Mike and Darlene. A front porch, ideally a swing. The south. They’re married. They call each other “mama” and “pops” as terms of endearment.
I don’ know what ya see in alla that preppin’ stuff Mikey, I jus’ don’t.
Mama, I’ma take care of us’n you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout it.
Honey I ain’t worried.
My time ta go’s my time ta go.
Yer time ta go’s over my dead body.
Don’t be foolish.
I’m a fool fer you, mama bear.
He kisses her cheek. She touches he cheek.
Sit with me, pops.
They sit. Long warm comfortable pause.
Git that gun outta the bedroom.
You know what gun Michael Andrew.
We’re gonna need it, Darlene.
If we’re ready, we’re safe.
I don’t wanna see our gran-babies getting’ shot cuz pop-pop got a pretty gun-toy under the bed.
You’ll git that gun outta the bed-room ‘n locked up or I’ll be sleepin’ out here in the breeze.
(a little gentler)
Give the neighbors a show.
You know I ain’t askin’.
Thank you, sweet.
She leans her head on his shoulder. They rock.