A play about family, loss and dysfunction...
AT CURTAIN:
As the audience files in the dim glow of the television (a constant on stage throughout) can be seen but not much else, save for shadows. Music playing over the house speakers, “I Wish I Was the Moon” by Neko Case, timed to end as lights rise on Scene One.
CHARACTERS:
John McCutcheon- Fifty-four.
Stephanie McCutcheon- Thirty-two.
Debra Jameson- Forty.
Matt Jameson- Twenty-two.
TIME:
From September 2005 to the present, between two next-door living rooms in the U.S., one in the present, the other memory. Each scene spills into the next seamlessly.
PLACE:
Stage left is the living room (in the present) of JOHN MCCUTCHEON’S home. A fireplace center with a whiskey bottle on the mantle, a television facing away from the audience, a couch sits right, next to a window that hovers beside the fireplace.
Stage right is the living room (and bathroom) of DEBRA JAMESON’S home. A freestanding front door sits left. The bathroom, upstage right of the couch. In the bathroom is a sink with a mirror above it, a tub, and a stool. A hairdryer dangles from its electrical outlet next to the sink.
AT CURTAIN:
As the audience files in the dim glow of the television (a constant on stage throughout) can be seen but not much else, save for shadows. Music playing over the house speakers, “I Wish I Was the Moon” by Neko Case, timed to end as lights rise on Scene One.
Open the play [+/-]
AT CURTAIN:
As the audience files in the dim glow of the television (a constant on stage throughout) can be seen but not much else, save for shadows. Music playing over the house speakers, “I Wish I Was the Moon” by Neko Case, timed to end as lights rise on Scene One.
CHARACTERS:
John McCutcheon- Fifty-four.
Stephanie McCutcheon- Thirty-two.
Debra Jameson- Forty.
Matt Jameson- Twenty-two.
TIME:
From September 2005 to the present, between two next-door living rooms in the U.S., one in the present, the other memory. Each scene spills into the next seamlessly.
PLACE:
Stage left is the living room (in the present) of JOHN MCCUTCHEON’S home. A fireplace center with a whiskey bottle on the mantle, a television facing away from the audience, a couch sits right, next to a window that hovers beside the fireplace.
Stage right is the living room (and bathroom) of DEBRA JAMESON’S home. A freestanding front door sits left. The bathroom, upstage right of the couch. In the bathroom is a sink with a mirror above it, a tub, and a stool. A hairdryer dangles from its electrical outlet next to the sink.
AT CURTAIN:
As the audience files in the dim glow of the television (a constant on stage throughout) can be seen but not much else, save for shadows. Music playing over the house speakers, “I Wish I Was the Moon” by Neko Case, timed to end as lights rise on Scene One.
Open the play [+/-]
SCENE ONE:
(The music ends as the lights come up on JOHN watching television. )
TV: Authorities familiar with the incident tell us that the mother was beaten and raped repeatedly.
(Lights out.)
SCENE TWO:
(Lights up on DEBRA lying on the couch, singing, I Wish I Was the Moon Tonight, and holding a bottle of whiskey. Her voice is actually quite stunning. After a good moment of this, lights out on her and up on the bathroom as we still hear her singing.. We see MATT’S motionless arm sticking up out of the bathtub. His arm, the only part of him that can be seen, is leaned against the tub’s rim. After a moment of this visual, lights out on the bathroom and up on DEBRA singing. She takes a long swig of whiskey, sings some more and suddenly begins to cry. Lights out. Up on the bathroom, the same. Lights out.)
SCENE THREE:
(Lights up on JOHN watching television.)
TV: …the sheer brutality of the attack. An official, speaking on condition of anonymity, said that the woman’s heart was literally ripped out of her chest while she was still alive.
(Lights out.)
SCENE FOUR:
(Lights up on DEBRA now sitting on the couch wiping her tears.)
DEBRA: Is it my fault you’re like your father? Huh? Why is that my damned fault?
(Lights out. Lights up on the bathroom, the same. Lights out. Lights up.)
DEBRA: I asked you a question, young man. Is it my fault you’re like your father?
(Lights out, up on the bathroom.)
MATT: Yes…
(He angrily climbs out of the tub. He stumbles and nearly falls over. He is very animated but trying not to be heard by his mother as he works through his anger, smashing his hands into the air and flailing about in near silence. Soon he regains his composure. He contemplates climbing back into the tub, but thinks better of it. He reaches in his shirt pocket and pulls out a cigarette pack. Seeing that there is only one cigarette left in the pack, he grimaces and begins to flail again.)
MATT: No. No. No!
(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: That's right. It’s not my fault. I can’t be to blame for how you turned out. It’s the genetic coding or something. You win some you lose some. You’re nothing like me…
(Lights out.)
SCENE FIVE:
(Lights up on JOHN.)
TV: Still searching for clues as to the reason he went on the rampage, authorities say that they've never seen anything quite like it.
(Lights out.)
SCENE SIX:
(Lights up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: He’d stay in there for hours if I wanted to talk, if I had something to say. He’d rather plop down on the shitter than look at me. Hear me. Touch me. Probably stayed in there so I wouldn’t see all the ugly faces he was making.
(Lights out, up on MATT making ugly faces at his mother. Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: I can only imagine. His stupid smirking face. The ugliness. The empty gestures. So I like to talk, something wrong with that? I like to sing, too, but he’d be on the damn pot… I sang to myself a lot.
(Lights out, up on MATT as she continues, MATT is attempting to light a cigarette while making faces.)
DEBRA: …Don’t know what the hell I had to sing about. Nothing worth singing about in this world with all the godforsaken abuse I took from that no good, sorry-
(The cigarette drops out of MATT’S mouth into the stool water.)
MATT: Son of a bitch!
(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: -son of a bitch. He never wanted to just talk with me. All he ever wanted to do was fornicate. We were either in different worlds or fornicating like rabbits. (From the darkness of the bathroom we hear a blow-dryer.) Only time he ever tried talking to me was when he was all hard and sweaty. Wasn’t anything tender with your father, either. Fast and furious is how he liked it. Always did. Pervert. He’d say things like, “You’re doing it all wrong!” and “Harder!”, “Faster!”, “Not there!”... He’d tell me exactly what it was that I was doing wrong, but never what I did right. Usually just direct me like I was some fornicating marionette! ...Are you blow-drying your hair? Jesus. I better call Vicky and tell her my boy took a damn bath! He did, Debra? Sure did, Vicky! Wow, Debra, good for you! Thanks, Vicky! You sure got lucky and raised him up right, Debra! Thanks, you stupid bitch!
(Lights out, up on MATT blow-drying the cigarette. Lights out, up on DEBRA. She sings, drinks, sings, and suddenly cries. Lights out, up on MATT blow-drying the cigarette. Lights out, up on DEBRA drinking and sobbing. Lights out, up on MATT. He turns off the blow-dryer and inspects his work with great care. Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: I shouldn’t have called poor Vicky a bitch... it’s just that she and I used to be best friends, ya know? We were practically inseparable. Like Siamese sisters. Then she started getting all snooty because her boy, Shane, joined up and went off to fight in Iraq. (A flash of light comes from the bathroom as MATT lights his cigarette.) She’d prance around talking about how proud she was that her boy was fighting for freedom and that he was gonna come home a decorated war hero. She wouldn't stop talking about it. She did, however, stop calling and stop coming around. (Pause.) Now everything's stopped for poor Vicky. So sad. When and if I see her now she looks like a tragic character out of some god-awful war movie. All twisted. Bent over in excruciating pain. Blaming herself for being too damned proud. ...I miss her. ...Shane was such a good boy. Should have- Should never have gone over there. Should have stayed home with his mama. (Pause.) Bet he’d at least have taken regular baths… (She drinks.) He was such a good boy. Such a good boy.
(Lights out, up on MATT enjoying his cigarette. Eyes closed, taking a very long and deep drag. Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: What the hell was I talking about? Can’t think with all the racket around here… What the? Oh right. How could I have forgotten I was talking about a pile of dog shit? ...The no good bastard would tell me where to lick, where to grip, where to squeeze, where to put my freshly wetted finger. Mostly he’d just grunt. Conversing like an ape, verbalizing in animal tones, ughh this and ughh that. Who the hell knows what was being said?
