AIRSTREAM

By Jonathan Harris

(Lights up on a woman seated at a table. This is EDNA. She is wearing an unflattering shade of green. She is a large woman or, if not large, at least frumpy. Her hair is giving way to gray. She is forty today. The atmosphere suggests that of a beach bar, or a dimly lit seafood restaurant. On the table is a bottle of wine, two packs of Virginia Slims, an ashtray, and a short, squat candle.)

EDNA

And I swam the length of the pool! Twice!

(Pause)

She didn't know I'd been swimming since I was three. Let's see...that'd be nineteen...

(Lost)

...well, it doesn't matter. What mattered is...I did it! And I would do it again.

When we lived in Vero Beach, Florida...not too far from Miami, you realize, we had one of those wonderful streamline trailers, all silver and clean. And we...well, my mother and I...would drive up and down the coast. In the summer only, of course, when I didn't have school. I still remember the striking colors of the beach and the trees and...the ocean...and sky, too. Oh, the color...colors.

Forgive me. I digress. On occasion. Anyway, she threw me into the ocean and shouted "Sink or swim, honey!"...or something like that...I know she called me honey. But, I was three...and I swam like a fish...no, a mermaid...No! Esther Williams. A smaller one, of course, sans lipstick and music. That came much later. With Cotillion.

(laughs)

And the salt! In my mouth, up my nose...it burns, burned my eyes.

(Pause)

I still can't drink a margarita and like it.

(Laughs again and starts coughing. Lights cigarette.)

Papa pulled me out.

(Long pause)

...What was I...the trailer! Of course. We got it about the time papa...Did I tell you it was a streamline? Yes, the silver one. Looked like a huge loaf of bread wrapped in foil. And we...mother and I drove up and down the coast in it. In the summer...heat.

"Now you remember, baby"...mama shouted every fifth mile marker..."You got no worries in this world. Not with me around...and I'll always be around".

And she always was around. From then on. I didn't get rid of her till just last year. My God, can you imagine? From that streamline...and beautiful color...colors of Florida to just last year. Talk about your albatross.

No. I shouldn't say that...really. she helped me out. She got me through a lot of things in my life. More than...never mind. Let me correct: she didn't get me through these different things...she went through them with me. Totally uninvited, you understand. But...misery loving company like it does...and I do...did...do love my mother ...

(To herself)

...no one else did...but me.

(She stands to toast)

I loved you, mother, in spite of you. And certainly not because you were the ideal illustration of motherhood.

She locked me in a closet when I was sixteen because the dress I had made for the prom was too short, too tight, too low-cut and the wrong color for me. That closet was filthy and it ruined my dress. I still wear it, too. I will wear it for the rest of my goddamn life.

(Long pause. She stands and describes it to audience)

It was the softest green in the world. Soft as seaweed. And I made it. Me! With my own two...Billy Havenshaw had asked me to the "Spring Swing" at Emerson High School.

Perhaps the dress was a little tighter than it should have been...but, my God...I had a body...I am a swimmer, you'll remember. That is where I get my good set of lungs. Or so mama used to...

Tina and Tammy Thomas, the Thomas twins, had decorated the gymnasium with red and white and pink crepe and...I would have looked so...I did look so pretty. Against the green crepe paper flowers. They matched my dress perfectly. And how we danced!

(Eyes closed, she dances. Lost. Maybe subtle music up. She slowly moves about the playing area. When she speaks, she whispers)

Now mind, Billy. Don't you scuff my patent leather.

(Suddenly stops)

No, mama, you cannot see my underwear in the reflection of these shoes!

(She wobbles a bit, then dances on)

Isn't the band just divine? And Billy, thank you for the wonderful flowers.

(She smells wrist)

Yellow. Roses. Tiny and baby's breath. Perfect. Nosegay. Favorite. Do you like my hair up like this, Billy? This is my natural color, you know. I don't nee or want to be a blonde. My mama says that my dark hair sets off my peaches and cream complexion. She's right, too. I love my dark...

(She freezes)

...hair...it's so dark...my hair...and up out of my eyes...I CAN'T SEE, MAMA...I just hate it when my hair gets in my...MAMA! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT OF HERE!..."I'm sorry, Billy, but she's just too sick"...BILLY! DON'T LEAVE ME! I'M UP HERE! DON'T BELIEVE HER! HELP ME!

(She falls to her knees)

...Mama...let me out!...Help me....help me...

(She glances around and sees where she is)

..help me up...

(After a moment, she stands shakily, and returns to table. Sitting down, she lights a cigarette and pours more wine, spilling a small amount on the table. She fiddles with it with her finger.)

