So says the woman I play, who calls her husband on his cell phone. She does this because her husband has checked out of it all and gone to live in the stairwell of their building.
I like this couple; she is disturbed by his withdrawal from the world (and to an extent, her), but she understands him and loves him well enough to see that he's been happier now in the three days in the stairwell than he's been in years. So she brings him food and misses him and worries that he'll never come back, and talks to him at 2 am when she can't sleep for the worry that he doesn't want her any more.
He has taken to drawing the bricks in the stairwell, and pictures of his wife. The artist in me knows that the best way to see something is to draw it, to be forced to look at every line, every shadow, to be unable to overlook detail if I'm going to render something faithfully. He tells her via phone that he feels closer to her than ever, and you believe it. It's a lovely scene, and I'm looking forward to getting it really honed.
There are two scenes from this play, and another from another play, in which I play half of a middle-aged couple having a brief argument in a museum. My main scene is a two-person scene between a mother and her pregnant 18-year-old semi-estranged daughter. It's a long scene, and would be considered my "big" scene, but honestly I'm kind of over the whole trite Complicated Mother/Daughter drama. So I look at it as a good chance to practice nuance, and to make lines I don't really buy seem believable. The woman playing my daughter is the playwright's daughter, who is in school in Wisconsin. We've had two readings together, over Skype. It's kind of hard, so I just practice my lines on my own. It's a fun kind of challenge. We'll rehearse in person in the next week.
By contrast, my phone call with husband in the stairwell is fairly brief, but I really love it. The man playing my husband is much younger than I, but he has a nice deep voice and I like him in the part. We still need a little work, but I'm enjoying it.
Last Saturday we had rehearsal, and I was early, so I joined the production meeting at the restaurant across the street. The playwright's younger daughter, who is in 7th grade, was there. She began digging in her mouth and produced a piece of a tooth.
"Mom, it's loose, and I got a piece of it," she said.
I was glad I'd already finished my meal.
"It's slippery," she complained. "I can't really get it."
"Well, what you do," I advised her, "is to take a napkin and -- not at the table, but in the bathroom-- use it to grab the tooth."
Across the street at the theater I suggested I pull it for her. She thought it over.
"No, I'll have my dad do it."
"OK, but tell him that when he does it, he has to say 'Is it safe?'"
She's used to me being a little loopy, and she kind of likes it, so she didn't question my instructions.
Oh, and my husband's reply to my question, in the scene?
"No. But that's a good thing when normal was not so good."