The BOY is alone onstage. He is tired and depressed, though he has managed to pull himself together, on the outside at least. He holds the envelope (with photograph and letter inside) and uses it to gesture while he talks. His mood changes rapidly, from tired, to mocking to angry and then to simple sadness.
She was so beautiful. That’s the way I remember her. The look in her eyes when she saw something she loved, that she had to buy. That funny smile she got whenever Dad brought her flowers. She was my world, my mother.
She lives in California, even though I’m so far away: she is the one who left me, after all. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be, is it? I’m supposed to go off to college, or a job, or whatever, and she’s supposed to be the smiling one, hiding her goodbye tears. But I was the other way around. She needed time, she said, space. She couldn’t deal with the pressure. I can maybe understand that, you know? I’m sure it would get annoying with a little kid hanging around you all the time, needing everything from you and you alone.
[He adopts a mocking tone of voice.]
She took me and Dad to the beach, a treat, she said. She had gotten a raise, she said. Yeah, in another damn state, three thousand miles away. We went to the beach, it was a lot of fun, you know, doing what kids do, playing in the sand, making silly faces at the jellyfish. Dad took a picture of us, me and her, on the beach. We look so happy, so relaxed and happy. That night, she told us. She didn’t just pack her bag and leave one day. She told us together, that she needed to leave. Need, she said, not want. She had thought about this. That she couldn’t stay and be a suburban housewife, she wasn’t old enough, she wanted the rest of her life back.
[Angry]
What do you do then? Cry and beg her not to go? Yeah, I did that. Tell her she’s wrong and mean and you never want to see her again? Check. Of course, it didn’t do any good. She had made up her mind, and when that happened, she didn’t change. She’d follow her own advice to the end of the earth, the stubborn woman. So, she kissed me on my head, said to be a good boy, for mommy, then she was gone.
[Calming slightly, though not completely, and the anger soon returns]
She left traces, of course, how could she not? Perfume in the kitchen, and we always had matching towels in the bathroom. Dad wanted it to be perfect for when she got back. She never did.
I got a letter today. From her. Didn’t expect that, I mean, I figured it had been so long. It was a nice letter, I guess. I mean, it wasn’t like I miss you and I’m coming back, but then, she’d been gone for a while so she had a life, out there, in LA. That’s where she was. LA. Los frikkin Angeles. Whatever.
I haven’t opened the letter yet. I have to let things settle in my mind for a bit, I guess. I will, I just don’t want to hear what I know she’s gonna say. How she’s got a nice new husband and a nice new son who do everything right and maybe I want to visit some time?
That’s not what she said. I suppose that makes me happy-well, not as sad. So she starts off saying how she wants to be a ‘great actress,’ and she’s working in theater now, and she’s having the time of her life. -Am I supposed to congratulate her!?- She says she misses me, but she hopes I understand what she had to do. -Yeah, right.- There’s not much else in the letter, it’s mostly her telling me that she’s not off limits; she wants to maybe come visit sometime. -I know she never will though.- She doesn’t want me to come to LA, too busy, she says, for a little boy. Then that was it, the end, kaput. It’s over. No more letter, no more mother. Except in the envelope, is one more thing. The picture, from that day, at the beach. She took the camera with her when she left, we didn’t have time to take the film out. We’re so happy, both grinning. But she knew what was coming, then, didn’t she? Yeah, she did. But she took us to the beach. Thanks, Mom.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
WA-6 Draft 1
She was so beautiful. That’s the way I remember her. The look in her eyes when she saw something she loved, that she had to buy. That funny smile she got whenever Dad brought her flowers. She was my world, my mother.
She lives in California, still, even though I’m so far away. Which is okay, I suppose: she is the one who left me, after all. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be, is it? I’m supposed to go off to college, or a job, or whatever, and she’s supposed to be the smiling one, hiding her goodbye tears. But I was the other way around. She needed time, she said, space. She couldn’t deal with the pressure. I can understand that, you know? I’m sure it would get annoying with a little kid hanging around you all the time, needing everything from you and you alone.