There's a poem. I forget how it goes. Or what it's about, really. But something about pebbles on the seashore. I remember that's what first made me really listen to the poem. The ocean and all. Anyway, it's all about children playing on the beach, enjoying the sun and sand and surf and any other alliterative something you can think of. Then it sort of shifts. And we're a pebble. Looking up...to a giant's world. And how we have to grow up and live in that world and that we never do...totally. We never realize we've grown up until after we have.

(She sips wine)

Talk about a let down. You spend you whole childhood looking forward to something that you spend you entire adult life finally trying to ignore.

(She looks around)

Oh, I should write that down. Down.

(Shakes head)

Down...and down...and...Did I tell you I wanted to be an Actress? Capital A! That went over real well with mama...but, by then, I was much larger than she.

Oh, yes. I considered it. All the characters I dreamed of playing were either blind, crippled, or nearly catatonic. I spent a good deal of my late teens walking around the house bumping into stuff cause I had my eyes closed and my arms out like this.

(Demonstrates)

And, oh, I used to embarrass the hell out of mama by limping around the house whenever we had company. I did that the day the Welcome Wagon lady stopped by.

(As mama)

"Would you like some nice, hot tea? Honey, get Mrs. Howjadoo some nice, hot tea, won't you? That's the good girl."

I stood up and hobbled awkwardly to the kitchen. Mama didn't notice, but Mrs. So-nice-to-meet-you sure did.

"Oh! I am so sorry," she said, "I'm just terribly sorry. If I'd only known I wouldn't have bothered. How did it happen? Oh, I beg your pardon. I shouldn't ask...it's really none of my business."

Well, she kept mumbling and apologizing as she gathered her tasteful, little hat, and its' tasteful, matching purse and headed for our tasteful front door. Mama never figured it out. I would have been a great actress. But, I settled for being a good wife. At the ripe, old age of eighteen, I decided to settle down with a strikingly handsome, dark-eyed man of the world. He was twenty-two.

Oh, he and mother got along famously. We were an inseparable threesome. OOPS! Foursome. It was just about that fast that I was to become a mother, too. Jack and I only did...it...once or twice but one of those times sure took. So...I was to become a spitting image. Ah, motherhood.

(She toasts)

To Media.

(Pause)

Yes...Jack. That was hubby's name. Jack was thrilled. If somewhat surprised. I really haven't told you a lot about Jack, have I? Then again, why should I? You see there's only one important...no...two important things about him. One was Rachel...our daughter. The other I'll get to later.

Our daughter, Rachel Allyn, was born during the worst rainstorm in this or any other history. My history, anyway. Or maybe it just seemed to be the worst. I wasn't in the best of shape.

Water was everywhere. If you know what I mean. And we...that is to say, Jack, couldn't get the car started. We didn't have a phone to call the cops or a cab, so Rachel was born in the entry way to our little downstairs apartment on South Street.

Once I began to relax, all was right with the world. Rachel Allyn plopped right out in a bloody, loveable mess and blessed me with a responsibility I was much too immature to handle...so mama kept reminding me.

"Here's your baby, Honey. It's a little girl." She handed her to me and I just wanted to die. Get it away, I told her. Leave me alone.

Do you have any idea how a woman's pride can suffer if she is flat on her back in a dirty, little hallway with her favorite gingham skirt hiked above her waist and feeling like she'd been ripped open like a head of lettuce? There is something very obscene about childbirth.

Don't get me wrong, now. Rachel is my life. I love her with all the emotion and subtlety I never felt from mama. It's just that...after I had her...now matter how I tried to avoid it...I...well, put on a few pounds. I never got fat, really. I never have been. I'm a swimmer, you know. And a damn good one.

But Jack noticed it. And mama noticed Jack noticing it. And mama made damn sure that I noticed mama noticing Jack noticing my obvious change of figure. But, it wasn't really the weight. If it had been love in the first place he would have said something. Wouldn't he have? I mean, a woman can tell, now, can't she? It was just something switching off in his eyes. And a little further south if you catch my meaning, if you get my drift. But, to make a rather grim and long story even longer, Jack started staying out late. Then he started staying out later. And later still. He was probably out dancing. He was such a good dancer. That's why I married him in the first place. There was no second place.

I was never much of a dancer myself. I woulda been, coulda been, and shoulda been. But wasn't. The only dancing I ever did, really, was when I was ten. MISS MARJORIE'S SCHOOL OF THE DANCE. One dollar a lesson. I still remember...

(She stands and does a pathetic tap step, still holding her wine)

Ha!

(She sits, out of breath. Lights a cigarette. Laughs and then begins to cough violently. When she finishes coughing she looks very tired.)

Shit.

(Pause)

So. He went out dancing. Or whatever. And I stayed home with little Rachel and big mama. She didn't work at all now. Other than to watch the baby while I was at work. Supermarket Cashier. Now, there was a career choice.