(Lights out, up on MATT smoking and grunting like an ape.)
MATT: Ugghh. Ugghh. Ugghh. Ugghh?
(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: I’m glad he left…more whiskey for me that way. More space to breathe on my own. Don’t need him to tell me when, where, or how to inhale and exhale. I’m done with that shit.
(Lights out, up on MATT, his nose nearly touching the mirror.)
MATT: Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: I’m free to fornicate when I want, how I want, where I want and who I want. After twenty two years I’m finally free. ...Here’s to fornicating freedom!
(Lights out on her as she drinks and up on MATT. Same. He stares into the mirror and, with a sudden fury, says "Freedom!" as he slams his forehead into the mirror. It cracks loudly. Lights out.)
SCENE SEVEN:
(Lights up on JOHN.)
TV: Neighbors of the slain woman said they could hear her screaming for help for nearly half an hour, but every time they tried to enter the house shots were fired through the door.
(Lights out.)
SCENE EIGHT:
(Lights up on DEBRA stumbling out the front door into the yard.)
DEBRA: No! No! You leave me the hell alone! I’m through with the beatings! I’m done with them! I’d rather kill myself than-
MATT: (Standing in the doorway, blood on his forehead.) What the hell are you talking about? I said I need a Band-Aid for Christ’s sake!
DEBRA: That useless bastard broke things too, you know?
MATT: You think I don't know that?
DEBRA: Broke things all the time. Cracked `em open like the sky he did. You, me, tables, chairs, dishes, golf clubs, wind shields, beach towels, televisions, radios, coffee pots-
MATT: Did you say beach towels?
DEBRA: Yes! Beach towels! Cups, lamps, beds, blenders, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, garden tools. He was the damned energizer bunny of breakables.
(She stumbles and falls hard to the ground.)
MATT: Mama, are you okay?
DEBRA: I’m fine! Nothing can hurt me anymore than I’ve already been hurt. I may be damaged goods- broken up a bit, scars all over my face, eyesight shot to shit and wrinkles invading like weeds, but I'm resolute!
MATT: Here? Let me-
DEBRA: No! I said no! You might bleed on me! (Staggering to her feet.) See? I’ve stood on my own my whole life. I don’t need any help now.
MATT: I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I broke your mirror.
DEBRA: You think I give two miniature shits about that mirror?
MATT: I thought-
DEBRA: I hate mirrors. Hate `em with all my being. They’re ugly. Ugly ugly ugly ugly. Mirrors are like a person’s heart, they're too easily broken and then, if you're not careful, they'll slice you open like Rack the Jipper. (She staggers and falls again, then rolls onto her back.) Didn’t feel a thing that time. ...Think I might be dead. ...What’s that music? Sounds like a harp?
MATT: Mama, let’s go inside before the neighbors call the cops.
DEBRA: Not cops! I said harp! A harp! ...You don’t hear it? That beautiful music? ...Angels playing in heaven. A song for the dead and dying. Preparing a place for all the good sinners. Angels gonna wrap their gynormousful wings around them to keep them from jumping off the clouds. (She conducts the symphony for a moment.) They sure can play some beautiful music. God's one hell of a composer. Mozart in the sky. Rachmaninoff in heaven. Christ it's beautiful. You can’t hear that?
MATT: All I hear is you, Mama.
DEBRA: Damn.
MATT: Let’s go back inside. The neighbors probably already called the cops.
DEBRA: Cops? Ha! You think I give a microscopic quarter of an ant shit if they did? I know more cops than I do neighbors! Matter of fact I don't know any of the neighbors! Not one of the dumbass bunch of freakish snobs! All of you pretentious no good do-gooders!
MATT: I’m serious, Mama. Get up.
DEBRA: Cops'll probably taser me for being a bad mom. Zap! Bad mama. Zap zap! Bad, bad mama jama. Zap!
MATT: You’re not a bad mom. Now come on.
DEBRA: Scale of one to ten, smartass, rate me? One to ten, shithead. ...Come on. ...Rate me?
MATT: No.
DEBRA: Rate me! Rate me!
MATT: No! Let’s go inside and watch... The Price is Right or something.
DEBRA: The Price is Right? Shit. Bob Barker’s a no-good prick. Every time I hear him open his idiot flap I want to kill him. I do. Makes me want to puke. He thinks the women on his show are no more than fornicating meat. And I do mean fornicating meat. They're nothing but window dressing for a bunch of old and young perverts who’ve nothing better to do than drool over bare skin while they wrack their eensy weensy pea-brains trying to figure out how much a goddamn bottle of Hemorrhoid cream costs! ...Bob Barker’s a waste of those women’s talent.
MATT: Okay, mama.
DEBRA: Well he is. You got any damned idea how much it takes to stand there in high heels, ass showing, smiling like you’re happy to be there when all you really want to do is run across the fucking stage and dropkick Bob's scrawny old ass? No? Well it takes a hell of a lot of talent that’s for damn sure…
MATT: Okay. Let’s go inside now.
DEBRA: ON A SCALE OF ONE TO TEN! RATE ME!
MATT: No!
DEBRA: ONE TO TEN MY MOTHERHOOD! RATE ME YOU GODDAMN COWARD!
MATT: A TWO! A MISERABLE, NO-GOOD, GODDAMNED TWO!
DEBRA: (Staggering to her feet.) Why you little bastard! I protected you from him all those years and you give me a measly two? He’d come in all red-faced and pissed and head straight for your room and I’d jump on his back screaming, “Don’t you touch my boy! Don’t touch him!” He’d back-slam into a wall or two while my fingernails camped out in his forehead! I’d scream, “Run, Matt! Run!” And hell, you’d go all Forest Gump out the damn door hauling your gimp ass down main street while your daddy used my head as a battering ram to rearrange the furniture and put doorways where they wasn’t! So I deserve more than a measly son-of-a-bitching two, Forest! I deserve more than that you ungrateful little-
MATT: Okay! A five! Happy now?
DEBRA: A five?
MATT: Jesus Christ. A seven?
DEBRA: No. No. No. A five is good, baby. Five beats the hell out of a two any day of the week. Five's like halfway to perfect, right?
MATT: That’s one way to look at it.
DEBRA: Halfway to perfect. Must be why the angels are playing such beautiful music. Your mama's halfway to perfect, baby. Halfway to-
(She falls over passed out.)
MATT: Shit.
(Lights out.)
SCENE NINE:
(Lights up on JOHN.)
TV: Neighbors could only listen to her screams as they were unable to come to her aid without becoming victims themselves.
(Lights out.)
(The music ends as the lights come up on JOHN watching television. )
TV: Authorities familiar with the incident tell us that the mother was beaten and raped repeatedly.
(Lights out.)
SCENE TWO:
(Lights up on DEBRA lying on the couch, singing, I Wish I Was the Moon Tonight, and holding a bottle of whiskey. Her voice is actually quite stunning. After a good moment of this, lights out on her and up on the bathroom as we still hear her singing.. We see MATT’S motionless arm sticking up out of the bathtub. His arm, the only part of him that can be seen, is leaned against the tub’s rim. After a moment of this visual, lights out on the bathroom and up on DEBRA singing. She takes a long swig of whiskey, sings some more and suddenly begins to cry. Lights out. Up on the bathroom, the same. Lights out.)
SCENE THREE:
(Lights up on JOHN watching television.)
TV: …the sheer brutality of the attack. An official, speaking on condition of anonymity, said that the woman’s heart was literally ripped out of her chest while she was still alive.
(Lights out.)
SCENE FOUR:
(Lights up on DEBRA now sitting on the couch wiping her tears.)
DEBRA: Is it my fault you’re like your father? Huh? Why is that my damned fault?
(Lights out. Lights up on the bathroom, the same. Lights out. Lights up.)
DEBRA: I asked you a question, young man. Is it my fault you’re like your father?
