Leaving Rhode Island: Montana

                (VINCENT at the museum.  ALICE approaches.)

ALICE:  Learn anything new?

VINCENT:  Well, I didn’t really know anything about rodeos before, and…now I do…so…

ALICE:  The upside of a rodeo museum, I guess.

VINCENT:  I guess.

ALICE:  I guess.

VINCENT:  I guess so.

ALICE:  Yup.

VINCENT:  Yeah.

ALICE:  Huh.

VINCENT:  Mmmmmhm.

                (A beat.)

ALICE:  How do you like Montana?

VINCENT:  I don’t.

ALICE:  Then—

VINCENT:  I’m hitchhiking to Sacramento.  I have a friend there.

ALICE:  So this is…like…a stop-over?

VINCENT:  Until somebody gives me a ride.

                (A small moment.)

ALICE:  I could give you a ride.

VINCENT:  Why would you do that?

ALICE:  …Because you need one?

VINCENT:  But you don’t know me.

ALICE:  Well, no, but—

VINCENT:  I could be a murderer.

ALICE:  Do you say that to everybody who offers to give you a ride?  ‘Why are you doing this?  I could be a murderer.’  Because if you do, I doubt you’re getting to Sacramento anytime soon.

VINCENT:  I just feel like I must look dangerous right now.  I haven’t shaved, I haven’t showered, I’m in a really bad mood.

ALICE:  Yeah, you do kind of look like a murderer, that’s why I’m assuming you’re not one.

VINCENT:  The logic being—

ALICE:  Murderers don’t look like murderers.  They look like normal people.  It’s the soccer dad with the cardigan who’s going to chop you up and bury you in his basement, not the dirty drifter who’s staring at a sculpture of Buffalo Bill made out of macaroni.

VINCENT:  I don’t understand art.  I was in Australia a few years ago and saw this painting of, like, a red dot.  I just stared at it and stared at it waiting for it to mean something, but it never did.

ALICE:  And does this mean anything to you?

VINCENT:  No, but I do have a craving for Bolognese all of a sudden.

ALICE:  Do you want to get dinner?

VINCENT:  Okay, what’s going on?

ALICE:  I’m just being nice.

VINCENT:  Offering to drive somebody from Montana to Sacramento isn’t nice.  It’s—are you a murderer?

ALICE:  No.

VINCENT:  Because you don’t look like a murderer, but that sort of would mean you are based on what you just said.

ALICE:  I’m not a murderer.  Girls don’t murder people.  At least, not by, like, tricking you into a car so we can kill you in the woods.  That’s a guy thing.  Girls just marry you and poison you slowly over for five or six years.

                (A beat.)

VINCENT:  You recognize me, don’t you?

ALICE:  I…Yes.

VINCENT:  I don’t need help.

ALICE:  Okay, fine.  But I kind of would like to go to California anyway.

VINCENT:  Then book a plane ticket.  You’re not going with me.

ALICE:   Hey—

VINCENT:  I’m not a celebrity!  I’m just some guy they made into the poster boy for the Exiles.  That’s all.  They took a picture of me, and that was it.  Suddenly every nutjob in the country wants to give me a hug.  Well, I don’t need a hug.  I just need to get to Sacramento so I can grow a beard and fade into oblivion.

ALICE:  So you’re not going back?

VINCENT:  Why would I go back?

ALICE:  To see the girl in the picture.

VINCENT:  I don’t even know what happened to her.

ALICE:  Weren’t you two—

VINCENT:  We were high school sweethearts, okay?  Very 1950’s.  Very All-American.  She came with me to the airport the day I took off for Australia.  We kissed.  We were…She was crying, I was…Some guy took a photographer, and all of a sudden, I’m on the cover of Time magazine.  She thought it was cool, I didn’t.  We fought about it, and that was it.  I never heard from her again.

ALICE:  Really?

VINCENT:  Yeah.  Sorry to ruin your—Look, I’m just killing time in an air-conditioned room until it gets dark out, and then I can start walking again and try to catch a ride.

ALICE:  I had a crush on you.

VINCENT:  Oh Jesus.

