Time Enough To Listen – Scott R Shriver

by John Mandes

Characters: (In order of appearance.)

CHRIS. A person.

GERRY. Another person.

(At rise, CHRIS and GERRY are seated opposite each other at a small table or on a small sofa. Whatever the environment, it is comfortable and familiar to them.)

CHRIS. You really like that, don’t you?

GERRY. What?

CHRIS. That.

GERRY. Like what? What?

CHRIS. That. That.

GERRY. What are you … Oh, the wine?

CHRIS. Yes.

GERRY. Yes, I like the wine.

CHRIS. I never got that. The wine. I never got what is so grand about drinking grape juice that tastes like it should have been thrown away ages ago.

GERRY. (As he takes a sip.) Mmmmmm. Too bad. More for me.

CHRIS. You know, I have tried.

GERRY. Yes, I know.

CHRIS. At first I tried to like it and when it was clear that was not going to happen, I tried to pretend to like it and even that failed.

GERRY. Yes, I know.

CHRIS. So now, I don’t pretend. I just don’t drink it.

GERRY. Yes, I know.

CHRIS. But I must admit, there is something alluring about the way you drink it.

GERRY. It does something to me.

CHRIS. Yes, I know.

GERRY. Do you like it?

CHRIS. I like sharing your inner-most thoughts and feelings.

GERRY. And?

CHRIS. And, it’s just easier for you to do that when you are having a glass of wine.

GERRY. Yes.

CHRIS. Why is that?

GERRY. I don’t know.

CHRIS. Really? You do not know.

GERRY. No. I don’t know. (A pause.) But I have an idea.

(CHRIS says nothing. A pause.)

GERRY. Okay, I know.

(Again, CHRIS says nothing, leaving it up to GERRY to continue with the thought.)

GERRY. Stop looking at me like that. What do you want me to say? It makes things easier, okay? It’s true. I do enjoy the taste, but I also enjoy the fact that the glass and the wine in the glass and the glass in my hand and the wine in my mouth

CHRIS. (Interrupting GERRY) And the alcohol in your blood.

GERRY. Okay. And the alcohol in my blood. Happy. So go call the Betty Ford Center already and reserve me a room.

CHRIS. Why would I do that?

GERRY. Spite.

CHRIS. No. I like hearing you talk. I like hearing what you have to say. As much times as I spend with you, I only have these brief glimpses into your inner-most thoughts. I like hearing them.

GERRY. Oh. I thought it was just that you had nothing better to do.

CHRIS. You must think I have an empty life that I would listen to you only because I had nothing better to do.

GERRY. I know your life isn’t empty.

CHRIS. Yes, I know you know. The fact is that I believe you know a great deal more than you choose to reveal. Sometimes I have the feeling that everything you say is simply a trickle of what is really there, waiting to be told.

GERRY. Well…

CHRIS. Come on. Really. All the time I spend listening to you and I still think it’s only the smallest part of what you have done and what you have felt.

GERRY. I suppose. It continues to surprise me that you would really care to hear what I have to say. I really have to think before I say anything. I can’t just babble. What I say has to mean something.

CHRIS. Really? All the time I spend listening to your crazy dreams?

GERRY. Oh! I had another!

(A pause. Silence.)

GERRY. Well, do you want to hear it?

CHRIS. Of course.

GERRY. I’m sitting in a Starbucks.

CHRIS. (Interrupting.) Not another I-had-sex-in-a-Starbucks fantasy.

GERRY. (Feigning indignation.) No. (GERRY thinks, trying to recall this. In a moment, the recollection presents itself.) Oh. No.

(A pause. Silence.)

CHRIS. Well, are you going to tell me?

GERRY. Yes. Okay. I’m sitting in a Starbucks. I’m sitting there waiting for my Grande non-fat, no-whip, easy-mocha mocha. The barista calls my name. I get up, grab my mocha, walk toward one of the few unoccupied tables and I sit down. I notice a key ring on the table next to mine. Nobody is sitting there. Ten minutes go by, then 15, then 30 and there is still nobody sitting at the table and the keys are still there. They are the keys to a Mercedes. And it’s then that I remember seeing this really beautiful, brand new C340 convertible in the parking lot as I walked toward the Starbucks.

CHRIS. You’re not going to tell me that you took the keys and stole the car.

GERRY. I took the keys and stole the car. I got in that Mercedes, started her up, pulled out of the lot, got on the expressway, and put the top down as I sped away.

CHRIS. No!

GERRY. Yes! Which is something I’d never even think of doing in real life.

CHRIS. Putting the top down?

GERRY. No, stealing the car.

CHRIS. Oh, dreams. What a wonderful escape.

GERRY. I used to dream of being in love.

CHRIS. Used to?

GERRY. Yes, used to. I used to dream that I would meet someone, fall in love and live happily ever after. I used to dream that. I used to dream that I’d no longer sit at home alone and talk to myself about how I felt. I used to dream that I’d write what, at times, looked liked almost endless entries in my journal about my true feelings, the things I couldn’t say out loud.

CHRIS. But you do not do that anymore?

GERRY. No. I met someone. Someone I trust. Someone who allows me to be myself and say anything that comes into my mind. Someone I love.

CHRIS. But the wine. You still need the wine.

GERRY. Well, yes. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

CHRIS. I suppose.

GERRY. I do love you.

CHRIS. Yes, I know.

GERRY. Despite just how irritating you can be at times, I’m really glad I met you.

CHRIS. Really?

GERRY. Really.

CHRIS. Are you sure it wasn’t I who met you?

GERRY. You know, I don’t think I want to go there.

CHRIS. You know where I would like to go?

GERRY. No.

CHRIS. Starbucks.

GERRY. Starbucks?

CHRIS. Starbucks. I want to give you a chance to live another dream.

(CHRIS reaches across the table and kisses GERRY. A pause. The lights fade.)

(End of play.)

(used with permission)