(Lights out, up on the bathroom.)
MATT: Yes…
(He angrily climbs out of the tub. He stumbles and nearly falls over. He is very animated but trying not to be heard by his mother as he works through his anger, smashing his hands into the air and flailing about in near silence. Soon he regains his composure. He contemplates climbing back into the tub, but thinks better of it. He reaches in his shirt pocket and pulls out a cigarette pack. Seeing that there is only one cigarette left in the pack, he grimaces and begins to flail again.)
MATT: No. No. No!
(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: That's right. It’s not my fault. I can’t be to blame for how you turned out. It’s the genetic coding or something. You win some you lose some. You’re nothing like me…
(Lights out.)
SCENE FIVE:
(Lights up on JOHN.)
TV: Still searching for clues as to the reason he went on the rampage, authorities say that they've never seen anything quite like it.
(Lights out.)
SCENE SIX:
(Lights up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: He’d stay in there for hours if I wanted to talk, if I had something to say. He’d rather plop down on the shitter than look at me. Hear me. Touch me. Probably stayed in there so I wouldn’t see all the ugly faces he was making.
(Lights out, up on MATT making ugly faces at his mother. Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: I can only imagine. His stupid smirking face. The ugliness. The empty gestures. So I like to talk, something wrong with that? I like to sing, too, but he’d be on the damn pot… I sang to myself a lot.
(Lights out, up on MATT as she continues, MATT is attempting to light a cigarette while making faces.)
DEBRA: …Don’t know what the hell I had to sing about. Nothing worth singing about in this world with all the godforsaken abuse I took from that no good, sorry-
(The cigarette drops out of MATT’S mouth into the stool water.)
MATT: Son of a bitch!
(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: -son of a bitch. He never wanted to just talk with me. All he ever wanted to do was fornicate. We were either in different worlds or fornicating like rabbits. (From the darkness of the bathroom we hear a blow-dryer.) Only time he ever tried talking to me was when he was all hard and sweaty. Wasn’t anything tender with your father, either. Fast and furious is how he liked it. Always did. Pervert. He’d say things like, “You’re doing it all wrong!” and “Harder!”, “Faster!”, “Not there!”... He’d tell me exactly what it was that I was doing wrong, but never what I did right. Usually just direct me like I was some fornicating marionette! ...Are you blow-drying your hair? Jesus. I better call Vicky and tell her my boy took a damn bath! He did, Debra? Sure did, Vicky! Wow, Debra, good for you! Thanks, Vicky! You sure got lucky and raised him up right, Debra! Thanks, you stupid bitch!
(Lights out, up on MATT blow-drying the cigarette. Lights out, up on DEBRA. She sings, drinks, sings, and suddenly cries. Lights out, up on MATT blow-drying the cigarette. Lights out, up on DEBRA drinking and sobbing. Lights out, up on MATT. He turns off the blow-dryer and inspects his work with great care. Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: I shouldn’t have called poor Vicky a bitch... it’s just that she and I used to be best friends, ya know? We were practically inseparable. Like Siamese sisters. Then she started getting all snooty because her boy, Shane, joined up and went off to fight in Iraq. (A flash of light comes from the bathroom as MATT lights his cigarette.) She’d prance around talking about how proud she was that her boy was fighting for freedom and that he was gonna come home a decorated war hero. She wouldn't stop talking about it. She did, however, stop calling and stop coming around. (Pause.) Now everything's stopped for poor Vicky. So sad. When and if I see her now she looks like a tragic character out of some god-awful war movie. All twisted. Bent over in excruciating pain. Blaming herself for being too damned proud. ...I miss her. ...Shane was such a good boy. Should have- Should never have gone over there. Should have stayed home with his mama. (Pause.) Bet he’d at least have taken regular baths… (She drinks.) He was such a good boy. Such a good boy.
(Lights out, up on MATT enjoying his cigarette. Eyes closed, taking a very long and deep drag. Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: What the hell was I talking about? Can’t think with all the racket around here… What the? Oh right. How could I have forgotten I was talking about a pile of dog shit? ...The no good bastard would tell me where to lick, where to grip, where to squeeze, where to put my freshly wetted finger. Mostly he’d just grunt. Conversing like an ape, verbalizing in animal tones, ughh this and ughh that. Who the hell knows what was being said?
(Lights out, up on MATT smoking and grunting like an ape.)
MATT: Ugghh. Ugghh. Ugghh. Ugghh?
(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: I’m glad he left…more whiskey for me that way. More space to breathe on my own. Don’t need him to tell me when, where, or how to inhale and exhale. I’m done with that shit.
(Lights out, up on MATT, his nose nearly touching the mirror.)
MATT: Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)
DEBRA: I’m free to fornicate when I want, how I want, where I want and who I want. After twenty two years I’m finally free. ...Here’s to fornicating freedom!
(Lights out on her as she drinks and up on MATT. Same. He stares into the mirror and, with a sudden fury, says "Freedom!" as he slams his forehead into the mirror. It cracks loudly. Lights out.)
SCENE SEVEN:
(Lights up on JOHN.)
TV: Neighbors of the slain woman said they could hear her screaming for help for nearly half an hour, but every time they tried to enter the house shots were fired through the door.
(Lights out.)
SCENE EIGHT:
(Lights up on DEBRA stumbling out the front door into the yard.)
DEBRA: No! No! You leave me the hell alone! I’m through with the beatings! I’m done with them! I’d rather kill myself than-
MATT: (Standing in the doorway, blood on his forehead.) What the hell are you talking about? I said I need a Band-Aid for Christ’s sake!
DEBRA: That useless bastard broke things too, you know?
MATT: You think I don't know that?
DEBRA: Broke things all the time. Cracked `em open like the sky he did. You, me, tables, chairs, dishes, golf clubs, wind shields, beach towels, televisions, radios, coffee pots-
MATT: Did you say beach towels?
DEBRA: Yes! Beach towels! Cups, lamps, beds, blenders, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, garden tools. He was the damned energizer bunny of breakables.
(She stumbles and falls hard to the ground.)
MATT: Mama, are you okay?
DEBRA: I’m fine! Nothing can hurt me anymore than I’ve already been hurt. I may be damaged goods- broken up a bit, scars all over my face, eyesight shot to shit and wrinkles invading like weeds, but I'm resolute!
MATT: Here? Let me-
DEBRA: No! I said no! You might bleed on me! (Staggering to her feet.) See? I’ve stood on my own my whole life. I don’t need any help now.
MATT: I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I broke your mirror.
DEBRA: You think I give two miniature shits about that mirror?
MATT: I thought-
DEBRA: I hate mirrors. Hate `em with all my being. They’re ugly. Ugly ugly ugly ugly. Mirrors are like a person’s heart, they're too easily broken and then, if you're not careful, they'll slice you open like Rack the Jipper. (She staggers and falls again, then rolls onto her back.) Didn’t feel a thing that time. ...Think I might be dead. ...What’s that music? Sounds like a harp?
MATT: Mama, let’s go inside before the neighbors call the cops.
DEBRA: Not cops! I said harp! A harp! ...You don’t hear it? That beautiful music? ...Angels playing in heaven. A song for the dead and dying. Preparing a place for all the good sinners. Angels gonna wrap their gynormousful wings around them to keep them from jumping off the clouds. (She conducts the symphony for a moment.) They sure can play some beautiful music. God's one hell of a composer. Mozart in the sky. Rachmaninoff in heaven. Christ it's beautiful. You can’t hear that?
MATT: All I hear is you, Mama.
DEBRA: Damn.
MATT: Let’s go back inside. The neighbors probably already called the cops.
DEBRA: Cops? Ha! You think I give a microscopic quarter of an ant shit if they did? I know more cops than I do neighbors! Matter of fact I don't know any of the neighbors! Not one of the dumbass bunch of freakish snobs! All of you pretentious no good do-gooders!
MATT: I’m serious, Mama. Get up.
DEBRA: Cops'll probably taser me for being a bad mom. Zap! Bad mama. Zap zap! Bad, bad mama jama. Zap!
