“Dead on Our Feet”
a ten-minute play
Produced in Allentown, Pennsylvania, on January 8, 2005, as part of the Kennedy Center American College Theater Festival, directed by Victor Maog.
Characters
ALVIN – 37 year old banker
OLIVIA – 35 year old part-time real estate agent
Setting
ALVIN and OLIVIA’s upper-middle-class bedroom: a bed flanked by floor lamps; also, a vanity. Eleven o’clock on a weeknight. July.
OLIVIA
I read today that most women would rather be widows than divorcees.
ALVIN
That doesn’t bode well for us husbands.
OLIVIA
Something about coping more easily with a permanent loss than a loss you would have to interact with on the weekends.
ALVIN
I could see that.
OLIVIA
What with the children and the joint custody and all.
ALVIN
I got the reference.
(pause)
OLIVIA
That’d be awful, wouldn’t it?
ALVIN
Uh-huh. What?
OLIVIA
If something were to happen. Something catastrophic.
ALVIN
That would really be something.
OLIVIA
What would we do?
ALVIN
I don’t know. I don’t like to think about it.
OLIVIA
Me neither.
(pause)
But really.
ALVIN
Olivia.
OLIVIA
What would we do if something bad, something really bad happened?
ALVIN
Olivia, not tonight, please.
OLIVIA
OK, OK, Mr. Grumpy.
(pause)
If something bad were to happen I hope it would happen to me. I hope I die first.
ALVIN
So do I.
OLIVIA
“So do I?” What is that supposed to mean?
ALVIN
What is what supposed to mean?
OLIVIA
“So do I.” “So do I” like so do you hope to die first? Or “so do I” like you also hope I die first?
ALVIN
That one. So do I hope you die first.
OLIVIA
That’s a terrible thing to say.
ALVIN
I just agreed with what you said. Was I not supposed to agree?
OLIVIA
Of course you weren’t supposed to agree. You were supposed to say, “Olivia, honey, don’t think such things. Neither one of us will ever die. Ever. Besides, if one of us has to go I would rather it were me. I couldn’t bear going on without you.”
ALVIN
Do you want me to try again?
OLIVIA
Would you? I’ll say my line. Then you say yours.
(a beat)
I hope I die first.
ALVIN
Olivia, honey, don’t think such things. Neither one of us will ever die. Besides, if one of us has to go—.
OLIVIA
“Ever.”
ALVIN
Excuse me?
OLIVIA
You forgot the “ever.”
ALVIN
I said “ever.”
OLIVIA
You said the first “ever,” but not the second.
ALVIN
There are two “evers”? “Neither one of us will ever, ever die?”
OLIVIA
No. Not there. It comes after. “Neither one of us will ever die. Ever.” The second one punctuates the first.
ALVIN
So it does.
OLIVIA
Again.
(While OLIVIA gathers herself, ALVIN rolls his eyes.)
OLIVIA (cont.)
I hope I die first.
ALVIN
Olivia, honey, don’t think such things. Neither one of us will ever die. Ever. Besides, if one of us has to go I would rather it were me. I couldn’t bear going on without you.
OLIVIA
That was good. Did you mean it?
ALVIN
(meaning “no”)
Yeah.
OLIVIA
Al!
ALVIN
What? I did. Really, I did.
OLIVIA
I want you to mean it. Say it like you mean it.
ALVIN
I did say it like I meant it. You even said so yourself.
OLIVIA
But now I know you didn’t.
ALVIN
What do you want from me?
OLIVIA
I want you to say it like you mean it and really mean it.
ALVIN
Jesus. How do you expect me to take you seriously when you’re always clowning around?
OLIVIA
I do not “clown around.”
ALVIN
“Say this.” “Do that.” “Not like that, like this.” “You’re doing it all wrong.”
OLIVIA
So what if I play games? It’s the only way I can keep you from being so clinical. But if you want me to be serious I can be serious. I can be as serious as a preacher on Easter if you would prefer.
ALVIN
No, no. If you want to play, we can play. We can play.
OLIVIA
Al, don’t.
