MONDAY (4/28/08)
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 28, 2008
Obama declines Clinton challenge
Spared such a spectacle of tit for tat the relieved electorate enjoy the silence... breathe easier...for now.
UN troops 'armed DR Congo rebels'
As for the moans of anguish, they would thereafter sidle along wailing with a gait of monstrous deformity. Man witnesses, but does nothing. (Who are the misshapen again?)
Baghdad Green Zone blasted under cover of storm
Like large carrion birds they come. These scavengers do not feed on carcasses- they feed off of them.
Female suicide bomber kills 3 in Iraq
If song were a suicide bomb it couldn’t sing, not so tightly wrapped... Only later, after the music ends and the humming dies.
Election Day may end up looking
This script’s been written for some time now. Penned while we were frenzied. Polished with planes and floods, war and torture, fear and apathy. If it becomes a bestseller we will have been its author.
© 2008 mrp/tpm
FRIDAY (4/26/08)
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 26, 2008
Justice Scalia Defends Bush v, gore Ruling
The ears and eyes of Justice, flesh deadened flesh, a steamy odor of wax smoldering inside tears ghost the fringes of exhaustion screeching on in these grief-stricken years…
RAND study: 300,000 U.S. Vets Have Mental Problem, 320,000 Have Brain Injuries
The count, like a metronome ticking off reason’s death, drifts up and up… unheard, seen.
New embassy in Iraq short on beds
Where shall you put your feet up tonight as the hoary smoke paints shadows outside furiously trying to find you.
Ship hired by US military fires warning shots in Gulf
Hit men, marauders; pirates floating oils proximity, unloading their weighted calculation, urging hostility, itching for a reply.
NY Police Acquittal Sparks Anger
The oak can support the added weight of blackbirds. But these birds, bent with expectation, won’t leave any time soon. The load, in the end, the grave displeasure- Damned right they’ll fly down!
Israel: Hamas 'playing games' with truce
Come closer and I’ll devour, consume you and your spindly hope! Said the snake to the hen’s red frown.
WEDNESDAY 4/23/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 24, 2008
Gen. Petraeus to lead Mideast command
Then the blindfold was removed from Liberty’s eyes revealing two seeping wounds, the rot of injustice and war flowed down the corpse lined streets of Iraq.
Lead on general…
Ethiopian troops 'took children'
Directly spoken to the Ethiopian troops: Your dark manifestation of cruelty and murder will not remain on the throats of the innocent you cut open like farm animals. No. It will twist in you, a tapeworm infesting your wits and you’ll wish you’d loved.
Carter says Secretary Rice "not telling truth"
The peacemaker runs exactness headlong into the ship. The bow cracks. Trickling red seas flood her depths as truth ascends the liar’s lips, too late.
Iraqi Widows Assume New Roles
Daughter; bint. Sister; akht. Wife; zawja. Aunt; hala. Mother; umm. Grandmother; jaddah. These roles came prior to war’s audition, before the careworn maw of the widow; iddah.
Climber kicked off Everest for Tibet banner
Peace mounts the slope of want, faint toehold slips from its edge, falling, she weeps…
© 2008 mrp/tpm
MONDAY 4/21/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 21, 2008
The Bay Hap River, a swift boat, the banks of the Tran Thoi village. A dry day, no rain. A Viet Cong soldier, a rocket, Lt. Kerry fires his weapon, Ba Thanh is slain. A six year old smiles at his mother.
Rice in Iraq, violence surges after Sadr threat
She entered with the moorings of night, staggered to find that she’s unwelcome- Not one flower.
These are the criers, the aged and brassy men of warring that congregate in Cuba, charting the king’s defense. They only know the one breed of war.
The mournfully blue shutters hug the sunrise and the pale reflection evaporates giving rise to a new color.
Report: Mogadishu battles leave 81 dead
These two days of an unleashed dying! Who are these many unclimbed souls that bridled my wish?