MATT: You’re not a bad mom. Now come on.
DEBRA: Scale of one to ten, smartass, rate me? One to ten, shithead. ...Come on. ...Rate me?
MATT: No.
DEBRA: Rate me! Rate me!
MATT: No! Let’s go inside and watch... The Price is Right or something.
DEBRA: The Price is Right? Shit. Bob Barker’s a no-good prick. Every time I hear him open his idiot flap I want to kill him. I do. Makes me want to puke. He thinks the women on his show are no more than fornicating meat. And I do mean fornicating meat. They're nothing but window dressing for a bunch of old and young perverts who’ve nothing better to do than drool over bare skin while they wrack their eensy weensy pea-brains trying to figure out how much a goddamn bottle of Hemorrhoid cream costs! ...Bob Barker’s a waste of those women’s talent.
MATT: Okay, mama.
DEBRA: Well he is. You got any damned idea how much it takes to stand there in high heels, ass showing, smiling like you’re happy to be there when all you really want to do is run across the fucking stage and dropkick Bob's scrawny old ass? No? Well it takes a hell of a lot of talent that’s for damn sure…
MATT: Okay. Let’s go inside now.
DEBRA: ON A SCALE OF ONE TO TEN! RATE ME!
MATT: No!
DEBRA: ONE TO TEN MY MOTHERHOOD! RATE ME YOU GODDAMN COWARD!
MATT: A TWO! A MISERABLE, NO-GOOD, GODDAMNED TWO!
DEBRA: (Staggering to her feet.) Why you little bastard! I protected you from him all those years and you give me a measly two? He’d come in all red-faced and pissed and head straight for your room and I’d jump on his back screaming, “Don’t you touch my boy! Don’t touch him!” He’d back-slam into a wall or two while my fingernails camped out in his forehead! I’d scream, “Run, Matt! Run!” And hell, you’d go all Forest Gump out the damn door hauling your gimp ass down main street while your daddy used my head as a battering ram to rearrange the furniture and put doorways where they wasn’t! So I deserve more than a measly son-of-a-bitching two, Forest! I deserve more than that you ungrateful little-
MATT: Okay! A five! Happy now?
DEBRA: A five?
MATT: Jesus Christ. A seven?
DEBRA: No. No. No. A five is good, baby. Five beats the hell out of a two any day of the week. Five's like halfway to perfect, right?
MATT: That’s one way to look at it.
DEBRA: Halfway to perfect. Must be why the angels are playing such beautiful music. Your mama's halfway to perfect, baby. Halfway to-
(She falls over passed out.)
MATT: Shit.
(Lights out.)
SCENE NINE:
(Lights up on JOHN.)
TV: Neighbors could only listen to her screams as they were unable to come to her aid without becoming victims themselves.
(Lights out.)
SCENE TEN:
(Lights come up on the couch as MATT enters carrying his mother. He lays her down and covers her with a blanket and puts a pillow under her head. He now stands just looking down on her. Lights out.)
SCENE ELEVEN:
(Lights up on JOHN.)
TV: Authorities are still trying to piece together the grim picture of what happened and why. Investigators at the scene say it was a complete bloodbath. The worst they’d seen in a lifetime of investigating.
(Lights out.)
SCENE TWELVE:
(Lights up on MATT holding his mom’s whiskey bottle.)
MATT: Why do you drink? Huh? Why drink when your life is already so terribly numb? ...I’m sorry Daddy was such an abusive prick, Mama. If he were here right now I’d slice him from stem to sternum. I’d spread him wide open and find the tumor that was wrapped around his heart and rip it out of him. And when it was throbbing in my hands I’d take the knife and slowly cut away the skin of it, the cocoon, and reach inside and pull the demon out while it was kicking and screaming and when it tried to bite me I’d put my hand around it’s scrawny little neck and squeeze until it turned purple and then I’d stick the knife between its beady little eyes and twist like a can opener. Its eyes would roll back in its tiny skull and its tongue would flop to its chin. Then I’d put the carcass in a mason jar and seal the lid real tight to make sure the stench didn’t seep out and take it door to door across America and ask if they’d seen anything like it before and if they said “yes” I’d tell them how to kill it and instruct them on putting it in a mason jar and sealing it tight, and tell them to carry it across the world. Then I’d go to the next house and the next until some unlucky son-of-a-bitch said “no” and when they said “no”, I’d hand them the jar and tell them how to kill it and then walk across the country, around the world, and ask strangers if they had ever seen anything like it. In twenty years or so there’d be no more demons, Mama. Then we could all go about killing one another like before only then we’d know we were killing human beings who were themselves evil and not innocents with a no good, godforsaken demon living in their hearts! (Long pause.) That’s what I would do if Daddy were here.
(Lights out.)
SCENE THIRTEEN:
(Lights up on JOHN.)
TV: One neighbor that lived next door says that the woman literally had her heart ripped from her chest while she was still alive. The man said that her screams and the fact that he could do nothing to save her will haunt him for the rest of his life.
(On the word “life” comes three loud knocks. Lights out.)
SCENE FOURTEEN:
(Lights come up on MATT who sobs loudly.)
MATT: Is there a demon inside you, Mama? In your heart? Is there? I hope there is. I do. I want to believe there’s more to you than this. I want to know that my mother’s not just sorry and loathsome for nothing. I want to know that you’ve been infested with little devils that make you destroy everyone and everything around you. It’s better than the alternative. It’s a hell of a lot easier to understand. ...Is it growing inside of you? Did Daddy give it to you or did you give one to Daddy? See... that would help explain the both of you. ...Is there one growing inside me, too, Mama? Has it been inside me since birth, growing in me, in my heart all these years? ...Then why the hell haven’t you sliced me open by now? I’d rather you had done that than let me go on thinking that all these awful thoughts are my own! If they’re mine then I'm evil! If they’re a demon living and breeding inside of me, then you're the evil one! Wicked for not having ripped it out of me when I was a baby! I’d rather you’d have done that than let me go on thinking that I’m no good! A goddamned little demon dwells in my fucking heart, Mama! See what you’ve done? You let it grow into this! I can’t very well cut my own demon from out of my own goddamned heart and kill it now can I? How the hell would I get it into the jar?
(With a sudden fury he smashes the whiskey bottle into the floor. It shatters loudly. Lights out.)
SCENE FIFTEEN:
(Lights rise on JOHN and his daughter STEPHANIE.)
JOHN: (Holding the whiskey bottle.) Debra Jameson, Matt’s mother.
STEPHANIE: Her ashes? You mean her ashes ashes?
JOHN: Dust to dust.
STEPHANIE: Jesus, Dad, that’s sick. Why would you keep some strangers ashes?
JOHN: For tomorrow.
STEPHANIE: Tomorrow?
JOHN: Matt might come back for his mother. Some life changing event could make him see her differently tomorrow.
STEPHANIE: He put her ashes in a whiskey bottle, Dad. I doubt tomorrow's coming. ...How does one even put ashes in a whiskey bottle?
JOHN: It was her favorite drink.
STEPHANIE: I suppose by that logic I could put your ashes in a bottle of Bordeaux.
JOHN: Good idea, but I'm not going to be cremated.
STEPHANIE: Party pooper.
JOHN: He could come around, Steph.
STEPHANIE: Why didn't you ever tell me about the neighbors?
JOHN: Because I didn't want you to have an excuse to not come see me.
STEPHANIE: That's comforting.
JOHN: Sorry. I probably should have told you.
STEPHANIE: No. I would have come over a lot less if you had.
JOHN: Precisely why I didn't tell you.
STEPHANIE: You saw him throw the bottle in the trash?
JOHN: He put it next to the curb like he wanted me to find it, take care of it until he came back.
STEPHANIE: It's all a bit creepy to me.
JOHN: He had been packing up the house all through the night. I could hear him grunting and cursing his dead mother as he stacked furniture and boxes on top of the station wagon.
STEPHANIE: He drove a station wagon?
JOHN: His mom’s car.
STEPHANIE: Serial killer for sure. Probably out there right now serialing. Lucky for you he moved.
