The doctors still haven’t figured out what’s going on with Maya and they’re keeping her in the hospital and if that wasn’t shitty enough news yesterday, there was this—Marsden had a party. He got caught. He’s always getting caught. He gets caught when he isn’t even doing anything wrong. I don’t know why he’s so bad at being a teenager.
He ditched school. He called in. Said he was on a college visit. The school said to have one of his parents call to confirm. Of course, neither parent called. A few friends stopped by in the afternoon to get high. A few more stopped by later for a beer or two. They knew not to smoke and drive. They knew not to drink and drive. They’ve been taught well. Being responsible kids, they spent the night. Marsden and two of the boys decided to skip school. “Our heads were pounding,” Marsden explained, as if being hungover merited an excused absence.
I learned about all of this because Mrs. Yule called me. I told her I was in New York taking care of my mother who has dementia. It was the first time I’d used that word. Dementia. My mother has dementia. It’s such a monumental word. I can’t believe I wasted it on Mrs. Yule.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Thank you,” I replied. It felt like we reached a rapprochement.
But it didn’t last. Her tone returned to scolding and accusatory. One of the kids who didn’t cut told the school that the three absent senior boys had been partying at Marsden’s. I don’t understand why Marsden’s generation has such a hard time covering for themselves. They’re always squealing, these overly-pampered kids whose parents have assured them that if they tell the truth, they won’t get in trouble.
Mrs. Yule said they will need to take disciplinary action. It might mean suspension. I argued that this happened outside of school. Mrs. Yule said they are cracking down on student smoking and drinking. I didn’t see many options, so I decided to tell Mrs. Yule that Marsden has been having panic attacks lately. That the divorce has been very difficult for him. That I’m worried.
High schools don’t want to hear that kids are having panic attacks. I laid it on. I don’t care that what I am doing is ethically suspect. I know it’s wrong on so many levels, but Marsden cannot have a suspension added to his lackluster transcript. Mrs. Yule listened as I talked. There was a pause. “Are you still there,” I asked. My voice cracked, but not too obviously. She said she didn’t know about this situation, that she would take that into consideration. She told me not to worry and recommended that Marsden should stay with his father until I returned home.
I didn’t want to call Elliot. I searched for flights to Buenos Aires instead. Buenos Aires is a place where people fleeing their lives fly to. I could be amongst them. Playwright flees with unfinished play and unfinished business with ex-husband before she finishes raising her son.
It always comes back to finishing.
I didn’t book a flight.
I drove back to Dedham instead.
Aunt Rosemary agreed to stay with Mom. “I wouldn’t abandon my sister in her time of need.” Sometimes I feel like even though Aunt Rosemary wears bifocals, she sees the world through a set of my-focals. The world’s issues are her issues. Its pain is her pain. Murders, muggings, drug addiction, typhoons, and cancer, they are all hers. She once told me, “Elise, I don’t just have empathy for other people, I have empathitis.” But she has been totally there for Mom, and mostly without her usual dose of high drama, and I am grateful for her, grateful that I can go home and be with Marsden.
“Thank you so much, Aunt Rosemary. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“Trudy is my right arm. My left arm. My soul. My heart. Go home and do what you need to do. I’ll call Julie if there’s a problem. Take care of your messy life, we’ll suffice.”
“Thank you, but you should call me, not Julie. I’m sure Julie is busy with patients.”
“Of course she is, but my daughter is a saint.”
“Yes, she is. And so are you.”
(LAURIE and GRANVILLE are chatting as they walk into Laurie’s house. They hear something as they enter and stop talking. LARRY and GRACE can’t be seen-or maybe just their bare legs are visible-but the sounds of vigorous lovemaking are quite clear.)
LAURIE
What’s that? Do you hear that?
(Laurie walks further inside and screeches.)
Oh my GOD! Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh My God. Oh my God. Oh my FUCKING God!
GRANVILLE
Ohhhhhhh wow!
GRACE
(Moaning) Shit! Laurie?
LARRY
Laurie? You’re home already?
GRACE
Larry. Stop. Laurie, what are you doing here?
LAURIE
What? It’s my house. That’s what I’m doing here.
GRANVILLE
Laurie.
(Grace stands up and covers herself with a smattering of her clothes.)
LAURIE
Mom! Ewww. Dad!
GRACE
Darling, we weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.
LAURIE
What is going on in here?
GRACE
Your father and I were simply—
LAURIE
No. Don’t say it. What are all these boxes doing here? Mom, I can see your—oh my—Granny. Turn around.
(Laurie and Granville turn their backs to Grace.)
Please, will the two of you get dressed.
GRACE
The boxes belong to your father.