Teachers' strike could shut 1,000 schools
Befall a splendid melody, teacher. Become your worth in this dying age. Stand and struggle for what you merit, we’ll not forgo our approval.
SUNDAY 4/20/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 20, 2008
Iraqi cleric threatens 'open war'
Five years in... fury continues to eat what feeds it, grief flows through oily veins. Rage isn’t vacant... it’s occupied.
US Church needs purification, pope says
US church? That’s not all, your holiness; your church, your collusion, your cleansing, our war, our apathy, our worship of you.
Rice asks neighbors to offer Iraq debt relief, ties
Asking to borrow sugar from your neighbors is a custom I can comprehend, appreciate. Asking for their home isn’t.
No Fortissimo? Symphony Told to Keep It Down
Music, you noisy bully, earsplitting thug, you’ll deplete us of our beloved auditory sensations, a mother’s unbearable grief, a father’s hell-dipped shriek, a child’s startled cry, war’s rise.
© 2008 mrp/tpm
DEBRA'S ASHES (a one act play)
Posted by Mark R. Prime anti-war plays, peace plays on Apr 19, 2008
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 [+/-]
SATURDAY 04/19/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime creation, head-lines, prayer
Texas Sect Kids to Remain in Custody
Something is with them, the children, placed tenderly down and puffed with shame- the sins of their fathers.
Carter in Hamas 'ceasefire call'
Communication ferried over the sea. The pillars of peace glow dimly over their warring, stillness eclipsing.
McCain, Iraq War and the Threat of ‘Al Qaeda’
Time passes and all this ailing noise escapes, war, terror, starvation, grief, gloom. One hundred years can change a world.
DNA Tests on Texas Sect Children
In the tiny cribs juvenile mothers sang to them, lullabies of righteousness and accord on the road to surrender. Labor.
States React to Court's Lethal Injection Ruling
I’ve said before that belief should be richer than the murder- mortal wounds- bludgeoned, injected, or bombed, are not ours to administer. Seems I was wrong.
Crude Hits Record $117 per Barrel
Where our slippery adoration of oil stirs along the passageway of such machines stands the shadows of our architecture.
FRIDAY 04/18/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 18, 2008
British PM: Bush owed 'a huge debt of gratitude'
Listen there are children whose breath’s been cleaved, mothers and fathers split like lumber, hatred boiling… Huge debt’s an understatement.
Pope Meets with Victims of Clergy Sex Abuse
Pale, dry hands of sacrament to fall upon the children, pouring harshly over and over their naked souls, unprepared to return the desire.
Embassy in Baghdad Is Ready
The rain now falling, comforting the beheaded grass. The monstrous structure, dwarfing all that came before, stands complete. The second hand begins to move.
Across Globe, Empty Bellies Bring Rising Anger
The lyricists are going home now, receding to the unforgiving landscape. Breathless, music surrendered.
Suicide Bomber Kills 50 at Iraq Funeral
The music makers have returned, red-faced, staring, stunned at death’s rapid tempo, panicked, cheerless, reprised.
Elderly US Ladies, age 77 and 75, Kill 2 Homeless Men for Insurance Money
Had even they, at their age, not lived enough, laughed, seen ample misery to have greeted the day with love? Surely their hearts had forever been homeless.
TUESDAY 04/15/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 15, 2008
Iraq’s Free Ride may be Over
Sand. Rivers. Palm trees. Iraq. The freedom ride’s come to an end. What have you been doing these last five years? When you’re occupied you do not lollygag about! You ignore the dead and dying, you tough it out and get back to work! Sand. Rivers. Palm Trees.
China ‘Now Top Carbon Polluter’
Black air finally has found the ashen lungs of another's living to fill in the shadows.
Wal-Mart to Film Gun Sales in Bid to Fight Crime
The mammoth’s face grins over the interstate. Made of brick with a sightless gape it drains us of its plans.
