Dump It Out
A scene for two—originally written as Man (M) and Woman (W) but could be any gender with some textual adjustments. I wrote this years ago as an exercise to challenge myself to write conflict (I’m very bad with conflict. Writing it, or engaging in it) and I’m pretty proud of what came out. Enjoy!
Content notes: Coarse language, arguing with ex, ex lives close by, alcohol, smoking, discussion of cunnilingus/inability to climax, brief reference to infidelity, the general angst of trying to stay on good terms post-relationship.
Scene1:
M and W. Apartment living room. A ticking clock is heard.
W: So.
M: So...
(Pause)
W: That’s it? “So”? That’s all you’re going to say to me?
M: I guess so.
W: ...Can I have my book, please?
M: You’ll have to be more specific, there were so many books.
W: Come on, don’t—
M: On the stairs, on the bedroom floor, in the kitchen, on top of the TV under the TV…
W: I forgot how petty you are…
M: In the bed, let’s not forget. Christ, I think you spent more time with those books than you actually spent with me. In bed.
W: Well, maybe if you had bothered to brush your teeth before you came to bed it would have been a different story.
M: And here I thought true love was supposed to defeat evil and transcend bad breath.
W: Well, the storybooks were wrong.
M: I don’t know, it depends which stories you read.
(Pause)
W: Can I please have my book back?
M: If you can find it.
W: What?
M: If you can find it, you can have it.
W: I thought you had it.
M: I do.
W: But you don’t know where it is?
M (lights a cigarette): No clue.
W: Come on, I know you have it.
M: Clearly not since you keep asking me for it.
W: Well, I don’t know where it is, though, do I?
(M shrugs)
W: Oh my God, you don’t have it. I swear if you tossed it—
M: I haven’t done anything with it since you lent it to me. Can you please stop rifling through my things? My things that I have in specific places for a reason.
W: Calm down, it’s just your obsessive compulsive disorder talking.
M: I’m not OCD, I’m tidy. There’s a difference. I like to keep all my books in one place.
W: You can push my buttons all you want, I’m just here for one thing.
M: You sure about that?
W: Why, did you hoard other things of mine that I don’t know about?
M: I know, to prevent you from turning my place upside down, we could look for it together.
W: Please for the love of God let’s not do this together.
M: Come on, it’ll be fun!
W: Uh-huh, just like the grocery shopping, and breakfast, and lunch breaks, and going out with friends, and going to the gym, and going to the dentist, and getting our hair cut, and going to bed. You’re right, how could I forget that every single thing in my life was a million times more fun when we did it together!
M: Can’t blame a guy for trying to foster a stronger connection.
W: You came with me to the gynaecologist!
M: It’s an intrusive process, I wanted to be supportive.
W: It’s private! You didn’t even ask if you could come with me, you just showed up.
M: I wanted to surprise you!
W: It was humiliating!
M: I was being a good partner.
W: No, you were feeding an obsession and it’s weird.
M: I forgot how hard you can pull away when you want to.
W: Yeah, because I like to do things on my own.
M: If by “things” you mean literally everything.
W: Can I just have my book, please?
M: It’s in the house.
W: But you have no idea where it is.
M: Oh my God, you’re so intuitive. It’s like you can read my mind. Whoa, get outa my head—
W: Fuck off.
M: I thought I had.
W: Yup. Almost. Now where’s my book?
M: Which one? The book you were fucking? I told you, if you can find it, you can have it. I’m not putting in anymore effort so you can cheat on me with half a tree.
W: This isn’t some game, just give me the book and I’ll get out of your precious space.
M: Mmmm such spacious space.
W: Damnit. Tell me where my book is.
(Silence)
W: Do you have any idea where it might be?
M: I think it’s... Okay, yeah, sorry, I remember now… it’s definitely somewhere in the house
W: Well, are you going to help me look for it, or are you just going to sit there snarking into your cigarette while I go through your stuff longing for the day when your lungs finally collapse out of rebellion against your constant abuse and you slowly suffocate to death?
M: Wow.
W: Sorry.
M: That came out of left field.
W: Can I have my book back?
M: No.
W: Excuse me?
M: You don’t want it back.
W: Yes, I do.
M: Then buy a new copy. It’s not old, so it wasn’t a rare find. It’s barely flipped through, so you obviously didn’t use it that often (also, if you did, you wouldn’t have lent it to me in the first place).
W: That’s not the point.
M: Then what?
W: It’s my book and I want it back.
M: And you wanted to see me again.
W: Don’t be pathetic.
M: Oh, come on! If you really didn’t want to see me ever again for as long as I live — as you put it — you could have said, “forget it, I can live without that book” and never seen me again. This is classic you.
W: Excuse me? “Classic me?”
M: You want to talk about something but are afraid of being vulnerable and just saying, “Hey, honey, can we talk?” so you cook up some excuse to meaninglessly argue nothing until you can covertly segue into the thing you actually wanted to talk about in the first place.
W: For your information, even though it’s NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, I have an audition next week, and I need one of the monologues from it.
