Conversation

“(on grief) And you do come out of it, that’s true. After a year, after five. But you don’t come out of it like a train coming out of a tunnel, bursting through the downs into sunshine and that swift, rattling descent to the Channel; you come out of it as a gull comes out of an oil-slick. You are tarred and feathered for life.”
—Julian Barnes, Flaubert’s Parrot—


The time is timeless, but modern. The space is in the form of a coffee shop. There is a sense of familiarity here. Not so much a comfortable familiarity, but an unconscious familiarity. This is a place that seems to be pieced together by pure necessity from bits and pieces of broken and forgotten memory. There are sounds of other patrons but no physical proof of their existence. Shadows without bodies. Counter holding water bottles and various postcards for plays long closed and bands long separated upstage centre. Flower arrangement, wilting, with white day lily, mock orange and rosemary in a red painted vase. A single table with two chairs centre stage. Iggy sits in his chair, facing stage right. Stern, unyielding, and the model of maturity. He is waiting. He is comfortable. He is nervous.

Peter appears out of the ether. Flighty, vulnerable, and earnest. He could easily be mistaken for Iggy in the right light. He is lost in his own thoughts.

PETER: This is a harder place to reach than I remember. [Smells the air. It’s a comfort.] I haven’t kept you waiting, have I?

IGGY: [upstanding, his hand outstretched.] You have, but I’ve started to expect that from you.

PETER: [accepting his friend’s hand.] I tried to get here earlier but –

IGGY: [finishing his sentence.] You were preoccupied. Yes, yes as always. What was it this time?

PETER: Actually, I was going to say I got lost –

IGGY: In thought.

PETER: You can’t really blame me for that, can you?

IGGY: They’re your thoughts; of course I can blame you for getting lost in them.

The two friends sit. A connection is made.

PETER: It’s been some time since–

IGGY: You’ve last been here. Yes, yes it has. And it’s all fine. Everything’s fine. Nothing’s new, everything’s old. It’s all the same… But you’re doing alright?

PETER: Everything’s okay… It’s…

IGGY: But being here is helping, isn’t it?

PETER: I guess. It helps to get away every once in a while. Go back to your roots… Retreat from things… [beat] But enough about me, what’s new in the life of Iggy?

IGGY: New is something we don’t get much of here, Peter.

PETER: Well then… What’s the same in the life of Iggy?

IGGY: You: always taking the focus away from yourself…

PETER: I’m sitting here, in a place I haven’t been in since we were kids, with someone I haven’t seen in yonks. I want to hear what he’s been up to. There’s a formula to this conversation thing, you know. Information is exchanged. Knowledge is gained. Revelations are revealed…How’s it all been?

IGGY: It’s been… Calm. Things may look like they’re about to get interesting… But they never do. Anything worthwhile gets shut away and solved in private. Nothing new ever happens. As if someone won’t allow it to happen…

A silence. Iggy is unfaltering. Peter is blank. Iggy is persistent. Peter cracks slightly. Then recomposes himself.

PETER: This cafe hasn’t changed a bit. I still remember when she bought us here…

IGGY: That’s the thing about memories, I guess: They never change. Everything’s as it should be.  Everything else, on the other hand…

PETER: Did you know that the old bookstore is next door? Remember the times we’d spend –

IGGY: [Beginning to catch some of Peter’s nostalgia] Farting around in there before school? Yes, yes and get to first period English late. And Mrs Gash would chew our ears with lectures about time management and –

PETER: [in a Glasgow accent.] Tel’ oos ta geet aur heeads en tu rea’liteh. [Iggy’s stern demander falters and they both laugh at Peter’s accurate portrayal.] Stawp wanerin’ aroond in yar maind and star’ wanderin’ aroond in tha rea’liteh auv yur cur’nt situ’ashin. [They continue laughing. Iggy seems to savour this short moment of truth.  Peter is stalling. Peter’s accent is now gone.] I thought that bookstore was further down town, though…

IGGY: [a beat of laughter.] She was telling the truth, you know.

