a funny thing

"It's so fun to get raped by your vibrator, 'cause—"

I'm sorry-I'm sorry?

KARLA. (At a loss.) ...yes...?

Could you keep it down? Over there? / Could you—

didn't realize someone else was in here. I'll be more quiet. Sorry.

(A whisper.) "It's so fun to get raped by your vibrator, 'cause you don't have to go to the police after, you can just-"

No...

"It's so fun to get raped by your vibr-"

I'm sorry?!

I'm SORRY - what / are you—

I’m being quiet.

That’s not… the point!

Okay, well would you care to illuminate for me what you believe "the point" / to be...?

The point is that you are not the only person in / this room.

I told you I didn't realize someone else was / in here...!

You didn't "realize" someone / else was "in here"?!

No! I told you, I thought it was just me / and my-

You didn't "realize" there was a sixty-five-year-old woman fighting with every fiber of her being to combat a rapacious case of ovarian cancer in here? You didn't / "realize" that?!

Why are you talking to me / like this..?!

Why am I "talking to / you" like—

KARLA. Why are you talking to me like I'm some kind of fucking / idiot?!

Why are you acting / like some kind of-

KARLA. You told me to be quiet and that's what I'm fucking / doing:

Hey-language! / Language!

KARLA. What-language"?! Are you my fucking / preschool teacher?!

We are in a hospital!

KARLA. I noticed!

There are ladies present!

KARLA. I'm a fucking lady!

Oh, hah. / HAH!

KARLA. You don't know! You don't even know what I look like, 'cause you're not man enough to pull aside this fucking curtain and come over here and belittle me / to my face!

Oh that's it. / That's IT.

KARLA. That's what? What are you / gonna do?

I'm...getting a nurse!

KARLA. (Laughs, incredulous.) You're "getting a I nurse"?!

 I'm-getting a —hospital / administrator. I'm-

KARLA. (Cruelly mocking him.) "I'm calling my mommy-I'm telling on / you!

I'm sorry? / I'm SORRY?

KARLA. Oh, I don't think you're "sorry" - I think you, my friend, are the opposite / of sorry.

It's an expression. / Jesus!

KARLA. It's an "expression" that little pansies use, cause when you say— (Cruel imilation.) "I'm sorry?" "I'm SORRY?" (Back to her voice.) —what you're really saying is that you think I should be sorry.

You say— (Even crueller imitation.) "I'm sorry?! I'm SORRRY?!" (Back to her voice.) — as a passive-aggressive attempt to control me / and tell me what to say-

Oh / I know exactly where this is going...

KARLA. —because even though you don't know me (I'm just a fucking plastic curtain to you, you can tell from the sound of my voice that l am a young woman-

Yup! / Heeere we go...

KARLA. —so in your terribly insecure / imagination—

Are / you always like this? Do you have friends?

KARLA. -that signifies that you are in a position of power over me, an imagined fact that translates in your emasculated fantasy-brain to carte blanche permission to fucking talk to me / any way you feel like, I guess, because-

Dear / god what happened to you in your miserable childhood to make you become this person?!

KARLA. (Barreling through, ignoring of his interjections.) —your terrifyingly immature subconscious tells you that THAT is the one way you can feel powerful when you are in the midst of the most castrating powerlessness of your life, wherein your mother is dying of cancer over there and you are completely powerless over THAT.

You're a little bitch, you know that?

KARLA. (Attempting a measured tone.) Of course I "realized" there was a sixty-five-year-old woman fighting cancer in here-just also "realized" that she was sleeping, as she has been all day, as my mother has been 1o0, because they're on a shitload of painkillers and they feel like fucking shit because they have fucking cancer, okay? And when you're sleeping all day that means that you can't hear what anyone else is saying, so I thought it wouldn't hurt anyone ifl practiced my new bits in here for my mom, okay? Because this is what we like doing, okay? (Very impassioned.) THIS. IS WHAT WE LIKE! DOING!!! (Represses a little sob.) When she's awake...!

Your new "bits"?

KARLA. Yes.

What are you talking about. What are "bits"? I actually literally have / no idea what bits are.

KARLA. Oh my god are you stupid? "Bits" is a term we use in comedy-I'm a stand-up comedian / for christ's sake-

I / don't care!

KARLA. —and I'm trying to generate some new material here because I haven't had any new material in like six fucking / months-

In / what realm of reality would I possibly give a—

KARLA. so I'm like grasping at fucking straws here, okay, and I really don't need you like breathing down my neck and trying to like edit me-

I'm / not trying to edit you, I just want you to SHUT. UP!

KARLA. —when what I'm doing actually has nothing to fucking do with you, I'm just trying to like be creative and get some bonding time in with my mom!

YOU CAN'T DO BOTH! You can't both be creative and get "bonding time" in with your mom! I mean, what else do you want to do—get an herbal colonic while you're at?!

KARLA. What the fuck is wrong / with you?!

NO, what the-F-is wrong with YOU and your self-obsessed hipster ME GENERATION?! Your mom is in the hospital with cancer. Things are not looking good. Things are looking, in fact, pretty grim. So GIVE UP THE COMEDY FOR A HOT SECOND. LET IT GO. PUT IT ON THE BACK BURNER. Oh, and here's a radical idea: drop the VIBRATOR JOKES and FOCUS ON YOUR MOM!!!

KARLA. I AM FOCUSING ON MY MOM. And she fucking LIKES VIBRATOR JOKES!!!

Yeah. Seems like they're really killing over there.

KARLA. You know what? You don't know anything about me OR my mom OR her fucking cancer / or-

No, I don't. / I don't know anything about your mom.

KARLA. No. You don't!

You're right! I don't know your mom's name. I don't even know what your mom / looks like.

No, you don't. You don't! / You don't.

She was just moved into my mother's room this morning! How could I know / anything about her?

KARLA. Exactly. / Exactly.

 I don't even know what your mom's favorite color is, what her favorite scent is, what her favorite-

KARLA. Oh / you're an asshole.

—National Park is, what her favorite pet name is, her favorite sexual / position...

KARLA. You're a fucking / sociopath!

DON. I don't know any of these things, and it doesn't matter-because I still know your mom. Do you know why? Do you know why?

KARLA. Go DIE.

Because shes in the gynecologic oncology unit. And I know now, that those things about your mom that "make her who she is? Those things don't matter anymore. Because everything your mom is? Everything she likes? Everything she hates? Everything you love about her? Everything you hate? Everything she does that drives you crazy? Everything she says that gives you nightmares? Everything that you have spent the last ten years complaining about to your shrink? You will find yourself praying - praying, little girl- that she could do those things one more time. Because all your mom is now is cancer. That's it. That's all. You'll see. You'll see. That's all she is now. You'll see.

KARLA. My mom's never been sick a day in her life. This was just...a fluke. And they caught it early. So.

Uh-huh.

KARLA. And she had a hysterectomy. So.

Uh-huh.

KARLA. I mean it was just Stage 1! Endometrial. Papillary serous carcinoma. But still. She’s gonna be fine.

Uh-huh.

KARLA. What do you mean, "UH-HUH"?

Nothing.