An American military widow talks to her husband...
As the audience files in they see a single flower growing out of center stage underneath a soft spotlight. It is a magnificent yellow sunflower rising up to greet the afternoon sun. A soft violin solo fills the air. Houselights fade and all is dark save for the soft light. The violin swells and the light slowly fades. The music fades out as we hear a woman speaking from the dark. Lights rise on and around the flower now and we see a woman kneeling on a blanket.
WOMAN:
Are you warm enough? I brought a blanket to sit on. I will leave it with you. I’m sure nights here are dreadfully cold. Is that okay? Can I leave the blanket for you? (Beat.) Good. Then I will. (Beat.) Yes. (Beat.) When I leave.
(Long pause.)
The children are doing fine. (Beat.) Chelsea made the honor roll. (Beat.) Wait? No. I- I probably already told you that, huh? (Beat.) That was last year. (Beat.) My mind always travels backward now. Since you were- …Since you’ve been gone I can’t even remember what day of the week it is. Or was I always like that? (Beat.) Forgetful. Harebrained. (Beat.) Yes. Yes. I guess I was. (Beat.) Still, I forget too many things now.
(Long pause.)
William won the fifth grade city football championship this year. I remember that. (Beat.) Yes. It was this year. This month. This week even. I know because I lost my voice for three days. I just got it back today. (Beat.) How? Well you know me… I screamed at the refs 'til I blew out my chords I guess. (Beat.) “What are you blind, ref?” “Where’d you learn to call like that, zebra boy?” (Beat.) “You’re an idiot!” “Penalty?” “Penalty?” “What the hell is wrong with you, ref? Are you a moron!?” “Oh! F you, ref! He was not out of f’in’ bounds! It’s a touchdown you f’in’ brainless imp!” “F you! F you!”
(Sudden and long pause.)
They didn’t do anything to me. They didn’t even threaten to kick me out of the stadium. Bunch of cowards. (Beat.) They just stared at me… They thought I was nuts! That I was crazy… But they knew. Of course they knew. …All those dazzling and polished PTA Sunday School mothers and fathers with their sideways glances loading their kids into their Escalades! They- They know. They know! Everybody knows! “Oh. Poor Jenny. She lost her-“ …”Shut up! Shut up! You think I don’t know you’re talking about me? F you! F you!”
(Pause.)
Of course they did, Michael. They knew why I was yelling. They damn well knew. (Beat.) They didn’t do a thing to me... Just stared at me in slack jawed sympathy like I was a mortally wounded puppy.
(Pause.)
William couldn’t look at me after the game. He said I was just hurting and that I shouldn’t have gone to his game in the first place. (Beat.) He couldn’t even look at me, honey… Not a word was said on the way home. (Beat.) Well, except Chelsea telling me I was the coolest mom ever. She’s sixteen, what does she know, right? She kept saying how cool I was for telling off the ref. "You rock, mom!" "You f'in rock!" I slapped her. I slapped her across the face. It was so sudden. I don’t know where it came from. I slapped her hard. I don’t know why I did that, Michael… I made her cry. Not the kind of cry from physical pain. More like a staggered and broken soul kind of cry. You know? Like when they came to tell me you were-. (Beat.) It was the same kind of cry. The most awful thing to witness, you know? Mouth open wide, no sound, no breath, no tears... Kind of a gaping, empty cry. (Beat.) It’s more painful to watch than it is to actually do. (Pause.) Needless to say, the ride home was the longest fall off a cliff I’ve ever experienced. The worst kind of silence in the world.
(Long pause.)
After we got home Chelsea went over to Pam’s house. More like she ran to Pam’s house. (Beat.) Yes. You know the girl down the street. (Beat.) Yes. Her dad’s the man that sold us our house. Anyway, William went straight to his room without saying a thing or even looking at me. (Pause.) I could hear him throwing things around in his room for a long time. (Beat.) He broke all of his things. He broke them all with his favorite bat. (Beat.) He broke all of your things, too... He was screaming the whole time. Crash. Scream. Scream. Crash. ...Yelling at me, too. I'm downstairs and he's upstairs in his room yelling and screaming as if I'm right there with him. (Beat.) Then he starts yelling at you. (Beat.) Terrible things, Michael. I had never heard him talk like that before. It scared me. I was shaking and crying and then... everything went silent. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. Of course, I panicked. I thought “Oh God! Oh God!” I ran upstairs to his room and he was laying on the bed, what was left of it anyway. He was just laying there reading one of your comic books… (Beat.) Yes. A comic book, Michael. He had your entire collection in his room, and the one he was reading? Superman! He was reading Superman! Superman! It was the only one he hadn’t torn to shreds! Superman... Isn't that ironic? (Beat.) He won't even look at me. He won't. Nobody else seems to have a problem looking at me, just our son...
(Long pause.)
