by Craig Lucas
AUSTIN: My family’s more AA than I am.
BILLY: Whoa. I feel it. Could I feel it already? I’m rolling.
MARIANNE: What are you two smiling about?
AUSTIN: They’re having a love affair.
MARIANNE: ’Least someone is.
(Marianne gets up and exits.)
KAREN: Okay, good night.
AUSTIN: Stay.
(Tad follows Marianne into the dining room.)
TAD: What are you doing?
MARIANNE: Counting to a million.
TAD: Is he driving you crazy?
MARIANNE: Can I tell you something? Billy’s going back.
TAD: What?
MARIANNE: They’re making him go back.
TAD: He has like one month left.
MARIANNE: They can extend it somehow, I don’t know.
TAD: No. No no no no.
MARIANNE: I know. Shhh.
TAD: Oh god.
MARIANNE: I know.
TAD: He’s going to be all right.
MARIANNE: I have never wanted a drink more . . .
TAD: You’re almost there. You’re almost at the finish line.
MARIANNE: You’re?
TAD: Okay?
MARIANNE: Not, “We’re”?
TAD: Okay?
MARIANNE: Okay.
(He embraces her.)
“You’re almost there”?
TAD: We’re going to be okay.
MARIANNE: Yes, we are. Of course we are.
(They rejoin the others in front of the TV. Commercials play before the bottom of the ninth inning begins.)
AUSTIN: We held the line.
TAD: Oh, thank god. If you hadn’t held the line, Austin . . .
KAREN: Still four-two.
MARIANNE: It’s exciting. What would be the point if it weren’t neck and neck? Something to keep us excited.
KAREN: Not too excited.
AUSTIN: Yes, Mother.
MARIANNE: What a great setup you’ve got for yourself. You get your “serenity” and the rest of us have to walk on pins and needles to the last of our days so you don’t slip up, and just in case we forget and do something the way we want, have our own lives, Tad drinks, so what, you start to manifest your little symptoms, your old you, so we all fall into line.
TAD: I saw Tony.
MARIANNE: When?
TAD: Today. On my way home from work.
MARIANNE: Why didn’t you tell me?
TAD: I’m telling you now.
BILLY: Be careful, this drug, I remember: It makes you think everything is safe, no feeling or thought is too dangerous to say, but that’s the drug.
TAD: We just sat.
MARIANNE: I wish I’d known.
TAD: Well, let’s go now.
MARIANNE: We can’t go now, I’m just saying—I miss when a kiss didn’t have so many consequences.
BILLY: Days of pure waiting, nothing but waiting, you can’t move, you can’t speak—
AUSTIN: Drink. One drink.
KAREN: There isn’t a player on that field I wouldn’t want to see naked.
(Mueller pops to shortstop.)
AUSTIN: Fuck me! Yes! Yes!
TAD: Last chance.
AUSTIN: Who wants a drink?
KAREN: No.
AUSTIN: I’m asking others.
MARIANNE: We’re fine. We’re all fine.
AUSTIN: I’m having a glass of water.
(He goes into the kitchen. Karen waits a beat, then follows. Austin drinks from a bottle of spring water.)
KAREN: Me, too, please.
AUSTIN: Hell, have a real drink.
(He pours her something strong.)
There you go.
KAREN: Thank you. Cheers.
AUSTIN: I’ll be right in. Stop policing me. I’ve been sober six years.
KAREN: Okay, I just wanted to . . .
AUSTIN: Spy.
KAREN: Be with you.
AUSTIN: Liar.
(Karen returns to the TV room. Austin sniffs from the bottle of whatever he poured for Karen, then closes it up without having any. Marianne brings in Tad to talk with Austin.)
TAD: Austin?
AUSTIN: Yeah.
TAD: I don’t want you worried about me. I’ll go to a meeting with you if you’re worried.
AUSTIN: You don’t quit drinking for somebody else.
MARIANNE: Then why do you browbeat people if that isn’t what you want?
AUSTIN: It isn’t I don’t want it, it’s he’s gotta want it.
MARIANNE: He just offered to go with you.
AUSTIN: That’s very good. That’s nice.
