Change of Life
(a ten-minute one-act by Bob Zolnerzak)
Characters: THERAPIST: Solemn middle-aged man.
PATIENT: Confused homosexual, somewhat younger.
Setting: Two chairs facing audience. Described to be in the "Crybaby Room" at the Joyce Theater.
Time: Last night.
THERAPIST. (Annoyed) Now that you've brought me here, what do you want to talk about?
PATIENT. You don't like it here?
THERAPIST. I must admit I'm more comfortable in my own office.
PATIENT. (Embarrassed) But I wanted you to see---"her"---in action; uh, "she" is dancing here tonight.
THERAPIST. Look, haven't we decided it's not helpful when you describe men in female terms? That includes using female pronouns for a man.
PATIENT. (Embarrassed) But---I really am talking about a woman.
THERAPIST. (Annoyed) You brought me here to see a woman dancing?
PATIENT. It'll be OK! I know the manager here! He said no one else would be using this "Crybaby Room."
THERAPIST. "Crybaby Room"?
PATIENT. (To THERAPIST) We can talk, even after the performance starts, and no one can hear us. Most people don't even know it's here. The door's locked: no one else can come in. (Looking out in the direction of the audience): They're coming onstage now: Linda's the one with the feathers on her shoulders.
THERAPIST. (Looks at stage, looks at patient) Linda?
PATIENT. She's the one I want you to---evaluate---for me.
THERAPIST. Linda? For you? Me?
PATIENT. Look---I'm sorry! This is all very new for me.
THERAPIST. (Surprised) New? You've been in therapy for fourteen years!
PATIENT. I know. That's why I trust your judgment of---what would be good for me.
THERAPIST. (Looking back and forth from PATIENT to stage) I'm very confused.
PATIENT. (Patiently) Look, you know I've been having trouble---finding---Mr. Right. OK? A couple of nights ago, a friend invited me to see this dance company. (Pointing into audience as toward the stage) This dance company---and--- (Hurriedly) ---and I think I've fallen in love.
THERAPIST. (Looking at stage) Hmmm. Well, the guy in the T-shirt does have nice pecs.
PATIENT. No! I'm asking you about Linda! The one with the feathers on her shoulders!
THERAPIST. Oh---well---she--- (Turning to PATIENT) It is a "she" that you think you've fallen in love with?
PATIENT. (Uncomfortable) Well, fallen in like with, at least. Look, look! (Pointing at stage) See how gently she places her hand on his upper thigh?
THERAPIST. Ummm. (Dreamily) Wonderful thigh. (Clearing throat) Uh, what do you think about that?
PATIENT. (Rapt) It looks like she understands the male body so perfectly. She knows---look at the way she runs her fingers down his back.
THERAPIST. I could never figure out why some men have that area of hair at the back of their waists. So much like a tuft of pubic hair---on the lower back!
PATIENT. (Not hearing THERAPIST) Look at her balancing on one foot like that. She must have a great tolerance for pain---discomfort, at least.
THERAPIST. (Leaning forward toward stage) He actually has more hair on his lower back than he has in his armpits. (He drops his program, reaches way under his seat to pick it up, then wrinkles his nose and sniffs around seats) What's that strange smell?
PATIENT. (Offhandedly) Probably dried semen.
THERAPIST. (Surprised) Dried semen?
PATIENT. (Still staring at stage) You know---this used to be the Elgin movie-house.
THERAPIST. So?
PATIENT. This balcony used to be famous. Or is the word "notorious"?
THERAPIST. (Looking around in amazement) Oh! This used to be THAT Elgin theater!
PATIENT. That's what I said.
THERAPIST. (Reverently and slowly) The Elgin! Ooooh. I remember. My God. That was a long time ago. They had good movies here.
PATIENT. Who looked at the movies? I'd cruise this very balcony and have outrageous sex. But there was a problem.
THERAPIST. Cops?
PATIENT. No, no---the cops participated as much as anyone. No, the problem was, no one would go home with me afterwards. It was just sex.
THERAPIST. Oh.
PATIENT. Kissing, hugging, jerking off, fucking---anything and everything. There was one guy---
THERAPIST. Do you want me to be analytical?
PATIENT. No, sorry. I'm getting us off the subject.
THERAPIST. What is the subject?
PATIENT. Well, no one would go home with me then, and no one will go home with me now.
THERAPIST. That is a problem.
PATIENT. But I've decided to do something about it.
THERAPIST. What?
PATIENT. I've decided to do something about it.
THERAPIST. (Patiently) What have you decided to do?
PATIENT. I've decided to switch to women.
THERAPIST. (Looking at PATIENT) You've decided to go straight?
