—Hello?
—Just me.
—Ma. Hey. What’s up?
—I won’t keep you. You’re probably busy, I know.
—Nah.
—Saw something you might be interested in, that’s all.
—Yeah?
—You’re sure you’re not busy?
—Just grading papers. Go ahead.
—You sure?
—Ma, what is it you wanted.
—Hey.
—What.
—Don’t take that tone with me.
—Sorry. Can you tell me, though?
—Tell you what?
—Never mind. Nothing important.
—Ma …
—I’ll try some other time when you’re in a better—
—Wait. Ma? Y’there? Hey.
—Still here.
—Why did you call?
—I need a reason?
—No. But you said you had one.
—I do. What time is it?
—That’s why you called?
—I’ve got something in the oven—something you might be interested in, by the way.
—Oh?
—What time is it?
—It’s … two-forty.
—All right. The reason I called. I don’t usually watch television in the afternoon. I don’t like the feeling. I usually read or find something to do. But today I just felt like what’s the use, what the hell’s the use, why even try.
—Bad day?
—It’ll be two years next month. Two years. And yes, I know what you’re going to say, “Time heals all wounds.”
—I wasn’t going to say that.
—“We all have to go some—”
—Or that either.
—“You had fifty-five years with the man.”
—Or that.
—And you’re right, but you know what? I hate to say it but it doesn’t help, not a bit. I’m sorry. I know you mean well.
—Did you want some company?
—No, no. I’m fine. Really. You’ve got work to do. Papers to grade, right?
—I can bring them over.
—That’s not why I called.
—I know. But I’m saying—
—I happened to be looking through the TV Guide and saw something on this afternoon I thought you’d probably want to watch, that’s all.
—Oh?
—A Streetcar Named Desire. Says here … let me find it … here it is: “Grim, powerful Tennessee Williams drama about a faded Southern belle. Vivien Leigh and Marlon Brando.” Four stars they give it. Not that that means anything, I’ve seen some four-star crapola, believe me. But I know how much you like all that Tennessee Williamstype stuff, so I thought I’d let you know. It’s on at, let me see, four o’clock.
—Well, thanks. I’ve seen it but thanks.
—I figured you’d seen it but I just thought maybe you’d want to see it again. I know with certain movies I like, things like Shop Around the Corner, or Meet Me in St. Louis, upbeat things like that, things that make you feel good instead of miserable, I can watch them over and over, so I just thought maybe you’d want to—
—See it again, right. Well, thanks. I might. I’ve got a lot of work to do first—
—Papers to grade.
—Right. But yeah, I’ll probably take a look. Anyway, thanks.
—She’s a Southern belle, is she? Vivien Leigh? A faded Southern belle?
—Right.
—Like in Gone with the Wind, only she wasn’t faded, she was still quite young in that. I probably told you, probably more than once, I was the very first person in line at its very first showing in Chicago. It was at the—
—Chicago Theater, right.
—Nineteen thirty-nine. Dear God …
—Long time ago?
—No. That’s just it. Not at all. Until you actually count out the years. Is this the Civil War?
—Is … what, Ma.
—This Tennessee Williams thing. It says she’s a faded Southern belle.
—Actually, no, it’s more like the nineteen forties, early fifties.
—Oh Jesus, of course, with streetcars, what’m I thinking, they didn’t have streetcars in the—oh God, I’m stupid. I’m very, very stupid and I’m very, very depressed and I know I shouldn’t say this, especially to one of my children, but sometimes I honestly truly wish to God I was—
—Ma, hey, c’mon, don’t, will ya?
—Don’t go there?
—That’s what your brother says. “Ma, don’t go there.”
—Well, don’t. First of all, you’re not stupid. You are depressed, I’ll give you that.
—Thanks. All right, well, I’ll let you get back to your—
—Listen, what time did you say the movie was? Four?
—Four o’clock. So that’s, let’s see, an hour and …
—Why don’t I try and finish up and I’ll come over and watch it there.
—If you’d like. It’s up to you.
—All right. Well. I’ll see you in a—
—Might have a little surprise for you.
