Part VII: Time Warp 2000’s – Cut! #6 (Chapter 108)
My dear George,
I
haven’t heard from you lately.
Did
I say something wrong?
If my being married surprised you, it shouldn’t have.
I never misled you.
Besides, every day, I vow to leave Sheldon: as I lie in bed, I
imagine myself kicking the covers back, sitting up, dropping my feet to the
floor, standing up and stretching, showering, dressing, blow drying my hair, gnawing
on toast, brushing and flossing my teeth, packing a suitcase (it gets
complicated here because I can’t decide what I need to take with me), throwing
on my coat, checking the mail (to see if I have won anything in the Publisher’s
Clearinghouse Sweepstakes ‒ I sent in my entry last month),
looking for my purse, getting my keys and glasses, starting the car, filling
the tank, driving to the bank, withdrawing all the savings, buying some lottery
tickets, and pointing the car in the direction of the turnpike.
By the time I go through all these steps, I’m tired again, so
I just fall back on the pillow and close my eyes.
By noon, the urge passes, and I drag myself out of bed and go
through the hygiene routine for real.
Déjà vu.
By 2:30, I’m ready for work.
Before leaving, I take one last look in the mirror:
A plain, plump, pale middle-aged woman with little spark left.
I used to be pretty.
I hope this doesn’t deter you from writing back.
Hope you like the enclosed hair.
Yes, I’m a natural redhead.
I haven’t had a real haircut in over 20 years.
Fondly,
Sam
*
(Darkness. Lights slowly brighten. Scowling, Aunt Sal and Aunt Gwen, center stage, stand in tableau, back-to-back with
arms folded. Badsam and Goodsam enter stage left and stage right
respectively. Badsam dances around
the stage. While dancing, she twirls a lock of her untamed long red hair and
sings an off-key version of “I Feel Pretty,” from West Side Story. The Aunts, still locked in their tableau,
assume a look of horror. Goodsam,
her hair bound in a tight ponytail, holds her hands over her ears. Badsam stops singing mid-song; Goodsam breathes a sigh of relief.)
Badsam: (Stops dancing.) What?
Aunt Gwen: (To Audience:) Thank
God she’s stopped that godawful caterwauling.
Badsam: (To Audience:) Can’t a
girl just have some fun without all the critics weighing in?
The Aunts: NO!
(In a
huff, Badsam retreats to a corner,
folding her arms and tapping her left foot.)
Goodsam: (Rushes over to The Aunts.) Nana said you would know how to fix us.
(Aunt Gwen
breaks away from Aunt Sal,
retreats upstage left, collapses to the floor, folds her body into a ball, and hides
her face in her hands. Goodsam
watches in disbelief.)
Goodsam: Harrumph. Some family. (Turns to Aunt
Sal.) Put us back together. Please.
Badsam: (Jumps up.) Chill, babe. If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it. (Flipping her hair into the air:) I like
the way things are now.
Goodsam: (Puts her arm around Badsam.)
It isn’t working out, and you know it.
Badsam: (In a high, uncertain voice.) But I like being a free spirit. Doing
whatever I want to do, when I want to
do it.
Goodsam: But life isn’t supposed
to work that way. (To Aunt Sal:) Just tell us what we need
to do. Help us.
Badsam: (To Goodsam.) I don’t want
to join with you. (Throws herself onto
the floor and pounds on it like a spoiled child. The others ignore her.)
(Aunt Gwen rejoins Aunt Sal and locks arms with her.)
Aunt Sal: (Excited.) Why don’t you ask Father Dan? If a priest can’t tell you
what you need to know, then who can?
Goodsam: He lives too far away.
Aunt Sal: Then write him a letter.
Goodsam: (Hand on cheek. Pondering.) A letter?
(The Aunts exit quickly.)
(Badsam jumps up from the floor and
sneaks out with them.)
(Goodsam, now with the stage to herself,
moves center, still thinking. Then she frees her hair from its tight ponytail
and shakes it vigorously. She spreads her arms like wings.)
Goodsam: I want, I want, I want…
(“Please, Mr. Postman,” by the Marvelettes, plays. As the music fades, the lights dim to darkness. Curtain.)