She took me and Dad to the beach, a treat, she said. She had gotten a raise, she said. Yeah, in another damn state, three thousand miles away. We went to the beach, it was a lot of fun, you know, doing what kids do, playing in the sand, making silly faces at the jellyfish. Dad took a picture of us, me and her, on the beach. We look so happy, so relaxed and happy. That night, she told us. It wasn’t all of a sudden, you know? She didn’t just pack her bag and leave one day. She told us together, that she needed to leave. Need, she said, not want. She had thought about this. That she couldn’t stay and be a suburban housewife, she wasn’t old enough, she wanted the rest of her life back.
What do you do then? Cry and beg her not to go? Yeah, I did that. Tell her she’s wrong and mean and you never want to see her again? Check. Of course, it didn’t do any good. She had made up her mind, and when that happened, she didn’t change. She’d follow her own advice to the end of the earth, the stubborn woman she was. So, she kissed me on my head, said to be a good boy, for mommy, then she was gone.
She left traces, of course, how could she not? Perfume in the kitchen, and we always had matching towels in the bathroom. Dad wanted it to be perfect for when she got back. She never did.
I got a letter today. From her. Didn’t expect that, I mean, I figured it had been so long. It was a nice letter, I guess. I mean, it wasn’t like I miss you and I’m coming back, but then, she’d been gone for a while so she had a life, out there, in LA. That’s where she was. LA. Los frikkin Angeles. Whatever.
I haven’t opened the letter yet. I have to let things settle in my mind for a bit, I guess. I will, I just don’t want to hear what I know she’s gonna say. How she’s got a nice new husband and a nice new son who do everything right and maybe I want to visit sometime?
That’s not what she said. I suppose that makes me happy. Well, not as sad. So she starts off saying how she wants to be a great actress, and she’s working in theater now, and she’s having the time of her life. (Am I supposed to congratulate her?) She says she misses me, but she hopes I understand what she had to do. There’s not much else in the letter, it’s mostly her telling me that she’s not off limits, she wants to maybe come visit sometime. She doesn’t want me to come to LA, too busy, she says, for a little boy. Then that was it, the end, kaput. It’s over. No more letter. Except in the envelope, is one more thing. The picture, from that day, at the beach. She took the camera with her when she left, we didn’t have time to take the film out. We’re so happy, both grinning. But she knew what was coming, then, didn’t she? Yeah, she did. But she still took us to the beach. Thanks, Mom.
She lives in California, still, even though I’m so far away. Which is okay, I suppose: she is the one who left me, after all. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be, is it? I’m supposed to go off to college, or a job, or whatever, and she’s supposed to be the smiling one, hiding her goodbye tears. But I was the other way around. She needed time, she said, space. She couldn’t deal with the pressure. I can understand that, you know? I’m sure it would get annoying with a little kid hanging around you all the time, needing everything from you and you alone.
She took me and Dad to the beach, a treat, she said. She had gotten a raise, she said. Yeah, in another damn state, three thousand miles away. We went to the beach, it was a lot of fun, you know, doing what kids do, playing in the sand, making silly faces at the jellyfish. Dad took a picture of us, me and her, on the beach. We look so happy, so relaxed and happy. That night, she told us. It wasn’t all of a sudden, you know? She didn’t just pack her bag and leave one day. She told us together, that she needed to leave. Need, she said, not want. She had thought about this. That she couldn’t stay and be a suburban housewife, she wasn’t old enough, she wanted the rest of her life back.
What do you do then? Cry and beg her not to go? Yeah, I did that. Tell her she’s wrong and mean and you never want to see her again? Check. Of course, it didn’t do any good. She had made up her mind, and when that happened, she didn’t change. She’d follow her own advice to the end of the earth, the stubborn woman she was. So, she kissed me on my head, said to be a good boy, for mommy, then she was gone.
She left traces, of course, how could she not? Perfume in the kitchen, and we always had matching towels in the bathroom. Dad wanted it to be perfect for when she got back. She never did.
