STEALING A KISS

MUSIC (BARBARA STREISAND SINGING ‘THE WAY WE WERE’) PLAYS IN BACKGROUND; A FEW LINES: ‘MEMORIES LIGHT THE CORNERS OF MY MIND. MISTY COLOURED MEMORIES OF THE WAY WE WERE. SCATTERED PICTURES OF THE SMILE WE LEFT BEHIND. SMILES WE GAVE TO ONE ANOTHER OF THE WAY WE WERE’. AN OLDER MAN AND WOMAN SIT A LITTLE APART ON A PARK BENCH LOOKING FORWARD SOMEWHAT VACANTLY (HIM MORE SO). VERY OCCASIONALLY (WHEN IT FEELS RIGHT), THEY TURN TO FACE EACH OTHER. THEY HAVE OBVIOUSLY BEEN THERE FOR SOME TIME. MUSIC CUTS OUT.

W: You do know who Chris is?

M: Do I?

W: Of course you do.

HE SHAKES HIS HEAD.

W: Chris. Little Chris.

M: Little?

W: Big Chris then. Come on! (BEAT) Chris. Chris. CHRIS.

M: There’s no point in just repeating his name.

W: Christopher. Christy. Chrissy.

M: He was never a Chrissy.

W: You do remember, then?

SHORT PAUSE.

M: I never liked him.

W: Chris?

M: His dentures chattered.

W: He never wore dentures.

M: Like he always had frostbite: (EXAGGERATED ENACTING) Ttttttttttt!!

W: I’m not sure –

M: (INTERRUPTING) Joke-shop-teeth-Chris we used to call him.

W: You didn’t.

M: We did. We all did!

W: No, you didn’t.

SHORT PAUSE.

M: No, you’re right, we didn’t. (BEAT). I never knew him. Not really. Not at all in fact.

W: You did. I promise you did. You still do.

M: But his wife?

W: (BRIGHTLY) Yes?

THEY MOVE CLOSER.

M: I liked her!

W: What was her name?

M: She had such beautiful breasts.

W: Wow!

M: Personality, her personality was lovely too.

W:  I heard that.

M: Catherine! That was her name (SLIGHTLY LONGER BEAT, LOST IN REVERIE) Elegant. So elegant. She looked like a racehorse.

W: No, no, I think you always said she moved elegantly like a racehorse.

M: Rode her over the downs.

W: Goodness. Surely not?

M: Held her mane tight and whispered in her ear.

W: A lovely horse then?

M: (THINKS, THEN BLURTS WITH CONVICTION): Albino!

W: What?

M: Palomino! (BEAT) Like her mother. (BEAT) Made the nicest cakes. Her mother. Not Catherine. (BEAT) She wore the nicest shoes. Catherine did, I mean. (BEAT) Not horseshoes, haha (BEAT) No, yes, that’s right, her mother never wore – (STOPS, CONFUSED)

W: And what about dear Jimmy Brambles?

M: A cod!

W: Fish?

M: Hahaha. He was a shyster. A shit stirrer.

W: No, you always liked him.

M: No, I like the words: shyster, shit stirrer. Shy sitter. Sounds good on the tongue.

W: You did like him though.

M: Did I? (BEAT) If you say so.

W: He was your best man.

M: Poor me.

W: He died this morning.

M: Poor him.

W: I’m sorry.

M: Don’t be sorry, no need to be sorry.

THEY MOVE UP CLOSE. SHORT REFRAIN FROM MUSIC STIRRS (WITH NO WORDS).

W: I think we should go.

M: If you say so, yes, okay.

W: You’re on better form today

M: Glad you think that.

W: Yes, and the old you is always in there somewhere, whatever. Those words: (SMILING) shit stirrer, shy sitter. That’s you!

M: And you: it’s like I don’t know you, yet I I’ve known you forever.

W:  You have, you dolt.

M: But when I look in the mirror, I don’t know who I’m looking at anymore.

W: Well, maybe don’t look. I see you; I know who you are.

M: Can I hold your hand?

W: I wish you would.

M: I feel like I want to kiss you.

W: Then you should.

THEY KISS.