LARRY
I needed to get a couple of things from the house.
GRACE
Larry, get up.
LAURIE
This is a couple of things? Pops, get up. I can’t believe you brought all this stuff over. I can’t believe you and Mom were...Oh God.
GRACE
It was your father’s idea.
LAURIE
Well, it sure didn’t sound like you thought it was a bad idea.
LARRY
I...I...I can’t seem to....
GRACE
Give us a second, we’re not young, you know. Larry, get up.
(Grace turns her back to the audience and puts on her clothes-she can either be behind boxes or not while doing this.)
LARRY
I can’t.
LAURIE
Pops. Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me!
GRACE
Get up and get dressed Larry. Stop making a scene. This isn’t a good time for your antics.
LARRY
Grace, I’m serious. I can’t get up.
GRANVILLE
Let me help you, Mr. Herman.
LAURIE
Thank you, Granny.
(Granville steps behind a box and looks at Larry.)
GRANVILLE
You look like you’re in terrific shape. I’m surprised you can’t get up.
LARRY
I’m not so bad for a man my age, if I do say so. So, you’re the man they call Granny? Does that bother you?
GRANVILLE
Not really. The only time it was a problem was when I was about twelve and one of the prettier girls started to—
LAURIE
Granny, this isn’t the time for stories. Will you just help him up. Please.
(Granny reaches down to help Larry.)
LARRY
I don’t think I should try to get up.
LAURIE
Pops, are you okay?
LARRY
I think she did something to me.
GRACE
Of course I did something to you. I fucked you in a way you probably haven’t been fucked in a long time. No offense to your nubile young wives.
LAURIE
Jesus. Mom! Must you? Really? I can’t believe you did this.
GRACE
There you go-blaming me again.
LAURIE
I’m not blaming you. But Dad’s stuck on the floor naked. What am I supposed to say?
GRACE
Larry. Get up! I said get up. Please. Now.
LARRY
Grace, I don’t feel right.
GRACE
I don’t believe you. Get up Larry.
LARRY
Maybe it was the quiche. Laurie, your mother made quiche.
LAURIE
Pops, maybe you’ve had a stroke. Oh my God!
GRANVILLE
Laurie. You should try to calm down.
LAURIE
Don’t tell me what I should do. Don’t ever tell me again what I should do. I am done being the only person around who does what they should do. I am tired of being shoulded on and I am done, finished, shoulding on myself. Should my mother and my father have been having sex on my floor? Was that what they should have been doing? Mom, tell me-is D for Doing the Deed? Maybe E is for Erection. Clearly, it’s not for Erectile dysfunction. And F, let’s make F for Fucking your ex-husband who you hate. You. Hate. Him. Pops, are you okay?
GRACE
Let’s all sit down and talk.
LARRY
I can’t sit down. I can’t get up.
LAURIE
I don’t want to sit down. I never want to sit down again.
GRANVILLE
Laurie, you’re being irrational.
LAURIE
For once I get to be the irrational one. I’m tired of making all the pieces fit together like a well-formed equation.
LARRY
Laurie, Princess-
LAURIE
Do not call me “Princess!”
GRACE
Laurie, you’re going to have an aneurism. Larry, do something. I feel faint.
LARRY
Well don’t faint on me.
GRACE
Get up you bastard! You’re faking this. You’re looking for some sort of sick sympathy. I knew it. I knew you couldn’t be trusted, Larry. I am sick. No, you are sick. What you’re doing is wretched. Your father is a sick man, Laurie. A very sick man. He’s fine. He can get up. I don’t know why he’s doing this, but he’s faking. He’s trying to make me look bad. Like I can’t make a quiche without poisoning him. He’s always accusing me of trying to kill him. He spent his life trying to make you hate me. This is what he does.
LAURIE
I’m gonna call an ambulance.
GRACE
You’ll see. He’s fine.
LAURIE
Mom, what’s wrong with you? Why are you being like this?
LARRY
This is what she does. This is why I had to leave.
GRACE
Larry, you will rot in hell before you even get there. For one minute, I let my guard down...
(Grace finishes getting dressed, picks up Larry’s pants from the floor, and grabs his car keys from his pants pocket.)
LARRY
What are you doing, Grace?
(Grace dangles the keys in front of Larry.)
GRACE
Get up, Larry.
LAURIE
Mom, give me Dad’s car keys.
GRACE
Get up Larry or I’m taking your car.
LAURIE
Mom, stop it. Please.
GRACE
You want me to stop. I’ll stop.
(Grace storms out of the house. Laurie tries to grab ahold of Grace’s arm, but Grace slithers free. We hear the sound of a car engine starting and then-crash.)