I got a letter today. From her. Didn’t expect that, I mean, I figured it had been so long. It was a nice letter, I guess. I mean, it wasn’t like I miss you and I’m coming back, but then, she’d been gone for a while so she had a life, out there, in LA. That’s where she was. LA. Los frikkin Angeles. Whatever.
I haven’t opened the letter yet. I have to let things settle in my mind for a bit, I guess. I will, I just don’t want to hear what I know she’s gonna say. How she’s got a nice new husband and a nice new son who do everything right and maybe I want to visit sometime?
That’s not what she said. I suppose that makes me happy. Well, not as sad. So she starts off saying how she wants to be a great actress, and she’s working in theater now, and she’s having the time of her life. (Am I supposed to congratulate her?) She says she misses me, but she hopes I understand what she had to do. There’s not much else in the letter, it’s mostly her telling me that she’s not off limits, she wants to maybe come visit sometime. She doesn’t want me to come to LA, too busy, she says, for a little boy. Then that was it, the end, kaput. It’s over. No more letter. Except in the envelope, is one more thing. The picture, from that day, at the beach. She took the camera with her when she left, we didn’t have time to take the film out. We’re so happy, both grinning. But she knew what was coming, then, didn’t she? Yeah, she did. But she still took us to the beach. Thanks, Mom.
Monday, March 2, 2009
WA-5 Final draft
Part 1:
When my father announced that he was going to have a party in order for me to find myself a bride, I was mortified. My father may not have been the brightest bulb in the box, but really, a festival full of opportunities for me to make a fool of myself? I suppose this is the time to let you know that while I may have been born a prince, I am not the typical blue-blooded, horse-and-hounds, flattering idiot most princes are. No, I’m just a coward. So, while I may be occasionally charming, generally I try and avoid any situation where there is a possibility of disgracing myself along with the entire family name.
In retrospect, I suppose nothing went completely wrong. I found a nice, seemingly normal girl, and stuck to her for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, she managed to lose her shoe, which my father wouldn’t let me forget. Supposedly, this meant that she wanted to marry me?! I mean, geez, she was only like fifteen. But my father insisted, so I set out to find this girl, to marry her. I was so desperate to be done with the whole deal, I didn’t even care that the wrong girl was chosen- twice. Why had the girl worn a golden slipper anyway- it couldn’t be at all practical, and it looked downright uncomfortable.
Despite it being the day of our marriage, I still didn’t know the girl’s actual name: she said Aschenputtel, which couldn‘t be right. Anyway, I’m as nervous as hell, my father is still breathing down my neck, and suddenly I’m walking down the aisle. The girl takes considerable time to get up onto the dais, but she finally manages, however, she looks frankly murderous. I realize, with some apprehension, that I barely know the girl, I mean, I am assuming that she is pretty much normal, but what if she’s a nervous wreck, or just plain weird? Now is not the time to think about that, I told myself, and you better just get up there, say ‘I do’ and make you family proud.
Part 2:
Heaving my tulle monster up to where the Prince was standing was not easy. Let’s just say that between my father and I it happened, and leave it at that. The priest began the ceremony, and I looked at my Prince, seeking reassurance. Instead, I found myself looking at the lines around his eyes. Lines around his eyes- how old is he?? I’m fifteen, I can’t actually be marrying anyone who has lines around his eyes! Oh, God, I was truly panicking. What did I actually know about this Prince? I had only met him four days ago at the festival, what if he was some crazy princess killer? I looked back at the Prince, who now seemed fairly ominous, with a Joker-like expression on his face. Suddenly, everyone was staring at me.
-You need to say ‘I do’, the Prince said, with a dangerous edge to his voice.
-Well, I replied, I don’t. The crowd’s shocked expression was enough to throw me over the edge.
-No, I don’t. I don’t want to marry this Prince. I don’t even know him. For all I know he’s gonna kill me as soon as I get through the palace doors! I mean, he bloody well tried to marry both my stepsisters first cause they chopped off bits of their feet, I mean hello! This guy is an idiot!
