The Fireplace

by Jonathan Eburne

Characters:

K. a middle-aged person (a man but not necessarily so) dressed in an ill-fitting costume in the shape of a large, black capital letter “K.”  He is manifestly embarrassed by the costume, as it is poorly constructed from cardboard and felt, and it is cumbersome.

R. a middle-aged person (a woman but not necessarily so) dressed in a costume in the shape of a large, black, capital letter “R.”  Unlike K, R is far less clumsily attired. Although the outfit is still unwieldy, the “R” is more calligraphically elaborate, and the costume is likewise of a far higher quality of construction. 

N. a youngish person of indeterminate gender. N’s costume, unlike those of K and R, is made of padded, spongy, bright green fabric. N. looks positively cartoonish.

Note: the costumes should make the processes of sitting, standing, and navigating the set furniture a distinctly challenging endeavor. In doing so the characters persistently strive to maintain their dignity but are invariably clumsy.

Scene 1.

K. perches awkwardly on the settee and reaches to the small table for his cup of coffee, which he sips with as much dignity as possible before attempting to return the saucer to its former place. 

R. enters from stage left and circumambulates the living room, inspecting the décor, casting an eye out to the audience in doing so.

R. — I see you’ve redecorated. It looks—

K.—yes?

R.—It suits you.

K.— (shrugs) What did you expect?

R. —(laughs, as if encountering a brilliant stroke of wit) Wait. What’s that from?

K.—I don’t understand. What’s what from?

R.—What you just said. It’s a line from something. 

K.—Is it?

R.—(laughs again, a bit more performatively) Everything you say is hilarious. I love it.

K., in an effort to redirect the conversation, stands up from the settee, but in doing so, knocks over the little table. The empty coffee cup and saucer clatter to the floor.

K.—Can I get you someth (knocks over the table)— Fuck. Damnit.

R.—(with pity) Oh dear, let me help you with that.

R. hurries toward the capsized table, bends down to right it, and stumbles awkwardly herself. R. tumbles to the floor, capsized like an overturned turtle.

K.—Whoopsies! My, my. Ok, there we go. (after managing to turn over and, eventually, sitting up). That’s better.

R. — (trying to ignore K’s ignominious position). I was about to ask if you wanted coffee.

K. —(gazing up at R. from the floor) Oh, yes, that would be lovely. Thank you. 

R. begins to walk toward the kitchen, stage right. He turns around as K. is struggling to hoist herself up from the floor.

R. —Do you still—

K. —No, just black, please.

R. — Very well. I won’t be a moment. (Leaves)

While R. is offstage, N. enters stage left and is unpleasantly surprised to see K. N. freezes and says nothing until K. notices N.’s presence.

K.—Oh! You startled me. I was wondering when I’d get to see you.

N. says nothing.

K.—Come give us a kiss.

N.—I have to go.

K.—(with mounting anxiety) I miss you.

N.—(nodding) Miss you too. But I— I have to go. Sorry.  (leaves)

K.—(calling out to N. as they exit). Send me a selfie! 

R. returns with a mug of coffee that does not match the cup and saucer R. had been drinking from earlier. 

R.—Oh good, you had a chance to say hello.

K.—I suppose we did. (pauses) But you know, I wish—

R.—(censoriously) Do you?

K.—(flustered) I mean, well— I suppose I don’t.  I used to.

R. —What did you expect?

K. briefly looks as though she’s about to reprise her earlier question (“What’s that from?”) but refrains, falling silent instead.

R.—What did you expect?

(Light fades. Blackout).

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