JOHN: He’s not a serial killer. His father abandoned him and his mother when Matt was only fourteen. Just packed a bag and disappeared.
STEPHANIE: How do you know all of this, Dad. Debra? Matt? Abusive father? Ashes to ashes?
JOHN: Ten years you pick up on things. Hear bits of drunken arguments, shattered glass. It was like an elaborate puzzle I pieced together out of all the broken whiskey bottles over the years.
STEPHANIE: Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?
JOHN: I prefer Nancy Drew.
STEPHANIE: Okay, Nancy. Did it ever occur to you that Matt may have started his career with his dad?
JOHN: Stop it.
STEPHANIE: Seriously. All that repressed anger, alcohol, the yelling and of course the shattered glass- metaphor for Matt’s miserable life. No wonder he’s a serial killer.
JOHN: Don’t say stuff like that, Steph.
STEPHANIE: It was a joke, Dad.
JOHN: Not very funny.
STEPHANIE: Jesus. You’re really serious about this, huh?
JOHN: Sometimes we don’t know what pulls at us. We get a feeling. An idea gets set loose in our heads and we do things out of the ordinary, you know? Break the cursed apathy that grips us and react without thinking.
STEPHANIE: I’m sure the Nobel Prize committee has you on their short list, pops.
JOHN: You always were a smartass, you know?
STEPHANIE: My one and only vice.
JOHN: Only one? Ha!
STEPHANIE: What’s that supposed to mean?
JOHN: I seem to recall a young lady who could really pick her boyfriends.
STEPHANIE: I could pick `em that’s for sure.
JOHN: Whatever happened to that musician?
STEPHANIE: Which one?
JOHN: There was more than one?
STEPHANIE: Not at the same time.
JOHN: Faithful to a fault.
STEPHANIE: That’s me.
JOHN: I told you you had more than one vice. (Lights out.)
SCENE SIXTEEN:
(Lights come up on DEBRA on the couch drinking whiskey. She moves her hands and arms as if she is conducting a symphony. After sometime of this her movements begin to look more like she's fending off a brutal attack. This for a good moment then lights out.)
SCENE SEVENTEEN:
(Lights up on JOHN and STEPHANIE.)
STEPHANIE: I can’t believe it's been two years since I've seen you, Dad. Europe was wonderful, except you weren’t there.
JOHN: You have been sorely missed, too, my dear. Your letters were great. When you get settled back in you’ll have to show me all the pictures and tell me all the wonderful stories.
STEPHANIE: I was so excited to see you that I didn’t even think to bring them with me. I even forgot your gifts back at the apartment.
JOHN: You were excited?
STEPHANIE: Of course I was! You?
JOHN: Couldn’t you tell?
STEPHANIE: I might have a couple of broken ribs from your bear hug.
JOHN: Sorry about that.
STEPHANIE: You look good, Dad.
JOHN: I feel good.
STEPHANIE: I see you’re still watching the news twenty-four seven.
JOHN: Here, let me turn that off.
STEPHANIE: No. I do the same thing. I got it from you. Leave it on.
JOHN: There are worse things I suppose.
STEPHANIE: It’s depressing, even when it’s muted, but I keep waiting for some good news to come from all of this godforsaken warring. It never seems to come. What the hell are we doing over there, Dad?
JOHN: Mucking it up.
STEPHANIE: The whole time I was in Europe there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t hear someone say something terrible about America.
JOHN: Same thing here in the states, only they say Bush or Cheney.
STEPHANIE: We’re falling aren’t we?
JOHN: Like Rome, I’m afraid.
STEPHANIE: ...Anyway… Sorry.
JOHN: It’s not your fault. It’s all of us.
STEPHANIE: I meant sorry I brought it up.
JOHN: I know. (Pause.) You look wonderful; your face is all lit up.
STEPHANIE: I’m seeing someone steady.
JOHN: Already? You only got back a few hours ago.
STEPHANIE: No. We were seeing one another before I left for Europe.
JOHN: Musician?
STEPHANIE: A professor.
JOHN: Professor?
STEPHANIE: Surprised?
JOHN: How old?
STEPHANIE: Old enough.
JOHN: Older than me?
STEPHANIE: God no.
JOHN: Good.
STEPHANIE: A psychology professor. Remember I told you about the very young and attractive professor that I started seeing my last year of school?
JOHN: Dr. Coats?
STEPHANIE: No! Dr. Coats is seventy-two!
JOHN: Then who? What’s his name?
STEPHANIE: Dr. Elizabeth Gray.
JOHN: Seriously?
STEPHANIE: Very. She’s amazing, Dad. So fucking smart!
JOHN: She’s dating my daughter of course she’s fucking smart. Why didn’t you tell me about her before?
STEPHANIE: Are you kidding me? Same reason you didn't tell me about Matt.
JOHN: Oh sure.
STEPHANIE: No. I was having trouble telling myself and being away from her for a year and a half I wasn’t really sure we'd make it.
JOHN: A year and a half?
STEPHANIE: Yes. Beth took a sabbatical and joined me in Europe the last six months.
JOHN: She was the Beth you mentioned in your last few letters? So Beth is your Dr. Delirious.
STEPHANIE: One in the same.
JOHN: So are you?
STEPHANIE: Am I what?
JOHN: Sure about her.
STEPHANIE: Very.
JOHN: Then I have to meet her.
STEPHANIE: You’re going to love her, Dad. (Lights out.)
SCENE EIGHTEEN:
(Lights up on MATT as he enters the front door carrying a mirror.)
MATT: It’s exactly like the one I broke, Mama. It was only twenty bucks
(MATT has crossed to the couch. DEBRA has choked to death on her own vomit. Her head is tilted out toward the audience and her eyes are open. MATT, upon seeing her, drops the mirror, it shatters loudly. Lights out.)
SCENE NINETEEN:
(Lights up on JOHN and STEPHANIE.)
JOHN: Happy?
STEPHANIE: Deliriously.
JOHN: Delirious is good.
STEPHANIE: I’ll ask her if she wants to come to dinner if that’s alright.
JOHN: Absolutely. You, me and Dr. Delirious. We’ll debate Freud, drink wine, and dance and sing all night.
STEPHANIE: Maybe we could just eat, drink and talk. She says things that’ll even blow your mind, Dad.
JOHN: Then it’s a date, Saturday good for you?
STEPHANIE: Perfect. Think you could stash Debra’s ashes somewhere for the evening?
JOHN: Maybe.
STEPHANIE: I’d rather you did.
JOHN: Not much faith in your old man, eh?
(Lights come up on MATT standing, looking down at his mother.)
STEPHANIE: No. I’ve plenty in you. It’s me. I’d rather not have the whole evening consumed with talk of death-
MATT: Why?
STEPHANIE: -and forgiveness-
MATT: I told you not to drink.
SEPHANIE: -and the noble actions of my father.
MATT: I’m sorry I broke your mirror.
STEHANIE: I’d rather dance and sing.
MATT: It was only twenty dollars, Mama.
JOHN: Since you put it that way I’ll put Debra in a drawer for the night.
MATT: Twenty fucking dollars.
STEPHANIE: And you’ll not take her out after a couple of bottles of wine?
MATT: Now what am I supposed to do?
JOHN: I’ll try to control myself.
MATT: Huh? What now, Mama?
STEPHANIE: So how are you really doing, Dad?
MATT: What am I supposed to do now? (He picks up a large piece of glass and moves closer to his mother and kneels down. Pause.) What am I supposed- What am I- (He begins to cry and drops the glass to the floor.) How am I supposed to feel, Mama? (Lights out on MATT.)
STEPHANIE: Dad?
JOHN: What, baby?
STEPHANIE: Are you sure you’re feeling okay?
JOHN: Yes. Really, Steph, there’s no need to worry about your old man. I'm fit as a fiddle.
STEPHANIE: Dad?
JOHN: What?
STEPHANIE: Nothing.
JOHN: Come on. Out with it.
STEPHANIE: (Beat.) Mom?
JOHN: Oh.
