Ryan's Hope
Spring 1983

Back to Scene II
Scene III
(Jack and Leigh discuss her leaving some of her things at Jack's apartment.  FLASHBACK to Mary surprising Jack by bringing a chest of drawers from the Ryan's apartment.)
(Jack fusses about the things Leigh has left in the apartment.)

Jack:  Who lives here, anyway? 

Jack and Mary:  I do. 

Jack:  Damn right.  Make sure you don't forget.  (put's Leigh's book beside door)

Jack and Mary:  Here it'll trip somebody.

Jack:  Probably break my leg.  I'll thank Miss. Kirkland.

Mary:  That'll show her.

Jack:  Show her the way out.

Mary:  You want her out?

Jack:  Mary, I need to do my work in my own home with things the way I want them.  My home.  (Sees Leigh's raincoat.)  Okay, okay, okay, forget it.  That's it.  That's it.  Look, she's terrific (tosses raincoat into paper bag).  I like her a lot, but I need what I need and I gotta have my space or I can't function.

Mary:  And that's the way you are.

Jack:  That's the way I am, yeah.

Mary:  Correction.  That's the way you were.

Jack:  Yeah.  Order things, structure things, privacy for God's sakes. Can't even move about in my own home because of Leigh Kirkland.  Can't breathe around here.

Mary:  Oh, where have I heard that one before?

Jack:  It was entirely, completely, fundamentally different with you. Look, how could she care so much about this book and then just leave it behind.  This great, great book and she dumps it like so much garbage.

Mary:  She left it for you.

Jack:  With 50 pages to go herself?

Mary:  And the raincoat was drying.

Jack:  Yeah, well, let it dry where she lives.

Mary:  And you are scared to death.

Jack:  And the brush?  Pretty soon I'll have her makeup on the sink and her stockings on the back of chairs and her shoes everywhere.  Talk about falling flat on my face.

Mary:  Scared to death you'll fall flat on your face.  This woman's getting through to you Jack.  Past the armor, past the hides, way in there under your skin.

Jack:  It's not true.

Mary:  It is true.  And all the old stuff's coming up, everything you used on me, but the fact is you do know how to share your space.  You learned how with me and even more when Ryan was born.

Jack:  Will you shut up?  (drinks coffee)  This is lousy.

Mary:  The first time I moved in here, you could not empty one drawer for my things.  You were physically unable to make room for someone else.  Remember?

Jack:  First she gets involved up to her ears with that book and then she totally abandons it right there.

Mary:  Listen to me.

Jack:  No.

Mary:  And the next time I moved in, I had the audacity to bring grandfather Ryan's dresser from the basement under the bar.  Full of cobwebs, big as a house and didn't you pitch a bloody fit?  But you were better than you'd been about this dresser (points to dresser he wouldn't share the first time she moved in) and you kept getting better.  When Ryan came along, once you got used to it, you just made a deal, broke through the wall to the next apartment and got her a bedroom.  So the fact is, Fenelli, you're a pro when it comes to sharing your own things. What's going on with you and the brush and the books and the bla bla has nothing to do with privacy, it has to do with fear.

Jack:  One would think that at least in my own head, I could change you into something other than the world's most insufferable  know it all.

Mary:  A know it all who thinks that you should be able to face yourself.  I mean have a little bit of guts.  Huh?  Two minutes worth anyway.  Could you not run away for two minutes?

Jack:  Okay, what scares me? 

Mary:  What's always scared you?

Jack:  Not women

Mary:  Good Shepherd.

Jack:  There's a damn good reason to be scared of Good Shepherd.  Look I had parents and a house one day, and a picture of my mother and whole bunch of nuns and orphans the next.  I was dumped in with 140 lost kids like so much garbage, sure I was scared, of being trampled if nothing else.

Mary:  Dumped.  Like Leigh dumped her book.  Like I dumped you by dying.

Jack:  Oh stop it.

Mary:  You never let a single, solitary soul close to you 'til you let me.  Then I forced myself in and promised I'd never leave you and look at you now.

Jack:  I wasn't alive until I met you.

Mary:  I made you hurt.  Oh, loved you too, but lots of pain came with it.  I stuck you with a kid, guaranteed we'd work out a life together then promptly checked out.  Great gal, that Mary. 

Jack:  Look, I did what I wanted to do.  You made me this, you made me that.  You give me credit.  I let you get close and I changed and I grew and now I'm standing on my own two feet, I'm coping just fine, loving the kid and minding my own business.

Mary:  Oh yeah.

Jack:  Yeah, and I'll tell you something else.  I can't be abandoned unless I abandon myself.

Mary:  Those are very wise words.

Jack:  Thanks.

Mary:  And I said them to you one night about five or six years ago.

Jack:  You are impossible.

Mary:  I'm right.

Jack (exasperated):  Yeah, you bet, you're right.  You are right.  You're always right.

Mary:  I said that too.

Jack:  Damn right.  Every loving time.

Mary:  You know I haven't left you.

Jack (softening) :  Sort of.

Mary:  That's good.

Jack:  I know it better sometimes than others.  I do get scared.

Mary:  Sure you do, Jack.

(Phone rings, it's Leigh. When Jack is finished talking and turns around Mary has disappeared.) 

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