Hydroponics: A Poem, I Think

CHARACTERS
THE REVEREND
PROF.

TIME
Then
PLACE
Elevator.

(Curtains up. Stage empty. Lighting sets up shadows to form a box around the characters, to represent the elevator. They pass a hand-rolled cigarette between them. There is the subtle sound of a fire alarm in the background.)

THE REVEREND: From the beginning.
PROF: The beginning was…
THE REVEREND: Word.
PROF: Yes, Word. Spoken; the speech that creates and destroys.
THE REVEREND: I’m impressed.
PROF: It’s power.
THE REVEREND: Like the good Lord gives. (Pause.) Then…
PROF: So I was drunk.
THE REVEREND: Not surprised. This is how every beginning is.
PROF: Do you want to listen, or not?
THE REVEREND: Of course.
PROF: So I am warped by inebriation and she calls. (THE REVEREND Hisses.) I know. So the first thing that I say is, “Why are you calling me? I’m drinking.”
THE REVEREND: Bad habit, by the way.
PROF: Habit.
THE REVEREND: I believe you have a problem.
PROF: I don’t. You do. With me.
THE REVEREND: So she calls you. And you tell her that you’re killing your brain cells.
PROF: Yes. So the first thing she says is that she’s going to kill herself.
THE REVEREND: Suicide is a mortal sin.
PROF: I don’t believe that that was my initial problem.
THE REVEREND: And it’s illegal.
PROF: So I ask her why.
THE REVEREND: Because she doesn’t have God in her life.
PROF: And she tells me, “It’s because I don’t have God in my life.”
THE REVEREND: All she needed to do was open her arms.
PROF: So I tell her that God doesn’t exist, except within this social construct. Words create Gods. Words create us. The circle has been punctured in its passivity and Word has no meaning.
THE REVEREND: Does she have open arms? AK-47s or a Glock?
PROF: She asks me if I love her.
THE REVEREND: What does love matter?
PROF: I tell her no.
THE REVEREND: Alcohol is much better than love.
PROF: She cries. Over the phone, I can feel her panting for air. She sobs and crumples.
THE REVEREND: Do you change your answer?
PROF: Of course not. I consider myself to be particularly honest.
THE REVEREND: Flaws. They’re inevitable.
PROF: She tells me that all this is my fault. That her death is (or will be) my fault.
THE REVEREND: The Nicean Council.
PROF: What?
THE REVEREND: Best way to deal with it. It’s history. They voted on God. Jesus becomes divine. Jehovaism goes democratic. I wouldn’t have voted. Or at least given a write-in.
PROF: She hangs up on me.
THE REVEREND: Must have killed the buzz.
PROF: I haven’t seen her in three days.
THE REVEREND: Three is a powerful number. Order of magnitude only goes up to three.
PROF: Really.
THE REVEREND. Holy. Holier. Holiest. That’s how it plays out.
PROF: So, I should hear from her soon, like today, right?
THE REVEREND: You should be made aware of her state, yes.
PROF: What if…
THE REVEREND: You would be guilty.
PROF: Her mother told me she left a note.
THE REVEREND: A note.
PROF: It’s in my pocket.
THE REVEREND: Have you read it?
PROF: “I am the alpha and the omega; the beginning and the end.” It was tagged on the urinal. No I haven’t read it.
THE REVEREND: That’s it.
PROF (Opening Note): I Gave Two Weeks’ Notice Check the Drawer Love, (BLANK) PS: Cigarettes are underneath the shoeboxes. Don't let my mother see them.
THE REVEREND: You loved.
PROF: Yes.
THE REVEREND: It ends.
PROF: I’m less than impressed.
THE REVEREND: So were the dead.
PROF: Clay. We’re clay.
THE REVEREND: Put out the cigarette, I hear the fire alarm.
(Blackout.)