There was this one night I had to work late. I called home to tell mama that I wouldn't be back at the regular time and Jack answered the phone. This, by the way, was three years after the birth of Rachel. The gain of weight. The loss of Jack. However you care to measure time. Anyway, he answered the phone. I asked him what he was doing there and he said he'd gotten off early and wanted to spend some time with the baby.

(Pause)

It felt wrong. Something.

Where's mama, I asked him. At a movie. Mama loved movies more than anything. And I loved Jack more than...what...more than mama loved movies?

(Sighs)

Whatever.

But, like I said, something felt wrong. So I left work and walked home. It was drizzling a little. The kind of heavy fog drizzle that always keeps your face wet and makes your hair look like hell.

So. I go into the house and there's Rachel. sitting in the middle of the floor. Sucking a spoon. Good baby. Stay there. In case I have to I'll be able to grab you and take you with me. Odd thought. I still don't know what made me think it.

There wasn't a noise in the house. Maybe that was it. If Jack's home...why wasn't there any kind of noise? Where was he? If he's left that baby alone I'll...Nap. He must be taking a nap. I'll see.

(She is whispering)

I walk to the back of the house, through the kitchen and into the master bedroom.

(She smiles)

There he is. In the light sifting through the window from the alley I see him. Naked as the day. The first time I'd seen him that way in over a year. He hadn't lost his beautiful body. But hell, he was only twenty-five.

Then I see he has three arms. And two heads. Both with a mustache.

(She slams her hand down hard on the table)

FAGGOT! YOU QUEER SON OF A BITCH!

I grabbed the car keys off the dresser and ran out of the room. Grabbing up the baby in one arm, I threw open the door with the other. It was raining hard by now...pouring from the skies like Niagara. I could hear Jack calling after me...Oh, God, how it was raining. I jammed the car into reverse and backed into the curb. Rachel was wet and crying. Jack came tumbling out of the house...he was in only his underwear...he always looked good in white. I accelerated just as Jack jumped in front of our car...thump. Not crash or bang. Just...thump.

(Pause)

I didn't kill him. But I thought about it. I did break his leg. small consolation. But, then, it's moments like that one we all live for, isn't it? You know, if he'd only told me before we got married that the parts I had didn't fill his every need, maybe we could have worked it out. Or in. Whatever.

Anyway. That's the story of Mama the Big, Rachel the Little, and Jack the Kinda Queer Dancer. All tied-up and wrapped in pretty black paper. Just waiting under the tree for some idiot like you to open up. My personal Pandora's box of events and emotions. Lacking but one thing. Hope.

(Very long pause)

No. That's not all the story at all...

(Teary)

There's more. Much more. It's just that...

(Holds up hand and swallows hard)

...just...just a minute...

(She rummages through her purse for a tissue. Not finding it, she suddenly throws it onto the floor and shouts)

I DIDN'T SEE THE STOP SIGN, OFFICER!

(Big breath)

I DIDN'T...SEE...the stop sign...officer...The baby...MY GOD, THE BABY!...was crying...and rain, heavy rain...the kind with thunder?...My husband is hur...hurt. WHERE'S MY BABY?...MAMA?...WHERE'S RACHEL?....RACHEL...

(She shakes the baby. Angry now, though clenched teeth, she scold her)

...You'd better wake up now, Rachel. Wake up or mama will lock you in...RACHEL!...Oh....no....no....

(She pulls herself together and returns to chair. She sits carefully, quietly. Lights cigarette, pours more wine. Long pause)

We buried Rachel the following Tuesday...or something. Mama was there. Thank God. I wouldn't let Jack come to the funeral. He couldn't anyway.

(She smiles slightly)

He was in the hospital.

(Angry)

Surviving! Now he's surviving somewhere in California.

(Pause)

Isn't it odd how so many marriages end up in California...half of them, anyway. I mean...that's where Papa ended up. Or so mama finally told me. Just before she finally died. Last year. Never thought I'd miss the old bitch. But I do. Life's full of snappy surprises.

And I always missed you, Papa. Everyday since..when? Always. You pulled me out of the ocean, Papa. Remember? Your strong arms so full of self-assurance and reassurance lifted me clinging from salt water that was wrapped around me like taffy...

(Pause)

Pull me out again, Papa...

(Pause)

Pull me out again...do you want to know what I've been doing since Rachel...since we buried the baby, Papa? Saving match books. I've got them from all over the country. I don't even remember where I got half of them, but...

(Proud)

...I like them.

I keep them in three goldfish bowls in my living room...I even have one from Calif...ornia. Papa, I'm drowning. Pull...me...out. Or...let me drown.

(Regains composure, looks around for server and signals with hand)

Check, please.