Crushed

legs-in-high-heels-clipart

(PATRICK sits on a couch in a room with a door, and an open window in the back. One of the cushions is removed off the couch and he’s reaching his arm into the cracks, looking for something. PATRICK is waiting for LAURA to come home.)

(LAURA, a young veterinarian, walks on stage through the door, looking haggard. As she enters, PATRICK stops his search.)

Patrick: You haven’t happened to see my cellphone, have you?

(Ignoring him, LAURA lets her purse drop to the floor as she kicks off her shoes.)

LAURA: Not even going to ask me how my day was?

PATRICK: I take it, it was rough.


LAURA: No shit. Never mind, there was way too much shit. Literal shit. Everywhere. Fix that cushion so you can rub my feet.

PATRICK: Fine, but after you can help me find my phone.

(PATRICK replaces the cushion on the couch and LAURA goes over to sit, placing her feet on his lap. Just before PATRICK begins rubbing, LAURA speaks.)

LAURA: I got shit on my shoes.

PATRICK: Yuck. (PATRICK shoves her feet off his lap.) No foot rub then. Just tell me what happened.

(LAURA places feet back.)

LAURA:I’d rather not.

PATRICK: You said, “Shit.”

LAURA: Yup. Rub.

PATRICK: Like literal animal shit? (Pushes her feet away.)

LAURA: What else? It’s not like I’m a real doctor. (LAURA places feet back.) You promised.

PATRICK: I’m guessing a dog.

LAURA: No. Duck. (LAURA swings feet, PATRICK ducks, and LAURA sits upside down on the couch.) I sent Irma home early, so it was just me and the other vet techs. Again, let’s not talk about the damn duck.

PATRICK: I’m trying to be supportive.

LAURA: Then you should keep me from falling, (PATRICK grabs LAURA’s legs and helps her turn right side up, still holding onto her.) or tell me to get out.

PATRICK: Where would we go?

LAURA: We? You’ve never even seen what it’s like over there. You only know what it’s like in here.

PATRICK: We could stay in.

LAURA: I don’t want to do that.

PATRICK: There’s nothing to eat here anyway. Just some tofu and left over takeout.

LAURA: (Laughs.) We could go back and get that duck. It’d roast up real nice and taste delicious with a side of last week’s chow mein.

PATRICK: Duck? …Really? I thought we’d sworn off meat.

LAURA: It’s not like it matters to you.

PATRICK: Well, haven’t changed my mind about it.

LAURA: I’m sure you haven’t, despite doing so in other ways.

PATRICK: (Sigh.) Whatever you say.

(PATRICK grabs LAURA’s legs, flipping her feet back onto his lap and begins rubbing LAURA’s feet vigorously. They sit like that for a few seconds, not saying anything to each other.)

LAURA: What do my feet tell you?

PATRICK: That they’re tired.

LAURA: Wrong. Can’t you understand them? They’re telling, pretty loud at that.

PATRICK: They aren’t.

(LAURA pulls away feet abruptly.)

LAURA: Yes, they are.

PATRICK: Then what are they talking about?

LAURA: Nothing. (stands up, walking out of PATRICK’s reach to stand next to the window and look out.)

PATRICK: But you just said they were talking.

LAURA: No, I didn’t.

(Getting frustrated, PATRICK stands up to be by LAURA. He is invasive in her personal space.)

PATRICK: Yes. You. Did.

LAURA: I said they were telling, not talking. There’s a difference.

PATRICK: Those are the same.

LAURA: Feet don’t talk. But they know. They know what they’ve walked on.

PATRICK: The ground?

LAURA: Sure. And more. I may have walked on duck shit today, but—

(LAURA pulls out a cellphone.)

PATRICK: What! You had my phone. (PATRICK grabs LAURA roughly, trying to get it from her.)

(LAURA throws the phone on the ground, shattering it.)

PATRICK (cont’d): Why’d you do that? (Lets go of LAURA to try and salvage the broken phone) I was looking for it all fucking day. You broke it.
LAURA: I had it with me at work all day.

PATRICK: Why? (Stands up.) I was waiting for an important phone call I was about to get about the job.

(PATRICK goes back to LAURA, pulling her arm back in a painful position.)

PATRICK: Do you enjoy being dependent on me?

LAURA: (Flinching.) Feet.

PATRICK: Just be fucking clear to me.

LAURA: I saw the feet on your phone. That woman’s feet crushing things. Cans, bubble wrap, bugs.

(PATRICK lets go of LAURA and faces the window.)

PATRICK: What else did you see?

LAURA: Everything. And then, you know what happened at work? Irma stepped on the duck, making me think of that disgusting woman in your video. Irma was crying, and I almost fired her right then, until I realized she wasn’t that stiletto cat crushing whore you’ve been watching. But what I don’t understand is why. What is this?

PATRICK: I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

LAURA: I knew you had a fetish, but not this. Not something that goes against us.

PATRICK: Like you putting animals to sleep?

LAURA: Fucking asshole!

(LAURA kicks PATRICK, unexpectedly kicking him through the window.)

LAURA: Oh God.

(LAURA rushes to the window, looking out.)

LAURA (cont’d): Patrick? Can you hear me? Patrick?

(LAURA flees from the window to the door, as she screams.)

LAURA (cont’d): Oh God, he’s crushed!

(LAURA runs through the door and off stage.)

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