Betsy says
(The sound of a highway, a warm red desert sunset, heat and dust. BETSY speaks from a great distance. BETSY is transparent.)
This field is endless. In every direction. It swallows me. Gulp. It swallows me whole. Doesn’t even bother to chew.
One year the water stopped. There was a drought and all the melons died. That was when Jimmy was here. Now it’s just me. If there were trees I’d watch them change ó there are not so I watch the melons grow. I’ve been growing too. Getting bigger. I think I want to go east. I think I will go east and when I get there, I think I will look for him, till I find him, and when I find him, then I think I’ll stop.
The sun sets. Night falls deep indigo blue and a starless sky. BETSY sticks her thumb out. Holds out a sign that says “Jimmy.”ù Headlights come up bright on her.
I can see him dreaming. In the morning he’s dreaming. In the morning the sun comes up and he dreams he wakes up and sees my head on his pillow. And he thinks in his dream “if I roll over I will touch her face so gently, so she won’t wake up,” and he moves to do this. He rolls over and opens his eyes to look, and when he opens his eyes I am not there. The space is empty, and his fingers send a wish ó bring her back ó as they rest on his thigh with a sigh and their wish brings me closer.
(Car lights approach. BETSY looks straight at them.)
There’s a knock. He opens the door. It is not me and his belly says, “Betsy” and his mouth says, “hello” and “how’re you doing?” and “come in.” All the while his belly whispers, “Betsy, her, Betsy” sending out a wish, and I get closer.
(A car stops. A radio playing classic rock is barely audible. Sound of a car door opening. BETSY gets in. Sound of a car driving off. Crickets.)