I love him. I think I love him. No, I know I love him, because he loves me. He walked me home that first night, and he didn’t have to. He just did. He knew it was the right thing to do. Like when he opens the door for me, or gets an extra dessert for me in the dining hall. He loves me. I love him.

“Yes. Yes I will marry you.”

I want to shout it to the world! I want to run to my parents, my family, my sister and wave my hand in front of their faces. I want to waggle my sparkling finger at everyone I see. I want everyone to know! He loves me, see? Right here on my finger, he loves me. And he’s so tall. When I look up at him, my throat gets tight with excitement and joy. And he’s just like me, but exactly different. We have precisely the same hair color: a sweet walnut brown with strands of gold and silver entwining and weaving together. Perfect. But he’s so tall and thin, and I’m short and… me. And he loves me.

But this whole thing is getting so big and confusing. How many chairs, what type of napkins, how big of a cake, which dresses…. I’m so glad he’s here to help with the decisions. He points out things I hadn’t even considered. Daddy doesn’t always agree with him, but I think Daddy’s just worried about losing me. I know that’s silly. I’ll love him forever.

Beneath the canopy.

Drink the wine.

Break the glass.

“I do.”

Dirty dishes everywhere. That’s what a dishwasher is for! Can’t he get that through his head? I tell him. He tells me they weren’t his, it wasn’t his turn, he made dinner, he does it all the time, he’s busy. I tell him again. He asks me why this is such a big deal? Why am I so angry? They’re just dishes. He loves me. He brought me flowers yesterday. They were beautiful — blue and white. He’s going to go put some more water in the vase, move it closer to the window.

“How was your day, sweetheart? While I water these flowers, can you please do the dishes?”

I’m huge. Bigger than an elephant, a whale, a planet! I have my own goddamned orbital sphere! But then, I feel a kick, and my heart flutters, and I’m a girl again. I’m nervous and excited all the time. And so hungry! He brings me whatever I want, be it pizza with peanut butter or papaya or a great big meatloaf. Mom says it’s natural.

Daddy’s in a daze I think. His little girl having a little girl. I love the smile that graces Daddy’s worn, whiskered face. I hope to God she has his smile.

“Ready, PUSH!”

Not another cry. God, make her stop crying. He won’t move. Make him move. I push him. He ignores me. I know he’s awake. He isn’t snoring. He says he doesn’t snore, but I know he does — great long, disgusting snores that make me want to smother him with the pillow. I kick him so he can’t pretend anymore. But your parents are coming tomorrow, he reminds me. He must be well-rested if he’s going to put up with them all day. Well, I put up with the baby all day, every day. Has he thought of that? I can talk to my parents. He can sit in this bed and sleep all day if he’ll only move!

“It’s not my turn to get up.”

Mom says I have dark circles under my eyes. The second one came so fast. I feel like five minutes went by, and pop! There he was, lying in my arms, his eyes shining brown and loving. His sister’s eyes. My eyes staring back at me expectantly, always wanting and waiting. When will he come home? When will he move the sofa back? When will he fill the ice tray? When can my parents come again? I miss them. I miss the flowers, wilted and gone. Where did you go?

“I’m going to the store. Can you get dinner ready?”

I’m shaking, and I check on the children without thinking. They’re safe in their beds. Sound asleep, unknowing. My whole face burns red, my ears ring. I collapse on the floor between the crib and the princess sheets. I open my arms and reach out to them, but do not dare to touch, lest I wake them. I stretch my fingers as far as they can go and grasp at the air; try to hold it tight in my fist. I cannot let go. I cannot lose control. If I let go, he’ll push me, and I’ll fall. His weapons are words reverberating back and forth in my mind. I must not let go. I must reach out to them. They love me, but his bullets sound in my ears.

“Bitch. I hate you.”

Driving and driving. Rain on the windshield mocks me with every smack on the glass. Michael dozes, but Rachel is awake. Her eyes are big, but she does not speak. I don’t think she knows the words yet. I don’t know the words. Sharp honks wail in my ears, and I revel in them. They drown out other shouts and shrieks that I keep hearing over and over again. As long as there are no sirens, I don’t care. No, I want to hear sirens. The policeman will force me to get out of the car when I tell him I don’t have my purse. I want him to drive me downtown and lock me in a cell where I can stare at the walls silently, and thick cement will protect me from the screaming voices and the pounding rain. But Michael yawns, and the rain turns to piercing hail. I cannot leave him. Rachel is so confused, so lost. So am I.

“Can you direct me to the nearest Super 8?”

The chairs are blue and white. He bought me blue and white flowers once. He watered them so carefully too. Their petals were soft, but these office chairs are scratchy. They chafe at my legs, and I rub them together. He looks at me with scorn. He thinks I am a child. Yes, that is why we are here. Yes, we are in agreement with custody.

