The play 'Night, Mother' was written by Marsha Norman and earned the prestigious 1983 Pulitzer Prize for Drama.
The original Broadway production opened on March 31, 1983, at the John Golden Theatre after its 1982 premiere in Cambridge.
The initial cast featured Anne Pitoniak as Thelma Cates and Kathy Bates in the role of Jessie Cates.
The text details strict copyright protections and specific mandates regarding how the author must be credited in program materials.
The character Jessie Cates is introduced as a woman in her late thirties or early forties who appears pale and physically unsteady.
JESSIE CATES â Jessie is in her late thirties or early forties, pale and vaguely unsteady, physically.
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"NIGHT, MOTHER opened on Broadway at the John Golden
Theatre, on March 31, 1983, presented by Dann Byck, Wendell
Cherry, The Shubert Organization and Frederick M. Zollo. The
production was directed by Tom Moore, with sets and costumes by
Heidi Landesman, and lights by James F. Ingalls. Steven Beckler
was the production stage manager. The cast, in order of appearance,
was as follows:
THELMA CATES ..........--c 0c cece eeeee Anne Pitoniak
JESSIE CATES. ..... 6. cece ere ee eee ces Kathy Bates
"NIGHT, MOTHER was originally produced by The American
Repertory Theatre in Cambridge, Massachusetts in December,
' 1982.
âNIGHT, MOTHER was awarded the 1983 Pulitzer Prize for
Drama.
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Jessie Cates is introduced as a woman in her late thirties who has recently achieved a newfound control over her life and body.
Thelma Cates is a chatty, sturdy-minded mother who lives with her daughter in a routine of familiar comforts and aggravations.
The play's action happens in real-time, with onstage clocks emphasizing the literal passage of moments for the characters.
A specific bedroom door is designated as the symbolic focal point of the set, representing both threat and promise.
The author's note demands a realistic environment that reflects the characters' specific identities without resorting to stereotypes.
It is an ordinary door that opens onto absolute nothingness.
CHARACTERS
JESSIE CATES â Jessie is in her late thirties or early forties,
pale and vaguely unsteady, physically. It is only in
the last year that Jessie has gained control of her
mind and body, and tonight, she is determined to
hold onto that control. She wears pants and a long
black sweater with deep pockets one of which con-
tains a notepad and there may be a pencil behind her
ear of a pen clipped to one of the pockets of the
sweater.
As a tule, Jessie doesnât feel much like talking,
Other people have rarely found her quirky sense of
humor amusing. She has a peaceful energy on this
night, a sense of purpose, but is clearly aware of the
time passing moment by moment. Oddly enough,
Jessie has never been as communicative or as en-
joyable as she is on this evening, but we must know
she has not always been this way. There is a familiari-
ty between these two women that comes from having
lived together for a long time. There is a shorthand
to the talk and a sense of routine comfort to the way
they relate to each other physically. Naturally, there
ate also routine aggravations.
THELMA CATES â Thelma is Jessieâs mother, in her late fif-
ties or early sixties. She has begun to feel her age and
so takes it easy when she can, or when it serves her
putposes to let someone help her. But she speaks.
quickly and enjoys talking. She believes that things
are what she says they are. Her sturdiness is more a
mental quality than a physical one, finally. She is
chatty and nosy and this is Fer house.
AUTHORâS NOTE
The time is the present, with the action beginning about
8:15. Clocks onstage in the kitchen and on a table in the liv-
ing room should run throughout the performance and be
visible by the audience.
There will be no intermission.
The play takes place in a relatively new house built way out
a county toad, with a living room and connecting kitchen
and a center hall that leads off to the bedrooms. A pull cord
in the hall ceiling releases a ladder which leads to the attic.
One of the bedrooms opens directly onto the hall and its en-
try should be visible by everyone in the audience. It should
be, in fact, the focal point of the entire set and the lighting
should make it disappeat completely at times and draw the
entire set into it at others. It is a point of both threat and
promise. It is an ordinary door that opens onto absolute
nothingness, That door is the point of all the action and the
utmost care should be given its design and construction.
The living toom is cluttered with magazines and needlework
catalogues, ashtrays and candy dishes. Examples of Mamaâs
needlework are everywhereâpillows, afghans and quilts,
doilies and rugs, and they ate quite nice examples, The house
is more comfortable than messy, but there is quite a lot to
keep in place here. It is more personal than charming. Itâis
not quaint. Under no circumstances should the set and its
dressing make a judgement about the intelligence or taste of
Jessie and Thelma. It should simply indicate that they are
very specific real people who happen to live in a particular
part of the country. Heavy accents, which would further
distance the audience from Jessie and Thelma are also wrong.
A Saturday Night Search
Mama is preoccupied with mundane domestic tasks like eating cupcakes and checking the TV Guide for her Saturday night routine.
Jessie begins a methodical search for absorbent materials and protective coverings, claiming she is preparing for an upcoming mess.
The atmosphere shifts from domestic comfort to unease when Jessie reveals she is looking for her deceased father's pistol.
Mama remains largely oblivious to the potential danger, assuming Jessie's preparations are for something as trivial as dyeing her hair.
I found the bullets. They were in an old milkcan.
i
*NIGHT, MOTHER
Mama hums some odd little tune as she stretches to
reach the cupcakes in a cabinet in the kitchen. She
can't see them, but she can feel around for them,
and she's eager to have one, so sheâs working pretty
hard at it. This may be the most serious exercise
Mama ever gets. She finds a cupcake, the coconut
covered, raspberry and marshmallow filled kind
known as a snowball, but sees that there's one miss-
ing from the package. She calls to Jessie, who is ap-
parently somewhere else in the house.
MAMA. (Unwrapping the cupcake.) Jessie, itâs the last
snowball, sugar. Put it on the list, O.K.? And weâre out of
Hetshey bars and whereâs that peanut brittle? I think maybe
Dawsonâs been in it again. I ought to put a big mirror on the
refrigerator door. That'll keep him out of my treats, won't it?
You hear me, honey? (Then more to herself.) 1 hate it when
the coconut falls off. Why does the coconut fall off? (Jessie
enters from her bedroom, carrying a stack of newspapers.)
JESSIE. We got any old towels?
MAMA. There you are!
JESSIE. (Holding a towel that was on the stack of news-
papers.) Towels you donât want any more. (And picking up
Mama's snowball wrapper.) How about this swimming towel
9
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Loretta gave us? Beach towel, thatâs the name of it. You want
it? (Mama shakes her head No.)
MAMA. What have you been doing in there?
JESSIE. And a big piece of plastic like a rubber sheet or
something. Garbage bags would do if thereâs enough.
MAMA. Donât go making a big mess, Jessie. Itâs eight
o'clock already.
JESSIE. Maybe an old blanket ot towels we got in a soap box
sometime?
MAMA. I said donât make a mess. Your hair is black
enough, hon.
JESSIE. (Continues to search the kitchen cabinets, finding
two or three more towels to add to her stack.) \t's not for my
hair, Mama. What about some old pillows anywhere or a
foam cushion out of a yard chait would be real good.
MAMA. You haven't forgot what night it is, have you?
(Holding up her fingernails.) They're all chipped, see? P've
been waiting all week, Jess. Itâs Saturday night, sugar.
JESSIE. I know. I got it on the schedule.
MAMA. (Crossing to the living room.) You want me to wash
âem now or are you making your mess first? (Looking at the
snowball.) We're out of these. Did I say that already?
JESSIE. Thereâs more coming tomorrow. I ordered you a
whole case.
MAMA. (Checking the TV Guide.) A whole case will go
stale, Jessie.
JESSIE. They can go in the freezer til you're ready for them.
Whereâs Daddyâs gun?