Retailing Chains Caught in a Wave of Bankruptcies
Behind the smiling clerk’s teeth, like the noise of a rodent in a trash can, the words hide in the bottom of the mouth, "For God’s sake! Buy something!”
Mass Grave Found South of Baghdad
This news doesn’t really matter in the end. Fourteen bodies buried in a field won’t compute; the abacus beads were used up long ago.
GOP Lawmaker Apologizes for Referring to Obama as ‘Boy’
And maybe it was just that; a poor choice of words, an erroneous epithet, slip of the master’s tongue. Obama will easily accept the apology. Now if everyone will just forgive Obama for speaking candidly, the rumbling of “boy” will be excused away. Shallow, like the measure of race in a beauty pageant.
© 2008 mrp/tpm
MONDAY 04/14/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 14, 2008
Israel Declines Security Help for Carter
The Fox is loose in the Barnyard and Peace comes to visit. Armed with The Nobel and the Audacity of Truth, it strides up to the Heavily Armed gate.
Sadr Demands Forces be Reinstated
Someone demands something in occupied Iraq, knows the price of thunder; a rocket is fired, a bomb explodes, America plunders, a child walks home from school.
Hamas Cleric Predicts 'Rome Will Be Conquered by Islam'
If you listen closely you’ll hear. Perch your ears upon the air. Can you hear it now? It is not a US fighter jet rescue or even the droning lips of angels. It is the maddened blow-back of madness marching on the wind.
White House: Bush Concerned About Food Shortages
The lack of sustenance boils and splatters. Two point one billion in 2007 was given this. Imagine what one day, one measly day out of Iraq could nourish?
Nobel Laureate Refuses Olympic Torch
When a dog is beaten by its master and hobbled from neglect it cowers away from the outstretched hand, yet desires its affection. Knowing it will not eat without the master’s approval it will suddenly bare its teeth.
Texas Compound Was Considered A 'Holy Land'
Holy Christ! The writhing and gnashing truth spills forth! Within the walls it was indeed deemed divine; The sacrosanct howl of children held up and held down as women. Wholly hell!
SUNDAY 04/13/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 13, 2008
Clinton Accuses Rival of Elitism After Obama Says Some Voters are Bitter
Stewards of prosperity narrow their eyes at our despair, a wrinkled desire for our failure folded under their brows. It is with harsh certainty that they will pawn our dreams. No. Failure’s not purchased like bread.
Deadly Blast Strikes Iran Mosque
And with its isolation comes human surrender hovering near the crater left by religion’s perplexity, war's clarity.
Regional Leaders Urge Fast Zimbabwe Poll Result
Yes. Hastily now, for her people, heirs to South Africa’s grief, her soul’s expedience.
Secret Iraqi Deal Shows Problems in Arms Orders
What can we learn from history? The hue of deception? The burnish of truth? Yes.
Britain Warns Terror Threat is Worsening
Hatred comes from fearing. Death from living. Terror comes not at all, unless something brings its giving.
HUD Chief Inattentive to Crisis, Critics Say
And who are they, living in that place all these years, waging war on shadows, purchasing weapons with blood?
SATURDAY 04/12/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 12, 2008
"You go into some of these small towns in Pennsylvania, and like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothing's replaced them," Obama, an Illinois senator, said. "And it's not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations," he said.
Obama under Fire after Fundraiser Remarks
The car alarm wakens me from my dream. Slowly, like hot wax tracing the skin, I open my eyes to two words I cannot set free, dried before I noticed them burning- “They cling”.
We know we come into this world naked. Too many are indifferent to history. Most of us just listen to others tell tales and don't grasp our connection.
Even the Whales Have Their Predators: Ships
O Balaena! Your lone patches caught their eye, sought even today as the true whale to slay. You are nearly gone, floating waters like Jesus, so rest now in your diluted grave, man will soon follow.
Harmony in Tibet Can’t Come at the Barrel of a Gun
This day of incomparable failing a haggard odor follows us into our homes. Nighttime bends forward, holding off the world. If but the stars could reach down close enough to open the windows, then fear might sleep and our children, set to inherit war, could witness this dazzling splendor, and at long last begin to sweeten the air.
