May 22 Play: FIELD

A Field.

HE is baling hay.

A car door slams, off. A WOMAN enters, stands nearby. Middle aged, flowered dress. She has a camera.

HE keeps working. In time, SHE snaps a photo.

HE
You get my good side?

SHE
Wasn’t looking at you.
I came for the field.

HE
Just a field.

SHE

HE
Too many folks, that’s their problem.
They can’t see the people for the field.

SHE
That so?

HE
Sure. Here, you goa young buck. Handsome guy. Some say.

SHE
Do they.

HE
Browned by the sun.
Made strong by work,
hard work. Heavy work.
Look good in the pages of a magazine,
or in a Hollywood movie.
You City Folk, you come here,
think we’re hicks.

(HE keeps baling.)

I’m no hick, Miss.

(HE keeps baling.)

I got stories.

SHE
You know.

I’m no City Girl.
Born a mile from here.
Lived on this land till I was.
Thirteen.

Something happened here.
I mean.
Here. In the field.

(HE stops baling.)

HE
When.

SHE
I was twelve.

Sometimes I think I’ll always be twelve.
I got stories too.

HE
Alright then, Miss.
I’ll let you be.

SHE
Thanks.

(She turns to go. Hesitates. Turns back.)

Hey.

HE
?

SHE
Here.

She raises her camera.
He poses. Loud SNAP adn flash.
The photo is bright and the light burns,
haloing him and the scene in gold for a moment.
In the lights,
he’s beautiful.

The camera flash fades. Back to normal lights.
In this light, the field is drab.

HE
Thanks.

SHE
Thank you.

They stand.
Lights fade.

End of play.

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