We share responsibility for Rachel’s crying eyes and Michael’s angry wails. For now, it’s my sister who hears them and gives them sweets to make it all better. Daddy refuses to hold Rachel anymore. And he won’t look at Michael because he fears who he will see in that small angry face, who he’ll hear in the wordless shouts.

My finger is light, naked. My thumb reaches past the cold pen in my hand to touch the smooth skin. He used to stroke me, touch me, thrill me. He opened doors for me, and I couldn’t wait to look into his loving face. He loved me.

(Upstage center is a large arch with a black sheet hanging from it, which the audience can’t see behind. This is where the actors go to change costume. Whatever they need should be easily accessible for fast changes.)

GREG: (wearing a graduation robe) Finally! It felt like that
would never be over. I thought twelve years of school
was bad enough, but a four hour ceremony? That’s
ridiculous! (LINDSEY, also in a graduation robe,
shuffles in, holding a camera and crying.)

GREG: Aw, what’s the matter, Lindsey? Sad you’re not going
to see any of your old friends again? (jokingly dra
matic) All of those people who you’ve gotten so used
to seeing are changing and leaving for college. They’re
going to grow up and move away and become com
pletely different people with new experiences, chal
lenges, trials, and friends. Only on that camera will
those happy moments of our past be preserved!

LINDSEY: And I look terrible in every one of these pictures!
What am I going to use for my Facebook picture?!

GREG: (snatches the camera) Oh, come on, you don’t look
that bad!
(skips upstage with it, avoiding LINDSEY’s grasp)

LINDSEY: Give it here, Greg! Ugh! (He holds it above his head
where she can’t reach.) Why do you have to be so tall!
I remember when I was a head taller than you were.

GREG: Yeah, but I was always more mature than you. (looks at
the pictures) And I was never as vain as you. You look
great in all of these pictures. (suddenly serious)
Especially this one. You’re beautiful.
(LINDSEY kills the mood by snatching it away and
running behind the black sheet. GREG looks about in
surprise for a moment, then follows.)

GREG: Hey! Give it back!
(LINDSEY comes back out without the robe and
bouncing a ball.)

LINDSEY: Ha ha! I got your toy! And there’s nothin’ you can do
about it! Cause if you did, you’d be a tattle-tale!!

(GREG comes out on his knees, also no longer
wearing the robe. This way, he is clearly shorter than
LINDSEY.)

GREG: Come on Lindsey! I want it back! My mommy gave it to
me for my birfday!!

LINDSEY: Fine, come and take it from me, then!
(GREG reaches and reaches, but since he’s on his
knees, he clearly can’t reach the ball. LINDSEY
laughs.)

GREG: That’s not funny! I don’t want to play with you anymore!

LINDSEY: Who else is there to play with? Unless you want to
get scratched up by Mrs. McLeary’s cats?

GREG: No.

LINDSEY: You’ve gotta admit, playing with me is a lot more fun
than playing with those boring boys on your old street.

GREG: (mutters) I was taller than all of them.

LINDSEY: Well, then, it’s good that you have me! Whenever you
need something that’s way up high, you just come next
door to my house, and I’ll get it for you!

GREG: I want my ball.

LINDSEY: Well…

GREG: My mommy gave it to me. She hasn’t been home for a
while, and I really miss her.

LINDSEY: I guess… If it’s that special.

(She slowly reaches out to hand him the ball. He
snatches it from her, taps her on the shoulder and
shuffles away as fast as he can on his knees.)

GREG: Tag, you’re it! Can’t catch me! (disappears behind
the sheet)

LINDSEY: Hey! I can too catch you!

(She also runs behind the sheet.)

LINDSEY: (pokes her head around the side of the arch) Pssst!
Greg! Greg! Look out your window!

GREG: (pokes his head around the other side) Yeah? What is it?

LINDSEY: Is everything okay in your house? I thought I heard
your parents arguing.

GREG: It’s fine. My dad’s just angry at my mom again.

LINDSEY: What is it this time?

GREG: I’m not sure. I think my mom did something bad with
someone she works with. I can’t tell what his name is.

LINDSEY: I think I heard your dad call him Mr. Sunuvabitch.

GREG: You could hear him all the way from your house?

LINDSEY: He’s really loud.

GREG: I haven’t heard him shout this loudly since that time my
mom went away when I was five. Do you
remember that?

LINDSEY: Didn’t she give you a red ball for your birthday right
before that?

GREG: Yeah, she did. (Pause) If she goes away this time, I don’t
think she’s going to come back. I’m not sure what to do.
Who’s going to drive me to school tomorrow?

LINDSEY: My mom can drive, if you want.

GREG: (smiles) Thanks.

LINDSEY: And Greg? I promise I won’t go away and never
come back.

GREG: You promise? Pinkie swear? (holds out his pinkie)

LINDSEY: Pinkie swear. (holds out her pinkie)

(Lights dim for a moment. When they come back up,
LINDSEY is sitting on the floor, front and center, crying.
She has no shoes on. GREG approaches her cau
tiously from behind.)