Why, Michael? (Beat.) Why did you have to go to that damn war? You should have stayed home, Michael. You should have stayed home with your wife and kids.
(She can contain her flood no longer.)
Oh! God! They just stared at me with that disgusting pity! The kind of pity that can only be found in “Thank God it wasn’t my husband or wife or son or daughter that was slaughtered by those scary Arabs!” The pity of stained ignorance! Fools! Bunch of ignorant fools! Think they know everything! They don’t know a damned thing, Michael! Nothing! (Beat.) No! What makes you think you can help me? You’re not here, Michael! You’re not here! I need you, but you're not here are you? Your children need you! They need their father more than they need me! I’m here, so why the hell would they need me!? (Beat.) They’re going to grow up to hate, Michael. They’re going to grow up plotting revenge. Plotting against the wrong enemy. (Beat.) What am I supposed to do, Michael, huh? Tell them their father was killed by Iraqis? Arabs? By Islamic fascists? By the brown skinned? By people jealous of our freedoms? Huh? What am I supposed to tell them? What's the right thing to do? (Beat.) Does everyone in this country expect me to lie to my children? That I should say that America's the greatest nation on earth, we're the defenders of freedom for freedom's sake, WMD? Well I will not do that! I will not lie to my children! (Beat.) I’ll curse at refs and take all the shitass sideways glances, but I will not lie about the reason their father died! (Beat.) I will tell them exactly why. I will tell them that you died for nothing, Michael! For greed! For rich assholes so they can get richer! I don’t care how that sounds, Michael! I don’t! I don’t give a damn if the slack jawed PTA try to run me down with their Escalades, I will tell our children the truth! They deserve to know! They deserve to know that you loved them dearly and that you were murdered! Executed by oil barons bent on empire!
(She is nearly spent now. Long pause.)
I will tell them the truth. I will not lie. I will tell them the whole, ugly, disgusting truth. I will not pretend. I will not wave the flag and act like the good little patriot’s wife....
(Lights begin to fade.)
There’s nothing left, Michael. (Beat.) Nothing but this beautiful sunflower. (Beat.) This sunflower's the truth. It's the only thing left. (Beat.) Isn’t it beautiful, Michael?
(Lights have faded now, save for a single spot on the sunflower.)
Isn’t it just beautiful?
(The spot on the flower intensifies with the sudden and ferocious start of the violin solo. After a moment the music shrieks to a halt. The sunflower stays lit until the audience is gone.) The End.
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
As the audience files in they see a single flower growing out of center stage underneath a soft spotlight. It is a magnificent yellow sunflower rising up to greet the afternoon sun. A soft violin solo fills the air. Houselights fade and all is dark save for the soft light. The violin swells and the light slowly fades. The music fades out as we hear a woman speaking from the dark. Lights rise on and around the flower now and we see a woman kneeling on a blanket.
WOMAN:
Are you warm enough? I brought a blanket to sit on. I will leave it with you. I’m sure nights here are dreadfully cold. Is that okay? Can I leave the blanket for you? (Beat.) Good. Then I will. (Beat.) Yes. (Beat.) When I leave.
(Long pause.)
The children are doing fine. (Beat.) Chelsea made the honor roll. (Beat.) Wait? No. I- I probably already told you that, huh? (Beat.) That was last year. (Beat.) My mind always travels backward now. Since you were- …Since you’ve been gone I can’t even remember what day of the week it is. Or was I always like that? (Beat.) Forgetful. Harebrained. (Beat.) Yes. Yes. I guess I was. (Beat.) Still, I forget too many things now.
(Long pause.)
William won the fifth grade city football championship this year. I remember that. (Beat.) Yes. It was this year. This month. This week even. I know because I lost my voice for three days. I just got it back today. (Beat.) How? Well you know me… I screamed at the refs 'til I blew out my chords I guess. (Beat.) “What are you blind, ref?” “Where’d you learn to call like that, zebra boy?” (Beat.) “You’re an idiot!” “Penalty?” “Penalty?” “What the hell is wrong with you, ref? Are you a moron!?” “Oh! F you, ref! He was not out of f’in’ bounds! It’s a touchdown you f’in’ brainless imp!” “F you! F you!”
(Sudden and long pause.)
They didn’t do anything to me. They didn’t even threaten to kick me out of the stadium. Bunch of cowards. (Beat.) They just stared at me… They thought I was nuts! That I was crazy… But they knew. Of course they knew. …All those dazzling and polished PTA Sunday School mothers and fathers with their sideways glances loading their kids into their Escalades! They- They know. They know! Everybody knows! “Oh. Poor Jenny. She lost her-“ …”Shut up! Shut up! You think I don’t know you’re talking about me? F you! F you!”
(Pause.)
Of course they did, Michael. They knew why I was yelling. They damn well knew. (Beat.) They didn’t do a thing to me... Just stared at me in slack jawed sympathy like I was a mortally wounded puppy.
