A warm spring night on the hill behind the Observatory. Sally supine in the grass, George crawling around on his hands and knees.

SALLY: Did it have to end this way?

GEORGE: Where are my glasses?

SALLY: It was so beautiful--the twilight walks by the Charles, hand in hand; the Wednesday night dinners by candle light; the early morning bicycle rides around Fresh Pond--

GEO.: How can I see without my glasses?

SAL.: Do you remember when we both discovered Joyce in the same week and you read me the great sermon in Portrait until I cried and I read you his poems until you cried while we were walking round and round the Quad dodging frisbees--

GEO.: My glasses. I can't study without my glasses.

SAL.: And those final tender moments on the steps when you would cover my ear with kisses and whisper sweetly--

GEO.: Did you see my glasses fall out of my pocket? I just can't find them in this tall grass. Help me look, won't you?

SAL. (sighs): Oh, why did it have to end? And why did it have to end this way?

GEO.: Hey, there's a bug on your leg.

SAL.: Don't touch me!

GEO.: Typical. I wonder where my glasses are. (Slap.)

SAL.: Got it. Little did I know, George, that all those wonderful hours would lead to this sordid, buggy night.

GEO.: Me either. Want some insect repellent?

SAL.: That's not what I meant, George--

GEO.: Aw, gee--

SAL.: You knew that perfectly well; I meant that--that a girl has a hard time knowing what to expect from a boy; it's just not very clear at all.

GEO.: Maybe to you it isn't.

SAL.: No, it just isn't. I mean you just want to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire and--

GEO.: What a flare for words.

SAL.: Don't be nasty, George--

GEO.: I knew it right off, from when you first answered the phone:

Cabot Hall,

The home of beauty;

Come on down

And get your cutie.

SAL.: Even girls get lonely sometimes, George.

GEO.: So do boys.

SAL.: But not that way.

GEO.: Remember the other guy I discovered this year was Freud. You, unfortunately, never read any, and wouldn't even when I gave you some--

SAL.: I had courses to study for, George.

GEO.: And so we never could talk about all those things--those stupid, simple little things--that you now find so unexpected.

SAL.: But George, you know Freud is outside my field of concentration.

GEO.: Where are my glasses?

SAL.: And when a girl doesn't know what to expect from a boy, and he asks her to make a terrible commitment to him, why, what can she do?

GEO.: What's so terrible about commitment?

SAL.: I just meant a large, important commitment.

GEO.: Am I asking you to send the troops into South Boston?

SAL.: I mean when you make a commitment you want it to be permanent.

GEO.: You should read some Heraclitus some time. Anyhow, if that button had popped off instead of my asking you to--

SAL.: That's what I mean, sordid, George.

GEO.: "The twilight walks by the Charles, hand in hand"--did we ever do anything but hold hands? "The Wednesday night dinners"--when I tried to rub knees with you under the table you spilled milk up my sleeve. "The early morning bicycle rides"--what can you do on a bike?

SAL.: You never talked this way before, George. It's not delicate.

GEO.: Oh, God, why did I take off my glasses?

SAL.: Because they scratch me, George--

GEO.: And you always fog them up. You get my glasses all fogged up. And that's not all.

SAL.: Did it have to end this way? (A crunch of breaking glass. Silence.)

GEO.: I found my glasses. (Silence.)

SAL.: Are they broken, George?

GEO.: Yes. Let's go.

SAL.: George, don't be angry. (Silence.)

GEO.: Me? Angry? (Silence. They get up and start to go.)

GEO.: Sally, there's one question I want to ask you.

SAL.: Yes, George?

GEO.: Do you think your roommate is busy next weekend?