W: (LOOKING DIRECLY AT HIM) Chris, it’ll be okay.

M: You moved like –

W: (INTERRUPTING) A racehorse? I know but stay here, Chris, don’t wander off, let’s just hold the moment.

M: Yes, you’re right, I’d like that very much.

W: And we’ll write a card for Jimmy together, later?

M: Who?

W: Jimmy. Jimmy Brambles. Our best man.

M: Another kiss?

W: Another kiss.

THEY EMBRACE. SLOWLY FADES TO DARKNESS.

DIAGNOSES

A two-seater couch in a doctors’ waiting room, centre stage facing the audience. A woman of about sixty in a smart well-worn coat sits alone on the couch looking out at the audience, from time to time chuckling to herself.

A slightly dishevelled man of around forty enters stage right. He looks nervous as he surveys the stage looking for an empty seat. She keeps a laser-like stare on him as he surveys the scene, but he won’t catch her eye; it’s obvious he doesn’t want to sit by her. Nevertheless, she noisily pats the empty couch space beside her and smiles towards him. He walks in the other direction and all around the stage, desperately searching for an empty seat. As he searches, she chuckles to herself again and smiles knowingly at the audience.

He stands frozen, unsure what to do, and then approaches her slowly, dejectedly from the back of the stage, and then comes around the couch to face her. She pretends she doesn’t see him, even as he coughs to get her attention.

M: Excuse me, is this seat taken?

W: The modern advice is to cough into your arm.

He stays standing and then she cheerfully pats the empty space beside her again. He slumps into it with an audible sigh. (BEAT) They both stare at the audience. He coughs, this time as instructed, and she smiles.

W: You may have saved a life with that action.

He shuffles nervously in his seat.

Her attention is taken by a person (*no actors are needed for this: the person’s arrival is brought to life for the audience by her actions/her looking/scrutinising) entering front stage right, walking towards her. Her eyes follow the person all the way until they pass enroute to the (imagined) reception behind her. As they pass, and with exact timing, she addresses the audience:

W: A sorry sight. Not the same since the enemas stopped doing their business. Stomach like a balloon, nothing of him left under his shirt except GAS.  

M: Excuse me?

W: (Turning to address the man beside her) Mister Reynolds. A needle in there and he’d pop. (BEAT) Used to run the alcoholics’ shop in the next village.

M: Did he?

W: He did, until he ran it into the ground (BEAT) along with his wife. Poor dear. Emphysema and (with exaggeration and a shake of the head) V-A-R-I-C-O-S-E VEINS, like drooping grape vines (BEAT). Her dear mother was the same. A (crossing herself) martyr to her legs and the wee bottle, if you know what I mean – she stops, her attention taken by two new arrivals. This time she speaks as they approach rather than waiting for them to pass – ah, poor girl, I didn’t think Rickets still existed – looking up, she smiles up at the mother as she passes, then sympathetically across towards the girl. Then, after they’ve passed: That Sandra Benedict should never have been allowed to have children. It’s like dogs, if you’re not going to look after them, then don’t have them.

The man’s forlorn expression tells us he would rather be anywhere else, listening to anything else, anyone else . . .

W: Why don’t you give it a go?

M: Give what a go?

W: I call it diagnosis before the doctor sees them and kills them off.

M: No, it’s weird. It’s a weird thing to do.

A new arrival. She nudges him in his side with her elbow and talks conspiratorially to him as if they’re somehow now a team. They both look towards the person:

W: Here you go (BEAT): Water on the knee or water on the brain?

M: (Whispering) It’s cruel. I don’t want to do it.

W: (Looking over her shoulder at the person after they’ve passed) Waterworks anyway, a labyrinth of bad plumbing, he’s gone straight into the toilet. Let’s hope he cleans the seat and (crossing herself) flushes afterwards.

M: (Sharply) Why don’t you go and check?

W: In a man’s toilet? No thank you.

M: I don’t understand what you’re doing.

W: I told you, making a diagnosis –

M: (Interrupting) before the doctor kills them off, I know. But what does that even mean?

W: It means what it says (BEAT). So, what’s brought you here?