PATIENT. Well, not exactly. More like---become bisexual.
THERAPIST. You think you can just---become---bisexual?
PATIENT. Well, you hear lots about men who have been married for years suddenly discovering they're gay and coming out and settling down with another man. Why couldn't I go the other way?
THERAPIST. Isn't it likely that those men were gay all along, but repressed their feelings because society condemned homosexuality?
PATIENT. Probably, in some cases. But maybe some men couldn't get the women they wanted, so they settled for men, who were more available.
THERAPIST. So because you can't get the men you want, you think you can settle for women---who might or might not be more available?
PATIENT. Something like that. (Pause) Why did you say "might or might not be more available"?
THERAPIST. Women can say no to you just as easily as men can say no to you.
PATIENT. I'm not sure that's true. I sure get hit on more by women, recently, than by men.
THERAPIST. Is that a fact?
PATIENT. Sure. Men don't hit on me at all anymore.
THERAPIST. That's not so! Just last week you complained about all the old farts who force their attentions on you at that jerk-off club you go to----
PATIENT. Those aren't men, those are just old trolls who infest the jerk-off club.
THERAPIST. Old trolls infest the jerk-off clubs, eh?
PATIENT. Some nights there's really no one there.
THERAPIST. No one acceptable to your standards, isn't that what you mean?
PATIENT. Of course that's what I mean. If I don't want to go to bed with them, I won't even talk to them, let alone touch them, or---anything else.
THERAPIST. We've talked before about how limiting that is.
PATIENT. I've agreed with that. I just don't know how to change the way I am.
THERAPIST. Maybe that's why I was so surprised to hear you think that you could become bisexual.
PATIENT. (Turning to THERAPIST, calmly) I really hate it when you remember me so well that you can point up my inconsistencies.
THERAPIST. (Turning to PATIENT, calmly) Wouldn't, ideally, that be the purpose of a therapist for a patient?
PATIENT. (Airily) You mean that a relationship could actually work the way it's supposed to work? In this world? With me?
THERAPIST. Unless you have something against that.
PATIENT. Do I hear an echo of your often-repeated totally false idea that I make most of my own problems?
THERAPIST. (Pause) What do you think about that?
PATIENT. (Thinking) You know---I don't think about that.
THERAPIST. Then what are you thinking about?
PATIENT. (Pause, looking at THERAPIST, then looking out toward stage) Look at Linda rolling on the floor. Doesn't her body seem to caress it?
THERAPIST. (Looking at PATIENT for a long time, then looking out toward stage) Look at his legs in the air.
PATIENT. (Staring at stage) Her pointed feet, so sculptured.
THERAPIST. (Pulling out binoculars and focusing them) I guess he's wearing a dance-belt.
PATIENT. (Angry) Stop looking at him, you're supposed to be looking at her.
THERAPIST. (Patiently) No, you are supposed to be looking at her; I have my own permission to look at whoever I want to.
PATIENT. I'm paying you for this session, and for the use of this "Crybaby Room," so I want you to pay attention to my problems---if---you---don't---mind.
THERAPIST. (Putting down binoculars, turning to PATIENT) I'm all yours.
PATIENT. What do you think of my trying to make a date with her?
THERAPIST. For what reason?
PATIENT. To go to bed with her.
THERAPIST. For what reason?
PATIENT. To---uh---I want to---uh---she---uh---
THERAPIST. I thought so.
PATIENT. (Furious) If I want your advice I'll ask for it!
THERAPIST. (Calmly) Funny, I thought that's why you asked me to come here for your session.
PATIENT. (Through gritted teeth) Yes.
THERAPIST. (Pause) So what advice would you like to hear?
PATIENT. (Looking at stage, looking at THERAPIST, looking at stage, self-pitying) Why am I so unhappy?
THERAPIST. I'm not that sure you're all that unhappy.
PATIENT. (Impatiently) I'm working myself up over nothing?
THERAPIST. Would you say that?
PATIENT. (Furious) Of course I'd say that; I just did, didn't I?
THERAPIST. You said it, but you didn't convince me.
PATIENT. (Shouting) I need help!
THERAPIST. (Calm) Help doing what?
PATIENT. Help with---with---my life!
THERAPIST. Could you be more specific, please?
PATIENT. I don't want to be gay anymore!
THERAPIST. Are you sure you mean that?
PATIENT. (Thinking) I don't want to be gay---the way---most people are---gay---today.
THERAPIST. But you aren't "most people."
PATIENT. I don't want to be gay the way I'm gay today. (Thinking) I want to be gay the way I was fifteen years ago!