MAMA. In the attic.
JESSIE. Where in the attic? I looked your whole nap and
couldnât find it anywhere.
MAMA. One of his shoeboxes, I think.
JESSIE. Full of shoes. I looked already.
MAMA. Well, you didnât look good enough, then. Thereâs
that box from the ones he wore to the hospital. When he
10
died, they told me I could have them back, but I never did
like those shoes.
JESSIE. (Pulling them out of her pocket.) 1 found the
bullets. They were in an old milkcan.
MAMA. (As Jessie starts for the hall.) Dawson took the
shotgun, didnât he? Hand me that basket, hon.
JESSIE. (Gets the basket for her.) Dawson better notâve
taken that pistol.
MAMA. (Stopping her again.) Now my glasses, please.
(Jesste returns to get the glasses.) 1 told him to take those rub-
ber boots too, but he said they were for fishing. I told him
to take up fishing. (Jessie reaches for the cleaning spray, and
cleans Mama's glasses for her.)
JESSIE. Heâs just too lazy to climb up there, Mama. Or
maybe heâs just being smart. That floorâs not vety steady,
MAMA. (Gefting out a piece of knitting.) Itâs not a floor at
all, hon, itâs a board now and then. Measure this for me. I
need six inches.
JESSIE. (As she measures.) Dawson could probably use some
of those clothes up there. Somebody should have them. You
ought to call the Salvation Army before the whole thing falls
in on you. Six inches exactly.
MAMA. Itâs plenty safe! As long as you donât go up there.
JESSIE. (Turning to go again.) I'm careful.
MAMA. What do you want the gun for, Jess?
JESSIE. (Not returning this time. Opening the ladder in the
hall.) Protection. (She steadies the ladder as Mama talks.)
MAMA. You take the TV way too serious, hon. Iâve never
seen a criminal in my life. This is way too far to come for
what's out here to steal. Never seen a one.
JESSIE. (Taking her first step up.) Except for Ricky.
MAMA. Ricky is mixed up. Thatâs not a ctime.
JESSIE. Get your hands washed. Iâll be right back. And get
âem teal dry. You dry your hands til I get back or itâs no go,
all right?
il
Retrieving the Revolver
Jessie retrieves a gun from a precarious attic while her mother, Mama, expresses concern about the safety of the house and the necessity of the weapon.
Mama attempts to dismiss the need for a gun by claiming their rural home is safe from criminals, though Jessie reminds her of her son Ricky's criminal behavior.
A sharp divide exists between the two women regarding Ricky; Mama remains hopeful for his redemption while Jessie expresses cold detachment and a desire to see him imprisoned.
Jessie explicitly states that the gun is not for protection against others but is intended for her own use.
The scene juxtaposes the mundane preparation for a manicure with the chillingly methodical act of Jessie cleaning the loaded firearm.
Donât worry. Itâs not for him, itâs for me.
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MAMA. I thought Dawson told you not to go up those
staits.
JESSIE. (Going up.) He did.
MAMA. I don't like the idea of a gun, Jess.
JESSIE. (Calling down from the attic.) Which shoebox, do
you remember?
MAMA. Black.
JESSIE. The box was black?
MAMA. The shoes were black.
JESSIE. That doesnât help much, Mother.
MAMA. Iâm not trying to help, sugar. (No answer.) We
don't have anything anybodyâd want, Jessie. I mean, I donât
even want what we got, Jessie.
JESSIE. Neither do I. Wash your hands. (Mama gets up now
and crosses to stand under the ladder.)
MAMA. You come down from there before you have a fit.
I canât come up and get you, you know.
JESSIE. 1 know.
MAMA, We'll just hand it over to âem when they come,
howâs that? Whatever they want, the criminals.
JESSIE. Thatâs a good idea, Mama.
MAMA. Ricky will grow out of this and be a real fine boy,
Jess. But I have to tell you, I wouldnât want Ricky to know
we had a gun in the house.
JESSIE. Here it is. I found it.
MAMA. Itâs just something Rickyâs going through. Maybe
heâs in with some bad people. He just needs some time,
sugar. He'll get back in school or get a job or one day you'll
get a call and he'll say heâs sorry for all the trouble heâs caused
and invite you out for supper someplace dressup.
JESSIE. (Coming back down the stairs now. ) Donât worry.
Itâs not for him, itâs for me.
MAMA. I didnât think you would shoot your own boy,
Jessie. I know you've felt like it, well, weâve all felt like
shooting somebody, but we donât do it. I just donât think we
need...
12
JESSIE. (Interrupting. ) Your hands aren ât washed. Do you
want a manicure or not?
MAMA. Yes I do, but .
JESSIE. (Crossing to the chair. ) Then wash your hands and
donât talk to me any more about Ricky. Those two rings he
took were the last valuable things I had so now heâs started
in on other people, door to door. I hope they put him away
sometime. I'd turn him in, myself, if I knew where he was:
MAMA. You donât mean that.
JESSIE. Every word. Wash your hands and thatâs the last
time I'm telling you. (Jessie sits down with the gun and starts
cleaning it, pushing the cylinder out, checking to see that the
chambers and barrel are empty, then putting some oil on a
small patch of cloth and pushing it through the barrel with
the push rod that was in the box. Mama goes to the kitchen
and washes her hands, as instructed, trying not to show her
concern about the gun.)
MAMA. I shoulda got you to bring down that milk can.
Agnes Fletcher sold hers to somebody with a flea market for
forty dollars apiece.
JESSIE. Ill go back and get it in a minute. Thereâs a wagon
wheel up thete too. Thereâs even a churn. I'll get it all if you
want.
MAMA. (Coming over now, taking over now.) What are you
doing?
JESSIE. The barrel has to be clean, Mama. Old powder, dust
gets init...
MAMA. What for?
JESSIE. I told you.
MAMA. (Reaching for the gun.) And I told you, we donât
get criminals out here.
JESSIE. (Quickly pulling it to her.) And I told you...
(Then trying to be calm.) The gun is for me.
MAMA. Well you can have it if you want. When I die, you'll
get it all anyway.
JESSIE. I'm going to kill myself, Mama.
13
MAMA. (Returning to the sofa.) Very funny. Very funny.
JESSIE. I am.
MAMA. (Quickly, irritated.) You are not! Donât even say
such a thing, Jessie.
_JESSIE. How would you know if I didnât say it? You want it
âto âbe-a:surprise? You're lying there in your bed or maybe
you're just: brushing your teeth and you hear this . . . noise
down ithie hall?
âMAMA. Kill youtself.
JESSIE. Shoot myself. In a couple. of hours.
MAMA. âIt must be time for your medicine.
JESSIE. Took it already.
MAMA. Then whatâs the matter with you?
JESSIE. Not a thing. Feel fine.
MAMA. You feel fine. You're just going to kill yourself.
JESSIE. Waited until 1 fele good enough, in fact.
MAMA. Donât make jokes, Jessie. Iâm too old for jokes.
JESSIE. Itâs not a joke, Mama. (Mama watches for a moment
in silence.)
MAMA. That gunâs no good, you know. He broke it right
before he died. He dropped it in the mud one day.
JESSIE, Seems O.K. (Jessie spins the chamber, cocks the
pistol and pulls the trigger. The gun is not yet loaded, so all
we hear is the click, but it will definitely work. Itâs also ob-
vious that Jessie knows her way around a gun. Mama cannot
Speak.) 1 had Cecilâs all ready in there, just in case I couldnât
find this one, but Iâd rather use Daddyâs.
MAMA. Those bullets are at least 15 years old.
JESSIE. (Pulls out another box.) These are from last week.
âMAMA. âWhere. did âyou: get those?