STEPHANIE: I miss her, Dad.
JOHN: Me too, baby. Me too.
STEPHANIE: Fucking cancer.
JOHN: Fucking cancer. (Pause.) Want to go see her this week?
STEPHANIE: Yes. Tomorrow?
JOHN: Tomorrow’s perfect. Forecast says clear skys all day.
STEPHANIE: I’ll get some flowers on my way, okay?
JOHN: Okay. Come here.
(They embrace and cry together for a good moment. As they cry we begin to hear Debra singing “I Wish I Was the Moon tonight”.)
STEPHANIE: Whew… I wish I’d have brought some pictures with me.
JOHN: Bring them tomorrow. We can look at pictures with your mother. She loved Europe, too you know?
STEPHANIE: You two spent every summer in Europe... for how many years?
JOHN: Seven. No. It was eight.
STEPHANIE: Now I’ve spent as much time there as you two.
JOHN: You have, haven’t you?
(Long pause between the two as we listen to DEBRA sing. A good moment of this and then STEPHANIE picks up the whiskey bottle of ashes. DEBRA’S singing fades out.)
STEPAHNIE: Do you really think Matt will come back for her?
JOHN: I hope so.
STEPHANIE: Whatever happened to him?
JOHN: Matt? I don’t know, haven’t seen him since he left his mother on the curb. House has been for sale for about two years now.
STEPHANIE: I’d never buy that house.
JOHN: What? Don’t want to live next door to your old man?
STEPHANIE: No. That would be great. ...How did she die?
JOHN: Who?
SEPHANIE: Debra, Dad.
JOHN: Oh. The bottle.
STEPHANIE: She drank herself to death?
JOHN: Something like that.
STEPHANIE: Poor woman.
JOHN: Poor kid.
STEPHANIE: Him too.
JOHN: He came home and found her dead on the couch. Choked on her own vomit.
STEPHANIE: Christ...
JOHN: Two weeks later he was gone.
STEPHANIE: Did you ever talk to him? Matt?
JOHN: Once about four of five years ago.
STEPHANIE: What was he like?
JOHN: Brooding. Angry. Charming. Lost.
STEPHANIE: Sounds like half the men I ever dated.
JOHN: All the men you ever dated.
STEPHANIE: You’re real funny, Dad.
JOHN: My one and only vice.
STEPHANIE: That’s true.
JOHN: I know.
STEPHANIE: Was he cute?
JOHN: Deliriously.
STEPHANIE: No seriously.
JOHN: I suppose he was nice looking in a Sean Penn and John Malkovitch kind of way.
STEPHANIE: Penn and Malkovitch?
JOHN: If they ever had a child together.
STEPHANIE: I think you’re the serial killer.
JOHN: No. I don’t have the patience for it.
STEPHANIE: You’re not a serial killer but you’ll keep the ashes of some woman you never even met.
(Again we hear DEBRA softly singing “I Wish I Was the Moon Tonight”.)
JOHN: She wasn’t the type of person you just meet. I tried talking with her several times but she was always in such a hurry to get inside and drink the groceries she'd just bought.
STEPHANIE: Speaking of not funny.
JOHN: I know, but it’s true.
STEPHANIE: Another one of your vices.
JOHN: Not being funny or being honest?
STEPHANIE: Honest to a fault.
JOHN: I used to hear her singing late at night. She had a beautiful voice. She used to sing sad country ballads. I’d sit on the front porch with a bottle of wine and listen to her sing all night. I imagined her life was the saddest ballad of all.
STEPHANIE: I’d say so.
JOHN: Beautiful voice, ugly existence.
STEPHANIE: Lucky for me I can’t sing worth spit.
JOHN: I always wondered why musicians found you so attractive.
STEPHANIE: There’s more than one way to sing, Dad.
JOHN: Okay. I’d rather not get into the details of that particular metaphor.
STEPHANIE: I missed you.
JOHN: And I you. ...Glass of wine?
STEPHANIE: No. I have to run.
JOHN: Already?
STEPHANIE: I’m meeting Elizabeth for a drink in fifteen. Want to come?
JOHN: No. I better let you two rest up for Saturday.
STEPHANIE: I’ll be here in the morning with the flowers.
JOHN: Good. (He gives her a big bear hug.)
STEPHANIE: Okay! Okay! My insurance doesn’t cover bear attacks!
JOHN: How about Daddy kisses?
STEPHANIE: Well of course. Don’t all insurance plans?
JOHN: Yes, but some are copay.
STEPHANIE: I love you, Dad. See you tomorrow.
JOHN: Bye, Steph. Love you too. Drive careful!
(STEPHANIE is gone. JOHN comes back inside. After a moment he picks up the whiskey bottle of Debra’s ashes and begins to waltz with her. He circles the room several times and then something on the television catches his attention. He stops dancing and turns up the volume.)
TV: This just coming in from Baghdad. Sources tell us that a member of the National Guard who is on his first tour of duty is responsible for the apparent torture, vicious rape, and murder of the Iraqi woman. The military have also confirmed that the same soldier is responsible for up to twelve similar slayings of Iraqi men, women, and children in the capital city in the past month. The Army National Guard spokesman stationed in Baghdad has just released the soldiers name as one Matt Jameson-
(DEBRA abruptly stops singing. JOHN drops the whiskey bottle. It shatters loudly. Blackout. After a good moment houselights rise and the song In The News by Kris Kristofferson begins to play as the audience files out. )
(Lights come up on the couch as MATT enters carrying his mother. He lays her down and covers her with a blanket and puts a pillow under her head. He now stands just looking down on her. Lights out.)
SCENE ELEVEN:
(Lights up on JOHN.)
TV: Authorities are still trying to piece together the grim picture of what happened and why. Investigators at the scene say it was a complete bloodbath. The worst they’d seen in a lifetime of investigating.
(Lights out.)
SCENE TWELVE:
(Lights up on MATT holding his mom’s whiskey bottle.)
MATT: Why do you drink? Huh? Why drink when your life is already so terribly numb? ...I’m sorry Daddy was such an abusive prick, Mama. If he were here right now I’d slice him from stem to sternum. I’d spread him wide open and find the tumor that was wrapped around his heart and rip it out of him. And when it was throbbing in my hands I’d take the knife and slowly cut away the skin of it, the cocoon, and reach inside and pull the demon out while it was kicking and screaming and when it tried to bite me I’d put my hand around it’s scrawny little neck and squeeze until it turned purple and then I’d stick the knife between its beady little eyes and twist like a can opener. Its eyes would roll back in its tiny skull and its tongue would flop to its chin. Then I’d put the carcass in a mason jar and seal the lid real tight to make sure the stench didn’t seep out and take it door to door across America and ask if they’d seen anything like it before and if they said “yes” I’d tell them how to kill it and instruct them on putting it in a mason jar and sealing it tight, and tell them to carry it across the world. Then I’d go to the next house and the next until some unlucky son-of-a-bitch said “no” and when they said “no”, I’d hand them the jar and tell them how to kill it and then walk across the country, around the world, and ask strangers if they had ever seen anything like it. In twenty years or so there’d be no more demons, Mama. Then we could all go about killing one another like before only then we’d know we were killing human beings who were themselves evil and not innocents with a no good, godforsaken demon living in their hearts! (Long pause.) That’s what I would do if Daddy were here.
(Lights out.)
SCENE THIRTEEN:
(Lights up on JOHN.)
TV: One neighbor that lived next door says that the woman literally had her heart ripped from her chest while she was still alive. The man said that her screams and the fact that he could do nothing to save her will haunt him for the rest of his life.
(On the word “life” comes three loud knocks. Lights out.)
SCENE FOURTEEN:
(Lights come up on MATT who sobs loudly.)
