A ONE-ACT play.
pp. 73–75 (DRAMATISTS PLAY SERIVCE, INC.)
Mrs. Dally: (After a pause.) I told you a lie once, Frankie.
Frankie: (Referring back, lightly.) You mean you told me something you didn’t mean?
Mrs. Dally: Oh, no. I never did that. . . . But I’m older than I said I was even. I’m thirty-eight years old.
Frankie: (After a pause.) Okay.
Mrs. Dally: And I love you, Frankie. (She waits for him to speak, then turns to him.) Stupid, huh? (He still cannot answer, she moves D. L.) Isn’t it?
Frankie: (Finally.) Considering me, yeah. I mean, I don’t know why anyone would wanta love me.
Mrs. Dally: You’re a kind young man, Frankie.
Frankie: Why? I mean it.
Mrs. Dally: I know you do. That’s why you’re kind. If you said that and didn’t mean it, you’d be polite, but not kind. . .. I shouldn’t’ve told you, I know that. . ..
Frankie: Why?
Mrs. Dally: But once you feel it, you can only go so long before you have to say it. It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Frankie: Why shouldn’t you’ve told me?
Mrs. Dally: Because once you say it, it can change everything.
Frankie: (Stands.) It don’t change anything.
Mrs. Dally: It isn’t enough just to be loved, sweetheart. You have to know what to do with it.
Frankie: So what do I have to do with it?
Mrs. Dally: That’s what I mean.
Frankie: (Impatiently.) What. (She only smiles, ruefully.) Well, don’t look at me like I’m an idiot! What!
Mrs. Dally: No, no, no! I wasn’t doing that. I wasn’t. The thing is . . . I can’t tell you what to do with it. Nobody can. (Now he understands, pause.) I’ve been good to you, haven’t I, Frankie?
Frankie: Sure you have.
Mrs. Dally: I’ve given you a lot of things.
Frankie: Yes. You’ll get it all back, too.
Mrs. Dally: From you? (He nods.) No. . .. But maybe someone else will . . . and that’ll be just as good. (Pause.) It’s like that game we used to play when I was a kid: Pass it on. You ever play that? You’d say something to the kid next to you, or do something and tell him to pass it on. Sometimes it was something nice, sometimes it was a punch in the arm. Being alive is a lot like that game.
Frankie: I played that when I was a kid.
Mrs. Dally: Don’t stop.
Frankie: Unless it’s a punch in the arm.
Mrs. Dally: No, you’ll pass those on too. . .. You remember you asked me why I picked you and not somebody else?
Frankie: You said you couldn’t say.
Mrs. Dally: No. But I know why I wanted you to come back after that first time . . . and all the times. You ever noticed that very often people got ways of talking to each other to avoid talking to each other?
Frankie: No. . . I don’t think so.
Mrs. Dally: You listen, you’ll see. But it was hardly ever like that with you and me. Every once in a while in this life, Frankie, somebody talks to somebody else. I mean, talks. It’s sweet music, Frankie. And you listen for it, you hear? Always, your whole life, listen for it. (Pause, he understands. She kisses him seriously.) You’d better get outta here, it’s almost time.
Frankie: That isn’t what I want to do.
Mrs. Dally: What do you want to do? (He smiles.) Tomorrow’s another day.
Frankie: It’s nice they arranged it like that.
Mrs. Dally: Beat it, fresh kid. (She goes to the door, unlocks it and looks into the hall, she closes the door, turns to him, holding his coat, waiting. He approaches and takes the coat from her.)
Frankie: I’ll see you tomorrow?
Mrs. Dally: I’ll be here. (Pause.)
Frankie: Do you really love me?
Mrs. Dally: No, I don’t really love you, you’re not even good-looking. Why aren’t you wearing a scarf or something, you’ll catch cold going around like that. (She embraces him fiercely and kisses him, pause.) One of these days you’ll say that and I won’t.
Frankie: What?
Mrs. Dally: One of these days you’ll say I’ll see you tomorrow and I won’t.
Frankie: Stop, will ya.
Mrs. Dally: Just remember what I said: listen to the sweet music . . . and pass it on.
The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.
MRS. DALLY (to FRANKIE), age late 30s to early 40s.
pp. 73–75 (DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE, INC.)
I told you a lie once, Frankie. I’m older than I said I was even. I’m thirty-eight years old. And I love you, Frankie . . . stupid, huh? . . . Isn’t it? You’re a kind young man, Frankie. I know you don’t believe that anyone would want to love you. I know you mean that. That’s why you’re kind. If you said that and didn’t mean it, you’d be polite, but not kind. . .. I shouldn’t’ve told you, I know that. . .. But once you feel it, you can only go so long before you have to say it. It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Once you say it, it can change everything. It isn’t enough just to be loved, sweetheart. You have to know what to do with it. I can’t tell you what to do with it. Nobody can . . . I’ve been good to you, haven’t I, Frankie? I’ve given you a lot of things. I don’t want any of it back . . . but maybe someone else will . . . and that’ll be just as good. It’s like that game we used to play when I was a kid: Pass It On. You ever play that? You’d say something to the kid next to you, or do something and tell him to pass it on. Sometimes it was something nice, sometimes it was a punch in the arm. Being alive is a lot like that game. If you played it as a kid, don’t stop. And pass on the punch in the arm too. . .. You remember you asked me why I picked you and not somebody else? You ever noticed that very often people got ways of talking to each other to avoid talking to each other? You listen, you’ll see. But it was hardly ever like that with you and me. Every once in a while in this life, Frankie, somebody talks to somebody else. I mean, talks. It’s sweet music, Frankie. . .. And you listen for it, you hear? Always, your whole life, listen for it. . .. One of these days you’ll say, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” and I won’t. Just remember what I said: Listen to the sweet music . . . and pass it on.
So, Mrs. Dally, you know that nothing lasts—nothing. Everything changes—everything! But it’s what we take with us from each experience that is so important. And Frankie is so young and nice and he will go on and have other relationships and you might not ever have another one. If he can take the good from what the two of you have had, you will be satisfied. If he can pass it on, the world will be a better place in which to live. Part of you will go with him. Part of you will remain with him forever. What is it that you are fighting for from him? What do you desperately need from him that only he can give to you that will enhance the rest of your life? Do you need for him to always remember you with kind feelings about how you “put out” for him? You didn’t love his choice of words but he is young. He must learn how not to hurt. He must learn from you. He must want to keep you alive in his memories. He must need you all his life to live a kind life.