ALVIN
In the event that something catastrophic did occur, how long should I wait before I begin dating again?
OLIVIA
I am not having this conversation.
ALVIN
What length of time is respectable but reasonable?
OLIVIA
I’m not listening.
ALVIN
Clearly, bringing somebody to the service is in poor taste.
OLIVIA
This is me ignoring you.
ALVIN
Two major holidays? Three?
OLIVIA
You are speaking another language.
ALVIN
What if they’re back-to-back? Like Christmas and New Years?
OLIVIA
We aren’t even the same species.
ALVIN
I’m not sure she should stay over in any case.
OLIVIA
We are not amused.
ALVIN
If things get serious, do I introduce her to your sister?
(OLIVIA looks devastated. ALVIN realizes he has crossed
the line.)
Olivia, I’m sorry.
(The apology does not take. HE tries a new tack.)
I’m joking. You know I’m joking.
OLIVIA
I don’t think it’s very funny.
(OLIVIA gets into bed and turns off her light. ALVIN returns to his magazine. After a moment, OLIVIA abruptly turns on the light. She again touches her nose and inspects her fingers. She sits on the edge of the bed.)
ALVIN
Olivia? Honey?
OLIVIA
Earlier tonight, as I was preparing for bed, I turned, I turned my head, in the bathroom.
(pause)
I was in the bathroom and I turned my head and I felt something seep, escape from my nose, and I was confused, and I saw there, on the floor, a drop, a single drop of blood, my blood, that had flown from my face to the tiles of the bathroom floor, and just kind of splashed there, a red drop of blood on the white tiles of the bathroom floor.
ALVIN
So you had a nosebleed.
OLIVIA
A spontaneous nosebleed. This perfectly healthy person just happened, without cause, to discharge blood from her body onto the bathroom floor.
(pause)
And you are un-alarmed.
ALVIN
It was the air conditioning.
OLIVIA
What?
ALVIN
The air conditioning dries the capillaries in your nose. When you sneeze or blow your nose the capillaries burst and your nose bleeds. Had you sneezed before going to the bathroom?
OLIVIA
I sneeze from May to September.
ALVIN
There you have it.
OLIVIA
(turning towards him)
I get headaches. Crippling headaches. Balls of pain the size of a pearl nestle behind my left eye. They expand to the size of cue balls.
ALVIN
Millions of people suffer from migraines. We’ll ask Doctor Chase to increase the potency of your painkillers.
OLIVIA
Sometimes I have . . . episodes. Seizures. Spells. I lose consciousness.
ALVIN
You blackout?
OLIVIA
I’m discombobulated.
ALVIN
Oh.
OLIVIA
I stand in the aisle at the grocery store and I can’t remember why I’m there. I can’t remember what vegetable oil is called. I forget what the children look like, what brand of peanut butter they prefer. I forget their names.
ALVIN
You forget their names?
OLIVIA
Sometimes.
ALVIN
You’re exhausted. That’s all. You need sleep.
OLIVIA
That’s what everyone says. Drink more fluids. Take your vitamins. Rest. What if it’s more than that?
ALVIN
It’s not.
OLIVIA
I know it’s not. But what if it is? Illness today is crafty. It hibernates. It squirrels itself away into your breast, your colon, your immune system. Or it strikes without warning. A bomb rupturing a pipeline. A volcano smothering a civilization unawares.
ALVIN
Olivia.
OLIVIA
That woman in Santa Fe died from a brain tumor. Her husband recalled only that she was forgetful and occasionally her nose bled. She was thirty.
ALVIN
Olivia.
OLIVIA
We no longer confine the unwell. They’re among us.
ALVIN
Olivia!
OLIVIA
Look around you. We’re all dead on our feet. And we don’t even know it.
ALVIN
Olivia! Don’t think such things. Neither one of us will ever die.
(pause)
Ever.
(pause)
(OLIVIA smiles a bittersweet smile. She reaches up and kisses ALVIN on the cheek. She lies down. OLIVIA sneezes. She sits up. She touches her fingers to her nose. She turns and shows ALVIN the blood on her hand.)
(end of play)
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