st apollonia
St. Apollonia
by Ava C ole
Characters
A - Young woman
B - Young man
Setting
It is any time of day. The two are laying in bed. Staging is sparce - potentially following "Cup of Tea". There might be a table with a teapot and cups. He’s only wearing pants, she’s wearing a nightgown. No nudity. Nothing intentionally sexy. Can be sensual, but not sexy. They are about two inches apart sitting upright under covers.
B: Which saint do you pray to?
A: Is that a trick question?
B: No, no, really. I want to know. Which saint do you pray to?
A: I don’t pray much, really. Never have.
B: But don’t you get scared sometimes?
A:
B: Don’t you?
A: I do get scared.
B: And when you get scared what do you think of?
A: I’m not sure. I think my memory has blessed me with forgetting. All I know is it goes all white. White and hot.
B: Any faces appear?
A: Let me think. You should answer your own question.
B: St. Apollonia.
Before she was martyred all her teeth were violently shattered and ripped out of her jaw. She was just a young woman, virginal, innocent. And was passionate enough in her convictions that she withstood it, and died. She was incorruptable.
rest
A: Do you believe it?
B: The saints? No, they can’t hear anything. Their ears are way decomposed by now.
A: Are you scared?
B: Of decomposed saint ears? No, ha ha.
A: No, that’s not what I meant.
But that’s good.
That you’re not scared of that.
B: Yes.
Why, are you scared?
A: Please don’t leave.
B: Don’t be scared.
A: I know that if you get out of bed you’ll simply disappear.
B: Don’t be scared. It’s all temporary.
A: All? What is all?
B: Hahaha.
B touches A’s hand reassuringly
A: Please don’t leave. Stay.
B: Your skin is so soft.
A: I think your hair is an extension of your brainwaves.
B: I love the stretch marks on your hips. They’re beautiful, as if you were a queen tiger.
A: I love the way your voice goes up when you laugh.
B: Don’t be scared of me disappearing.
A: How did you know that I loved my stretch marks?
B: Do you?
A: It’s a secret. They’re my favorite physical feature about myself. These organized, patterned white bands of scar tissue wrapping around me. I always told myself it was because I grew faster than my body, that I grew up too fast. And my skin couldn’t handle it. So it sprang into scars to try to make sure I didn’t bust out of myself.
B: We’re going to practice.
A: I’m so scared.
B: Close your eyes.
A closes her eyes. B moves a foot away on the bed. He looks at her intently. He loves her.
B: Now what do you feel?
A: The silence. My skin is hungry. I wish I could live in gluttony, that I could just lay here with you always, consume you constantly.
Beat. She understands that she’s alone.
It’s colder.
B stops responding for the meantime, letting her get used to the space. A whimpers and shutters, almost like detox. After a moment she becomes calm. The silence gets heavier. She hums the beginning of “Three Ravens”, a traditional English folk song. Stop short.
A: St Anthony.
I pray to St Anthony.
It’s not even necessarily when I’ve lost something, like how you’re really supposed to pray to him. It’s just the one saint I know.
When I was little I’d always hear my grandmother muttering to St Anthony under her breath in German as she frantically looked for the things she lost, a number of things which constantly grew bigger. Keys, bracelets, earrings, cookbooks, the remote, and I’d hear her saying, “Heilige, heilige” under her breath. Holy St. Anthony.
I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that.
Hey? Are you still there?
I can smell you, I think. The air isn’t too cold yet.
Can I open my eyes?
Tell me the story about St Apollonia again?
You really do have the best laugh.
Hey?
Hums more. Silence gets heavier. She finally takes a deep breath. She opens her eyes.
B: That was good practice.
A: Will you kiss me?
B: I don’t know if it’s a good idea.
A: Please kiss me.
B leans over and kisses her on the forehead.
B: Are you still afraid?
A: It’s hard not to be.
B: But you practiced. I was right there, I saw you. You were fine. You’re beautiful.
A: But if a tree falls in the woods and nobody hears it, did the tree really fall?
B: Of course it did.
A: Even though no one saw it or heard it?
B: I love you. That doesn’t change.
A:
B: It’s time.
A: Don’t tell me.
B: It’s not time.
A: So you’ll stay?
B: I love you.
A: I
B kisses her forehead again.
B: Let’s practice again. Are you ready?
A: I’m scared.
B: You were fine last time. And if a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to see or hear it, it still exists. Don’t be scared. Your teeth won’t be shattered. You’ll just be alone.
A: In a dramatic spot I’d say that was worse.
B: I like being alone with you. You being alone with you should be a treat too, then.
A: Please.
B: Close your eyes. Trust me. It’s okay.
A: If I close my eyes?
B: Then I’ll know you love me.
A: This is so weird.
B:
A closes her eyes. He watches her a moment. He touches her hand. He moves very slowly, putting weight and intention and sincerity in every motion. He touches her face softly. He traces her lips with his finger. He puts his nose on her cheek and closes his eyes. He moves a foot away from her on the bed slowly. He touches her hand one more time. Pause. Keep moving slowly until he’s gone.
Silence.
Heavier silence.
She realizes what’s happened.
She doesn’t open her eyes.
A: Heilige, heilige.
I know, don’t tell me. I know. It’s colder.
But you might be sitting next to me, studying my face. You’re just quiet. What’s different? If I just keep my eyes closed. Don’t tell me. Don’t say anything.
It’s colder. I can’t be scared.
All that’s left of the way you smell is on my hands.
A wraps her arms around her body. She makes peace. She exhales.
She moves her hands up to her face and inhales. She waits a moment. She opens her eyes.
A: Yes.
END.
by Ava C ole
Characters
A - Young woman
B - Young man
Setting
It is any time of day. The two are laying in bed. Staging is sparce - potentially following "Cup of Tea". There might be a table with a teapot and cups. He’s only wearing pants, she’s wearing a nightgown. No nudity. Nothing intentionally sexy. Can be sensual, but not sexy. They are about two inches apart sitting upright under covers.
B: Which saint do you pray to?
A: Is that a trick question?
B: No, no, really. I want to know. Which saint do you pray to?
A: I don’t pray much, really. Never have.
B: But don’t you get scared sometimes?
A:
B: Don’t you?
A: I do get scared.
B: And when you get scared what do you think of?
A: I’m not sure. I think my memory has blessed me with forgetting. All I know is it goes all white. White and hot.
B: Any faces appear?
A: Let me think. You should answer your own question.
B: St. Apollonia.
Before she was martyred all her teeth were violently shattered and ripped out of her jaw. She was just a young woman, virginal, innocent. And was passionate enough in her convictions that she withstood it, and died. She was incorruptable.
rest
A: Do you believe it?
B: The saints? No, they can’t hear anything. Their ears are way decomposed by now.
A: Are you scared?
B: Of decomposed saint ears? No, ha ha.
A: No, that’s not what I meant.
But that’s good.
That you’re not scared of that.
B: Yes.
Why, are you scared?
A: Please don’t leave.
B: Don’t be scared.
A: I know that if you get out of bed you’ll simply disappear.
B: Don’t be scared. It’s all temporary.
A: All? What is all?
B: Hahaha.
B touches A’s hand reassuringly
A: Please don’t leave. Stay.
B: Your skin is so soft.
A: I think your hair is an extension of your brainwaves.
B: I love the stretch marks on your hips. They’re beautiful, as if you were a queen tiger.
A: I love the way your voice goes up when you laugh.
B: Don’t be scared of me disappearing.
A: How did you know that I loved my stretch marks?
B: Do you?
A: It’s a secret. They’re my favorite physical feature about myself. These organized, patterned white bands of scar tissue wrapping around me. I always told myself it was because I grew faster than my body, that I grew up too fast. And my skin couldn’t handle it. So it sprang into scars to try to make sure I didn’t bust out of myself.
B: We’re going to practice.
A: I’m so scared.
B: Close your eyes.
A closes her eyes. B moves a foot away on the bed. He looks at her intently. He loves her.
B: Now what do you feel?
A: The silence. My skin is hungry. I wish I could live in gluttony, that I could just lay here with you always, consume you constantly.
Beat. She understands that she’s alone.
It’s colder.
B stops responding for the meantime, letting her get used to the space. A whimpers and shutters, almost like detox. After a moment she becomes calm. The silence gets heavier. She hums the beginning of “Three Ravens”, a traditional English folk song. Stop short.
A: St Anthony.
I pray to St Anthony.
It’s not even necessarily when I’ve lost something, like how you’re really supposed to pray to him. It’s just the one saint I know.
When I was little I’d always hear my grandmother muttering to St Anthony under her breath in German as she frantically looked for the things she lost, a number of things which constantly grew bigger. Keys, bracelets, earrings, cookbooks, the remote, and I’d hear her saying, “Heilige, heilige” under her breath. Holy St. Anthony.
I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that.
Hey? Are you still there?
I can smell you, I think. The air isn’t too cold yet.
Can I open my eyes?
Tell me the story about St Apollonia again?
You really do have the best laugh.
Hey?
Hums more. Silence gets heavier. She finally takes a deep breath. She opens her eyes.
B: That was good practice.
A: Will you kiss me?
B: I don’t know if it’s a good idea.
A: Please kiss me.
B leans over and kisses her on the forehead.
B: Are you still afraid?
A: It’s hard not to be.
B: But you practiced. I was right there, I saw you. You were fine. You’re beautiful.
A: But if a tree falls in the woods and nobody hears it, did the tree really fall?
B: Of course it did.
A: Even though no one saw it or heard it?
B: I love you. That doesn’t change.
A:
B: It’s time.
A: Don’t tell me.
B: It’s not time.
A: So you’ll stay?
B: I love you.
A: I
B kisses her forehead again.
B: Let’s practice again. Are you ready?
A: I’m scared.
B: You were fine last time. And if a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to see or hear it, it still exists. Don’t be scared. Your teeth won’t be shattered. You’ll just be alone.
A: In a dramatic spot I’d say that was worse.
B: I like being alone with you. You being alone with you should be a treat too, then.
A: Please.
B: Close your eyes. Trust me. It’s okay.
A: If I close my eyes?
B: Then I’ll know you love me.
A: This is so weird.
B:
A closes her eyes. He watches her a moment. He touches her hand. He moves very slowly, putting weight and intention and sincerity in every motion. He touches her face softly. He traces her lips with his finger. He puts his nose on her cheek and closes his eyes. He moves a foot away from her on the bed slowly. He touches her hand one more time. Pause. Keep moving slowly until he’s gone.
Silence.
Heavier silence.
She realizes what’s happened.
She doesn’t open her eyes.
A: Heilige, heilige.
I know, don’t tell me. I know. It’s colder.
But you might be sitting next to me, studying my face. You’re just quiet. What’s different? If I just keep my eyes closed. Don’t tell me. Don’t say anything.
It’s colder. I can’t be scared.
All that’s left of the way you smell is on my hands.
A wraps her arms around her body. She makes peace. She exhales.
She moves her hands up to her face and inhales. She waits a moment. She opens her eyes.
A: Yes.
END.