M: I could ask you the same.

W: And I’d tell you.

He looks at her as if expecting her to answer.

W: You first!

A new arrival. They both look at them as one.

W: Scaffold-pole legs. Arthritis. Easy. Even you could diagnose that.

He smiles, shrugs his shoulders, and ruefully shakes his head.

M: Okay, yes, he looks like he might have arthritis but so what?

W: You tell me (BEAT). Now, for my diagnosis: there’s nothing wrong with me but don’t tell anyone here that.

M: Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with you?

A BEAT.

W: You’re sharper than you look (scrutinising him now, teasingly, mock pointedly) A difficult, different kind of diagnosis I’d say.

M: (Sharply) Don’t do that! (softening) Please, I’d rather you didn’t do that.

A BEAT.

W: You haven’t asked why I’m here if there’s nothing wrong with me – stopping to survey a new arrival, then speaking from the corner of her mouth – was never out of Reynold’s shop, gold card customer (BEAT). Cirrhosis, six months.

M: Six months?

W: Until (miming shovelling), you know (peering down into an imaginary hole). The worst sendoffs too as they’ve normally upset everyone around them and drunk the funds dry. Fish paste sandwiches, bought tea cakes, stale ones mind, no sign of a drink. A miserable experience, altogether.

M: I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before.

W: I’ll take that as a compliment

M: (Laughing) I’m not sure I meant it as one (BEAT) Okay then, why are you here if you’re not ill.

W: A habit. I used to sit here with Norman (BEAT) My husband. A cough. The doctor said it was most likely a virus. Nothing to be done, take paracetamol. It kept getting worse. We came back. The doctor, a different one this time, said maybe it was an infection. Prescribed antibiotics. Only it got worse again. We came back. First doctor again.  Pneumonia this time. More antibiotics. It got much worse (taking in a deep breath), so much worse. Fourth time. Fifth time. After the sixth, he collapsed as we walked through our front door. Went into hospital. Never came out (BEAT). Cancer.

M: God, I’m so sorry.

W: You didn’t kill him (BEAT, then teasingly) Did you? (then looking up at a new arrival) –migraines, should request a scan – the doctors didn’t kill him either. It’s just they should have been more thorough. He might have had more time. A better ending.

M: But what can you achieve by being here?

W: Diagnoses. Sometimes I pass a note to the patient before they leave.

M: (Softly, teasingly) Well, I’m sure they’re very grateful (BEAT) And you do seem good at it. (BEAT) Okay, so what’s mine?

W: I think you’ve had your heart broken and you moved to the town to get a fresh start.

He looks shocked.

W: I’m right, yes?

He nods.

W: And you want counselling or some drugs to make you happier.

M: How did you know all that?

W: I didn’t, it was a guess. Like a lot of diagnoses, just an informed guess.

M: Informed by what?

W: Oh, I don’t know, the white mark on your finger where you’ve removed your ring, your unironed clothes, your sad walk when you arrived.

M: Oh, stop.

W: I hope you’ll find happiness again. (BEAT) I think you will. I’ll (crossing herself) pray that you will anyway.

He stands up.

W: (Slightly taken aback) They haven’t called you in, have they?

M: No, but I think I’ll leave it today.

W: They’ll still charge you.

M: It’s fine, I have my diagnosis now. I’ll be okay.

She smiles warmly. He shakes her hand.

M: Thank You.

He walks away.

She watches him exit. Then, a new arrival takes her attention.

W: (Addressing the audience) Stones, kidney or gallbladder (BEAT) or maybe both.

*

*Stealing A Kiss was performed at Cork Arts Theatre as part of their 10×10 event December 2024 (cast Eithne Horgan & Conal Crossan, Director David Ramseyer), and Diagnoses was performed at Cork Arts Theatre as part of their 10×10 event May 2025 (cast Lorna Hughes & Maeve Murphy, director Rob Cogan).

** Stealing A Kiss was also brilliantly, touchingly brought to life by by my friend, actorJames McManus and Shelagh Stuchbery as part of a fundraising night in Rome for the Rome Savoyards Theatre Group.

***Stealing A Kiss was first published on Books Ireland