Two men, Pablo and Andrew, face each other.
An unseen Priest stands upstage of them.
Pablo turns to the audience/congregation.
PABLO: So, we wrote our own vows and stuff.
ANDREW: Then we memorized them and they say a lot about the kind of love we want to express to each other.
PABLO: They say the things we never really say in this hugely titanic struggle it can sometimes be just to survive, day to day.
ANDREW: We went through how many drafts?
PABLO: Because we wanted to capture something that can’t be caught.
ANDREW: To swear in front of these friends here today and our somewhat bewildered family members—yes, I mean you, Aunt Rosa—and to swear, also, before whatever great, loving, immense, fearless, life-loving force put this beautiful man on this beautiful Earth for me to admire and devour . . .
PABLO: God is great. God is good. ¡Viva Dios!
ANDREW: To swear to listen. To swear to protect. To swear to applaud. To swear to cultivate the right kinds of silence.
PABLO: To swear to criticize in the most constructive manner.
ANDREW: To swear patience despite the ever-accelerating kick-ass of time.
PABLO: To swear peace even when, inside our minds, a war may rage, a storm may destroy the simple order of our thoughts and our souls.
ANDREW: To swear to never skip a day, phone it in, or coast easily through the few God-given hours we were blessed to take home.
PABLO: To swear an honest love, unblemished with lies, words that carry the simple codes of desire and want, openly, unashamed, unafraid.
ANDREW: To swear to be a guardian of your health.
PABLO: To swear to be the armed guard of your trust, your secrets, your private joys.
ANDREW: To swear to be the landlord of the hidden places where you are most vulnerable, the dark corners where you go to cry . . . I promise to wait there with strength and an ample shoulder . . . and other bodily comforts should the need arise.
PABLO (To the congregation): He improvised that last part! (Laughs) To cage your dragons and teach them to behave.
ANDREW: To dream your dreams for you when they’re too big for you to carry and kill the dark angels of your doubts and smooth the road ahead so you may walk into your sunshine and claim what’s rightfully yours.
PABLO: To teach you to salsa dance.
ANDREW: To teach you to appreciate haggis.
PABLO: Ay, Dios, this is going to be harder than I ever imagined!
ANDREW: If marriage is about love, why would we want to reduce the amount of love in the world? If everything goes up—from the temperature of the clouds to the blood count of wars and the kids who die and die—then why can’t the amount of love in this sad, old battlefield go up as well?
PABLO: I look at you and want to love you more. I see eyes that see me as I am. I speak words to a man who hears the anguish in my voice, knows where to find the laughter inside, can turn mere words into the music of compassion and pleasure.
ANDREW: I say good morning and he hears a Neruda love sonnet. I wake up looking like a creature from a Guillermo del Toro movie and this bright man, with an angel’s eyes, sees somehow something that moves him to smile and not run away screaming to the nearest former boyfriend.
PABLO: Don’t worry, dear, they’ve all been banished to a galaxy far, far away.
ANDREW: Then why are half of them in this church?
PABLO: Okay, now, back off!
(Andrew reaches into his pocket, takes out a ring.)
ANDREW: I have a ring in my hand, querido. It’s made of the minerals of my absolute affection for you. It’s inscribed with the tears of joy you make me cry when you don’t even suspect you’re doing a thing to me. It’s worth more to me than all the world’s supposed treasures because this simple circle fits around the infinite space that is the length and breadth of my adoration.
(Andrew slips the ring on Pablo’s finger.
Pablo reaches into a pocket and pulls out a ring.)
PABLO: With this ring, precioso, I thee wed. I thee take. I thee embrace. I thee celebrate. I thee wash from head to toe. I thee articulate. I thee hold, through doubts and fevers and loss and the sweet, melancholy and eventual crumbling of our well-worn bodies.
(Pablo puts the ring on Andrew’s finger. They hold hands.)
ANDREW: And from this day forth, I will lie with you . . .
PABLO: . . . in a bed of flames . . .
ANDREW: . . . in a bed of soft, lingering hope . . .
PABLO: . . . in a bed of moonlight . . .
ANDREW: . . . in a bed of ice cream and cake . . .
PABLO: . . . in a bed of spinning asteroids . . .
ANDREW: . . . in a bed of circus clowns . . .
PABLO: . . . in a bed of exclamation points!
ANDREW: And finally . . .
PABLO: . . . in the quiet, earthy, wormy, deep, secluded, cozy, encompassing, ravaging—and utterly nasty nasty juicy yummy little bed of our final rest.
ANDREW (To the congregation): He improvised that last part.
(Andrew and Pablo kiss.
Lights to black.)
END OF PLAY