PETER: Mrs Gash? Really? C’mon, you hated that woman more than I did.

IGGY: Doesn’t mean she wasn’t telling the truth. It’d do you good to snap into reality every once in a while.

PETER: Reality's a bit too real for me…

IGGY: You’re never going to move on unless you accept that fact. Reality is meant to be real. The world doesn’t stop because one guy’s finding it too hard.

PETER: Well, with what’s going –

IGGY: On with your health. That’s not an excuse, Peter. You and I both know you’re health has nothing to do with this. So now we have gotten through your formalities can we get to what we’re really here for?

PETER: We don’t need to dig up old memories so soon, do we? They’ve all come and gone. It’s over now. How’s your job-

IGGY: Time is ticking …

PETER: Come on, we can still shoot the breeze. We’re friends aren’t we?

IGGY: You’re cracking…

Pause. Peter cracks a little more.

IGGY: We are friends, Peter. I asked you to come here because I’m worried about you. You’re not yourself anymore, I can tell… I know you. You put on a brave face but you’re falling apart. You’re not handling this as well as you think you are.

PETER: It’s all well and good –

IGGY: For me to say that but I don’t know what you’re going through? I do know, Peter.

PETER: I’m –

IGGY: Handling it fine?  Look at yourself, lost in your own cluttered and broken mind pathetically trying to dance around your problem while the solution stares you directly in the face! I called you here so we can get over this. You’re swimming in a sea that’s getting rougher and rougher, and the more you ignore it… This is not something we can just put off until later. Things change and we need to accept that. We need to change with them. I am telling you this as your oldest friend; we cannot hold it in any longer…

Peter’s crack is visible.

PETER: [Quickly becoming anxious.] Something’s missing…

IGGY: You’re changing the subject again. You’re holding on to this and, I can tell you now, things don’t keep well in cracked jars…

PETER: [He is compelled around the room. Taking inventory of his memories. His eyes fall on the flowers.] The lilies are there… and the mock orange… Rosemary… This isn’t the vase I remember. Where’s the vase, Her vase? Where’s the crystal one? The one –

IGGY: It’s gone, Peter.

PETER: The one Mum bought: the one that always sat on the kitchen counter the one—

IGGY: That sat on her coffin?

PETER: Iggy where is it!

IGGY: It’s gone, Peter, as it should be.

PETER: It can’t be gone! I still remember it so it should still be here… [Begins a frantic search] It can’t be gone. It can't be gone- She can’t be gone.

Silence

IGGY: Loss is a terrible thing for a mind to be fixated on. We’re falling apart up here. I’m watching you plummet into a nosedive that I’m powerless to stop. The least you can do is let her go. We can get over this. Move forward and turn this grief into something.

PETER: [pleading tearful anger.] Where is it, Iggy! In the ruins of this shit hole, the least we can do is keep something of her! You heartless piece of... Just... [Iggy remains stern. Peter’s anger melts into mourning] One memory, Iggy… One gleaming crystal vase to remind us- To remind me… I don’t want to forget…

Peter is sobbing.

IGGY: This is pain, Peter. Pain is not good. Pain is a sign that something's wrong…  Yes, it hurt; it always will. But feel it and let it all go. Don’t hold onto it… You’re letting it destroy us.

PETER: I can’t let it all go… Please… One memory, something to look back on. Something beautiful… And glittering. We can get rid of everything else… just not that… Not yet…

IGGY concedes. Stands. Reaches down behind his chair and produces the vase, the brilliantly glittering vase. There is an instant change. Peter scrambles to his feet and slowly moves toward Iggy. Hesitant. Peter strokes the vase, etches it into his mind. Taking it into his hands, he places it on the table and transfers a wilting lily from the flower arrangement into it. Peter and Iggy exchange looks. One pleading, the other caring. Peter falls into Iggy’s arms, collapses into a part of himself as he cracks and shatters. Pained and childlike he begins to wails. The set slowly fades from view as Peter and Iggy embrace.

The vase and lily remain lit.