(Tad and Marianne follow Austin back into the TV room.)
BILLY: They’re coming into your house, somebody said you’re hiding someone and there’s shouting, guns go off, you don’t know who’s been shot in the next room, you reach for something to defend yourself, but somebody comes in before you can get it and sees you and you’re splatter paint, no more, it’s quick, the way a pet makes a dash for the open door, they’re out, they’re gone in a flash.
AUSTIN: If you’d like to come with me, I’d be happy to take you. The guys, around here anyway, they tend not to be as smart as you or Marianne, Billy, it’s— Look, I’m just saying.
TAD: Can I see some literature?
AUSTIN: Sure. Anytime.
TAD: I’d like that.
(Pause.)
MARIANNE (Regarding the game): Last chance.
(Austin looks at her.)
I say it to torment you.
(They all watch.)
Last chance, last chance.
KAREN: It’ll be nice for them to go to the series for once. We should be happy for them.
AUSTIN: I don’t know any of you people.
TAD: Billy’s going back. He’s afraid to tell you, his tour has been extended, a lot of guys just like him, they have to go back for one more stint, this’ll be the last. And he’s gonna be okay. He’s afraid to tell you.
BILLY: I thought I’d wait until . . .
AUSTIN: We’d lost?
BILLY: I thought I’d spend a little more time with you—
AUSTIN: Why wait?
MARIANNE: You can lie, can’t you? Say you can’t see! Say you’re gay.
BILLY: And leave my buddies to die for the rest of us?
AUSTIN: See? He wants to go.
BILLY: It’s not that simple.
AUSTIN: Hell, it’s not!
(Austin walks toward the liquor, takes a bottle of vodka into the kitchen and pours a tall glass. He downs it during:)
KAREN (About Billy): How can they do that?
MARIANNE: Daddy’s having a drink, I know it.
KAREN: Austin?
AUSTIN: Two seconds!
BILLY: Dad?
AUSTIN: Be right in! I’m fine!
KAREN: You knew?
MARIANNE: I just found out.
(Pause.)
BILLY: I’m sorry.
KAREN: It’s not your fault. Bad timing.
TAD: How could he risk his life some more when the Yankees are losing? It’s unfortunate.
MARIANNE: Tad.
TAD: Marianne.
(Austin returns with his glass refilled.)
AUSTIN: That’s a bad break, Son, I’m sorry.
(Austin finishes his drink. He reaches for a book, opens it and shows it to Tad.)
You see that? All those underlined words? I look up how to pronounce them so I won’t be like the rest of the boneheads at my meetings. I didn’t have what he has. I was drafted and when I got back from Vietnam I had to work at the deli or we’d lose it. I have to look things up that he knows in his sleep.
TAD: I thought it was her father’s deli.
AUSTIN: Yeah, and? I still had to work if they were gonna keep it. But he didn’t have to do that, see? He didn’t have to fight. He wanted to.
BILLY: And no one is proud of me.
AUSTIN: Right?
(Pause. Sierra walks; Matsui to second.)
KAREN: There. There you go! There’s still hope!
(They watch the game in silence. Austin rises.)
Where are you going?
AUSTIN: I’m gonna catch a meeting.
KAREN: Now?
AUSTIN: We’ve lost.
KAREN: We’ve got a man on third.
AUSTIN: We’re gonna lose.
(Austin leaves the house. Tad, Marianne, Karen and Billy sit, unmoving. Karen sniffs Austin’s drink.)
Scene 11
Dolores in great distress, phone to ear.
DOLORES: Yes, I’m here. Yes. Mitsubishi. Station wagon, I don’t know what year, it’s my mother’s and she’s in the hospital, I went to visit her last night, and I’ve just woken up to realize it’s gone, I must have left the keys in the car, because I can’t find them. Yes. That’s right. Well, I’m not going anywhere until I get the car back, I suppose. All right.
(She hangs up, pours herself a strong drink.)