Crocker Stresses Iraqi Progress, Iranian Influence
Bang boom and a rata tat tat! Listen for the drums in that! Bang boom and a rata tat tat! Strip away the strings and the brass! Bang boom and a rata tat tat! Now listen for the drums in that!
© 2008 mrp/tpm
FRIDAY 04/11/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 11, 2008
GE Shocks Market with Profit Drop, Shares Tumble
The rumbled air pulls at the unyielding floor. It owns our unfilled pockets, hauls in lifetimes of anguish- the richness of shock and awe.
American air Cancels More Flights
By way of the vanishing road and rail we cross the skies as the mist of a morning river would climb a cliff ...We’ve always dreaded the sudden drop.
15-month Iraq Tours Test Soldiers and Families
March along now warrior. March along. The hue of occupation strokes these burnt homes and your occasion grows shorter, smaller, weaker, 12.
Chinese Anger and Terror Warnings Cloud Olympics
What bruised communion of hope and dread has slinked into this beautiful world? Everyone seems blind and numb, deaf and dumb, searching frantically for peace and human kindness in a contest of nations.
THURSDAY 04/10/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 10, 2008
China says it Foiled Terrorist Plot to Kidnap Olympians
Ginkgo trees wrap their arms `round the Middle Kingdom like a great-grandfather’s bear hug; a massive grip, a balmy embrace. They’ve seen things…then the winter…
Candidates Respond to Voters Economic Fears
Rattled by rising debts, looking for a savior; fair queen, black knight, old man of the air to whisk away despair… A modern day folk tale.
Military Strained by Suicides, Long Deployments
Have we failed along the way? Are we no more than this, an arrangement of cubicles beset on all sides by wretchedness? The grand experiment’s gone awry, the bogey men we seek have our face.
Two Camps Trying to Influence McCain on foreign Policy
When we entrench ourselves, warriors on one side, pragmatic schemers the other and naught behind or ahead, save torture and war, where will the peacemaker stand?
WEDNESDAY 04/09/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 9, 2008
No Plan to Cut Torch Relay as U.S. Protesters Mass
We name the stars in awe but cannot, for all we are, put finger to sky of China’s cruelty. We continue to look down, avoiding errant stones.
Bush to Press Case Against Cutting Iraq Force
If it is true that brevity is indeed the soul of wit, then lengthy, it would stand to reason, is fortitude of the occupied spirit.
Palestinians say Bush Will Meet Abbas in Egypt
Before this tiny flicker of hope the king will help commemorate sixty years of Israel; it will not be peace erupting from this.
White House Hopefuls Woo Gore, Focus on Climate
Let us look upon this; our earth. Let us stretch our necks `round, view the quaking truth `neath the crust. Let us stand now, facing her, and weep.
Pope Aims to Heal Abuse Wounds on U.S. Trip
Pontiff, it is not with this purpose you should come. You needn’t simply wash over the long-infected lesion, cleave its oozing nub to pacify its heirs.
TUESDAY 04/08/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Apr 8, 2008
Petraeus: Iraq Security Improved, but `Fragile, Reversible’
There is a method to it, a scheme that leaches, oozing ugliness from the general’s lips. It burns my anxious ears and disbelieving eyes.
I hear Gaspar Noe’s `Irreversible’, see the weight of its cruel cacophony.
Olympic Torch Arrives in the U.S.
Not a moment too soon. Come, light! Come, ember! Make your way to the crown of La liberté éclairant le monde, reaching out, extend thy transporters bough; with oily rag, ignite the world’s puddled iron.
~
Detainee Program Strains Va. Jail
The strange flowers drop their wayward petals, perching them upon the aged ground. Powerless to return to their original nourishment, unable to abscond of newfound freedom.