GREG: Linds? Is everything alright?

LINDSEY: Go away!

GREG: Come on, Linds, it’s me! What could be so bad that you
can’t talk to me about it?

LINDSEY: I told you, go away!

GREG: I tell you about all of my problems. It’s only fair that you
tell me yours. (She doesn’t answer.) Don’t you
remember the time I told you I wet my pants during the
fire drill?

LINDSEY: (sniffles) And then the nurse only had girls’ pants to
give you, and you had to wear pink frilly pants all day?

GREG: You don’t have to rub it in. (sits down beside her) Hey,
I think I saw a smile there. Come on, tell me what
happened.

LINDSEY: I don’t think Ben and I are together anymore.

GREG: Why?

LINDSEY: Well… we were…. you know, making out at his
house, and his parents were out. And it was fun at
the beginning, you know, kissing and stuff. But then…
he got a little… too….

GREG: What did he do?

LINDSEY: (snuffles) He tried to take my top off, and I told him
I didn’t want to yet. I mean, we’ve only been together a
few weeks, but he said it was about time, and that
when he was dating Sally, he had her top off in a week.
So, I guess, I… I let him take it off, but then he kept go
ing, and I told him to stop again.

GREG: (horrified) Did he stop?

LINDSEY: I tried to get up, and he started laughing, and he
forced me back down. Like it was some sort of a game.
And I did everything I could, but he wouldn’t listen, so I
just grabbed my shirt ran out of his house.

GREG: And you ran all the way back here?

(She nods. He sighs and sits down next to her.)

GREG: You know you could have called me, right? I would have
picked you up.

LINDSEY: You don’t have a car.

GREG: I would’ve taken my dad’s car. Hell, I would have stolen
a car if it meant rescuing you from that. (Pause)
Ben’s a dick.

LINDSEY: (Wipes her eyes.) Yeah, he is. But I’m going to see
him in math class tomorrow. What should I say?

GREG: Don’t say anything. (stands up) And if he tries to say
some thing to you, I can deal with him.

LINDSEY: What are you going to do? (turns around and looks
up at him) And when did you get so tall?

GREG: Right after I outgrew those pink frilly pants. (LINDSEY
smiles a bit. GREG reaches down to her.) Let’s go in
side and get something to eat. I can make hot choco-
late for you the way you like it, with whipped cream and
chocolate sauce and raspberries.

LINDSEY: (takes his hand) Thanks. For everything.

GREG: It’s no problem. And as for Ben, you’ll only have to look
at him for one more year until we graduate. And then
you’ll never have to see him again.

(They go behind the sheet again and lights dim once
more.When they come back out, they are wearing the
robes again, and LINDSEY is holding the camera.)

LINDSEY: (Looking at the camera) I really am going to miss all
of these people.

GREG: Linds, I have to tell you something.

LINDSEY: You didn’t stain your robe again, did you?

GREG: No, and thanks for getting that out, by the way.

LINDSEY: I always carry those Tide pens with me. So what is it?

GREG: You know how I was really mad at my dad last spring?
And I filled out that paperwork to enlist in the army?

LINDSEY: Yeah, I told you that was a bad idea. Just do what I’m
doing and go to school in another state. There’s no
reason to bring the government into it.

GREG: Well, I did more than fill out the paperwork. I got the
physical and everything. It’s all set. I’m going out to
basic training next week.

LINDSEY: Wait, what? Next week? You’re leaving next week?!

GREG: Yeah. And they’re saying they’re running really low on
troops overseas, so I might not be able to come home
right after.

LINDSEY: Are you serious?! No, you’re not serious. You’re
joking. You wouldn’t leave me like this. You’re
joking, right?

GREG: You’re leaving too! You’re going to Washington!

LINDSEY: But I’ll be able to come back for breaks! I won’t be in
some other country!

GREG: You might as well be! And no matter where you wind up,
you’re not going to be my next door neighbor anymore.
You’re leaving and I’m leaving, and there’s nothing we
can do to change it.

(LINDSEY turns her back at him and stares at the
camera again. She starts to cry once more. GREG ap-
proaches her.)

GREG: The pictures can’t be that bad.

LINDSEY: I’m never going to see you again.

GREG: That’s not true.

LINDSEY: How can we? You’re going overseas! Everything’s
going to change! You might get shot, might get killed,
and I’ll never be able to —

(GREG interrupts her by grabbing her, snatching the
camera away, and kissing her in one smooth move
ment. While they kiss, he snaps a picture. They break
away, and he hands the camera back to her.)

GREG: Keep that picture, and you’ll be able to see me whenever
you want, and nothing will ever change.
(GREG exits. Lindsey remains, holding the camera.
Fade to black.)

YorkReview2009