Please oh please, Jesus Christ, our lord . . . I was looking forward to driving back from the hospital, she was sitting up and drinking her tea, getting ready to go back to sleep, the sun wasn’t up, and I love this time of day, particularly with the lakes all smooth and the birds calling to each other, and the first thing that happens, the very first stoplight, this . . . moron behind me is in such a hurry to turn right, on red, that he pulls right up my ass and starts flicking his lights. I don’t know what got me, but I slammed on my breaks, without even thinking, and he practically hits me, starts leaning on his horn, and . . . I don’t know, I had had it, really, one thing about the country is the peace, the lack of honking, one doesn’t need to get killed just going outside, so when he tries to pass me—this is a windy road—I start pulling left, feigning right, and now he’s really really mad—I can’t see his face or what make of car, it’s one of those awful truck-like things with their lights up high so when you’re driving at night you’re completely blinded while they’re looking down on the rest of the world from their armored tanks, smashing you and your car to bits and they walk away unscathed. Anyway, whenever we reach a curve, and there are other cars coming by, one or two, I go incredibly slowly, like as slowly as I can without actually stopping, I’m sure steam is coming out of his ears and he’s honking and weaving, and we do this for what seems like forever.
(She sips. Silence.)
My god almighty Jesus. Finally, I’ve had my fun and I’m starting to think, He’s probably got a gun, everybody does up here except me. Dad did, Mom got rid of it, I pull over on the straightaway near the boat basin and he roars around in front of me and slams on his brakes. Do I honk? Do I flick my brights in his mirror, well, I may have, but then I wait for him to pull ahead and as quickly as I possibly can I whip around and head back toward the hospital, even though it means I’m going to have to go like eighteen miles out of my way, because there is no road going east-west between—whatever—he turns around, and now I’m spooked, so . . . senselessly I pull off on this mining road where we all used to go walking with Dad, and I know that I can get to the Appalachian trail from there, because Beth and I used to walk up over the mountain, and over this rushing stream there’s a waterfall, and after about three hours you come to the back of our property, so I’ve been. This is years ago. And I pull off in the bushes where I know I can hide, and he roars past me, thank god, but then I hear his brakes squeal, and I’m stuck in mud, I can’t back up. It’s a nightmare, I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, I run out of the car, leave it unlocked, start up this rise where I know there’s the old ruins of a camp, an outdoor fireplace, I think it must have been a hunter’s cabin at one time, the foundation is still there, and a thousand used condoms. I charge up to the top and I hear this lunatic chasing after me, I hear his steps in the leaves, and so . . . I don’t know how I thought of this, but I knew he was going to kill me if I didn’t do something. I started dropping little pebbles off the top of the . . . thing, the . . . precipice, down into the underbrush, I’m behind the fireplace, and damn it if he doesn’t head in there, thinking it’s me, and then . . . I realized . . . that wasn’t going to work for very long, so when he was there I . . . picked up one enormous stone, the biggest I could carry, and dropped it over the edge. It missed him, and I saw him look up—he was, his face was wide open like a pan— Who is that? Do I know him?!?!—I just pushed what remained of the fireplace over, and it fell, like a prop wall in a Buster Keaton movie. He’d started to run out from under me, but not in time, the stones hit the ground and, of course, his head, and . . . what a sound . . . he’s moaning. I realize there were cars that saw us, I could easily be identified, so I threw the keys into the woods, went back to the car, wiped the steering wheel down, though why I did that . . . My prints would be on the steering wheel of my own car . . . and I walked back on the Appalachian trail. No one. Just the deer. And I was more frightened than they were. And then I remembered: He’s the man from the G&K deli. His son is in Iraq. Oh. I had enough time to think what to do . . . I buried my clothes, my shoes and muddy pants, at the bottom of Mother’s mulch pile and I called 911. —Yes indeedie: “Your call is important to us,” and I report a stolen car, gone for some part of the night, I didn’t hear it turn over, I was sleeping, I have a white-noise machine, I have a sick mother, I really need my car, please, anything you can do. Give them the license plate, they say they’ll call, but stolen cars are often never found, they go out of state, they repaint them.
(Pause.)
So I guess I can wait. I’m going to take one of Mother’s librium. That way, if they come over, I can act the way innocent people do. Calm and . . . ignorant.
