“We Never Went to a Movie” by Jen Rouse

Cast of Characters

WREN: 60 years old, retired psychologist

MEG: 45 years old, WREN’s former client, now friend

We Never Went To A Movie

A Play in One Act

At Rise: WREN and MEG stand in a hospital parking lot at night, under a street light. WREN is in a hospital gown. MEG is in street clothes.

WREN
Why did you come here?

MEG
I told your daughter I needed to see you. I wasn’t thinking. I just reacted.  

WREN
How did you find out?

MEG
I’m not sure, really. No one would’ve ever told me you were here.   

WREN
Then how did you know?

MEG
Because even when I try to turn away from you, I can feel where you are in the world. And I don’t know why.

WREN
What did you think you would accomplish?

MEG
I just wanted to hold you until you felt better, not scared, not like something had changed for you.

WREN
Why would you assume I would ever let you hold me?

MEG
I would never assume that. That’s why I didn’t try. I didn’t even get your hair right when I reached to prop your pillow. I would never assume anything. Even when I am with you I am not with you.

WREN
Then why did you come?

MEG
Because I couldn’t stop slamming my hand into the dashboard and screaming.  

WREN
Why are you here now?

MEG
Because I know they will shock your heart in the morning. I can feel it throwing itself against the shore of your chest as though it were my own heart. And no one will tell me, and I won’t get to be there. So I will stand in the middle of a novelty shop, frantically running my hands through my hair, waiting, waiting, waiting, for nothing, and I will pitch every ridiculous thing into a basket. Thinking, she will be fine, she will be fine, she will be fine. And these things, they will cheer her.  Even though she hates things. And she will need cheering. And if you cannot be with her, be with her. And to myself again, into the again: maybe you should stop trying. Maybe you should just stop trying. So hard. To be the not-anything.

(MEG walks to an office space next to the parking lot. It’s gray and raining. The lights are off. She hasn’t eaten or slept. She spills a bottle of pills across the desk. She begins to count them.)

WREN 
(Knocks on the office window.)

Hello! Scene’s out here!

MEG 
(Walks back to the parking lot.) 

Right. The scene is always where you are.

WREN
My heart attack isn’t about you, so why do you feel so sorry for yourself?  

MEG
I don’t. I just want you to get to go home. Where you want to be.  

WREN
Try again, why do you feel so sorry for yourself?  

MEG
I drove 90 miles an hour to get here. So I could see you, so they would let me in to see you. So I could take a goddamned breath. I do not feel sorry for myself. I came here for you.

WREN
But you didn’t, and why are you so angry?  

MEG
Because I didn’t get your hair right on the pillow. And I forgot to see if you needed another blanket. And when I took the electrodes from your delicate bird-winged shoulders, I was not careful, and they tore at your hair and your skin. And the lights, I didn’t turn down the lights.  

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WREN
It’s all just unnecessary—and I don’t understand: why do you feel so compelled to take care of me?

MEG
Six years ago you said to me with all of your big beautiful broken heart, you said, “my best friend was a lesbian. She died of cancer. I’m fine with you.” And I thought, maybe, in that moment, it wasn’t just me who needed care.

WREN
Is that the reason why you stay?

MEG
Have I mentioned I can feel you even when I’m not with you?  

WREN 
(Reaches to take Meg’s hand in her hand.)

Is she the reason that you stay? 

MEG
Sometimes I pretend she is god. When I pray to her, I don’t just pray— I ask her why she wants me near you. I plead with her to make sure in those moments when I should not know how you are that I know how you are. And in my very worst moments, I beg. For so many selfish things, I beg. 

(MEG walks to the office.  Takes a bottle of vodka and a tumbler from a desk drawer. Returns to WREN.)

WREN
And what has she said?

MEG
She said you would need me to pack your things. She said I would need to be your equal, even when you don’t want one, even when I don’t want to be one. She said that I would have to look back at you and say that you did not disappoint me. She said that you would need me to tell you that this wasn’t your fault.

WREN
Have I disappointed you?

MEG
No.

WREN
Why are you lying?

MEG
Why do you assume I am?

WREN
Why did you just squeeze my hand as though you were?

MEG
I was trying to reassure you.  

WREN
Why do you always take my hand?

MEG
You took mine tonight.

WREN
I had a heart attack.

MEG
Yes, you did.

WREN
I have suddenly become old.

MEG 
(Scoffs. Then softly.)

Not you. Never you. Look at your hair in the moonlight. Like a raven’s wing. Just how you like it.  

WREN
Why do you take my hand?

MEG
It doesn’t matter.

WREN
Why are you here?

MEG
I just came to tell you goodnight.

WREN
Will you write about this?

MEG
I guess, if we’re going to be all meta about it. So far we’re only a few pages in. At this point you’re no closer to being a dyke, and I’m not quite a full-fledged drunk. I’m working out whether or not I will kill myself in the office over there. But I haven’t decided yet. We’re not that interesting. And I can only milk your heart attack for so many lines.