ALICE:  I mean, I wouldn’t say I still have one.  So—relax.  It’s not like I had your poster on my wall or anything.  I wasn’t twelve when the Exile happened.  I just…I remember seeing the photo and I…I worried about you.

VINCENT:  About me?  What about her?

ALICE:  She seemed like a bitch.

VINCENT:  (Laughs.)  Yeah, I guess…in retrospect…Well.  Now you know why there’s no reason to go back.  And there’s no reason to worry.  I’m fine.

ALICE:  I wouldn’t say you’re fine.  You’re hitchhiking through Montana.  That’s like, the definition of not fine.

VINCENT:  I’m on a spiritual journey.

ALICE:  Just because you smell, that doesn’t mean you’re on a spiritual journey.

VINCENT:  Have you ever been on a spiritual journey?

ALICE:  No, actually, I’ve never left Montana.

VINCENT:  Ugh.

                (A beat.)

Sorry…But ugh.

ALICE:  I’m content here.

VINCENT:  Really?

ALICE:  Yes.  I have fresh air and big wide skies and owning five dogs that are all the size of a small horse is considered normal.  This place makes me happy.

VINCENT:  Well…Well, good for you.

                (A beat.)

ALICE:  What’s her name?

VINCENT:  Who?

ALICE:  The name of the girl you’re going to see in Sacramento.  What’s her name?

VINCENT:  Uh, Danielle.  She’s just, uh—

ALICE:  Imaginary?

VINCENT:  No.  …No.  But…I haven’t…actually met her…in person…before…

ALICE:  So this is—what?  Some fangirl from the Internet?

VINCENT:  She’s…the…President…of my fan club.

ALICE:  Oh, that’s just precious.

VINCENT:  I don’t… I don’t know a lot of people.  People see me, maybe they know who I am, but I just…keep my head down, for the most part.

ALICE:  Are you sure you can trust this girl?

VINCENT:  I’m not even sure she’s a girl.

ALICE:  Why don’t you just hang out here for a few days?  It doesn’t sound like you’re in a rush.

VINCENT:  What, at like, your farm?

ALICE:  Farm?  This isn’t Sarah Plain and Tall.  I’m not looking for a prairie wife.

VINCENT:  Okay.

ALICE:  I don’t need you to, like, fix my pipes or anything.

VINCENT:  Fine.

ALICE:  It’s a house.  A nice house—small.  Five dogs, as a I mentioned.  Two of them are named after members of Sum 41 and I will NOT stand for any chiding when it comes to that.  I’ve had the dogs since they were puppies.  We all make mistakes when we’re young.

VINCENT:  Yeah, don’t I know it.

ALICE:  It might be nice for you to sit around and brood in one place for awhile.

VINCENT:  You don’t really need your pipes fixed do you?  Because for a wandering brooder, I really am pretty hopeless with household repairs and/or digesting diner food.

ALICE:  Do you need to call the girl in Sacramento and tell her you’re not coming?

VINCENT:  I would, but all I have for her is an address and a bathroom selfie.

ALICE:  I feel like I came along at just the right time.

VINCENT:  Do you want to…

ALICE:  What?

VINCENT:  Some people, uh, girls—Well, and sometimes boys—They…want to..recreate…it.

ALICE:  You mean the photo?

VINCENT:  Yeah.

ALICE:  Ew!  Are you kidding?

VINCENT:  No.

ALICE:  People do that?

VINCENT:  People really do that.

ALICE:  I mean…it was a really romantic photo, but…it was sort of the circumstances…

VINCENT:  …The lighting…

ALICE:  …The plane taking off in the background…

VINCENT:  It was sort of like you could hear music playing—

ALICE:  Like the music that they play at the end of a CW show—

VINCENT:  Right.

ALICE:  Right.

VINCENT:  Right.

ALICE:  Right.

                (A beat.)

Sure, why not?

VINCENT:  Really?

ALICE:  Yeah, I mean, we’re standing in front of Macaroni Bill, but I mean—what the hell?

                (He kisses her.  Music begins to play.  The kiss ends.  They smile.)

VINCENT:  You know, usually I charge for that—

ALICE:  Don’t push it.

                (She smiles.  Lights.)