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l.d. levy plays/and plays

‘cardboard box’

A married man in a low-rent hotel room,with a young woman.
They have just engaged in
‘an overwhelming alternative to the standard sexual fare’.
They talk as they dress.
Each expressing a different view as to what just went on.
He ultimately tells her to stop the head stuff,
she’s not a therapist.She says she’s exactly like a therapist:
“…Cuz I have no interest in seeing you get better,
since I make my money off your confusion.”
He says he’s not confused.It’s not perversion.
It’s exploration.She says,okay.But it comes with a price.
And the price is love.
He disagrees,says he has love.He loves his wife.And this…
‘activity’ is something separate.The young woman says it isn’t so.
He says he loves his wife.She says:
“that’s not love,Arthur.That’s just where you live.
Homeless man sleeps in a cardboard box.Calls it his house.
But we know better.Don’t we…”
He says that she is the one in the room that’s forfeited love.

The play ‘cardboard box’ suggests sexual perverision,
as a perversion of love.
Design and clutter the substitute,the fix,which ironically
takes us further from it.

As the story unfolds,we see this man at home,and in bed
with his wife.
The young woman at home with her boyfriend.
Later in the play,pretending to be a colleague from his office,
the young woman makes an unexpected visit to the home
of the man and his wife,to,in her words:
“…know what love is.”

The themes restate and turn another way,as the couple’s
grad-school bound son,drops in the same night,
and spends the evening with the three of them.

Love.And what we call it.And how we miss it.
And how we replace it.
A cardboard box.
The flimsy shell that holds what is ours.
The fragile place in which we live.