She – the outside world
He – the outside world
She – inner world
He – inner world
It is a classic, tragic tale of two jerks. It’s a tale of two early middle-aged colleagues, who are stable and firm, responsible and intelligent, a family people. They are bored a bit, and they are getting old bit by bit. And they have been sitting together in the same office for a long, long time. A dozen years. She sits a little further forward. He is somewhat behind her; kind of diagonally. As it happens when you have ten years of work experience, you are constantly bored. And when you are bored, everything comes to your mind. Miracles happen in the head, while outside there are only documents, a stapler, and the occasional bee. As if you exist in two parallel worlds.
Whether those worlds in your head will be interpreted by two or four actors, I leave the decision to you. But I imagine them as four separate characters, in two separate spaces. Or merged. Oh hell, I don’t know. Use your imagination. Aha, yes – for purely practical reasons, to make it easier to follow, we’ll call the internal characters She and He.
He: It’s about your hair. How it falls on your revealed shoulder, and yet it is not revealed. That piece of bare skin, which accidentally happens to be peeking out. And we know that it is not so. You and I both know that’s not the case.
She: It’s about the glance. On my shoulder, and I don’t see it, but I feel it, or I think I feel it, or I hope I feel it, or I imagine I feel it.
He: It is about that movement, about that nonchalant movement. Damn it, it’s like a movie. Does she know what she’s doing? Is it accidentally or on purpose? Is it for me? Is she thinking of me?
She: Is he looking at me? Does he? Why can’t I feel the glance? I should feel warmth and heat. Why can’t I feel him horning me with his eyes?!
He: It seems you masturbate, huh?
She: Your joke is stupid.
He: So, what do you do?
She: What do I do?! I’m reading.
He: You, are you aware of what you are doing?
She: C’mon, chillax.
He: She blushed. She’s embarrassed. She knew what she was doing.
She: Shit, what was I doing exactly? Who knows what it looked like? I overreact, I am overreacting.
He: I like when she blushes. She’s doing that for me. She thinks of me.
She: Ah, he watched. He did watch.
He: Do you have a stapler?
She: I do.
He: Will you give it to me?
She: But he has his own stapler. I saw it yesterday. God, this is like we are in elementary school.
He: Here you go.
He: You’re welcome.
They are silent. They work.
She: And now, what? We’ll keep quiet, shall we?