M: So Google it! Go to the library! I mean, Jesus, if you want to see me, see me, but don’t bullshit around with an excuse. It’s impolite.
W: I have a bunch of notes in there from the last time I worked on it and it’s the only copy I have.
M: Oh.
W: Yeah.
M: I didn’t know that.
W: Clearly.
(Silence).
W: Could I bum a drag off that?
M: No, you cannot! I swear I only ever smoked half my own cigarettes. “Can I have a drag?/Sure babe, no problem” Then, five seconds later: “Can I have another drag?”
W: …Can I have a whole one?
M: Only if you keep it to yourself.
W: I’m confused on whether that was a yes or a no…
M: Go on, then, help yourself.
W: Thanks.
M: Probably yours anyway.
W lights a cigarette.
M: You still not inhaling?
W: You still drinking your whisky with mix?
M: Touché.
W: Thank you!
M: You always did have the best comebacks, babe. I’ll give you that.
W: You set ‘em up, I’ll take the shot.
M: Cheap shots.
W: Best kind there is.
M: Boy, you’re something else, you know that?
W: So you used to tell me.
M: I still mean it.
(Pause)
W: You’re not so bad yourself.
(Silence)
M: I’ll be back in a second.
M exits. W sits for three seconds. Stubs out cigarette. Rises. Leaves. M re-enters.
M: Well, well, well, look what I… found…
Lights fade to black
Scene 2 M and W. An apartment livingroom—different from, the same as, or similar to, the one previous. A ticking clock is heard.
A vigorous knock on the door. W rises, goes to the door, opens it. M pushes in.
W (facetiously): Hi, honey, nice to see you too, please, come on in, make yourself at home—get out of my apartment!
M: What the hell was that?!
W: What?
M: What do you mean “what”?
W: I mean, “what?” as in “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
M: Gee honey, where should I start. Maybe let’s start with you leaving my apartment without saying a single word.
W: You left first.
M: That’s an old card and you’ve already played it once.
W: Oh, come on. What’s the big deal?
M: The big deal is you don’t get to do that anymore. It’s common human courtesy to let someone know when you’re leaving their living space.
W: Why? Never seemed to bother you.
M: Oh my God, I’m not getting into that right now. It’s just something people do.
W: Like who?
M: EVERYONE.
W: Like I said, you left first. What did you expect.
M: I was out of town for five days. I came back; you moved across the hall.
W: No, you were gone for months. Sure, you were there but you weren’t there.
M: You know, I’ve always had trouble understanding you when you’re too straightforward. Could you be a little more vague for me?
W: Go ahead, snark it off. Avoid the actual topic by manufacturing confrontation that doesn’t need to be there.
M: Arguments are more fun than conversation.
W: Okay, fine, whatever! You win! Just try to keep your voice down.
M: Never bothered you before.
W: That’s because I was the one yelling.
M: Oh, what, so I’m not allowed to yell?!
W: No, not in my apartment.
M: Why should I give a fuck what I do or do not do in your apartment? You clearly don’t care what you do in mine!—Or who—Here, want a cigarette? Mind if I smoke?
W: I cannot believe you are being so childish about this one, meaningless—
M: —Mmmm the sweet smell of tar and rat poison—
W: —Minuscule lapse in social etiquette.
M: So you admit that it wasn’t normal.
W: Yes. Fine. Could you put that out, please?
M: Then why did you do it? Why did you do it if it wasn’t normal?
W: Drop it.
M: No.
W: I wasn’t thinking clearly.
M: Not buying it. No one forgets to tell someone they’re leaving.
W: Wanna bet?
M: Stay on topic.
W: I thought I was.
M: Why?
W: I didn’t want to be there anymore.
M: And?
W: That’s it.
M: Nope.
W: Stop it.
M: You said you came to get your book.
W: Yeah.
M: You left without it.
W: So?!
M: So you couldn’t have wanted it that badly.
W: Maybe I changed my mind.
M: No. No, no, no, no, no, you wanted an excuse to see me.
W: God you’re pathetic.
M: Okay, yes. Yes I am, I’m pathetic. You didn’t want to see me AND you didn’t want your book. Se ya!
W: Let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.
M: It doesn’t close on its own.
W: Fuck you!
(Pause).
W opens the door without looking at M.
W: I wanted the book so I went over to get it; I started feeling weird and wanted to leave so I did. Now are you going to start acting like an adult and give me my book and maybe, just maybe, leave me alone?
M steps back into the entranceway.
M: See? What wasn’t so hard, was it? This is the one you wanted, right?
W: Yeah. Thanks.
M: Happy to help. Anyway, I’d better—
W: You want a beer?
M: It’s three o’clock in the afternoon.
W: Nevermind.
M: I didn’t say no.
W goes into kitchen, returns with beer for both.
M: Is there anything you want to say to me?
W: I don’t want to talk about things. Not right now, anyway, I’m too pissed off.
M: Why am I drinking a beer in your living room, then?
W: Because I don’t want it in my fridge.
M: And why’s that?
W: You bought it.