MATT: Is there a demon inside you, Mama? In your heart? Is there? I hope there is. I do. I want to believe there’s more to you than this. I want to know that my mother’s not just sorry and loathsome for nothing. I want to know that you’ve been infested with little devils that make you destroy everyone and everything around you. It’s better than the alternative. It’s a hell of a lot easier to understand. ...Is it growing inside of you? Did Daddy give it to you or did you give one to Daddy? See... that would help explain the both of you. ...Is there one growing inside me, too, Mama? Has it been inside me since birth, growing in me, in my heart all these years? ...Then why the hell haven’t you sliced me open by now? I’d rather you had done that than let me go on thinking that all these awful thoughts are my own! If they’re mine then I'm evil! If they’re a demon living and breeding inside of me, then you're the evil one! Wicked for not having ripped it out of me when I was a baby! I’d rather you’d have done that than let me go on thinking that I’m no good! A goddamned little demon dwells in my fucking heart, Mama! See what you’ve done? You let it grow into this! I can’t very well cut my own demon from out of my own goddamned heart and kill it now can I? How the hell would I get it into the jar?
(With a sudden fury he smashes the whiskey bottle into the floor. It shatters loudly. Lights out.)
SCENE FIFTEEN:
(Lights rise on JOHN and his daughter STEPHANIE.)
JOHN: (Holding the whiskey bottle.) Debra Jameson, Matt’s mother.
STEPHANIE: Her ashes? You mean her ashes ashes?
JOHN: Dust to dust.
STEPHANIE: Jesus, Dad, that’s sick. Why would you keep some strangers ashes?
JOHN: For tomorrow.
STEPHANIE: Tomorrow?
JOHN: Matt might come back for his mother. Some life changing event could make him see her differently tomorrow.
STEPHANIE: He put her ashes in a whiskey bottle, Dad. I doubt tomorrow's coming. ...How does one even put ashes in a whiskey bottle?
JOHN: It was her favorite drink.
STEPHANIE: I suppose by that logic I could put your ashes in a bottle of Bordeaux.
JOHN: Good idea, but I'm not going to be cremated.
STEPHANIE: Party pooper.
JOHN: He could come around, Steph.
STEPHANIE: Why didn't you ever tell me about the neighbors?
JOHN: Because I didn't want you to have an excuse to not come see me.
STEPHANIE: That's comforting.
JOHN: Sorry. I probably should have told you.
STEPHANIE: No. I would have come over a lot less if you had.
JOHN: Precisely why I didn't tell you.
STEPHANIE: You saw him throw the bottle in the trash?
JOHN: He put it next to the curb like he wanted me to find it, take care of it until he came back.
STEPHANIE: It's all a bit creepy to me.
JOHN: He had been packing up the house all through the night. I could hear him grunting and cursing his dead mother as he stacked furniture and boxes on top of the station wagon.
STEPHANIE: He drove a station wagon?
JOHN: His mom’s car.
STEPHANIE: Serial killer for sure. Probably out there right now serialing. Lucky for you he moved.
JOHN: He’s not a serial killer. His father abandoned him and his mother when Matt was only fourteen. Just packed a bag and disappeared.
STEPHANIE: How do you know all of this, Dad. Debra? Matt? Abusive father? Ashes to ashes?
JOHN: Ten years you pick up on things. Hear bits of drunken arguments, shattered glass. It was like an elaborate puzzle I pieced together out of all the broken whiskey bottles over the years.
STEPHANIE: Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?
JOHN: I prefer Nancy Drew.
STEPHANIE: Okay, Nancy. Did it ever occur to you that Matt may have started his career with his dad?
JOHN: Stop it.
STEPHANIE: Seriously. All that repressed anger, alcohol, the yelling and of course the shattered glass- metaphor for Matt’s miserable life. No wonder he’s a serial killer.
JOHN: Don’t say stuff like that, Steph.
STEPHANIE: It was a joke, Dad.
JOHN: Not very funny.
STEPHANIE: Jesus. You’re really serious about this, huh?
JOHN: Sometimes we don’t know what pulls at us. We get a feeling. An idea gets set loose in our heads and we do things out of the ordinary, you know? Break the cursed apathy that grips us and react without thinking.
STEPHANIE: I’m sure the Nobel Prize committee has you on their short list, pops.
JOHN: You always were a smartass, you know?
STEPHANIE: My one and only vice.
JOHN: Only one? Ha!
STEPHANIE: What’s that supposed to mean?
JOHN: I seem to recall a young lady who could really pick her boyfriends.
STEPHANIE: I could pick `em that’s for sure.
JOHN: Whatever happened to that musician?
STEPHANIE: Which one?
JOHN: There was more than one?
STEPHANIE: Not at the same time.
JOHN: Faithful to a fault.
STEPHANIE: That’s me.
JOHN: I told you you had more than one vice. (Lights out.)
SCENE SIXTEEN:
(Lights come up on DEBRA on the couch drinking whiskey. She moves her hands and arms as if she is conducting a symphony. After sometime of this her movements begin to look more like she's fending off a brutal attack. This for a good moment then lights out.)
SCENE SEVENTEEN:
(Lights up on JOHN and STEPHANIE.)
STEPHANIE: I can’t believe it's been two years since I've seen you, Dad. Europe was wonderful, except you weren’t there.
JOHN: You have been sorely missed, too, my dear. Your letters were great. When you get settled back in you’ll have to show me all the pictures and tell me all the wonderful stories.
STEPHANIE: I was so excited to see you that I didn’t even think to bring them with me. I even forgot your gifts back at the apartment.
JOHN: You were excited?
STEPHANIE: Of course I was! You?
JOHN: Couldn’t you tell?
STEPHANIE: I might have a couple of broken ribs from your bear hug.
JOHN: Sorry about that.
STEPHANIE: You look good, Dad.
JOHN: I feel good.
STEPHANIE: I see you’re still watching the news twenty-four seven.
JOHN: Here, let me turn that off.
STEPHANIE: No. I do the same thing. I got it from you. Leave it on.
JOHN: There are worse things I suppose.
STEPHANIE: It’s depressing, even when it’s muted, but I keep waiting for some good news to come from all of this godforsaken warring. It never seems to come. What the hell are we doing over there, Dad?
JOHN: Mucking it up.
STEPHANIE: The whole time I was in Europe there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t hear someone say something terrible about America.
JOHN: Same thing here in the states, only they say Bush or Cheney.
STEPHANIE: We’re falling aren’t we?
JOHN: Like Rome, I’m afraid.
STEPHANIE: ...Anyway… Sorry.
JOHN: It’s not your fault. It’s all of us.
STEPHANIE: I meant sorry I brought it up.
JOHN: I know. (Pause.) You look wonderful; your face is all lit up.
STEPHANIE: I’m seeing someone steady.
JOHN: Already? You only got back a few hours ago.
STEPHANIE: No. We were seeing one another before I left for Europe.
JOHN: Musician?
STEPHANIE: A professor.
JOHN: Professor?
STEPHANIE: Surprised?
JOHN: How old?
STEPHANIE: Old enough.
JOHN: Older than me?
STEPHANIE: God no.
JOHN: Good.
STEPHANIE: A psychology professor. Remember I told you about the very young and attractive professor that I started seeing my last year of school?
JOHN: Dr. Coats?
STEPHANIE: No! Dr. Coats is seventy-two!
JOHN: Then who? What’s his name?
STEPHANIE: Dr. Elizabeth Gray.
JOHN: Seriously?
STEPHANIE: Very. She’s amazing, Dad. So fucking smart!
JOHN: She’s dating my daughter of course she’s fucking smart. Why didn’t you tell me about her before?
STEPHANIE: Are you kidding me? Same reason you didn't tell me about Matt.
JOHN: Oh sure.
STEPHANIE: No. I was having trouble telling myself and being away from her for a year and a half I wasn’t really sure we'd make it.
JOHN: A year and a half?
STEPHANIE: Yes. Beth took a sabbatical and joined me in Europe the last six months.
JOHN: She was the Beth you mentioned in your last few letters? So Beth is your Dr. Delirious.
STEPHANIE: One in the same.
JOHN: So are you?
STEPHANIE: Am I what?
JOHN: Sure about her.
STEPHANIE: Very.
JOHN: Then I have to meet her.
STEPHANIE: You’re going to love her, Dad. (Lights out.)
