(In the darkness we hear a cello solo. Lights come up slowly on two people, seat-belted and hanging upside-down from a metal cage. They are in a simulated cockpit at the bottom of a swimming pool. John is a young man, about twenty-three years old, who is a Marine is Vietnam. Mary is his future daughter, about eighteen years old. John is trying to get out of his seatbelt and escape the cockpit.)
MARY
My father is a soldier. No, my father was a soldier.
JOHN
Upside-down...
MARY
...turned around...
JOHN
...at the bottom of a swimming pool.
MARY
He was in Vietnam.
JOHN
I going to Vietnam.
MARY
Upside-down.
JOHN
Turned around.
MARY
He used to do crazy stuff. Once he had to escape from a simulated cockpit, ten feet underwater. There were scuba divers around to help him if he started to drown, or anything, but it was still crazy. Wild. He was trapped there for a few minutes at least, upside-down...
JOHN
Turned around.
MARY
And this is strange to me...
JOHN
...upside-down....
MARY
...turned around, because he's my father...
JOHN
Trapped, at twenty-three years old.
MARY
(overlapping)...fifty-four years old. I sometimes forget that he was alive... (John's movements grow more frantic. Mary watches him for a brief moment.)...before me.
MARY
Dad? (No response.) Dad? Hey! (Mary puts her hands on John's face and turns his head toward her.
JOHN
(John pushes Mary's hands away.) I can't pay attention to you right now. I need to concentrate on getting out of here. (John goes back to his seatbelt.)
MARY
(She reaches out.) Maybe I can do something...
JOHN
No. You're not supposed to help me. It's against the rules.
MARY
What rules?
JOHN
(He motions upwards.) Their rules. I'll tell you if I absolutely need you.
MARY
I can't get you out of here if you start drowning.
JOHN
(Alarmed.) Why not?
MARY
I'm not one of those scuba divers. I don't even know how to undo the latch on the door.
JOHN
Sit still, then. Let me figure this out.
MARY
(After several moments.) Hey, what are you thinking about? (Pause.) I can't tell what you're thinking about. (Pause.) I know you must be thinking, probably about how you're going to get out of here, but how am I ever going to know? I'm not even going to be born for another ten years yet. (Pause.) I'm sure you're scared. I would be too. Terrified. But, it's OK, because if I'm going to be in your life eventually, things are bound to turn out all right. If you knew about me, maybe you wouldn't be so scared. I know this is only a swimming pool, but it's also Vietnam. It's going to get real from now on. Scarier than this. Remember the time you lost the horizon line and almost flew straight into the ocean? Grandma said she was in Church at the moment you almost crashed, and that she gasped and felt her heart beat, because she knew something wasn't right. But of course you don't remember this, because it hasn't happened yet. (Pause.) It's quiet down here. (Pause.) Awful quiet. (Pause.) Too quiet.
(The cello heard at the beginning of the play fades at the end of Act II. John's attempts at escaping from the cockpit grow more and more frantic. There is a juxtaposition between the cello, which is slow and jazzy, and John's frightened movements. He loses focus and begins to bang on the door. Mary undoes her seatbelt, walks downstage, and sits. John also undoes his seatbelt and sits calmly behind her.)
MARY
I've never asked my father if he's killed anybody. I'm sure he has, because he used to be a bomber pilot, but I've never really asked him. He's not one of those people who was emotionally disturbed by the war -- he doesn't have flashbacks or anything like that -- but I just don't think I could ask him if he's killed anyone. My father works for the FAA now. He goes to the office five days a week, and in the morning he reads the newspaper. He likes to jog and eat healthy food. He was my softball coach. He's good tempered, and friendly, and kind of a push over. So maybe that's why I can never hear enough stories about Vietnam. He played a completely different role in life back then, a role I can't even imagine. At one time my dad sat, locked in a cage at the bottom of a swimming pool, staring at concrete and tiles. At another time he sat in a real cockpit, no simulation, and dropped bombs. Bombs! He's run from gunfire. He's been left alone for days in a swamp on a survival mission, where he could only eat the food he could catch himself. He's parachuted from planes. I want to know that guy. I want to know what it was like, what he thought about, what he felt. Because, well, if I'm a part of my father, I feel like there may have been a piece of me in Vietnam with him. I was there -- almost.
(The cello music begins to play. Mary gets up and examines her father from all angles. She then looks at the cockpit, walking around it. After a moment, she waves goodbye to John and exits. After several more moments, John takes a noticeably deep breath and exits in the same direction as Mary. The music crescendos. Fade to black.)
END