~
400 Children Removed From Sect’s Texas Ranch
The use of pale children widens the neglect of virtue. Minds beset by scurrilous trust pilfering souls as ransom for toll at the slipshod gates of anguish
SUNDAY 04/06/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines
Clashes along Olympic torch route
Joined together, torch through London, game afoot, ire captures sober flame, hurls down its host, nineteen nations to go...
Some progress in Russia-US ties
The blankets been cleaved off the pyre revealing the slip-knotted sleeping giant alarm! Shh… Sleep now...
Ben-Hur star Charlton Heston dies
John Charles Carter joins them at present; Ben-Hur, Michelangelo, Moses, and El Cid, nodding to twilight, guns steadied...
U.S. forces clash with Iraq militia
Boil burn boil burn boil burn `n bubble! Extremists unfound in this capricious mix, citizens hunched, resentment...
© 2008 mrp/tpm
THURSDAY 04/03/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines
China jails outspoken activist over Tibet views
Dissident jailed for using tongue, shackled of seditious idioms, U.S. speechless...
Al-Sadr calls for million-Iraqi rally against U.S.
One million liberated flora marching to our one hundred forty thousand, more than enough blooms...
At least eight killed in Pennsylvania house fire
When the heat of raging fire’s so intense, one house will be consumed, resolute, only numbers remain...
ATA discontinues flights, files for bankruptcy
Seeing this I thought I’d been asleep, the god-awful roar of the recent past, stagnant oil rigs...
NATO backs Bush's European Missle Shield
Again with the ideas shielding pragmatism, roar of incoming freedom haters, hiss of outbound liberators...
Chinese spying on the rise, U.S. says
Shady secrets have a hard time sleeping when carried in official satchels over seas...
MONDAY 03/31/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines
McCain Faces Test in Wooing Elite Donors
Gluttony stomps upon the feet. Fury pounds upon the back. Even of the pain influence seeks tenure.
Colors mingle on the thick canvas, prisms of points in time, splintered carcass...
Cleric Suspends Battle in Basra by Shiite Militia
They say it’s the thickness of blood that shapes our hearts… All this dissolving.
Tracking a Marine Lost at Home
He was looking for home when eyes returned, murdered occasion...
As Jobs Vanish and Prices Rise, Food Stamp Use Nears Record
I ask… are our souls still living? Does the clamor of riches gush of blood? Nourishment, flesh?
Olympic Torch Begins Its Journey in Beijing
Vast ancient capital, peoples republic, Olympiad to veil your tyranny, akin to our September.
© 2008 mrp/tpm
THURSDAY 03/27/08
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines
These are the first words that my muse threw down to me after reading the headlines last night.
Parents Didn't Expect Daughter To Die During Prayer
Didn’t have to be child wrapped in such faith, stench of miracle.
Destroying Torture Tapes - Freeing themselves from serious legal trouble
A shrieking pale is and shall be the ghosts haunting the masters of this, frame by frame
Crash of U.S. economy has begun
Neither sidewalk nor gutter could tell me what’s going to happen because of this, walking my daughter home from school ...no gas in the car.
Aid groups- Somalia too risky
Waiting for someone abandoned there, knee-deep in blood-rooted Africa. Does anyone care?
West Bank faces toxic waste crisis
And dark spot upon the skin of a darling peoples, waiting, needing to be seen, an illness far worse which came before...
McCain warns of Iraq genocide
And there he was, hunched like a sniper, crowd of microphones, a glazed, suffering face of one who knows not where they are.
North Korea told “time is running out”
Deadline approaching, uttered the old clock whose previous declaration wound down. Words are like deadly weapons, threatening to their very end.
Bush lauds pace of Iraq progress
Something is missing which explains such optimism, his legendary dim-sightedness. I say this as it would be shameful not to mention his strengths.
Fighting in Basra sets off clashes throughout Iraq
Misery shuffled like a deck of cards without aces, game long over, playing on, keen to craving power.
© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
(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.)
(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. )
© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman