Joan looking at Aria’s paintings stacked against the wall.
JOAN:
Aria, Honey?
Are these abstract? I feel like I can vaguely make out the images, like this looks like a mouth, a child in a womb . . . Why so much repetition? Is it part of a series?
ARIA:
Well, it’s really just what I remember. It’s . . . it’s a recurring dream.
JOAN:
The same dream, Aria? Not the same dream.
ARIA:
I’m not gonna run this time, Ms. Bowery. Ah and I talked about it. He’s having his dream too. They both started up again about a month after I got back. We’re just gonna sit through it and see where it takes us. I’m not gonna run.
AH:
(coming to save Aria):
It’s alright, Ma. We’re gonna figure it out this time . . . or just follow it to its end.
JOAN:
That’s what I’m afraid of. I lost your father to his dreams.
AH:
We lost Dad to drugs. It’s not the same thing. Mom, the only thing we do is get into bed together and the rest is . . .
JOAN:
(to Aria)
But baby, last time you scared us all so . . .
ARIA:
That was years ago, Ms. Bowery, I’m a woman now. And, honestly, I began to miss where my dreams were taking me.
JOAN:
You can’t mean that, girl.
ARIA:
Yes, of course it wasn’t therapy that helped me. They can’t diagnose an occurrence that’s beyond their belief. I don’t want the happenings of my mind drugged out of me so that I fit some silly standard of sanity. I dream what I dream for a reason. The words Ah’s able to pull from my paintings take their effect for a reason.
AH:
(attempting to lighten the mood):
And that reason is reason enough for us to be together and figure this shit out. And if the angels conspire to bring my angel back to me for my birthday, sheeeeeeet, Imma let them flap they wings.
Sound of the door opening in the other room.
OKRI:
Where’s the birthday boy?
EVERYONE:
Okri!