My play "Momma?"

©Pending                                                           Momma?  

by Marie T. Cox

CHARACTERS    

Gabriella, a middle aged woman

Elderly couple

TIME. Now. Late afternoon. One year anniversary of mother’s burial.

Place. Graveyard.

As curtain rises, Gabriella is seen sitting on a lawn chair in front of a headstone. She is dressed in khakis, sandals, and a t-shirt reading “Hippies Rule!” Holding a glass of bourbon, neat, she faces the headstone.

Gabriella (leaning forward, with both elbows on her knees): Well, Momma, it’s another hot one. I mean here, hopefully not where you are. Well, it’s been a year, Momma. Have you settled in nicely?

(sips from her glass)

(points her right finger at the headstone, while stilling holding the glass)

Gabriella: Your fave couldn’t make it…again.

(Pauses, tilts head at ‘stone)

Gabriella: I know, I know. His name is Luke. Luke. Saint Luke.

(another sip)

Gabriella: He’s in London this week, another big closing. Quite a big deal, he said. Or actually texted. So you’ll once again have to settle for me, inadequate Gabby. But I’m not bitter.

(fake laugh)

(Another sip)

Gabriella: Momma?

(clears throat)

Gabriella: Momma? I never got the chance… Okay, never took the chance…

(She is interrupted by an elderly couple walking nearby, heading for another headstone. Gabriella nods to them, and they pass by silently, intent on their purpose.)

(sips)

Gabriella: Hey, did you ever hook up with Seamus? I mean, on the other side? Is he somewhere nearby? I’m not sure how things work on your end. (sighs) To die so young, so very young. And so tragically. I still can’t believe they found his body intact, after all those months, under all that massive rubble. Badly decomposed but intact. God!

(Pauses, another tilt of the head)

Gabriella: I know, I know. Morbid, eh? I’m just still so surprised, in a detached kind of way. And I thought you might have the inside scoop. The whole Tower collapsed and his body is found intact? How does that happen? Did he tell you what that day felt like? What he was feeling? Or thinking? I’m just curious. His message to his fiancé spoke about the building being hit, that the office door’s knob had melted and they were trapped. Trapped but okay. But then it abruptly ended. Was that when the building fell? (shakes her head)

(Another sip.)

Gabriella: Oh, how I wish we had been closer. Jesus, we grew up together in Cleveland. We spent so much time together early on. But then as adults, we went our different ways. Moved to different states. Just lost touch, I guess. It takes two, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it, Momma?

(Wipes the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.)

Gabriella: God, it’s hot. Momma? Momma? This has been on my mind for so long, and Jesus, I’m almost 40.

(tilts her head)

Gabriella: Alright, 45. I should have had the balls…

(Stops)

Gabriella: You’re right. How vulgar. Common, right? Well, I should have had the backbone to say this long ago, while you were still alive and in front of me. Whew, but how you scared me! When around you, I don’t know…I always resorted to this fat, pimply, insecure, angry teen…deathly afraid of you, Luke, and her own shadow. And angry, oh how angry. Looking back, I guess we all were pretty angry, at each other, our situations, just about everything it seemed. But now, with you here, like this, well, I feel safer…safer and able to say what I need to without being interrupted or shouted at. Or shut off. Or hung up on.

(another sip, a bit longer than the rest)

Gabriella: Momma, I never felt worthy, you know? Worthy enough to be your daughter. It sounds so pathetic. And it probably is. I’m not sure why you never seemed to like me; it’s always puzzled me. And fueled my anger. Did I remind you too much of my father? Or your lost youth? Or just your parental obligations? “Just.” Funny, I never got the feeling you truly wanted to be a parent – it just happened – and you were stuck. Stuck. And it showed. Even as little kids we picked up on that. We used to force ourselves, for God’s sake, on to your lap…just for some attention…and warmth.  And then we were allowed there for only a brief time. You were done with us after only a few minutes.  As teens it just got worse and much more palpable. (voice lower, softer) Overall, I always felt I disappointed you…or even pissed you off.

(Pause)

Gabriella: Okay, okay, angered you. Without even being sure why. That was so frustrating. Still is. Were you ever happy, Momma? Ever? Or did we hold you down? Hold you back?

(heavy sigh)

Gabriella: (swishing the bourbon in her glass) But what I really wanted to say…

(The elderly couple slowly returns the way they came. Gabriella nods to them again as they silently pass.)

Gabriella: God, it’s hot. Okay...(longer pause) (sighs) It’s just that I’ve always resented being second, not good enough, compared to your fave, the prince of this family, the only son. The one who can do no wrong because he has the right equipment. How Irish Catholic. Saint Luke. The one who wasn’t even there for you ever, not when you truly were in need. When you first got the diagnosis. When you had to go to your weekly infusions. When you were so weak from vomiting you needed spoon feeding. When your diapers and clothing needed changing, throughout the day and night. When your ass needed wiping. When you screamed in pain. Or when your morphine shots were due. Or bills needed settling. Or…(voice cracking) when your casket needed picking out. But who was? Who? (voice raises) I was. I was! The cold, selfish, ice queen of a daughter. Jesus, he didn’t even come to your funeral!  Your FUNERAL! God! He had to work! Christ!

(head tilts)

Gabriella: Oh, Momma! They all forgave him. Forgave him. Yup. Had to work! Another big deal to close, in Japan! Japan. Always some foreign place, some big business deal keeping him away from you…from me. From any family responsibility. His convenient escapes…But always forgiven. Always.

(almost finishes the bourbon)

Gabriella: Momma? Momma, that’s not really what I had intended to say, needed to say ---not rehashing the same old whiny bullshit.  I know. I know. Pottymouth. (sad smile)

(Pause)

Gabriella: I love you. (shrugs) Three simple words. Three simple words never spoken between us. Never. I love you, Momma. (voice breaks)

(She slowly caresses the top of the headstone. Then the name, the dates)

(Then Gabriella rises from her chair, gets down, painfully, on both knees)

(She fully embraces the headstone, still holding her glass)

Gabriella: Oh, how I always prayed for a hug from you.

(She wipes tears away forcefully)

(Painfully gets up)

(Once standing, Gabriella raises her glass in a toast to the headstone)

(She finishes her drink, slowly folds up her lawn chair, and leaves)

Curtain closes.