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.
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