However, the crowd was still trying to process the ‘bloody’ I had accidentally thrown in there. If anything, this set me off even more.
-Yes, I can swear. Bloody bloody bloody bloody!! You morons just bloody well almost saw me get married to a psychopath, and did nothing about it! I don’t know what to do with you idiots! AGGGGGGGHHHH!!!!
Ripping off the bottom half off of the tulle monstrosity, I ran to the lovely ‘just married’ carriage waiting at the end of the aisle. I threw the footman off, took the reins in my hand, cracked the whip, and galloped off into the sunset.
-Thank God you got out of that one, mate, the priest said sadly, patting the Prince on the shoulder.
When my father announced that he was going to have a party in order for me to find myself a bride, I was mortified. My father may not have been the brightest bulb in the box, but really, a festival full of opportunities for me to make a fool of myself? I suppose this is the time to let you know that while I may have been born a prince, I am not the typical blue-blooded, horse-and-hounds, flattering idiot most princes are. No, I’m just a coward. So, while I may be occasionally charming, generally I try and avoid any situation where there is a possibility of disgracing myself along with the entire family name.
In retrospect, I suppose nothing went completely wrong. I found a nice, seemingly normal girl, and stuck to her for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, she managed to lose her shoe, which my father wouldn’t let me forget. Supposedly, this meant that she wanted to marry me?! I mean, geez, she was only like fifteen. But my father insisted, so I set out to find this girl, to marry her. I was so desperate to be done with the whole deal, I didn’t even care that the wrong girl was chosen- twice. Why had the girl worn a golden slipper anyway- it couldn’t be at all practical, and it looked downright uncomfortable.
Despite it being the day of our marriage, I still didn’t know the girl’s actual name: she said Aschenputtel, which couldn‘t be right. Anyway, I’m as nervous as hell, my father is still breathing down my neck, and suddenly I’m walking down the aisle. The girl takes considerable time to get up onto the dais, but she finally manages, however, she looks frankly murderous. I realize, with some apprehension, that I barely know the girl, I mean, I am assuming that she is pretty much normal, but what if she’s a nervous wreck, or just plain weird? Now is not the time to think about that, I told myself, and you better just get up there, say ‘I do’ and make you family proud.
Part 2:
Heaving my tulle monster up to where the Prince was standing was not easy. Let’s just say that between my father and I it happened, and leave it at that. The priest began the ceremony, and I looked at my Prince, seeking reassurance. Instead, I found myself looking at the lines around his eyes. Lines around his eyes- how old is he?? I’m fifteen, I can’t actually be marrying anyone who has lines around his eyes! Oh, God, I was truly panicking. What did I actually know about this Prince? I had only met him four days ago at the festival, what if he was some crazy princess killer? I looked back at the Prince, who now seemed fairly ominous, with a Joker-like expression on his face. Suddenly, everyone was staring at me.
-You need to say ‘I do’, the Prince said, with a dangerous edge to his voice.
-Well, I replied, I don’t. The crowd’s shocked expression was enough to throw me over the edge.
-No, I don’t. I don’t want to marry this Prince. I don’t even know him. For all I know he’s gonna kill me as soon as I get through the palace doors! I mean, he bloody well tried to marry both my stepsisters first cause they chopped off bits of their feet, I mean hello! This guy is an idiot!
However, the crowd was still trying to process the ‘bloody’ I had accidentally thrown in there. If anything, this set me off even more.
-Yes, I can swear. Bloody bloody bloody bloody!! You morons just bloody well almost saw me get married to a psychopath, and did nothing about it! I don’t know what to do with you idiots! AGGGGGGGHHHH!!!!
Ripping off the bottom half off of the tulle monstrosity, I ran to the lovely ‘just married’ carriage waiting at the end of the aisle. I threw the footman off, took the reins in my hand, cracked the whip, and galloped off into the sunset.
-Thank God you got out of that one, mate, the priest said sadly, patting the Prince on the shoulder.
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