I Keep Poking You In The Eye, But, Alas, You Don't Really Love Me
Setting: Outside, small bushes, path, etc...
(lights up, birds chirping, perfect day)
(Enter Pelly, she is holding her eye, in pain)
Pelly: Ouch! Damnit! Stop it! Just stop it, damnit! Shitshitshit... Shit!
(Enter Mick with a long stick)
Mick: Sorry, dear! Sorry! Sorry! I don't know how it happened!
P: What the hell do you mean!
M: I don't know how it happened! I'm so sorry!
M: I feel terrible about this!
P: That's what you always say!
M: I really do, dear! Please believe me.
P: Why, Mick? What are you thinking?!
M: I don't know; it just... happens.
P: Well, let's revisit this incident, shall we?
M: I just don't get it, Pelly... I just don't know how this happened!
P: Step one: We are walking in the park.
M: Agreed, yes.
P: Step two: You see a long stick on the ground.
M: I did. I did.
P: Step three: You say, "Hey, look dear, a long stick... on the ground!"
M: Something like that, yes.
P: Step four: You pick up the stick.
M: Yes, I picked it up.
P: Step five: You swing the stick around.
M: Just goofing around there.
P: Step six: You ask openly, "I wonder what it feels like to get poked in the eye with a stick?"
M: I guess I did ask that... but, you know, more as a rhetorical sort of question.
P: Step seven: I tell you to put the stick down.
M: Did you?
P: Yes, I did! Three or four times!
P: (starting to lose her academic demeanor now) Step eight! You ask me if I love you... if I really love you.
M: Just wanted to know...
P: Step nine: For the one hundredth time today, I tell you, emphatically, that I love you... with all my heart!
M: You do?
P: YES, I DO, DAMNIT!!!
M: You sure?
P: Step ten!! You ask me to "prove" it.
M: I'm just making sure.
P: Step eleven! For the hundredth time today, I reiterate how much I really, really, really DO love you!
M: Yes, I... I... I guess I heard that.
P: Step twelve: You tell me that "I'm just saying that."
M: Did I?
P: Step thirteen: You say you need "proof" that I really, honestly, truthfully love you with all my heart, soul and every fiber of my being.
M: A very moderate request for a little peace of mind, I thought.
P: Step fourteen! I turn toward you quickly, moving to give you a kiss.
M: It was like you were attacking me!
P: With love!!
M: But I...
P: STEP FIFTEEN!!! You quickly raise the stick and jab it into my eye!!!
M: I said I was sorry.
P: That's not the point, Mick!
M: What is?
P: The point is... I love you, Mick. I really, truly love you. We will be married in three months. I have chosen you out of many other men I have known. You're the only man I honestly love; you are the man I am going to marry, the man I want to be the father of my children... our children... the man I want to grow old beside, the man for whom I would do anything. It's you, Mick!
M: (growing suspicious) What are you trying to say, Pell?
P: (desperate) That I love you, you fucking idiot!!
M: Who are all these other men you talked about?
P: That's in the past, Mick. I didn't even know you then!
M: So, you say you love me?
P: YES! YES! YES! YES! I! ... LOVE! ... YOU!!
M: Like you loved those other men?
P: Not at all like that! I love you and only you!!
P: And??!!!! And?!! And what?!!
M: Exactly, and what?
P: And nothing!!
M: There has to be a catch.
P: (almost in tears of anger and frustration) There's no catch!!! I love you!!
M: Riiighhht... but what else?
P: What else?!! (long pause while she fumes) O.K. Mick, o.k. ... there is a catch.
M: (downcast) I knew it.
P: Do you want to know what the catch is, Mick?
M: I guess...
P: Stop fucking poking me in the fucking eye with fucking sticks!!! That's the catch!!
P: Alright?! That’s the catch, Mick! That’s it!
M: You don’t like it?
P: No! No I don’t, Mick!
M: Oh. I thought...
P: I know what you thought. You thought, “If she still loves me after I poke her in the eye with a stick, then she must really love me.”
M: Ummm… sort of…
P: Well, I think I’ve proven myself, Mick, but you have to stop these ridiculous tests of my love. I love you! I hate getting poked in the eye! They are separate things, Mick.
M: Yes, I guess they are.
P: But, Mick, the only thing I hate more than getting poked in the eye with a stick, is getting poked in the eye with a stick over and over again.
M: Oh. But I wanted to see how much you loved me.
P: I loved you after the first time you poked me in the eye, and I love you still after the twentieth-or-so time you’ve poked me in the eye.
M: That’s a relief.
P: It shouldn’t have to be, Mick. You don’t... you can no longer test the depth of my love by poking me in the eye with a stick, your finger, screwdrivers, or any other pointy object.
M: Why not?
P: BECAUSE IT FUCKING HURTS... A LOT!!!
M: But how will I know if you love me?
P: Because I say I do! Trust me, put down the stick, Mick, and trust me… please!!
M: So, I’m just supposed to “believe” that you love me?
P: That’s all we have, Mick. It’s all anyone really has. A belief in love.
M: (dropping stick) I’m sorry, Pelly. I’m sorry.
P: (taking his hand, starting to walk off stage) I know you are, Mick. Come on, let’s go home.
(walking off, lights fading)
M: (Offstage) Hey, look dear, on the ground... it’s a (sound muffled, because Pelly has covered Mick’s mouth with her hand)