—Oh?
—Little something.
—What.
—I’m not going to tell you. It’s still in the oven. Mince pie.
—Sounds good.
—With vanilla ice cream.
—Even better.
—Pick some up, on your way. I was thinking we could watch Jeopardy, maybe afterwards play some cards, little two-handed rummy.
—What about Streetcar?
—Streetcar …
—The movie. A Streetcar Named—
—I thought you’d already seen it. Anyway, I don’t understand why you’d want to watch something like that in the first place. Life is gloomy enough, isn’t it?
—I suppose.
—I’ve read about this Tennessee Williams. Homosexual. Drug addict. Alcoholic. He killed himself, didn’t he?
—I don’t think so.
—Well, maybe he should have.
—Ma.
—I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice. I just don’t have any patience with people who go around feeling sorry for themselves all the time—and I know what you’re thinking, kettle calling the pot, but at least I try to snap out of it. I don’t often succeed but at least I make an effort. People like that don’t even try.
—Ma, how do you know—
—They wallow in it, they glory in it, write novels and plays all about how horrible life is, and we’re supposed to be what, grateful? “Oh, thank you for reminding me how shitty life is, I almost forgot. I was almost going to be happy there for a minute.” Don’t laugh. I’m not trying to be funny. I’m very angry. I get very, very angry lately. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.
—Little bit.
—If Tennessee Williams wants to be a miserable alcoholic homosexual drug addict, that’s his business, it’s a free country, but why should we have to suffer for it? She was so good in Gone with the Wind.
—Vivien Leigh?
—Why would she want to be in something like this, something so morbid and dismal.
—Have you seen it?
—I don’t have to see it. Faded Southern belle. Probably drinks. Gets all dressed up, nowhere to go. Listens to music. Lonely, lonely, lonely. Oh God, John, I’m so—
—Ma, listen, I’m gonna come over now, okay? I’ll bring my work over.
—Hurry up.
—I’m on my way.
—I’m short of breath.
—Drink a glass of water.
—I’m starting to panic, oh Jesus I’m starting to panic.
—Ma, listen.
—Talk to me, just talk to me, tell me about the movie, about the faded Southern belle, what happens, go on, hurry up, tell me.
—Well she, she visits her sister …
—Uh-huh. Her sister. And then?
—Her sister’s name is Stella.
—Stella, okay.
—And she’s married—Stella—to Marlon Brando— Stanley Kowalski—and he’s a, he’s a—well, I don’t know, he bowls, okay?
—Like your father.
—Except he’s not like Dad, he’s very, I don’t know—
—Moody? Your father was never moody. The man worked like a dog for you kids but never complained, not once, never thought to complain. Go ahead. He bowls.
—So Blanche—the Vivien Leigh character, Blanche DuBois, French for—
—I had a friend named Blanche. In high school. Blanche … God what was her last name …
—You doing better?
—Little bit. Go ahead, though.
—Well, let’s see, she stays with Stella.
—Her sister.
—Right. And Stanley doesn’t like her.
—Blanche?
—Right. He thinks she’s stuck up.
—A Southern belle.
—Exactly. And she is stuck up, but she’s also very, you know …
—Lonely?
—Right.
—Miserable?
—Well …
—Wants to die?
—She’s pretty unhappy, put it that way.
—Faded.
—There you go. Anyway, it goes on like that, and Stanley eventually sort of … you know …
—Kills her?
—Rapes her.
—Of course.
—So she ends up going crazy and they send for the men in the white coats, and … that’s pretty much it, The End.
—What a lovely story.
—As they’re taking her away she says, “I have always depended on the kindness of—”
—Sorry?
—Blanche Cunningham. That was my friend’s name. Talk about stuck up. Anyway, what do I know, they give it four stars—although, like I said, that doesn’t necessarily—there’s the oven bell, your pie. Pick up some ice cream on your way, if you’d like.
—Vanilla?
—Whatever. I won’t eat any. I’m dieting.
—You’re not dying, Ma.
—I said I’m dieting.
—Oh. All right, well … see you in a bit.
—If you feel like it.