Facebook, I am calling time on our affair,
(she looks at the unhoovered carpet) we can still be friends.
(Facebook stares at the ground, grinding
his jaw)
Oh don’t come over all gummy Facebook -
it’s not me, it’s you. (She runs her hands through her unkempt hair – there are dark
circles beneath where her eyes used to be) Okay, it’s us.
Look, Facebook, I’ll be Frank –
(Facebook looks up at her) Oh no not Frank
anyone but Frank, you know how I hate the truth – how the world – hates the
truth.
I’m sorry Facebook – you’ve driven me to
this.
How? I thought we were in love? (Facebook
winks a red eye at her)
We were – we are – it’s just – oh why do I
have to spell it out? (her arms flail about) Can’t you just accept that it’s over? Even, now, I should be with my children -
But think of all the wild late nights, the
euphoria of falling –
Yes, that’s it Facebook, I lost control –
you made me lose control –
But that’s what falling in love is – the
euphoria of falling – we were in this together. (Facebook gleams...blue...forbidden)
And them you bump your head…(she looks at
him sadly, now, he just looks like a blue strapline: faceless)
(Facebook takes her by the shoulders) Don’t
leave me!
(She folds her arms) Okay I’ll visit you
once a week – as long as you promise not to try and contact me when I should be
working or reading or stirring the cheese sauce, or –
That’s enough, I can’t take it any more!
(he turns and flees, and as he does so, she relents, but only a little).
Okay, see you on the weekend! (shouts) And
only on the weekend.
(Facebook exits stage left, sobbing)
She gazes through the window at him. He
trips on the front lawn, one flip-flop bends under his foot. He picks it up,
the ‘y’ strap is broken. He tosses it into a ridiculous hedge in the shape of –
what? – something vaguely organic - and then then lifts his head and walks off
flip-flopless on the back foot. I bet he’s seeing someone else, she thinks. *******.
