Stageplay
CAST:
KIT, 30s–50s
DELIA, 30s–50s
SETTING:
Kit and Delia’s House, morning
“Hibernation is a covert preparation for a more overt action.”
– Ralph Ellison
* * *
A kitchen. KIT is sitting at the table having a bowl of cereal. He’s wearing pajamas. DELIA walks in, also wearing pajamas.
KIT: Sleep well?
DELIA: This year was good.
KIT: Mmm feels different.
DELIA: Well, we started a week early. I told you—
KIT: You were right.
DELIA: Is there more cereal?
KIT: There’s plenty.
DELIA: But wait.
KIT: Yeah?
DELIA: Milk?
A beat.
KIT: I put in an order before we—
DELIA: Ohhhhhh.
KIT: Remember, back in December, I said I was going to—
DELIA: Smart. Very smart.
KIT: I knew I was going to want to have cereal when I woke up.
DELIA looks outside the kitchen window.
DELIA: Rain.
KIT: It’s spring.
DELIA: Spring rain.
KIT: It’ll stop.
DELIA: When?
KIT: Check the weather.
DELIA: After cereal.
DELIA sits down. There’s another bowl on the table.
DELIA: Wait. Did you—?
KIT: I knew you’d want cereal.
DELIA: How do you know everything?
KIT: I’ve been doing this longer than you.
DELIA: By one year.
She begins to eat the cereal. A beat.
DELIA: Hey.
KIT: Yeah?
DELIA: I missed you.
KIT: You were asleep.
DELIA: You weren’t there.
KIT pushes his cereal around for a second.
KIT: You didn’t know I wasn’t there, Delia.
DELIA: I felt like I knew.
KIT: It’s not a good idea for two people to do it together in the same bed. It messes
with the—I don’t know. The cycles or whatever. I was right across the hall in the
guest room.
DELIA: Last year, I dreamt of you.
A second. She debates saying it.
DELIA: I didn’t dream of you this year.
KIT: You probably did. You just don’t remember.
A beat.
DELIA: I want to say what I want to say before I lose my—you know, my nerve.
KIT: Your nerve?
DELIA: I wanted to say it last year when we woke up, but then I—yeah, I lost my nerve
and I didn’t say it.
A beat.
DELIA: I don’t know if I want to do this again.
A moment. KIT stands up.
DELIA: Kit?
KIT: I’m just going to go for a walk.
DELIA: It’s—raining.
KIT: It’ll stop.
DELIA: I’d like to talk about what I just said.
KIT: I can’t—Delia, I just woke up.
DELIA: So you want to talk about it later?
KIT: I—sure.
DELIA: When will later be? What kind of later?
KIT: I don’t know. I—I don’t know.
DELIA: You don’t want to talk about it?
KIT: I don’t know what there is to—I don’t know.
DELIA: You know that I feel differently about it than you do. I always have.
KIT: But you do it.
DELIA: I do it, because we’re married.
KIT: But we’re not—we’re not the same person.
DELIA: No, but I don’t like the idea of going about my life for months at a time while you’re sleeping.
KIT: So it’s better if we’re both sleeping?
DELIA: It’s better, because we go to sleep together—or somewhat together—
KIT: The next room, Delia.
DELIA: —And I wake up, and you’re there, and it’s like we’ve been asleep for a night instead of for an entire season.
KIT: When I told you about the initial study years ago—
DELIA: Kit—
KIT: You were the one who was excited. You were the one who thought it was fascinating that humans could hibernate.
DELIA: It was fascinating.
KIT: And it’s not anymore?
DELIA: Kit, I want to live my life.
KIT: We are. We are living, Delia. Remember how much we used to hate the winters?
DELIA: Yes.
KIT: It being dark so much of the time. The cold. The snow. The—
DELIA: That’s not why we hated the winter.
A beat. KIT sits down.
KIT: I’m not ready to stop.
DELIA: Are we going to talk about—
KIT: It wasn’t all about the winter.
DELIA: There was ice on the road when he—
DELIA: You want to sleep through a quarter of our lives just so you don’t have to be reminded of—and I get it. You think I don’t feel the same way? But I don’t just think of him in the winter. I think of him all the time. Everyday. As soon as I opened my eyes this morning—
KIT: It’s the same for me.
DELIA: I feel—like he’d be mad at us.
KIT: Why?
DELIA: Because we’re throwing away so much time. So much time with each other.
KIT: I’m right across the—
DELIA: You might as well not be here at all.
A beat.
KIT: If I keep doing it—
DELIA: This wasn’t an ultimatum.
KIT: But if I do?
A beat.
DELIA: It’s the risk of going to sleep, isn’t it? You go to bed, you wake up, and when you wake up, something’s changed. It might be something small. You might not even notice it. Or you might wake up alone. You might wake up and go looking for the person who … And they’re not there. The house is empty. It can happen if you go to sleep for months. It can happen after only a night. I can’t tell you if I’ll stay if you hibernate again next year. I know I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t do another year.
A beat.
KIT: Maybe we can talk about this again in the autumn.
A moment.
DELIA: All right.
DELIA pushes her cereal around with her spoon.
DELIA: But it’ll be here before you know it.
KIT: You’re right.
DELIA puts the spoon down.
DELIA: I’m really tired. Isn’t that strange. That I could be so tired?
She picks up her spoon again, but only holds it in place. KIT just looks down at his bowl. The rain stops. Lights fade.
Matthew Moore is a playwright originally from New England. Their work has been featured at the Toronto Fringe Festival, Boston Theater Marathon, Two Oceans Theater, and Durango Arts.