by Aidan G. Oates

“L’enfer, c’est les autres”
“Hell is other people”
—Jean-Paul Sartre

 

SETTING: A waiting room in Hell. It looks remarkably like the waiting room at the DMV. There are several chairs set up in a row. A table sits in front of them with an overabundance of tabloid magazines.

(At rise: In one of the chairs is BEN, absentmindedly leafing the pages of one of the magazines. An elevator DINGS.)

SATAN: (over an intercom) Now arriving in room 57-B. One of our infernal representatives will be with you shortly. Please pardon the wait, and enjoy your stay in Hell.

(REBECCA enters from offstage. BEN looks up at her.)

REBECCA: Oh, for fuck’s sake—

BEN: Nice to see you too.

REBECCA: (turning to leave, calling offstage) Hello! I need a different waiting room, please.

BEN: That’s not how it works, Bex.

REBECCA: (turning back to BEN) You don’t know how it works, don’t pretend like you know how it works. (then, calling offstage) This is really important! Send the fucking elevator back!

BEN: Bex—

REBECCA: (back to BEN) Don’t call me that. It’s Rebecca. Actually it’s nothing, since you shouldn’t even be talking to me.

BEN: (a beat) You can still call me Ben.

REBECCA: Fuck you!

BEN: You already did! Physically, emotionally, mentally—

REBECCA: Mentally—?!

BEN: You broke my brain Bex.

REBECCA: Don’t do that.

BEN: Sorry, Rebecca—

REBECCA: No, no! I meant—making it all about me. Whatever happened with us wasn’t my fault—

BEN: (bullshit tone) Really?

REBECCA: It wasn’t ALL my fault. You’re at least 60 to 70% responsible.

BEN: Fuck off, I’m 20% at most—

REBECCA: (indignant) You LEFT.

BEN: And now that you’re back in front of me, I can’t imagine why! You’re too intense. It scares me.

REBECCA: I’m passionate.

BEN: You’re unstable.

REBECCA: I’m spontaneous. I thought that’s what you liked about me.

BEN: It was.

REBECCA: Then why did you leave?

BEN: It WAS.

REBECCA: Fine. But you never told me that. You never said anything. I didn’t even see you go; you were just gone!

BEN: You read my letter?

REBECCA: “I don’t want to see you anymore. Goodbye. – Ben.” Compelling fucking prose, Ibsen would be proud.

BEN: Is it so hard to believe that that was it? I didn’t need a reason to leave. We weren’t married—

REBECCA: You left without saying goodbye. I went to sleep thinking you loved me and woke up to learn that you didn’t. I put so much of my life into you, you bastard. I shared everything. You made me feel everything that you could feel about a person, and then you disappeared. What— what right do you have—? To just DO that to someone?

BEN: (a pause) I didn’t mean to hurt you.

REBECCA: You didn’t care about sparing me either.

BEN: I needed to do what was best for me.

REBECCA: Like you ever did anything different?

BEN: Which is it, Rebecca? Is it always about you, or is it always about me?

REBECCA: I don’t know. I’m angry. Is it wrong for me to be angry? Just let me be angry!

BEN: You’re always angry! You were always angry! You’re entitled, and you throw tantrums when you don’t get what you want. I couldn’t tell you in person because I was fucking scared of you. You wanted me, you had me, you fucked it up, DEAL WITH IT!

REBECCA: YOU WANTED ME FIRST!

BEN: THAT’S NOT RELEVANT!

REBECCA: FUCK YOU!

BEN: FUCK YOU!

REBECCA: GODDAMN YOU!

BEN: I’M WITH YOU AGAIN, HE ALREADY HAS!!

(Silence. A long pause. They stare at each other.)

REBECCA: (broken) You hate me that much?

BEN: (a beat) No. Do you?

REBECCA: I wish I did. I loved you, you asshole. (She sits down next to him.) I’m sorry. For whatever it is that pushed you over the edge. I really am. You were everything to me.

BEN: I never asked for that. I never craved obsession.

REBECCA: I know. When I was alive, I thought about you too much, and every time it was something different. Sometimes I really did hate you, sometimes I missed you. I rehearsed this exact argument in my head over and over again.

BEN: I could tell. Your performance was a little wooden.

REBECCA: (She laughs.) It’s hard to move on when you don’t have answers. But I did try. I really tried.

BEN: I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve given you answers, but I’m not even sure I had them at the time. I just knew things had to end. (He pauses for a long time.) I never thought about you.

REBECCA: I know.

BEN: How—

REBECCA: Because you’re you and I’m me.

BEN: Hot and cold.

REBECCA: (flirting) But you were the hot one. (BEN laughs.) I wish we’d met later. I’d never been in love, I didn’t know how it worked yet.

BEN: Have you been in love since?

REBECCA: I think so. It feels different every time.

BEN: And it never gets easier. (REBECCA rests her head on BEN’S shoulder. He allows it.) I’m glad we met when we did.

REBECCA: Why?

BEN: Without you, I wouldn’t be the person I needed to be to be happy. To be able to have this conversation with you. Thanks. (The elevator DINGS!)

SATAN: (through the intercom) Benjamin Paul, your time has come! We apologize for the wait, please proceed to the elevator and welcome to your new life of eternal torment! (BEN stands up.)

REBECCA: Wait—

BEN: I have to.

REBECCA: We were so close that time.

BEN: There’s no fixing this.

(He begins to leave. She gets up and grabs his arm.)

REBECCA: Please don’t leave again. Please we can make it work, I know we can make it work. I know what to do this time, what to say. We can—

BEN: No, Rebecca. No. (He pulls himself away from her. He exits. REBECCA looks distraught. Then the lights flicker, and there’s a change in her demeanor. She looks confused. She examines the room, thoughtfully. She sits down and begins reading one of the tabloids. The elevator DINGS.)

SATAN: (over the intercom) Now arriving in room 57-B. One of our infernal representatives will be with you shortly. Please pardon the wait, and enjoy your stay in Hell.

(BEN enters. REBECCA looks up at him.)

REBECCA: Oh for fuck’s sake—

BEN: Nice to see you too.

END OF PLAY

Aidan Oates is an actor, playwright, storyteller from Waxhaw, North Carolina. Though he spends most of his time onstage, he also enjoys writing and has written several short plays, as well as two full-length works. He hopes that his works, above all else, bring his audience catharsis, either through laughter, tears, or something in between.