SCENE EIGHTEEN:
(Lights up on MATT as he enters the front door carrying a mirror.)
MATT: It’s exactly like the one I broke, Mama. It was only twenty bucks
(MATT has crossed to the couch. DEBRA has choked to death on her own vomit. Her head is tilted out toward the audience and her eyes are open. MATT, upon seeing her, drops the mirror, it shatters loudly. Lights out.)
SCENE NINETEEN:
(Lights up on JOHN and STEPHANIE.)
JOHN: Happy?
STEPHANIE: Deliriously.
JOHN: Delirious is good.
STEPHANIE: I’ll ask her if she wants to come to dinner if that’s alright.
JOHN: Absolutely. You, me and Dr. Delirious. We’ll debate Freud, drink wine, and dance and sing all night.
STEPHANIE: Maybe we could just eat, drink and talk. She says things that’ll even blow your mind, Dad.
JOHN: Then it’s a date, Saturday good for you?
STEPHANIE: Perfect. Think you could stash Debra’s ashes somewhere for the evening?
JOHN: Maybe.
STEPHANIE: I’d rather you did.
JOHN: Not much faith in your old man, eh?
(Lights come up on MATT standing, looking down at his mother.)
STEPHANIE: No. I’ve plenty in you. It’s me. I’d rather not have the whole evening consumed with talk of death-
MATT: Why?
STEPHANIE: -and forgiveness-
MATT: I told you not to drink.
SEPHANIE: -and the noble actions of my father.
MATT: I’m sorry I broke your mirror.
STEHANIE: I’d rather dance and sing.
MATT: It was only twenty dollars, Mama.
JOHN: Since you put it that way I’ll put Debra in a drawer for the night.
MATT: Twenty fucking dollars.
STEPHANIE: And you’ll not take her out after a couple of bottles of wine?
MATT: Now what am I supposed to do?
JOHN: I’ll try to control myself.
MATT: Huh? What now, Mama?
STEPHANIE: So how are you really doing, Dad?
MATT: What am I supposed to do now? (He picks up a large piece of glass and moves closer to his mother and kneels down. Pause.) What am I supposed- What am I- (He begins to cry and drops the glass to the floor.) How am I supposed to feel, Mama? (Lights out on MATT.)
STEPHANIE: Dad?
JOHN: What, baby?
STEPHANIE: Are you sure you’re feeling okay?
JOHN: Yes. Really, Steph, there’s no need to worry about your old man. I'm fit as a fiddle.
STEPHANIE: Dad?
JOHN: What?
STEPHANIE: Nothing.
JOHN: Come on. Out with it.
STEPHANIE: (Beat.) Mom?
JOHN: Oh.
STEPHANIE: I miss her, Dad.
JOHN: Me too, baby. Me too.
STEPHANIE: Fucking cancer.
JOHN: Fucking cancer. (Pause.) Want to go see her this week?
STEPHANIE: Yes. Tomorrow?
JOHN: Tomorrow’s perfect. Forecast says clear skys all day.
STEPHANIE: I’ll get some flowers on my way, okay?
JOHN: Okay. Come here.
(They embrace and cry together for a good moment. As they cry we begin to hear Debra singing “I Wish I Was the Moon tonight”.)
STEPHANIE: Whew… I wish I’d have brought some pictures with me.
JOHN: Bring them tomorrow. We can look at pictures with your mother. She loved Europe, too you know?
STEPHANIE: You two spent every summer in Europe... for how many years?
JOHN: Seven. No. It was eight.
STEPHANIE: Now I’ve spent as much time there as you two.
JOHN: You have, haven’t you?
(Long pause between the two as we listen to DEBRA sing. A good moment of this and then STEPHANIE picks up the whiskey bottle of ashes. DEBRA’S singing fades out.)
STEPAHNIE: Do you really think Matt will come back for her?
JOHN: I hope so.
STEPHANIE: Whatever happened to him?
JOHN: Matt? I don’t know, haven’t seen him since he left his mother on the curb. House has been for sale for about two years now.
STEPHANIE: I’d never buy that house.
JOHN: What? Don’t want to live next door to your old man?
STEPHANIE: No. That would be great. ...How did she die?
JOHN: Who?
SEPHANIE: Debra, Dad.
JOHN: Oh. The bottle.
STEPHANIE: She drank herself to death?
JOHN: Something like that.
STEPHANIE: Poor woman.
JOHN: Poor kid.
STEPHANIE: Him too.
JOHN: He came home and found her dead on the couch. Choked on her own vomit.
STEPHANIE: Christ...
JOHN: Two weeks later he was gone.
STEPHANIE: Did you ever talk to him? Matt?
JOHN: Once about four of five years ago.
STEPHANIE: What was he like?
JOHN: Brooding. Angry. Charming. Lost.
STEPHANIE: Sounds like half the men I ever dated.
JOHN: All the men you ever dated.
STEPHANIE: You’re real funny, Dad.
JOHN: My one and only vice.
STEPHANIE: That’s true.
JOHN: I know.
STEPHANIE: Was he cute?
JOHN: Deliriously.
STEPHANIE: No seriously.
JOHN: I suppose he was nice looking in a Sean Penn and John Malkovitch kind of way.
STEPHANIE: Penn and Malkovitch?
JOHN: If they ever had a child together.
STEPHANIE: I think you’re the serial killer.
JOHN: No. I don’t have the patience for it.
STEPHANIE: You’re not a serial killer but you’ll keep the ashes of some woman you never even met.
(Again we hear DEBRA softly singing “I Wish I Was the Moon Tonight”.)
JOHN: She wasn’t the type of person you just meet. I tried talking with her several times but she was always in such a hurry to get inside and drink the groceries she'd just bought.
STEPHANIE: Speaking of not funny.
JOHN: I know, but it’s true.
STEPHANIE: Another one of your vices.
JOHN: Not being funny or being honest?
STEPHANIE: Honest to a fault.
JOHN: I used to hear her singing late at night. She had a beautiful voice. She used to sing sad country ballads. I’d sit on the front porch with a bottle of wine and listen to her sing all night. I imagined her life was the saddest ballad of all.
STEPHANIE: I’d say so.
JOHN: Beautiful voice, ugly existence.
STEPHANIE: Lucky for me I can’t sing worth spit.
JOHN: I always wondered why musicians found you so attractive.
STEPHANIE: There’s more than one way to sing, Dad.
JOHN: Okay. I’d rather not get into the details of that particular metaphor.
STEPHANIE: I missed you.
JOHN: And I you. ...Glass of wine?
STEPHANIE: No. I have to run.
JOHN: Already?
STEPHANIE: I’m meeting Elizabeth for a drink in fifteen. Want to come?
JOHN: No. I better let you two rest up for Saturday.
STEPHANIE: I’ll be here in the morning with the flowers.
JOHN: Good. (He gives her a big bear hug.)
STEPHANIE: Okay! Okay! My insurance doesn’t cover bear attacks!
JOHN: How about Daddy kisses?
STEPHANIE: Well of course. Don’t all insurance plans?
JOHN: Yes, but some are copay.
STEPHANIE: I love you, Dad. See you tomorrow.
JOHN: Bye, Steph. Love you too. Drive careful!
(STEPHANIE is gone. JOHN comes back inside. After a moment he picks up the whiskey bottle of Debra’s ashes and begins to waltz with her. He circles the room several times and then something on the television catches his attention. He stops dancing and turns up the volume.)
TV: This just coming in from Baghdad. Sources tell us that a member of the National Guard who is on his first tour of duty is responsible for the apparent torture, vicious rape, and murder of the Iraqi woman. The military have also confirmed that the same soldier is responsible for up to twelve similar slayings of Iraqi men, women, and children in the capital city in the past month. The Army National Guard spokesman stationed in Baghdad has just released the soldiers name as one Matt Jameson-
(DEBRA abruptly stops singing. JOHN drops the whiskey bottle. It shatters loudly. Blackout. After a good moment houselights rise and the song In The News by Kris Kristofferson begins to play as the audience files out. )
The End
© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
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