(Pause.)
William couldn’t look at me after the game. He said I was just hurting and that I shouldn’t have gone to his game in the first place. (Beat.) He couldn’t even look at me, honey… Not a word was said on the way home. (Beat.) Well, except Chelsea telling me I was the coolest mom ever. She’s sixteen, what does she know, right? She kept saying how cool I was for telling off the ref. "You rock, mom!" "You f'in rock!" I slapped her. I slapped her across the face. It was so sudden. I don’t know where it came from. I slapped her hard. I don’t know why I did that, Michael… I made her cry. Not the kind of cry from physical pain. More like a staggered and broken soul kind of cry. You know? Like when they came to tell me you were-. (Beat.) It was the same kind of cry. The most awful thing to witness, you know? Mouth open wide, no sound, no breath, no tears... Kind of a gaping, empty cry. (Beat.) It’s more painful to watch than it is to actually do. (Pause.) Needless to say, the ride home was the longest fall off a cliff I’ve ever experienced. The worst kind of silence in the world.
(Long pause.)
After we got home Chelsea went over to Pam’s house. More like she ran to Pam’s house. (Beat.) Yes. You know the girl down the street. (Beat.) Yes. Her dad’s the man that sold us our house. Anyway, William went straight to his room without saying a thing or even looking at me. (Pause.) I could hear him throwing things around in his room for a long time. (Beat.) He broke all of his things. He broke them all with his favorite bat. (Beat.) He broke all of your things, too... He was screaming the whole time. Crash. Scream. Scream. Crash. ...Yelling at me, too. I'm downstairs and he's upstairs in his room yelling and screaming as if I'm right there with him. (Beat.) Then he starts yelling at you. (Beat.) Terrible things, Michael. I had never heard him talk like that before. It scared me. I was shaking and crying and then... everything went silent. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. Of course, I panicked. I thought “Oh God! Oh God!” I ran upstairs to his room and he was laying on the bed, what was left of it anyway. He was just laying there reading one of your comic books… (Beat.) Yes. A comic book, Michael. He had your entire collection in his room, and the one he was reading? Superman! He was reading Superman! Superman! It was the only one he hadn’t torn to shreds! Superman... Isn't that ironic? (Beat.) He won't even look at me. He won't. Nobody else seems to have a problem looking at me, just our son...
(Long pause.)
Why, Michael? (Beat.) Why did you have to go to that damn war? You should have stayed home, Michael. You should have stayed home with your wife and kids.
(She can contain her flood no longer.)
Oh! God! They just stared at me with that disgusting pity! The kind of pity that can only be found in “Thank God it wasn’t my husband or wife or son or daughter that was slaughtered by those scary Arabs!” The pity of stained ignorance! Fools! Bunch of ignorant fools! Think they know everything! They don’t know a damned thing, Michael! Nothing! (Beat.) No! What makes you think you can help me? You’re not here, Michael! You’re not here! I need you, but you're not here are you? Your children need you! They need their father more than they need me! I’m here, so why the hell would they need me!? (Beat.) They’re going to grow up to hate, Michael. They’re going to grow up plotting revenge. Plotting against the wrong enemy. (Beat.) What am I supposed to do, Michael, huh? Tell them their father was killed by Iraqis? Arabs? By Islamic fascists? By the brown skinned? By people jealous of our freedoms? Huh? What am I supposed to tell them? What's the right thing to do? (Beat.) Does everyone in this country expect me to lie to my children? That I should say that America's the greatest nation on earth, we're the defenders of freedom for freedom's sake, WMD? Well I will not do that! I will not lie to my children! (Beat.) I’ll curse at refs and take all the shitass sideways glances, but I will not lie about the reason their father died! (Beat.) I will tell them exactly why. I will tell them that you died for nothing, Michael! For greed! For rich assholes so they can get richer! I don’t care how that sounds, Michael! I don’t! I don’t give a damn if the slack jawed PTA try to run me down with their Escalades, I will tell our children the truth! They deserve to know! They deserve to know that you loved them dearly and that you were murdered! Executed by oil barons bent on empire!
(She is nearly spent now. Long pause.)
I will tell them the truth. I will not lie. I will tell them the whole, ugly, disgusting truth. I will not pretend. I will not wave the flag and act like the good little patriot’s wife....
(Lights begin to fade.)
There’s nothing left, Michael. (Beat.) Nothing but this beautiful sunflower. (Beat.) This sunflower's the truth. It's the only thing left. (Beat.) Isn’t it beautiful, Michael?
(Lights have faded now, save for a single spot on the sunflower.)
Isn’t it just beautiful?
(The spot on the flower intensifies with the sudden and ferocious start of the violin solo. After a moment the music shrieks to a halt. The sunflower stays lit until the audience is gone.) The End.
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman