Stage is painted in pastel blues with streaks of pink and orange, like a sunset splattered on a clear day. The center is deeply purple on the bluer side.
Florian and Antigone stand center, dressed in soft sweatpants and comfortable t-shirts, wearing socks with no-skid soles. They share weight, resting and supporting each other.
Florian: Thanks for sweeping. You swept like you’ve never swept before.
Antigone: I felt inspired.
Florian: My heart caught in my throat when I saw the hallway.
Antigone: Acts of service.
Florian: It’s way down my list, you know.
Antigone: I know, but there didn’t seem to be more I could do.
Florian: You push all of my buttons.
Antigone: That usually-
Florian: Like dialing a phone. You get me on the other end when you push the right buttons in the right order.
Antigone: And I get the folks ahead of us in line at MetroPCS if I just hit one button wrong.
Florian: It’s a good thing you have my number memorized.
Antigone: I’ll write you a letter if I ever forget.
Florian: I’ll look forward to your forgetting.
Antigone: I’ll put glitter in the envelope. Stickers on the outside. You’ll know it’s from me.
Florian: If I ever write you a letter, I’ll hand deliver it.
Antigone: What if I’m in Spain?
Florian: I’ll take a ferry from Morocco.
Antigone: You’ll be in Morocco?
Florian: If you’re in Spain, I’ll be as close to you as I can without crossing and personal boundaries you’ve established. I should hope being a continent away is enough.
Antigone: Tiny continental divide.
Florian: Will it suffice?
Antigone: More than enough. I expect to never set a continental boundary.
Florian: That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said.
Antigone: Also, I love you.
Florian: A close second.
Antigone: I want to trace your… Your everything. Your skin. Softly touch it all.
Florian: That’s high on my list.
Antigone: I know. I know your love languages. Fun things. Fun knowings that we share.
Florian: I know your stories.
Antigone: Not all.
Florian: All that you’ve cared to share.
Antigone: You can pry if you want. I would tell you the things I wouldn’t volunteer.
Florian: About your fears and your trials and your triumphs?
Antigone: I share those freely already.
Florian: I can’t guess what to ask.
Antigone: You can ask about the things I’ve only thought once.
Florian: That’d give me a distorted view of you.
Antigone: You know me. They’re details. You have my face and my breasts and the outline of my skin. Time to fill in the wrinkles and moles.
Florian: I love your moles, and I haven’t noticed wrinkles.
Antigone: They’re there. Look at my brow. It furrows because it always furrows. I’m not worried.
Florian: I don’t count it.
Antigone: I do. I still know my face better than you do.
Florian: Is that not as is should be?
Antigone: It just is.
Florian: A thing I thought once is that I do burn in the sun. And all the time I’ve been not burning in the sun, I’ve been lucky. And when I say I don’t I’m ignoring all the occasions that I have.
Antigone: I know you burn.
Florian: But I don’t know I burn.
Antigone: Sexy double-speak.
Florian: Is it?
Antigone: Sure. Ask me.
Florian: I’m interested, tell me.
Antigone: Ask me.
Florian: Oh. Well…
Florian is quiet.
Florian: Have you ever been wrong?
Antigone: Of course. You know that.
Florian: I don’t mean factually, or even that you later came to a new subjective opinion. I mean, have you ever knowingly chosen to be wrong.
Antigone: Morally?
Florian: I guess. I mean…
Antigone: I guess. I guess. I guess. I guess I’ve- the thought that’s flit through my mind is “We know nothing.” But I don’t really think that. I mean, if knowing is anything, then I’m pretty certain about a lot of things. But maybe I’m wrong. Knowingly wrong. Knowingly oblivious to the idea of knowing. Ha.
Florian: Ha.
Antigone: And at the same time, when I entertain that notion, I worry that that’s the easy answer, and a surrender and I need to make some choices. I can’t absolve myself of the responsibility for knowing. I must keep trying, and to do so, I have to let myself know some things. Keep testing my knowledge, but keep getting more and more confident about my predictions for the world around me as I make more and more decisions that bear the weight of my expectations and fulfill them. I’m not always honest about that, though. Who can really know if doing is worthwhile?
Florian: Ah.
Antigone is quiet. Florian and Antigone are still.
Antigone: How have we never had this conversation before?
Florian: There’s always more wrinkles.
Antigone: I don’t think about this often.
Florian: I don’t believe you.
Antigone: I don’t believe myself.
Florian: I’ll know things about you you don’t know about yourself, no matter how self-reflective you are.
Antigone: But I will always know my own face better than you know it.
Florian: Yes. We’ll see different selves in each other and ourselves. But neither image is correct.
Antigone: Nor is either image wrong. We cannot know.
Florian: Oop. It’s not a fleeting thought anymore.
Antigone: I’ll never be angry with you.
Florian: We’ll be cranky though.
Antigone: Oh, absolutely.
They lift each other, wrap each other up, and are gone.