WREN
Well, there’s that. I think the killing yourself bit is probably a little much, but I’ll think on it. In the meantime, what should we do?

MEG
We could go to Casey’s for smokes, but you can’t smoke anymore.

WREN
We could go to Casey’s for Slim Jims, but you don’t eat things with faces.

MEG
Have you ever read The Awakening? It’s one of my favorite novels. Edna Pontellier. Chopin described her this way: “She was rather handsome than beautiful. Her face was captivating by reason of a certain frankness of expression and a contradictory subtle play of features.”

WREN
Does she die at the end?

MEG
Have you met me?! Jesus Christ. Of course she dies. But it’s a fucking beautiful death. Like exquisite. Like walking into the ocean and they can all just blow her. It’s like that. Like that beautiful. Like, I was here, and you all just pissed it away. Could’ve been with me. It should’ve been amazing. But you motherfuckers are all such cowards. I mean, really…does she die?!

WREN
You should thank me for feeding you these lines. Why does she walk into the ocean?

MEG
It’s New Orleans in 1899. And it’s not quite all it’s cracked up to be—even for a rich white woman, especially one who doesn’t want her husband, her finely polished silver, her social calendar, and, god forbid, sometimes, her children. Especially for one who wants her art and someone who sees her and wants to fuck her—all of these things—and the need for some semblance of self and respect for her accomplishments and her need to be more. So, yes, the ocean. The great big beyond.

WREN
Why is this so romantic to you, always? The death sentence. I get tired of hearing about it. Also, I’m actually tired. If you’re so compelled to take care of me, why are we still here? Maybe get me a chair. And consider wrapping this up. The game’s on.

WREN (Cont.)
(Sighs)

I’m sorry. That was abrupt. They’re waiting for your move, you realize? What will you do now?  Leave me here? Get me a chair? Take me to Casey’s? Go back to the office and finish yourself off? Turn to hold me? What. Will. You. Do?

MEG
Sometimes when you’re so quiet, I just start talking about something I know. And it is big and boisterous and sort of manic in my head. That’s performance. I really would rather be quiet with you. I would rather listen. I would listen to anything you wanted to say. You ask, “what will I do?” Which is funny, isn’t it? The expectation is always that I will do something. But you could do something, anything, right now.  

WREN
Didn’t you come here to take care of me?

MEG
Will you let me?

WREN
I don’t know. Maybe I can’t.  

MEG
Then I don’t know what to do right now. And I want to know. Do you remember when I stopped eating? And I wouldn’t talk for a couple months. And, eventually, I somehow pulled out of whatever that was? And you cried. Just a little. Just a few tears, and you said, “I have been so worried about you.” Do you remember that year?

WREN
I do.

MEG
Maybe you think I don’t see you. Maybe you think the attention I pay is surface or selfish, but I see you. And I have been so worried about you. But you never really let me near you. And I am so fucking alone.  

WREN
I like it better when you hide me. What happened to all the poetry? Where have all of the beautiful words gone? It’s easier to pretend that I’m not really here when you bury me in the odd detail. This lighting is somewhat garish.

MEG
It’s the moon.  

WREN
But I like the sun. You know this. Make it the sun. We can stand in the parking lot of a hospital under the sun.  

MEG
You know, I thought I would see what might happen if I stripped us of feathers, of wings. But I’m really not going to sacrifice this scene for you. I’m a writer, after all. It stays night here, under the moon. Are you cold? Do you want my sweater? 

WREN
Good grief. You don’t have to be so stubborn. And, no, I don’t need your sweater—see, I have all of these scarves.  

(Pulls seemingly endless lengths of scarves from a bag—like a magic trick.)  

You have knitted a lot of scarves for me.

MEG
This is probably where a line about hands would go.  

WREN
Why do you always take my hand?

MEG
You are death on this question tonight. 

WREN
Then you must be desperate to perform your overwrought answer. Go ahead. I’m trapped here.  

(Throws hands up.) 

I mean, I’m listening.

MEG
I take your hand because it is the one symbolic gesture of comfort that I carry with me from year to year. It is what I do because I am not allowed to kiss you. It is what I do so I can maybe for a second make you feel how I feel. It stops time and thinking and focuses energy and attention on something other than language. Have I humiliated myself enough yet?  

WREN
We’re nowhere near the end, you know. And nothing you say shocks me. I don’t live in the realm of the catastrophic, Meg. Please don’t put me there.

MEG 
(WREN reaches for MEG. MEG brushes her cheek.)  

I came here because I could not imagine doing any other thing. Not one. I knew you were safe. I knew your family had gone. I did not make this catastrophic in my mind. I did not imagine you as an ill person or someone on her deathbed. I chose to be here. As unnecessary as it may seem to you.  

WREN
I’m sorry I said that. You’ve repeated it twice now. So I know it must’ve bothered you. When you throw my words back at me multiple times, I get it. Even though you’re creative about it, there’s a sting. And you’re misinterpreting what I meant by unnecessary. You know that.

MEG
I will always want to look into your eyes and hear your voice and hold you.  

WREN
Here’s where a saint or a historical figure usually tries to save you from yourself. You’re thrashing at your restraints again.    

MEG
Sometimes I get lost with you.

WREN
I don’t understand.

MEG
(Snaps fingers and there’s a bright sun, an Adirondack.)

It doesn’t matter. Here’s your sun. Here’s a beach. You shouldn’t be in a hospital gown. I’d give you a drink and a cigarette, but I’d rather not get thrown out of my own play.

WREN
That’s better.  

(Sits in the chair, moves to turn on a transistor radio.) 

I’m going to turn on the game now and half listen to you, but you go right ahead.  

MEG
Thanks.

WREN
Kidding.  

MEG
(Moves back to the office, sits at the desk, pills and bottle clenched.)  

What if I scream help me right now? And what if you simply turn away? It’s easier. So much easier to ignore me. 

(Returns to the beach.)

I should probably let you talk. You haven’t had a really rich, deep moment yet.

WREN
Don’t worry about it. I’m good.

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MEG
(Sits in the sand beside WREN’s chair. Thumbs the pages of a book.)

This novel is not as good as I remember. As I once thought.  

WREN
What?

MEG
The Awakening. The novel I was talking about before.

WREN
Why not? This game is going nowhere.  

MEG
Relax, they’ll make the Series.  

WREN

Dammit. Don’t tell me these things.

MEG

If I consider this love, is it love?

WREN

Sounds like bad song lyrics. I have let you construct an odd reality around me. I have never challenged your truth. 

MEG
(Drinks from the tumbler beside her. Whispers.)

The next lines matter the most. They matter the most of all the lines.Wren?

WREN
I’m here. Come here.  

(Pats her leg, MEG sits on the ground next to her. WREN strokes her hair.)  

I told you not to worry about me.

MEG
I just want to be quiet. Why can’t we be quiet?  

WREN
You have to finish this now, you know. You’ve made every effort to get us all to pay attention to you. It’s going to have to be worth it. 

MEG
Yes, something runs through my head like this almost every morning. It’s not news to me that there isn’t a moment when I’m not the show. Despite my every effort to be not the show. Have you noticed, no one holds your hair back when you’re fresh out of brilliance?

WREN
I think you would hold mine.

MEG
You won’t let me anywhere near you.

WREN
That’s not true.

MEG
I think it’s time for your close-up, Diva.

WREN
I’m not getting up for this. Whatever it is.

MEG
Fine.

WREN
Fine.  

MEG
Don’t hold back.

WREN
Come now.  

MEG
You don’t want this. You are just trying to keep me alive.  

(Moves to kneel in front of Wren’s chair)

WREN
Look at me. You think I am a coward. But you’re wrong. And I do want to keep you alive, and I do love you. But when I kiss you. And I will. It will change who we are. In a way that will change who we have been.  

MEG
(Moves back to her office. She scoops the pills into her hand. Throws them down her throat. Drinks the vodka. Walks back to the beach.)

You don’t have to do this. It’s almost over. 

WREN
What’s almost over?

MEG
This. Us.

WREN
What are you talking about?

MEG
We never went to a movie. You never said, hey, come over for lunch. I wanted to hold your hand and walk through the garden. You will wake up tomorrow and take your pills and fuck your husband, feed the cats, call the kids. It will all go on just as it always has. And it should for you.

WREN
And for you?

MEG
Trust me.  I don’t have days like this.

MEG
(Walks to desk. Places head on her desk. Walks back to the beach. Bends down to WREN’s chair, brushes WREN’s cheek, kisses her gently on the lips.) 

There, see. Nothing has changed. And you never have to say you kissed me at all. It’s ok. It was always ok.  

(Sirens sound.)

MEG
Do you remember the story of the house? The house that was so damaged, the house that bonded with the carpenter as she worked to reconstruct all that was broken? How the carpenter loved that house and hoped one day the house would thrive again, with quiet morning tea and visits from rambunctious grandchildren?

WREN
I still believe in that story.

MEG
That was always your story. You are a beautiful story.  

(Turns to go, smiles.)  

And I am going for a swim. 

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 Jen Rouse is a poet and playwright. She directs the Center for Teaching and Learning at Cornell College. Her work has appeared in Poetry, The Citron Review, Pithead Chapel, Cleaver, Always Crashing, Mississippi Review, and elsewhere. Her books with Headmistress Press include: Acid and Tender, CAKE, and Riding with Anne Sexton.

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Rebecca Taubman Schnitzer is a painter based in Dallas who mostly works with acrylics. She has work on display online at Saatchi Art. Her paintings will be exhibited at Dallas Market Hall this fall.

 

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