M: Then why didn’t you just throw it out? Pour it down the toilet?
W: Because I didn’t. Jesus, why does every little thing I do have to mean something?!
M: I’m just saying, why keep it if you don’t want it?
W: Listen. Stop it. Whatever it is that you’re doing, or hoping, or wanting, just stop it. Right now.
M: Tell me about work.
W: What?
M: You know, work? That thing you do to make money. I’m trying to make small talk, here, cut me some slack.
W: It’s shit.
M: Oh ya?
W: Yeah.
(Silence).
W: You know those little bottles of hot sauce they have on the tables there?
M: I always thought they were kinda cute. Made me feel like a giant.
W: Yeah, me too until I spent an entire shift refilling them and hand washing the caps.
M: Now, who wouldn’t love that.
W: Best part is, I went to take a shower that night when I got home and my bathroom still smells like cayenne pepper.
M: I thought you were going to find a new job somewhere better. What happened with that other place you applied to?
W: Apparently my tits aren’t big enough.
M: Your tits are perfect.
W: They told me I didn’t fit the “overall aesthetic standards”
M: Bullshit. And I should know, I’ve spent quality time with your overall aesthetic.
W: Knock it off.
M: I’m just saying, you’re a very attractive woman. I’m allowed to still think that.
W: Thank you… I hate this. It feels like I never get to be myself anymore, everything’s an audition for something.
M: Not everything is an audition, you know.
W: It’s easier said than done. Everything feels like a new role to play, like everybody needs something different from me.
M: You realize it’s not suppose to be that way with everyone, right?
W: What?
M: Well… Ah, I shouldn’t get into this now.
W: No, go on, say it.
M: When we were together I could never get you to follow… I could— never get you to, well, come with me.
W(offended): Well maybe if you bothered to focus on someone other than yourself—
M: No, no, no I tried everything. I don’t think you realize just how hard I tried to get you there.
W: Oh come on, it’s not like you never had any hangups yourself.
M: It’s biology, it happens sometimes—you know what, no, leave my dick out of this, he has nothing to do with it.
W: It’s not a person!
M: It may as well be, it feels just as confused and unsatisfied as I do with our current situation.
W: How?!
M: Do you have any idea how frustrating it is living across the hall from a woman you are still wildly attracted to despite the whirlwind of domestic dysfunction that follows in her wake? Every day, I go down to check the mail, and I can smell that you’ve just gone out. It’s like this cloud of you that hovers outside my door every time I go anywhere. Poof! There you are, and suddenly I’m having some Vietnam-style flashback and we’re in bed together and I’m stuck with my head between your legs and you’ve just got this vacant expression in your eyes and I’m trying to talk to you, trying to get some sort of response: more hands, less hands, faster, slower, a green light, a red light, anything. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? I’ve got months worth of Cosmo issues hidden under my bed. I’ve got seventeen tabs open on my computer about the complexities of the female orgasm and the importance of partner communication during oral sex (by the way, did you know that the Swiss have a completely different technique?). I now know more about the anatomy of female sex organs and hormone cycles than most med school graduates! If the police raided my apartment, I’d probably be put on some sort of registry!
W: I know how frustrated you were with the fact that I have trouble. And I knew you were trying hard because every single time, all I could feel was you wanting to get me off. It stopped being about us having fun and feeling good and just started being about how badly you needed me to have an orgasm so you could feel validated as a partner. And God help me, I tried to make it up to you, and I did a damn good job if I say do so myself.
M: Here’s a life tip for you: if you’re going to be with someone long enough for them to know your habits, don’t run lines when you’re trying to get him off.
W: That was one time—
M: And if you weren’t running lines, you were a completely different person. I would look into your eyes and see a stranger, you even felt like a stranger, it was weird.
W: It still worked, didn’t it? You got what you wanted, what’s the big deal?
M: Jesus, I wanted connection, I wanted for us to actually be together with each other. It was never about me just getting off to you—oh my God is that—What is wrong in your head that could ever make you think that that was what I wanted?
W: How much more connection do you need?! We spent every free second together. Every day. Every night. There I was, connecting with you.
M: You were always somewhere else, though. Somewhere in that book, in one of your monologues, in one of your audition rooms, with one of your directors… You were never just with me. There was always something or someone else in the room with us.
W: Well maybe I didn’t want to be the person who was with you.
(Pause)
M: You want to rethink the wording on that? Because that is one hell of a bomb to drop.
W: I don’t know.
M: You actually meant that.
W: I think so, yeah.
M stands
M: I’m going to leave now.
W: Okay.
M: Thanks for the beer.
W: You can take the rest, I don’t want it.
M: Dump it out.
W: Okay.
N: If you need to get anything else from my place, I’ll be at Tom’s for the next two days. I’ll leave the key in the mailbox.
W: I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.
M: Don’t wear any perfume if you go in.
W: Can you stay for a bit? We can talk this out.
M: No, we can’t. I need to be alone right now. I’ll see ya around.
(W remains seated. M exits) (A few moments of silence) (Fade to Black)
