|
|
||
|
|
Field of Vision Bedroom. 11:00 p.m. David and Callie, a husband and wife in their early thirties, are propped up against pillows in bed. A lull in their fight. Distance between them as they stare straight ahead. Eventually: DAVID Look— CALLIE Don’t even try. (Another lull, then:) DAVID But – CALLIE Nope. I don’t want to hear it. Unless it’s an apology. If it’s an apology, I’ll listen. (He waits an appropriate amount of time, then:) DAVID I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. (Then.) But I wasn’t looking at her. She was just in my field of vision. CALLIE Her ass was in your field of vision? DAVID Yes! I was eating my Cinnabon, looking at you, she walked by, I noticed there was something printed, you know, on her (Gestures.) ... CALLIE On her ass. DAVID I wanted to see what it said. CALLIE It said “juicy.” DAVID I know that now, but I had to read it first to find out. CALLIE How long does it take to read one word? Because your eyes were glued to her “juicy” all the way from our table over to the Orange Julius counter back across the food court until she sat down. I don’t remember you being such a slow reader. DAVID Callie... CALLIE I suppose her breasts were in your field of vision, too? DAVID When she sat down. They were at eye level. CALLIE Wouldn’t her eyes be at eye level? DAVID Is this a hormonal thing? CALLIE You mean am I overreacting because I’m ovulating? No. I’m not ovulating. If I were ovulating we’d be trying to make a baby. So obviously I’m not ovulating and haven’t been for some time. DAVID We’ve only been trying for six months. CALLIE Eight. (Off his look.) I stopped taking the pill two months before I told you I did. (He considers pressing this point, but opts for peace instead.) DAVID Okay, eight months. It’s still no big deal. And it certainly isn’t anyone’s fault. CALLIE Yes it is. DAVID Whose fault is it? CALLIE Yours. DAVID Mine? CALLIE Yes. DAVID How do you figure that? CALLIE An egg is an egg. It just floats down with a welcoming demeanor, waits for a sperm to find it. But a sperm has to actively seek an egg. It has to look for it and want it. Obviously I’m not in your sperm’s field of vision. DAVID You think my sperm are looking at other women’s eggs? CALLIE Possibly. DAVID From inside your vagina? Cause I keep pretty close tabs on my sperm and unless they sneak out on their own at night, that’s the only place they’ve been in the last eight years. CALLIE Then why can’t I get pregnant? I’ve done everything the book says. I keep a detailed ovulation calendar, maximize intercourse during peak fertility periods, stick to the missionary or other positions that encourage optimum sperm release closest to the cervix, I use a doctor-recommended pre-seed lubricant, elevate my hips for fifteen minutes after each ejaculatory event... DAVID You stand on your head. CALLIE It’s easier for them to swim downstream than upstream. DAVID And my sperm all appreciate that. CALLIE (Emotional.) Then why don’t they like me? I’ve done everything I can to make my vaginal environment as sperm friendly as possible. DAVID You’ve been the perfect hostess. You’re the Martha Stewart of intimate entertaining. (Thinks, then.) Maybe that’s the problem. (She waits for an explanation.) DAVID Try to think like your average sperm. CALLIE They think? DAVID Sort of. They’re guys. Party guys. They’re cooped up at the home office most of the time. It’s hot, cramped, no windows. Suddenly, they hear a little music. The mood changes. It’s party time. They shoot out into the night looking for a good time. Looking for something hot, something— CALLIE Juicy? DAVID Exactly. CALLIE And I’m Martha Stewart—a great big asexual homemade biscuit-making control freak. No wonder they swim away from me. (She sags.) DAVID It’s not your fault. CALLIE Of course it’s my fault. They’re looking for Miss Hot and Juicy and I’ve done everything but hang one of my mother’s needlepoint samplers on my uterine wall. (Horrified.) Oh God—I’m my mother in bed. (She looks hopelessly down at her body, like its let her down. He puts his arms around her.) DAVID You’re not your mother in bed. If you were, we’d be having a whole different type of problem. CALLIE Then why can’t we make a baby? We’re young, we’re healthy... DAVID I think they’re just scared. CALLIE Who? DAVID (Makes hand gesture indicating sperm.) The beastie boys. I think they might be worried that if they hit the target, then party time is over. It’s baby time. Daddy time. Serious time. CALLIE I thought they wanted that. DAVID They do. But they’ve been having this incredibly hot time with their juicy party pal for the last eight years, and they don’t want to lose that. You know, babies are pretty all consuming, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but when something’s important to you, you tend to be just a teeny bit... CALLIE Task oriented? DAVID Something like that. So when I picture what it might be like with you and a baby... well, for the first time in my life, I can understand why men turn to golf. (She rolls on top of him.) CALLIE The party is not going to be over. I promise. DAVID I know that—I mean, in my head I know that. But— CALLIE Do you want me to talk to them? DAVID The beastie boys? CALLIE Sounds like they need a little reassurance. (She shimmies down toward his boxer shorts, opens the gap in his fly a bit to speak into it.) CALLIE Hi. This is...Martha. I know I’ve been putting a lot of pressure on you guys lately and I just wanted to say I’m sorry. You’ve been working your tails off, and I appreciate that. But I think we all need to be a little less...task-oriented here. It’s time to cut loose. Throw caution to the wind. Que sera, sera. And after all, many experts believe that the more highly aroused a woman is, the more likely she is to conceive. And maybe that cuts both ways. I guess what I’m trying to say is...(Looks up at David.) This is kind of private. (She pulls the sheet over her head; it bobs up and down. David enjoys it for a few beats, then:) DAVID Um...isn’t this a peak fertility weekend? I mean not that I don’t appreciate this, but we don’t want to waste a peak opportunity do we? Callie? (Lights dim. MUSIC: “Que Sera, Sera.”) END OF PLAY
|
|
|
Return to Cover |
Issue | Guests |
||