THERAPIST. Ah.
PATIENT. I was gay then. New York was gay, then. Baths and bars and parties----
THERAPIST. Then!
PATIENT. I don't want to be--- (Thinking) I don't want to be, today.
THERAPIST. I got that.
PATIENT. I--- (looking at THERAPIST) You did?
THERAPIST. That's why I left my dinner, with Frederick, when you telephoned this evening to ask for a special session.
(PATIENT stares at him, stunned.)
THERAPIST. (Pause) I wouldn't ordinarily do this.
(PATIENT stares at him, stunned.)
THERAPIST. (Pause) Your turn.
PATIENT. (Pause) I can't think of anything to say.
THERAPIST. My choice of entertainment this evening would not have been--- (Looking at program) Foofwa d'Immobilité.
PATIENT. (Stunned, then a take) Foof-what?
THERAPIST. (Leaning toward PATIENT, pointing to program) Foofwa d'Immobilité.
PATIENT. (Looking at program) Who on earth is that?
THERAPIST. (Looking at program) Strange name for a dancer: Foofwa de---Immobility!
PATIENT. (Staring at program, speaking slowly) That could be my name: Immobility.
THERAPIST. (Pause) Tell me about it.
PATIENT. (Slowly) I haven't been doing anything. I hate it when I don't do anything.
THERAPIST. What would you like to do?
PATIENT. (Thinking, then in a burst) I want to go back in time! When I was younger! When the world was---different!
THERAPIST. Yes?
PATIENT. I'm tired of thinking about it all. I'm tired of being careful and judging and----
THERAPIST. (Pause) Judging?
PATIENT. What this one would do, what that one would do. Whether this one wants me; whether that one wants me.
THERAPIST. So what do you do?
PATIENT. (Bursting out) Nothing! I don't do a goddam thing!
THERAPIST. (Pause) And?
PATIENT. And nothing happens!
THERAPIST. No---it wouldn't.
PATIENT. But I want something to happen.
THERAPIST. Don't we all.
PATIENT. I want something to happen to me.
THERAPIST. That's what I said.
PATIENT. I want to---to turn back time!
THERAPIST. Wasn't there a song like that?
PATIENT. I don't want to be living now!
THERAPIST. Unfortunately, you don't have a choice---about that.
PATIENT. (Angrily) I know. (Snotty) So I just have to make the best of it.
THERAPIST. Consider the alternatives.
PATIENT. (Shouting) There are no alternatives!
THERAPIST. I'm glad to hear that.
PATIENT. (Thoughtfully) There are no alternatives.
THERAPIST. Tell me about the "no alternatives."
PATIENT. (Snippy) Well, I'm not going to kill myself, and I'm not going to invent a time machine to take me to some other time, and I'm not---
THERAPIST. (Pause) Yes?
PATIENT. I'm not---going to change.
THERAPIST. No?
PATIENT. Well, of course I'm going to change, but I'm not going to change.
THERAPIST. I understand perfectly.
PATIENT. I--- (Turning to THERAPIST) You do?
THERAPIST. Yes.
PATIENT. (Laughing with relief) Tell me.
THERAPIST. You're not going to change who you are, but you're going to change what you do.
PATIENT. (Thinking, with British accent) I think he's got it.
THERAPIST. (Smiling) Yes.
PATIENT. You know? You're not such a bad therapist, after all.
THERAPIST. I've learned a few things after fourteen years.
PATIENT. (Thinking) Fourteen years is a long time.
THERAPIST Yes, it is.
PATIENT. (Looking at his wristwatch) Well, that didn't take very long.
THERAPIST. (Picking up binoculars and looking at the stage) What wonderful biceps.
PATIENT. You're not talking about Linda.
THERAPIST. No.
PATIENT. (Looking at stage) Do you think your dinner with Frederick has gotten cold?
THERAPIST. We were just about finished. Dessert can wait.
PATIENT. Wait? Wait for what?
THERAPIST. Look at that control! How does he do that with his torso?
PATIENT. May I borrow your binoculars, please?
THERAPIST. (Handing over binoculars) Sure.
PATIENT. (Looking through binoculars): God, what a gorgeous body!
THERAPIST. Linda?
PATIENT. No! The guy!
THERAPIST. (Smiling) Oh.
PATIENT. (Looking through binoculars) I love it when they dress "up" in a dance-belt: you can really tell how big it is.
THERAPIST. You're not looking at Linda.
PATIENT. (Looking through binoculars, patiently) No, I am not looking at Linda.
THERAPIST. Good. (He glances through his program) Just who the hell is Foofwa d'Immobilité?
BLACKOUT
END OF PLAY