Scene 12
A hospital room. Austin, his face in bandages, his skin the same color of the bandages, attached to an IV, monitors, etc. Billy in uniform and Karen by the bed. The beep of the heart monitor. Karen tries to comfort Billy who moves away from her. Eventually, she leaves. Billy massages and extends Austin’s fingers, working the atrophied muscles of the hands.
Dolores appears at the door with a potted plant.
DOLORES: Oh.
BILLY: Hi.
DOLORES: I’m Dolores Endler whose car . . . was—
BILLY: Of course, come in.
DOLORES: Is your mother . . . ?
BILLY: She just went home, have a seat. Please.
DOLORES: This is for . . .
BILLY (Taking the plant): Thank you. That’s very kind of you. We were sorry to hear about your mother. The nurses / told us.
DOLORES: Yes, well—I would have been by sooner.
BILLY: Oh, you never had to . . .
DOLORES: Of course I did. You never expect these sorts of thing to happen in the country.
(Pause. Beeps.)
What do they think, do they say, are his chances of coming out of the coma? . . .
BILLY: Less and less with time.
DOLORES: God.
(Pause.)
BILLY: It’s so nice of you to be concerned.
DOLORES: Oh, no. You know what I think? I think he saw someone stealing my car, the police said he was out driving, and he chased them, and the person panicked and he followed them into the woods and . . . That’s what I think. He’s died, I mean, oh, I’m so sorry—
BILLY: That’s all right.
DOLORES: This happened because he’s a hero. That’s what I believe. There are so few. True heroes. Except, well . . . people like you.
The cops said you’d be surprised how often things like this happen and someone gets away with it.
BILLY: Yeah. My sister says that’s all we do, men. Is get away with it. And women run around wiping up the blood.
DOLORES: Well, not your dad. Not to me.
(Pause.)
Are you two close?
BILLY: I was supposed to fix him.
DOLORES: They say they can hear you even if they can’t speak.
BILLY: He’s not gonna start hearing me now.
DOLORES: Maybe he will. Maybe he can now with . . .
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BILLY: How am I gonna fix him if I can’t go along? It’s my job.
My mission. He won’t know what to do.
(Dolores and Billy are both seated, looking away from the hospital bed. Austin opens his eyes and painfully brings himself to a sitting position. The heart monitor beeping has stopped. Dolores does not react to Austin or see him. However, Billy does, turning to listen to Austin at times, receiving his entire speech as if hearing his father from within the coma.)
AUSTIN: Listen and shut up. There are things people get too embarrassed to say and those are the only things the measure of a man and I know because I couldn’t I had urges and couldn’t overcome but you have discipline you have muscles in your head I don’t these are the things: Charity. Civility. Sacrifice. Contemplation. Don’t smirk; all wisdom is plagiarism, only stupidity is original. There is no reason we should allow our embarrassment to kill us that’s what I did I was embarrassed and so I threw away one whole and perfect existence that’s what my father did and I watched and followed and you listen to me now; there is no reason you can’t know what human beings have known for all of time there is no reason you can’t act: precious things lead us astray. Do not succumb. Speak respectfully to people especially your elders, you think we’ve got eternity to get this right, we get one trip, in and out, a blank sheet a perfect white screen and we rub our shitty mess around on it and think that’s a life, hell is truth seen too late, it is better to give than to receive, for me not somebody else; what in the world did we think would happen? Racing and hurrying madden the mind, never, never hit a woman a child keep your eyes open when kissing and listen attentively to your opposition listen to everything the air listen to gravity the pull.
(Austin turns and sees Dolores for the first time, just at the moment she turns to look at him. They lock gazes. He starts to move toward her, then stops.)
Charity. Civility.
(Austin climbs back into bed, begins to lie down again.)
And if you’re traveling in a group of three and someone makes a suggestion for what to do or where to go next always say yes. They’ll love you for it. When in doubt stop. Do nothing. It’s always better. Say yes. Do nothing . . . stop . . .
(Everything restores; the beep of the heart monitor resumes. Neither Billy nor Dolores acknowledges what has happened.)