

GUS:  Okay, it’s one of the reasons, but it’s not the main reason.  You’re—you’re not a well person.  I don’t know if you were when you were living in Rhode Island, but you haven’t been from the minute I’ve met you, and I can’t ignore it anymore.  I can’t pretend like it’s okay.

TEA:  I am okay.

GUS:  You’re not, Tea.  You’re nowhere near okay.

            (A moment.)

TEA:  Are you scared I’m going to go back?

            (A beat.)

GUS:  You’re not going back.

TEA:  I was going to.

GUS:  Why?  What would you be going back to?

TEA:  What was I staying in New York for?

GUS:  Because it’s New York.  You don’t need a reason to be there.

TEA:  And you don’t need a reason to be in Rhode Island.

GUS:  I beg to differ.

TEA:  Hey, you had to be kicked out just like everybody else.

GUS:  I would have left eventually.

TEA:  The dog says you’re a liar.

GUS:  That dog was a stray you found outside the Olive Garden in Times Square.  Even if it could talk, it wouldn’t know anything about you or me or our lives.

TEA:  It knew things.

GUS:  So not only was it a dog, but it was also an omniscient dog?  You found the one all-knowing canine in New York?

TEA:  All dogs know things.  It said you were never going to leave Rhode Island.

GUS:  Well then, it’s full of—This is crazy.  I can’t believe we’re talking about this.

TEA:  And it was the TGIFriday’s, not the Olive Garden.  I wouldn’t be caught dead near the Olive Garden.

GUS:  But the TGI—Hey, listen, if you want to go back to Rhode Island, we can get off at the next stop and hop a train back to Rhode Island.  I’m game if you are.

TEA:  Really?

GUS:  Yup.  I mean, I’m still going to have you committed, but I can put you in Butler instead of this place in Boise.  Doesn’t matter to me.

TEA:  I’m already there.

            (A beat.)

GUS:  What?

TEA:  I’m already sitting in a room in Providence.  Straight jacket.  A victim of too much medication.  Drooling.  Crying.  Slipping in and out of consciousness.  You’re not real.  This train isn’t real.  Everything that’s happened in the past five years isn’t real.  It’s all just in my head.

            (GUS looks at her for a moment.  Then--)

Ha!  I’m just screwing with you.

GUS:  You’re demented.

TEA:  I did talk to the dog.

GUS:  Were you talking to dogs in Rhode Island too?

TEA:  Nope.  Must be a skill I developed after I was exiled.

GUS:  Then why can’t I talk to dogs?

TEA:  I don’t know.  Maybe you have another skill.

            (A beat.)

Do you have another skill?  Maybe one you didn’t have before?

GUS:  I find that I’m inexplicably compassionate towards people I should abandon.  Does that count?

TEA:  You know what?  It could.

GUS:  I don’t want to make you feel bad, Tea, but life is going to be much, much easier when I’m not worrying about you.

TEA:  But then who will you have?

GUS:  I don’t know.  I’ll meet new people.

TEA:  In New York or—

GUS:  Well, I was going to hang out in Boise for a few days, and then—

TEA:  You’re going, aren’t you?

GUS:  To New York?

TEA:  Not to New York.

GUS:  I don’t have a single reason to go back to Rhode Island.  Not one.

TEA:  You sure?

            (A beat.)

GUS:  I can’t believe I’m asking this, but…what else did the dog tell you?

TEA:  Is there a girl named Laura?

            (A beat.)

GUS:  I never…This is…

TEA:  She’s been living in Melbourne.  Her and her brother—it’s a whole big thing.  But—she’s going back.

GUS:  We just went to school together.  That’s all.  And it’s been five years.  She probably doesn’t even—

TEA:  Just go.

            (A slight pause.)

Next stop.  Hop off.  I’ll stay on.  Head to—wherever.  I have a few more stops in me.  But you should go home.  Really.  Laura’s not the only reason.  I know a few more, but—trust me, it’s time to go back.

GUS:  I can’t just—

TEA:  Yeah, you can.  I’ll be all right.  I promise.

GUS:  How do you promise something like that?  I mean, really, how can you promise that?

TEA:  Somehow, Gus, we’ll all be all right.  Or, you know, we’ll die.  But anything short of that is survivable.

GUS:  Did the dog tell you that?

TEA:  (Shrugs.)  Some stuff you just figure out on your own.

GUS:  Yeah.

            (A moment.)

Yeah.

            (Lights.)