Part II: Journeys (Chapter 3)
We know a thing by its opposite corollary;
hot by having experienced cold;
good, by having decided what is bad;
love by hate.
– Sylvia Plath,
The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia
Plath
(MUSIC. Theme to “The Twilight
Zone.” Spotlight, beginning as a pinpoint of light and broadening into a tight
circle of light, comes up. SAMANTHA, the fat
woman, about 40, vivid red hair falling to her waist, steps into the spotlight.
She wears summer clothes: a Prussian Blue knit top, white shorts, scruffy
sandals. A striking woman, she stands straight and places her arms akimbo.
Spotlight broadens to encompass the entire stage, which is bare, except
downstage left: a car, a red Jetta, obviously well-used, is parked, its trunk
open. Several suitcases, duffle bags, etc. are stacked behind the car. Music
fades.)
Samantha
I begin
my journey alone. A journey that begins and ends as part reality, part
psychodrama, part clairvoyance.
The only
way I can navigate through this reunion.
Nothing
new, really. I have lived much of my life through the color of my mind, my
actors manipulated like pieces on a game board, like paint strokes on a canvas.
I want, I
want, I want...I win!
Sheldon
teaches group psychodrama to his students and patients – I mean clients – he
says it’s a way to act out one’s life without risking, well...risk. It all
sounds so silly, and I tell Sheldon so, at least twice a week. Besides, who
takes that silly hot tub guru Fritz Perls and his psychobabble seriously? It’s so 70’s.
Hello.
Sheldon
needs to embrace the here and now.
Besides I
just can’t imagine acting my life out in front of strangers, whacked out ones,
at that.
I can’t
relate to dysfunctional people.
But I
must admit: moving characters around in my head appeals to me; I control their
actions, their hot buttons.
God knows
I can’t control them in real life. The truth is, they sing, and I dance.
For once
in my life, I want to be the singer.
(SHELDON WEISS, SAMANTHA’s husband, enters stage right. Tall, with a
full head of well-styled blonde wavy hair, he is very handsome in a classic
square jaw and angular kind of way. He moves around, regal and supremely
confident, wearing crisp khaki slacks, a green Izod knit shirt, and matching
athletic shoes. Carrying a briefcase and a backpack, he walks behind SAMANTHA to the
Volkswagen Jetta where he opens the back door. Muttering, he tosses these items
in the back seat and roots around, rattling papers, etc. He appears not to
notice SAMANTHA.)
Samantha
Yes,
Sheldon’s physical self is with me, but he cannot know what awaits me. Us.
Sheldon
(Looking
all around, he calls toward offstage right.) Sammy! Blah, blah, blah,
blah...! (Shaking his head, he exits stage right.)
Samantha
I see his
mouth moving as he barks orders at me, but I can’t comprehend what he’s saying.
(Goes stage right, picks up a suitcase, and hoists it into the trunk.)
Yet I
find myself stowing complicated suitcases – Shel’s theory of geometric packing
at work – grocery bags, books, and travel stuff into the trunk. Pieces of my
life.
(As SAMANTHA continues speaking, NICOLE, her daughter, a
beautiful young pregnant woman, with long black hair, enters unnoticed stage
left, and shuffles over to her mother.)
Samantha
I offered
to pack up the car, which kind of surprised Shel. It’s not that I’m so
thoughtful and kind; he mustn’t know about the paintings I’ve rolled up and
stashed into a tent bag. Last night, as he slept, I hid the bag behind a rug
that’s been rolling around in the trunk for two months. He’ll never suspect.
I’m not sure why I’m dragging my artistic failures to the reunion, except that
maybe I see some successes here, too.
(NICOLE sidles up to SAMANTHA and hugs
her.)
Nicole
Mommy?
Samantha
(Surprised.
She disengages from NICOLE.) What are
you doing here? This is my
psychodrama. You don’t belong here.
Nicole
You can’t
keep me away. I am part you.
Samantha
You have
no right...
Nicole
It was
the only way I could get your attention.
Samantha
Oh,
Nikki...
Nicole
I mean
it, Mama. You never answered my letter.
Samantha
(Evasive.) Well,
you know how it is...
Nicole
No, I
don’t. I want to go, too.
Samantha
(Looks
away from NICOLE.) It’s not
practical – you might pop that baby somewhere in Ohio.
Nicole
I’m only
five months.
Samantha
It just
isn’t right.
Nicole
I want to
see my family.
Samantha
You
should have thought about that before...
Nicole
Oh,
Mother. It’s not like you’re so lily white...
Samantha
At least
I didn’t shove my pregnancy down Nana’s and Pappa’s throats. I handled it all
on my own.
Nicole
You were
ashamed of me. (Pats her stomach.) I’ll never be ashamed of my child...
Samantha
Oh,
Nikki. It’s not that...
Nicole
Isn’t it?
Samantha
Of course
not!
Nicole
If you
loved me, you would take me with you, no matter what. I have the right to see
my people.
Samantha
Think of
Nana. What would she say if she saw you this way?
Nicole
She’d wag
her finger at me. Then she’d hug me.
Samantha
It would
kill her.
Nicole
Just like
it killed her after I was born.
Samantha
That was
different. She wasn’t old and sick then.
Nicole
That’s
just an excuse. This is about you. You always
put your feelings ahead of mine.
(SAMANTHA turns away from NICOLE.)
(SHELDON enters stage right.)
Sheldon
(Yells.) Samantha! Time to go! (He
gets into the car and starts the engine. Honks the horn.)
Nicole
(Pulls SAMANTHA to her
and clings to her.) Please, Mom. (Begins to weep.)
Samantha
(She
pulls away from NICOLE). I’ve got
to go. (Walks over to the passenger side and opens the door. Pauses.) Bye,
sweetie. (Gets into the car.)
Nicole
(As the
car pulls away:) Mama, why are you doing this to me? (As the
roar of the engine fades, she collapses to the floor, folding like a bloom
closing its petals).
(Light slowly fades into darkness. The crying
continues until it becomes an echo, fading out. The
spotlight slowly comes up and shines on SAMANTHA, no longer in the Jetta. The
spotlight broadens to encompass the entire stage. NICOLE is gone. SAMANTHA, moves
center stage to the edge toward the Audience.)
Samantha
(To the AUDIENCE:) How dare
that kid do this to me? I fought hard for her – if not for my stubbornness,
she’d be the ghost of fetal cells, rotted away in some landfill. Lord knows I
can’t ever tell her this; I swear she’ll never know how unhappy and shocked her
dad and I were when we found out... (Shakes her head and exits stage right.)
(Music: “The Twilight Zone.” Then fade out
and darkness.)
(Curtain.)