JESSIE. Feed «store. Dawson told me. about.
MAMA. âDawson!
JESSIE. I told âhim-I was. worried about prowlers. He said he
thought itwwas.a:good idea.â He toldâme what kind to ask for.
MAMA. If he had any idea...
JESSIE. He took it as a compliment. He thought I might be
14
Jessie calmly informs her mother of her explicit intention to commit suicide later that evening.
Mama initially reacts with dismissal and irritation, suggesting Jessie is either joking or suffering from a lack of medicine.
Jessie reveals she has methodically prepared for the act, including testing her father's old pistol and manipulating her brother into buying her fresh ammunition.
To maintain control over the evening, Jessie threatens to kill herself immediately if Mama attempts to call her brother for help.
You're lying there in your bed or maybe you're just brushing your teeth and you hear this . . . noise down the hall?
JESSIE. I donât want anybody else over here. Just you. and
me. If Dawson comes over itâll make me feel stupid for not
doing it ten years ago.
MAMA. I think we better call the doctor. Or how about the
ambulance. You like that one driver, I know. What's his
name, Timmy? Get you somebody to talk to.
JESSIE. (Going back to her chair.) I'm through talking,
Mama. You're it. No more.
MAMA. We're just going to sit around like every other night
in the world and. then you're going to kill yourself? (Jesste
@oesn't answer.) You'll miss. (Again, there is no response, )
You'll just wind up a vegetable. How would you like that?
Shoot your ear off? You know what the doctor said about get-
ting excited. You'll cock the pistol and have a fit.
JESSIE. 1 think I can kill myself, Mama.
MAMA. You're not going to kill yourself, Jessie. You're not
even upset! (And Jessie smiles, or laughs quietly, and Mama
tries a different approach.) People donât really kill
themselves, Jessie. No, Mam, doesnât make sense, unless
you're retarded or deranged and you're as normal as they
come, Jessie, for the most part. We're all afraid to die.
JESSIE. Iâm not, Mama. Iâm cold all the time anyway.
MAMA. Thatâs ridiculous.
JESSIE. Itâs exactly what I want. It's dark and quiet.
MAMA. So is the back yard, Jessie! Close your eyes. Stuff
cotton in your ears. Take a nap! Itâs quiet in your room. I'll
leave the TV off all night.
JESSIE. So quiet I donât know itâs quiet. So nobody can get
me.
MAMA. You donât know what dead is like. It might not be
quiet at all. What if itâs like an alarm clock and you canât
wake up so you canât shut it off. Ever.
JESSIE. Dead is everybody and everything I ever knew, gone.
Dead is dead quiet. .
MAMA. Itâs'a sin. You'll go to hell,
JESSIE. Uh-huh.
16
MAMA. You will!
JESSIE. Jesus was a suicide, if you ask me. |
MAMA. You'll go to hell just for saying that. Jessie!
JESSIE. (Genuine surprise.) 1 didnât know | thought thar.
MAMA. Jessie! (Jessie doesn't answer. She puts the now
loaded gun back in the box and crosses to the kitchen, But
Mama is afraid she is headed for the bedroom. Mama, in
panic.) You canât use my towels! They're my towels. I've had
them for a long time. I like my towels.
JESSIE. I asked you if you wanted that swimming towel and
you said you didnât.
MAMA. And you canât use your fatherâs gun either. Itâs mine
now too. And you canât do it in my house.
JESSIE. Oh come on.
MAMA. No. You canât do it. I wonât let you. The house is
in my name.
JESSIE. I have to go in the bedroom and lock the door
behind me so they won't arrest you for killing me. They'll
probably test your hands for gunpowder anyway, but you'll
pass.
MAMA. Not in my house!
JESSIE. If I'd known you were going to act like this, I
wouldnât have told you.
MAMA. How am I supposed to act? Tell you to go ahead?
O.K. by me, sugar. Might try it myself. What took you so
long?
JESSIE. Thereâs just no point in fighting me over it, thatâs
all. Want some coffee?
MAMA, Your birthdayâs coming up, Jessie, Donât you want
to know what we got you?
JESSIE. You got me dusting powder, Loretta âgot me a new
housecoat, pink probably and Dawson got me new slippers,
too small, but they go with the robe, heâll say. (Mame cannot
speak.) Right? (Apparently Jessie is right.) Be back in a
minute. (Jessie takes the gun box, puts it on top of the stack
of towels and garbage bags and takes them into her bedroom.
17
Mama, alone for a moment, 80es to the phone, picks up the
receiver, looks toward the bedroom, starts to dial and then
replaces the receiver in its cradle as Jessie walks back into the
room. Jessie wonders, silently. They have lived together for
50 long, there is very rarely any reason for one to ask what the
other was about to do.)
MAMA. I started to, but I didn't. I didnât call him.
JESSIE. Good. Thank you.
MAMA. (Starting over, a new approach.) What's this all
about, Jessie? a
JESSIE. About? (Jessie now begins the next task she had âon
the schedule,â which is refilling all the candy jars, taking the
empty papers out of the boxes of chocolates, etc. Mama
generally snitches when Jessie does this. Not tonight,
though. Nevertheless, Jessie offers.)
MAMA. What did I do?
JESSIE. Nothing. Want a caramel?
MAMA. (Ignoring the candy.) You're mad at me.
JESSIE. Not a bit. I am worried about you, but Iâm going to
do what I can before I go. Weâte not just going to sit around
tonight. I made a list of things.
MAMA. What things?
JESSIE. How the washer works. Things like that.
MAMA. Did you grow up wearing dirty clothes?
JESSIE. No.
MAMA. I know how the washer works. You put the clothes
in. You put the soap in. You turn it on. You wait.
JESSIE. You do something else. You don't just wait.
MAMA. Whatever else you find to do you're still mainly
waiting. The waitingâs the worst part of it. The waitingâs what
you pay somebody else to do, if you can.
JESSIE. (Nodding.) O.K. Where do we keep the soap?
MAMA. I could find it.
JESSIE. See?
MAMA. If youâte mad about doing the wash, we can get
Loretta to do it.
18
JESSIE. Oh now, that might be worth staying to see.
MAMA. She'd never in her life, would she?
JESSIE. Nope.
MAMA. Whatâs the matter with her? â
JESSIE. She thinks sheâs better than we are. Sheâs not.
MAMA. Maybe if she didnât wear that yellow all the time.
JESSIE. The washer repait number is on a little card taped
to the side of the machine.
MAMA. Loretta doesnât ever have to come over here again.
Dawson can just leave her at home when he comes. And we
won't ever see Dawson either if he bothers you. Does he
bother you?
JESSIE. Sure he does. Be sure you clean out the lint tray
evety time you use the dryer. But donât ever put your house
shoes in, itâll melt the soles.
MAMA. What does Dawson do, that bothers you?
JESSIE. He just calls me Jess like he knows who heâs talking
to. Heâs always wondering what I do all day. I mean, I wonder
that myself, but itâs my day, so itâs mine to wonder about,
not his.
MAMA. Family is just accident, Jessie. Itâs nothing personal,
hon. They donât mean to get on your nerves. They donât even
mean to be your family, they just are.
JESSIE. They know too much.
MAMA. About what?
JESSIE. They know things about you, and they learned it
before you had a chance to say whether you wanted them to
_ know it or not. They were there when it happened and it
donât belong to them, it belongs to you, only they got it. Like
my mail order bra got delivered to their house.
MAMA. By accident!
JESSIE. Allthe same . . . they opened it. They saw the little
rosebuds on it. (Offering her another candy.) Chewy mint?
MAMA. (Shaking her head no.) What do they know about
you? I'll tell them never to talk about it again. Is it Ricky or
Cecil or your fits or your hair is falling out or you drink too
19
A Mother's Desperate Pleas
Jessie forcefully prevents Mama from calling her brother or emergency services, insisting that their final conversation remain private and uninterrupted.
Mama attempts to dissuade Jessie using a series of escalating tactics, ranging from the practical fear of a botched suicide to the religious threat of eternal damnation.
Jessie characterizes her impending death as a state of 'dead quiet' and a necessary relief from a life where she feels 'cold all the time.'
Mamaâs desperation manifests in increasingly irrational protests, such as claiming ownership over the gun and the towels Jessie intends to use.
The interaction maintains an eerie domesticity, with Jessie calmly offering to make coffee immediately after discussing the logistics of her own death.
You canât use my towels! They're my towels. I've had them for a long time. I like my towels.
much coffee or you never go out of the house or what?
JESSIE. I just donât like their talk. The account at the grocery
is in Dawsonâs name when you call. The number's on a whole
list of numbers on the back cover of the phone book.
MAMA. Well! Now we're getting somewhere. Theyâre none
of them ever setting foot in this house again.
JESSIE. Itâs not them, Mother. I wouldnât kill myself just to
get away from them.
MAMA. You leave the room when they come over, anyway.
JESSIE. I stay as long as I can. Besides, itâs you they come to
see.
MAMA. Thatâs because I stay in the room when they come.
JESSIE. Itâs not them.
MAMA. Then what is it?
JESSIE. (Checking the list on her notepad.) The grocery
won't deliver on Saturday any more. And if you want your
order the same day, you have to call before 10. And they
won't deliver less than 15 dollars worth. What I do is tell
them what we need and tell them to add on cigarettes until
it gets to 15 dollars.
MAMA. Itâs Ricky. You're trying to get through to him.
JESSIE. If I thought I could do that, I would stay.
MAMA. Make him sorry he hurt you, then. Thatâs it, isnât it?
JESSIE. Heâs hurt me, Iâve hurt him. Weâre about even.
MAMA. You'll be telling him killing is O.K. with you, you
know. Want him to start killing next? Nothing wrong with
it. Mom did it.
JESSIE. Only a matter of time anyway, Mama. When the call -
comes, you.let Dawson handle it.
MAMA. Honey, nothing says. those calls are âalways going to
be some new trouble heâs into. You could get one that heâs
got.ajob, that heâs getting âmairied, or how about heâs joined
the army, wouldnât that be nice?
JESSIE. If you call The Sweet Tooth before you call the
grocery, that Susie will take your fudge next door to the
grocety and it'll all come out together. Be sure you talk to
20
JESSIE. If it was a mistake, we made it together. You took
me in. I appreciate that.
MAMA. You didnât have any business being by yourself
right then, but I can see how you might want a place of your
own. You could be as close or as far away as you wanted. A
grown woman should . . .
JESSIE, Mama... . I'm just not having a very good time and
I donât have any reason to think it'll get anything but worse.
I'm tired. Iâm hurt. Iâm sad. I feel used.
MAMA. Tired of what?
JESSIE. Ic all.
MAMA. What does that mean?
JESSIE. I canât say it any better.
MAMA. Well, you'll have to say it better because Iâm not
letting you alone til you do. What were those other things.
Hurt... (Before Jessie can answer.) You had this all ready
to say to me, didnât you? Did you write this down? How long
have you been thinking about this?
JESSIE. Off and on, ten years. On all the time, since
Christmas.
MAMA. What happened at Christmas?
JESSIE. Nothing.
MAMA. So why Christmas?
JESSIE, That's it. On the nose. (A pause. Mama knows exact-
ly what Jessie means. She was there, too, after all. Jessie, put-
ting the candy sacks away.) See where all this is? Red hots up
front, sour balls and horehound mixed together in this one
sack. New packages of toffee and licorice right in back there.
MAMA. Go back to your list. You're hurt by what?
JESSIE. (Mama knows perfectly well.) Mama . . .
MAMA. O.K. Sad about what? Thereâs nothing teal sad go-
ing on right now. If it was after your divorce or something,
that would make sense.
JESSIE. (Looks at her list, then opens the drawer.) Now, this
drawer has everything in it that thereâs no better place for. Ex-
tension cords, batteries for the radio, extra lighters, sand
22
paper, masking tape, Elmetâs glue, thumbtacks, that kind of
stuff. The mousetraps are under the sink, but you call
Dawson if youâve got one and let him do it.
MAMA. Sad about what? *
JESSIE. The way things are.
MAMA. Not good enough. What things?
JESSIE. Oh, everything from you and me to Red China.
MAMA. I think we can leave the Chinese out of this.
JESSIE. (Crosses back into the living room.) Theteâs extra
lightbulbs in a box in the hall closet. And we've got a couple
of packages of fuses in the fuse box. Thereâs candles and mat-
ches in the top of the broom closet, but if the lights go out,
just call Dawson and sit tight: But donât open the refrigerator
door. Things will stay cool in there as long as you keep the
door shut.
MAMA. I asked you a question.
JESSIE. I read the paper. I donât like how things are. And
theyâre not any better out there than they are in here.
' MAMA. If you're doing this because of the newspapers, I can
sure fix that!
JESSIE. Thereâs just more of it on TV.
MAMA. (Kicks the television.) Take it out then!
JESSIE. You wouldn't do that.
MAMA. Watch me.
JESSIE. What would you do all day?
MAMA. (Desperate.) Sing. (Jessie laughs.) | would too. You
want to watch? I'll sing til morning to keep you alive, Jessie,
please!
JESSIE. No. (Then affectionately.) Itâs a funny idea, though.
What do you sing?
MAMA. (Has no idea how to answer this.) We've got a good
life here!
JESSIE. (Going back into the kitchen.) \ called this morning
and cancelled the papers, except for Sunday, for your
puzzles, you'll still get that one.
MAMA. Letâs get another dog, Jessie! You liked a big dog,
23
Domestic Duties and Family Secrets
Jessie methodically prepares Mama for life alone by explaining household maintenance and the specifics of the washer and dryer.
Mama experiences a moment of indecision, picking up the phone to call for help but ultimately choosing to face Jessie alone.
The dialogue reveals Jessie's deep frustration with her brother Dawson and his perceived ownership over her personal life and time.
Jessie explains her resentment toward her family, viewing them as people who possess intimate knowledge of her without her consent.
They know things about you, and they learned it before you had a chance to say whether you wanted them to know it or not.
didnât you, that King dog, didnât you?
JESSIE. (Washing her hands.) | did like that King dog, yes.
MAMA. Iâm so dumb. Heâs the one run under the tractor.
JESSIE. That makes him dumb, not you. _
MAMA. For bringing it up.
JESSIE. Itâs O.K. Handi-wipes and sponges under the sink.
MAMA. We could get a new dogâ and keep him in the
house. Dogs are âcheap! ee
JESSIE. (Now getting big pill jars out of the cabinet.) No.
MAMA. Something for you to take cate of. -
JESSIE. Iâve had you, Mama. -
MAMA. (Frantically starts filling pill bottles.) You do too
much for me. I can fill pill bottles all day, Jessie, and change
the shelf-paper and wash the floor when I get through. You
just watch me. You donât have to do another thing in this
house if you donât want to. You donât have to take care of
me, Jessie.
JESSIE. I know that. You've just been letting me do it so I'll
have something to do, havenât you?
MAMA. (Realizing this was a mistake.) 1 donât do it as well
as you, I just meant if it tires you out or makes you feel
used... â
JESSIE. Mama, I know you used to ride the bus. Riding the
bus and itâs hot and bumpy and crowded and too noisy and
mote than anything in the world you want to get off and the
only reason in the world you donât get off is itâs still 50 blocks
from where you're going? Well, I can get off right now if I
want to, because even if I ride 50 more years and get off then,
itâs the same place when I step down to it. Whenever I feel
like it, I can get-off. As soon as I've had enough, itâs my stop.
I've had enough.
MAMA. âYou're feeling sorry for yourself!
JESSIE. The plumberâs helper is. under the sink, too.
MAMA. Youâte not having a good time! Whoever promised
you a good time? Do you think I've had a good time?
24
JESSIE. I think you're pretty happy, yeah. You have things
you like to do. °
MAMA. Like what?
JESSIE. Like crochet.
MAMA. I'll teach you to crochet.
JESSIE. I canât do any of that nice work, Mama.
MAMA. Good time donât come looking for you, Jessie. You
could work some puzzles or put in a garden or go to the store.
Let's call a taxi and go to the A & P.
JESSIE. 1 shopped you up for about two weeks already.
You're not going to need toilet paper til Thanksgiving.
MAMA. Unterrupting.) You're acting like some little brat,
Jessie. You're mad and everybodyâs boring and you donât
have anything to do and you donât like me and you donât like
going out and you donât like staying in and you never talk on
the phone and you donât watch TV and you're miserable and
"itâs your own sweet fault.
JESSIE. And itâs time I did something about it.
MAMA. Not something like killing yourself. Something
like . . . buying us all new dishes! Iâd like that. Or maybe the
doctor would let you get a driver's license now, or I know
what letâs do right this minute, letâs rearrange the furniture.
JESSIE. I'll do that. If you want. I always thought if the TV
was somewhere else, you wouldnât get such a glare on it dur-
ing the day. I'll do whatever you want before I go.
MAMA. (Badly frightened by those words.) You could get a
job! Peg â
JESSIE. I took that telephone sales job and I, didnât even
make enough money to pay the phone bill, and I tried to
work at the gift shop-at the hospital and. they said I made
people real uncomfortable smiling at them the way I did. â
MAMA. You could keep books. You kept your-Dadâs books.
JESSIE. But nobody ever checked them.
MAMA. When he died, they checked them.
25
JESSIE. I know you do.
MAMA. Or used to. And you donât get cocoa like mine
anywhete any more. .
JESSIE. It takes time, I know, but... °
MAMA. The salt is the trick.
JESSIE. Trouble and everything.
MAMA. (Backing away toward the stove.) Itâs no trouble.
What trouble? You put it in the pan and stir it up. All right.
Fine. Caramel apples. Cocoa. O.K. (Jesse walks to the
counter to retrieve her cigarettes as Mama looks for the right
pan. There are brief near smiles and maybe Mama clears her
throat. We have a truce, for the moment. A genuine, but
nevertheless uneasy one. Jessie, who has been in constant mo-
tion since the beginning, now seems content to sit. Mama
starts looking for a pan to make the cocoa, getting out all the
pans in the cabinets tn the process. It looks like sheâs making
a mess on purpose so Jessie will have to put them all away
again. Mama is buying time, or trying to, and entertaining.)
JESSIE. You talk to Agnes today?
MAMA. Sheâs calling me from a pay phone this week. God
only knows why. She has a perfectly good trimline at home.
JESSIE. (Laughing.) Well, how is she?
MAMA. How is she every day, Jessie? Nuts.
JESSIE. Is she really crazy of just silly?
MAMA. No, sheâs really crazy. She was probably using the
pay phone because she had another little fire problem at
home.
JESSIE. Mother. . .
MAMA. Iâm setious! Agnes Fletcher's burned down every
house she ever lived in. Eight fires and sheâs due for a new
one any day now.
JESSIE. (Laughing.) No! .
MAMA. (Really enjoying herself now.) Wouldn't surprise
me a bit.
JESSIE. (Leughing.) Why didnât you tell me this before?
Why isnât she locked up somewhere?
27
The Logistics of Departure
Jessie expresses a deep-seated discomfort with the way family members possess intimate knowledge of one another without permission.
Mama desperately attempts to identify a specific catalyst for Jessie's decision, blaming family members like Ricky or Jessie's epilepsy.
Jessie maintains a chillingly calm focus on household logistics, explaining how to manage grocery deliveries and pharmacy orders after she is gone.
Jessie rejects the idea that her suicide is a result of being 'sick,' instead viewing the act as a final exercise of personal autonomy.
The conversation reveals a profound disconnect between Mamaâs hope for future improvements and Jessieâs total lack of interest in continuing her life.
Mama expresses regret that Jessie ever moved back home, suggesting that physical independence might have prevented this crisis.
I want to hang a big sign around my neck, like Daddyâs on the barn. Gone Fishing.
MAMA. Cause nobody ever got hurt, I guess. Agnes woke
everybody up to watch the fires as soon as she set âem.
JESSIE. Thatâs thoughtful, I guess.
MAMA. One time she set out porch chairs and served
lemondade.
JESSIE. (Shaking her head.) Real lemondade?
MAMA. The houses they lived in, you knew they were going
to fall down anyway, so why wait for it, is all I could ever
make out about it. Agnes likes a feeling of accomplishment.
JESSIE. (Thinks about that a minute.) Good for her.
MAMA. (Finding the pan she wants.) Why are you asking
about Agnes? One cup or two?
JESSIE. One. Sheâs your friend. No marshmallows.
MAMA. (Getting the milk, etc.) You have to have martsh-
mallows. Thatâs the old way, Jess. Two or three? Three is
better.
JESSIE. Three then, Her whole house burns up? Her clothes
and pillows and everything? I'm not sure 1 believe this.
MAMA. When she was a girl, Jess, not now. Long time ago.
But sheâs still got it in her, Iâm sure of it.
JESSIE. She wouldnât burn her house down now. Where
would she go? She canât get Buster to build her a new one,
heâs dead. How could she burn it up?
MAMA. Be exciting though if she did. You never know.
JESSIE. You do too know, Mama. She wouldnât do it.
MAMA. (Forced to admit, but reluctant.) \ guess not.
JESSIE. What else? Why does she wear all those whistles
around her neck?
MAMA. Why does she have a house full of birds?
JESSIE. I didnât know she had a house full of birds!
MAMA. Well, she does. And she says they just follow her
home. Well, I know for a fact sheâs still paying on the last
patrot she bought. You gotta keep your life filled up, she
says. She says a lot of stupid things. (Jessze laughs, Mama
continues, convinced sheâs getting somewhere.) Itâs all that
okra she eats. You canât just willy-nilly eat okra two meals a
28
day and expect to get away with it, Made her crazy.
JESSIE. She really eats okra twice a day? Where does she get
it in the winter?
MAMA. Well, she eats it a lot. Maybe not two meals,
but...
JESSIE. More than the avetage person.
MAMA. (Beginning to get irritated.) 1 donât know how
much okra the average petson eats.
JESSIE. Do you know how much okra Agnes eats?
MAMA. No. a
JESSIE. How many birds does she have?
MAMA. Two.
JESSIE. Then what are the whistles for?
MAMA. They're not real whistles. Just little plastic ones on
a necklace she won playing bingo and I only told you about
it because I thought I might get a laugh out of you for once
even if it wasnât the truth, Jessie. Things donât have to be true
to talk about âem, you know.
JESSIE. Why wonât she come ovet here? (Mama is suddenly
quiet, but the cocoa and milk are in the pan now, so she
lights the stove and starts stirring.)
MAMA. Well, now, what a good idea. We shouldâve had
mote cocoa. Cocoa is perfect.
JESSIE. Except you donât like milk.
MAMA. (Another attempt, but not as energetic.) 1 hate
milk. Coats your throat as bad as okra. Something just
downright disgusting about it.
JESSIE. Itâs because of me, isnât it?
MAMA. No, Jess.
JESSIE. Yes, Mama. â
MAMA. O.K. Yes, then, but sheâs crazy. Sheâs as crazy as
they come. Sheâs a lunatic. |
JESSIE, What is it exactly? Did I say something, sometime?
Or did she see me have a fit andâs afraid I might have another
one if she came over or what?
MAMA. I guess.
29
JESSIE. You guess what? Whatâs she ever said? She mustâve
given you some reason.
MAMA. Your hands are cold.
JESSIE. What difference does that make?
MAMA. Like a corpse, she says, and Iâm gonna be one soon
enough as it is.
JESSIE. That's crazy.
MAMA. Thatâs Agnes. âJessieâs shook the hand of death and
I canât take the chance itâs catching, Thelma, so I ainât cominâ
over and you can understand or not, but I ainât comin. I'll
come up the driveway, but thatâs as far as I go.â
JESSIE. (Laughing, relieved.) I thought she didnât like me!
Sheâs scared of me! How about that! Scared of me.
MAMA. I could make her come over here, Jessie. I could call
her up right now and she could bring the birds and come
visit. I didnât know you ever thought about her at all. I'll tell
her she just has to come and sheâll come all right. She owes
me one.
JESSIE. No, thatâs all right. I just wondered about it. When
Iâm in the hospital, does she come over here?
MAMA. Her kitchen is just a tiny thing. When she comes
over here, she feels like . . . (Toning it down a little.) Well,
we all like a change of scene, donât we?â
JESSIE. (Playing along.) Sure we do. Plus thereâs no birds
diving around.
MAMA. I hate those birds. She says I donât understand
them. What's there to understand about birds?
JESSIE. Why Agnes likes them, for one thing. Why they stay
with her when they could be outside with the other birds.
How much water they need. What their singing means. How
they fly. What they think Agnes is.
MAMA. Why do you have to know so much about things,
Jessie? There's just not that much fo things that I could ever
see.
JESSIE. That you could ever Âąe//, you mean. You didnât have
to lie to me about Agnes.
30
MAMA. I didnât lie. You never asked before!
JESSIE. You lied about setting fire to all those houses and
about how many birds she has and how much okra she eats
and why she won't come over here. If I have to keep dragging
the truth out of you, this is going to take all night.
MAMA. Thatâs fine with me. Iâm not a bit sleepy.
JESSIE. Mama...
MAMA. All right. Ask me whatever you want. Here. (And
they come to an awkward stop, as the cocoa is ready and
Mama pours it into the cups Jessie has ready.)
JESSIE. (As Mama takes her first sip.) Did you love Daddy?
MAMA. No.
JESSIE. (Pleased that Mama understands the rules better
now.) 1 didnât think so. Were you really fifteen when you
âmarried him?
MAMA. The way he told it? I'm sitting in the mud, he
comes along, drags me in the kitchen, âShe's been there ever
since?â
JESSIE. Yes.
MAMA. No. It was a big fat lie, the whole thing. He just
_ thought it was funnier that way. God, this milk-in here.
JESSIE. The cocoa helps.
MAMA. (Pleased that they agree on this, at least.) Not
enough, though, does it? You can still taste it, canât you?
JESSIE. Yeah, itâs pretty bad. I thought it was my memoty
that was bad, but itâs not. Itâs the milk, all right.
MAMA. Itâs a real waste of chocolate. You donât have to
finish it.
JESSIE. (Puts her cup down.) Thanks though.
MAMA. I shouldâve known not to make it. I knew you
wouldn't like it. You never did like it.
JESSIE. You didnât ever love him or he did something and
you stopped loving him or what?
MAMA. He felt sorry for me. He wanted a plain country
woman and thatâs what he married and then he held it
against me the rest of my life like I was supposed to change
31
Preparing for the End
Mama and Jessie discuss the regrets of Jessie moving back home following her divorce and the isolation it caused.
Jessie articulates a deep-seated despair, admitting she has been seriously contemplating her exit for ten years.
Despite Mamaâs attempts to blame the news or television, Jessie maintains that her sadness stems from the general state of her life and the world.
Jessie begins a methodical walkthrough of the house, showing Mama where supplies are kept and how to manage the household after she is gone.
Mama offers increasingly desperate and frantic suggestions, such as getting a new dog or singing, to convince Jessie to stay alive.
I'll sing til morning to keep you alive, Jessie, please!
and surprise him somehow. Like I remember this one day he
was standing on the porch and I told him to get a shirt on
and he went in and got one and then he said, real peaceful,
but to the point, âYou're right, Thelma. If God had meant
for people to go around without any clothes on, theyâd have
been born that way.â
JESSIE. (Sees Mama's hurt.) He didnât mean anything by
that, Mama.
MAMA. He never said a word he didnât have to, Jessie. That
was probably all heâd said to me all day, Jessie. So if he said
it, there was something to it, but I never did figure that one
out. What did that mean?
JESSIE. 1 donât know. I liked him better than you did, but
I didnât know him any better.
MAMA. How could I love him, Jessie. I didnât have a thing
he wanted. (Jessie doesn't answer.) He got his share, though.
You loved him enough for both of us. You followed him
around like some . . . Jessie, all the man ever did was farm
and sit . . . and try to think of somebody to sell the farm to.
JESSIE. Or make me a boyfriend out of pipe cleaners and sit
back and smile like the stick man was about to dance and
wasnât I going to get a kick out of that. Or sit up with a sick
cow all night and leave me a chain of sleepy stick elephants
on my bed in the morning.
MAMA. Or just sit.
JESSIE. | liked him sitting. Big old faded blue man in the
chair. Quiet.
MAMA. Agnes gets more talk out of her birds than I got
from the two of you. He couldâve had that Gone Fishing sign
around his neck in that chair. I saw him stare off at the water.
I saw him look at the weather rolling in. I got where I could
practically see the boat myself. But you, you knew what he
was thinking about and you're going to tell me.
JESSIE. I donât know, Mama! His life, I guess. His corn. His
boots. Us. Things. You know.
MAMA. No I donât know, Jessie! You had those quiet little
32
conversations after supper every night. What were you
whispering about?
JESSIE. We werenât whispering, you were just across the
room.
MAMA, What did you talk about?
JESSIE. We talked about why black socks are warmer than
blue socks. Is that something to go tell Mother? You were
just jealous because I'd rather talk to him than wash the
dishes with you.
MAMA. I was jealous because youâd rather talk to him than
anything! (Jessie reaches across the table for the small clock
and starts to wind it:) If | had died instead of him, he
wouldnât have taken you in like I did. â
JESSIE. I wouldnât have expected him to.
MAMA. Then what would you have done?
JESSIE. Come visit.
MAMA. Oh I see..He died and left you stuck with me and
you're mad about it.
JESSIE. (Getting up from the table.) Not any more. He
didnât mean to. I didnât have to come here. Weâve been
through this.
MAMA. Or maybe you think if Iâd loved him more, or at all,
he'd still be alive.
JESSIE. I never thought that.
MAMA. He felt sorry for you, too, Jessie, donât kid yourself
about that. He said you were a runt and he said it from the
day you were born and he said you didnât have a chance.
JESSIE. (Gets the canister of sugar and starts refilling the
sugar bowl.) 1 know he loved me.
MAMA, What if he did? It didnât change anything.
JESSIE. It didnât have to. I miss him.
MAMA. He never really went fishing, you know. Never
once. His tackle box was full of chewing tobacco and all he
ever did was drive out to the lake and sit in his car. Dawson
told me. And Bennie at the bait shop, he told Dawson. They
all laughed about it. And heâd come back from fishing and
33
all heâd have to show for it was . . . a whole pipe cleaner
family âchickens, pigs, a dog with a bad leg âit was creepy
strange. It made me sick to look at them, and I hid his pipe
cleaners a couple of times but he always had more
somewhere.
JESSIE. I thought it might be better for you after he died.
You'd get interested in things. Breathe better. Change some-
how.
MAMA. Into what? The Queen? A clerk in a shoestore?
Why should I? Because he said to? Because you said to?
(Jessie shakes her head.) Well, 1 wasnât here for his entertain-
ment and Iâm not here for yours either, Jessie. I donât know
what Iâm here for, but then I donât think about it. (Rea/izing
what all this means.) But 1 bet you wouldnât be killing
yourself if he were still alive. That's a fine thing to figure out,
isnât it?
JESSIE. (Filling the honey jar now.) That's not true.
MAMA. Oh no? Then what were you asking about him for?
Why did you want to know if I loved him?
JESSIE. I didnât think you did, thatâs all.
MAMA. Fine then. You were right. Do you feel better now?
JESSIE. (Cleans the honey jar carefully.) It feels good to be
right about it.
MAMA. It didnât matter whether I loved him. It didnât mat-
ter to me and it didnât matter to him. And it didnât mean
we didnât get along. It wasnât important. We didnât talk
about it. (Sweeping the pots off the cabinet.) Take all these
pots out to the porch!
JESSIE. What for?
MAMA. Just leave me this one pan. (She jerks the silverware
drawer open.) Get me one knife, one fork, one big spoon and
the can opener and put them out where I can get them.
(Starts throwing knives and forks in one of the pans.)
JESSIE. Donât do that! I just straightened that drawer!
MAMA. (Throws the pan in the sink.) And throw out all the
plates and cups. Pll use paper. Loretta can have what she
34
wants and Dawson can sell the rest.
JESSIE. (Cally.) What ate you doing?
MAMA. Iâm not going to cook. I never liked it anyway. I like
candy. Wrapped in plastic or coming in sacks. And tuna. I ,
like tuna. I'll eat tuna, thank you.
JESSIE. (Taking the pan out of the sink.) What if you want
to make apple butter? You can't make apple butter in that
little pan. What if you leave carrots on cooking and burn up
that pan?
MAMA. I donât like carrots.
JESSIE. What if the stawberries are good this year and you
want to go picking with Agnes.
MAMA. I'll tell her to bring a pan. You said you would do
whatever I wanted! I donât want a bunch of pans cluttering
up my cabinets I canât get down to anyway. Throw them out.
Every last one.
JESSIE. (Gathering up the pots.) I'm putting them all back
in. Iâm not taking them to the porch. If you want them, â
they'll be here. You'll bend down and get them, like you got
the one for the cocoa. And if somebody else comes over here
to cook they'll have something to cook in and thatâs the end
of it!
MAMA. Whoâs going to come cook here?
JESSIE. Agnes.
MAMA. In my pots. Not on your life.
- JESSIE. Thereâs no reason why the two of you couldnât just
live here together. Be cheaper for both of you and somebody
to talk to. And if the birds bothered you, well, one day when
Agnes is out getting her hair done, you could take them all
for a walk!
MAMA. (As Jesste straightens the silverware.) So that's why
youâre pestering me about Agnes. You think you can fest easy
if you get me a new babysitter. Well, I donât want to live with
Agnes. I barely want to talk with Agnes. Sheâs just around.
We go back, thatâs all. Iâm not letting Agnes near this place.
You donât get off as easy as that, child.
35
The Final Stop
Mama attempts to dissuade Jessie by suggesting life changes such as getting a new dog or learning to crochet.
Jessie reveals she has meticulously prepared for her death by organizing Mama's pills and stocking up on household supplies.
Jessie uses a stark metaphor of a miserable bus ride to explain why she no longer wishes to continue her life.
Mama responds with desperation and frustration, blaming Jessie's unhappiness on her own choices and attitude.
The dialogue highlights Jessie's feeling of total disconnection from the world and her inability to fit into society or the workforce.
Whenever I feel like it, I can get-off. As soon as I've had enough, itâs my stop. I've had enough.
JESSIE. O.K. then. Itâs just something to think about.
MAMA. I donât like things to think about. I like things to
go on!
JESSIE. (Closes the silverware drawer.) { want to know what
Daddy said to you the night he died. You came storming out
of his room and said I could wait it out with him if I wanted
to, but you were going to watch Gunsmoke. What did he say
to you?
MAMA. He didnât have anything to say to me, Jessie. That's
why I left. He didnât say a thing. It was his last chance not
to talk to me and he took full advantage of it.
JESSIE. (After 2 moment.) Ym sorry you didnât love him.
Sorry for you, I mean. He seemed like a nice man.
MAMA. (As Jessie walks to the refrigerator.) Ready for your
apple now?
JESSIE. Soon as I'm through here, Mama.
MAMA. You won't like the apple either. Iv'll be just like the
cocoa. You never liked eating at all, did you? Any of it!
What have you been living on all these yeats, toothpaste?
JESSIE. (As she starts to clean out the refrigerator.) Now you
know the milkman comes on Wednesdays and Saturdays and
he leaves the order blank in an egg box and you give the bills
to Dawson once a month.
MAMA. Do they still make that orangeade?
JESSIE. Itâs not orangeade, itâs just orange.
MAMA. Iâm going to get some. J thought they stopped mak-
ing it. You just stopped ordering it.
JESSIE. You should drink milk.
MAMA. Not any more, Iâm not. That hot chocolate was the
last. Hooray.
JESSIE. (Getting the garbage can from under the sink.) \
told them to keep delivering a quart a week no matter what
you said. I told them you'd run out of cokes and you'd have
to drink it. I told them I knew you wouldn't pour it on the
ground . . .
MAMA. (Finishing ber sentence.) And you told them you
36
weren't going to be ordering any more?
JESSIE. I told them I was taking a little holiday and to look
after you.
MAMA. And they didnât think something was funny about -
that? You who doesnât go to the front steps? You, who only
see the driveway looking down from a stretcher passed out
cold?
JESSIE. (Enjoying this, but not laughing.) They said it was
about time, but why didnât I take you with me. And I said
I didnât think youâd want to go and they said, âYeah, every-
body's got their own idea of vacation.â
| MAMA. I guess you think thatâs funny.
JESSIE. (Pulling jars out of the refrigerator.) You know there
never was any reason to call the ambulance for me. All they
ever did for me in the emergency room was let me wake up.
I couldâve done that here. Now, I'll just call them out and
you say yes or no. I know you like pickles. Ketchup?
MAMA. Keep it.
JESSIE. We've had this since last Fourth of July.
MAMA. Keep the ketchup. Keep it all.
JESSIE. Ate you going to drink ketchup from the bottle or
what? How can you want your food and not want your pots
| to cook it in? This stuff will all spoil in here, Mother.
| MAMA. Nothing I ever did was good enough for you and I
want to know why.
| JESSIE. Thatâs not true.
| | MAMA. And I want to know why you've lived here this long
feeling the way you do.
JESSIE. You have no earthly idea how I feel.
MAMA. Well how could I? You're real far back there, Jessie.
JESSIE. Back where?
MAMA. Whatâs it like over there, where you are? Do people
always say the right thing or get whatever they want or what?
JESSIE. What are you talking about?
MAMA. Why do you read the newspaper? Why donât you
weat that sweater I made for you? Do you remember how I
37
used to look or am I just any old woman now? When you
have a fit do you see stars or what? How did you fall off the
horse, really? Why did Cecil leave you? Where did you put
my old glasses?
JESSIE. (Stunned by Mama's intensity.) They're in the bot-
tom drawer of your dresser in an old Milk of Magnesia box.
Cecil left me because he made me choose between him and
smoking.
MAMA. Jessie, I know he wasnât that dumb.
JESSIE. I never understood why he hated it so much when
itâs so good. Smoking is the only thing I know thatâs always
just what you think itâs going to be. Just like it was the last
time and right there when you want it and real quiet.
MAMA. Your fits made him sick and you know it.
JESSIE. Say seizures, not fits. Seizures.
MAMA. Itâs the same thing. A seizure in the hospital is a fit
at home.
JESSIE. They didnât bother him at all. Except he did feel
responsible for it. It was his idea to go horseback riding that
day. It was his idea I could do anything if I just made up my
mind to. I fell off the horse because I didnât know how to
hold on. Cecil left for pretty much the same reason.
MAMA. He had a girl, Jessie. I walked right in on them in
the tool shed.
JESSIE. (After a moment.) O.K. That's fair. (Lights another
cigarette.) Was she vety ptetty?
MAMA. She was Agnesâ girl, Carlene. Judge for yourself.
JESSIE. (As she walks to the living room.) | guess you and
Agnes had a good talk about that, huh?
MAMA. I never thought he was good enough for you. They
moved here from Tennessee, you know.
JESSIE. What are you talking about? You liked him better
than I did. You flirted him out here to build your porch or
I'd never even met him at all. You thought maybe he'd help
you out around the place, come in and get some coffee and
38
talk to you. God knows what you thought. All that curly
hair.
MAMA. He's the best carpenter I ever saw. That little house
of yours will still be standing at the end of the world, Jessie.
JESSIE. You didnât need a porch, Mama.
MAMA. All right! I wanted you to have a husband.
JESSIE. And I couldn't get one on my own, of course.
MAMA. How wete you going to get a husband never open-
ing your mouth to a living soul?
JESSIE. So I was quiet about it, so what?
MAMA. So I should have let you just sit here? Sit like your
Daddy? Sit here?
JESSIE. Maybe.
MAMA. Well I didnât think so.
JESSIE. Well what did you know?
MAMA. I never said I knew much. How was I supposed to
learn anything living out here? I didnât know enough to do
half the things I did in my life. Things happen. You do what
you can about them and you see what happens next. I mar-
tied you off to the wrong man, I admit that. So I took you
in when he left. Iâm sorry.
JESSIE. He wasnât the wrong man.
MAMA. He didnât love you, Jessie, or he wouldnât have left.
JESSIE. He wasnât the wrong man, Mama. I loved Cecil so
much. And I tried to get more exercise and I tried to stay
awake. I tried to learn to ride a horse. And I tried to stay out-
side with him, and but he always knew I was trying so it
didnât work.
MAMA. He was a selfish man. He told me once he hated to
see people move into his houses after he built them. He knew
they'd mess them up.
JESSIE. I loved that bridge he built over the creek in back of
the house. It didnât have to be anything special, a couple of
boards would have been just fine, but he used that yellow
39
Control and Cocoa
Jessie reflects on her failed attempts at employment, citing her social awkwardness and the persistent threat of seizures as insurmountable barriers.
In a moment of stark clarity, Jessie asserts that ending her life is the only choice she truly owns and can control.
Mama attempts to stall the inevitable by preparing ritualistic snacks like hot chocolate and caramel apples to create a sense of normalcy.
The two women enter a brief period of levity as Mama shares eccentric gossip about a neighbor who repeatedly burns down her own houses.
But I can stop it. Shut it down, turn it off like the radio when thereâs nothing on I want to listen to.
pine and rubbed it so smooth...
MAMA. He had responsibilities here. He had a wife and son
here and he failed you.
JESSIE. Or that baby bed he built for Ricky. I told him he
didnât have to spend so much time on it, but he said it had
to last and the thing ended up weighing 200 pounds and I
couldnât move it. I said, âHow long did a baby bed have to
last anyway?â But maybe he thought if it was strong enough,
it might keep Ricky a baby.
MAMA. Ricky is too much like Cecil.
JESSIE. He is not. Ricky is as much like me as itâs possible
for any human to be. We even wear the same size pants.
These ate his, I think.
MAMA. Thatâs just the same size. Thatâs not you're the same
person. ,
JESSIE. I see it on his face. I hear it when he talks. We look
out at the world and we see the same thing. Not Fair. And
the only difference between us is Rickyâs out there trying to
get even. And he knows not to trust anybody and he got it
straight from me. And he knows not to try to get work and
guess where he got that. And he walks around like thereâs
loose boards in the floor and you know who laid that floor,
I did.
MAMA. Ricky isnât through yet. You donât know how he'll
turn out!
JESSIE. (Going hack to the kitchen.) Yes 1 do and so did
Cecil. Ricky is the two of us together for all time in too small
a space. And we're tearing each other apart, like always, in-
side that boy and if you donât see it, then you're just blind.
MAMA. Give him time, Jess.
JESSIE. Oh, he'll have plenty of that. 5 years for forgery, 10
years for armed assault . . .
MAMA. (Furious.) Stop that! (Then pleading.) Jessie, Cecil
might be ready to tty it again, honey, that happens
sometimes. Go downtown. Find him. Talk to him. He didnât
know what he had in you. Maybe he sees things different
40
now, but you're not going to know that til you go see him.
Or call him up! Right now! He might be home.
JESSIE. And say what? Nothingâs changed, Cecil, I'd just
like to look at you, if you donât mind? No. He loved me?
Mama. He just didnât know how things fall down around me
like they do. I think he did the right thing. He gave himself
another chance, thatâs all. But I did beg him to take me with
him. I did tell him I would leave Ricky and you and
everything I loved out here if only he would take me with
him, but he couldnât and I understand that. (A pause.) I
wrote that note I showed you. I wrote it. Not Cecil. I said
âIâm sorry, Jessie, I canât fix it all for you.â I said I'd always
love me, not Cecil. But thatâs how he felt.
MAMA. Then he shouldâve taken you with him!
JESSIE. (Picking up the garbage bag she has filled.) Mama,
you donât pack your garbage when you move.
MAMA. You will not call yourself garbage, Jessie.
JESSIE. (Taking the bag to the big garbage can.) Just a way
of saying it, Mama. Thinking about my list, thatâs all. (Open-
ing the can, putting the garbage in, then securing the lid.)
Well, a little more than that. I was trying to say itâs all right
that Cecil left. It was . . . a telief in a way. I never was what
he wanted to see, so it was better when he wasnât looking at
me all the time.
MAMA. I'll make your apple now.
JESSIE. No thanks. You get the manicure stuff and I'll be
right there. (Jesste ties up the big garbage bag in the can and
replaces the small garbage bag under the sink, all the time
trying desperately to regain her calm. Mama watches, from a
distance, her hand reaching unconsciously for the phone.
Then she has a better idea. Or rather she thinks of the only
other thing left and is willing to try it. Maybe she ts even con-
vinced it will work.)
MAMA. Jessie, I think your Daddy had little . . .
JESSIE. (Unterrupting her.) Garbage night is Tuesday. Put it
out as late as you can. The Davisâs dogs get in it if you donât.
4i
(Now replacing the garbage sack in the can under the sink.)
And keep ordeting the heavy black bags. It doesn't pay to
buy the cheap ones. And Iâve got all the ties here with the
hammers and all. Take them out of the box as soon as you
open a new one and put them in this drawer. They'll get lost
if you donât and rubber bands or something else wonât work.
MAMA. I think your Daddy had fits too, I think he sat in
his chair and had little fits. I read this a long time ago in a
magazine, how little fits go, just little blackouts where maybe
their eyes donât even close and people just call them âthink-
ing spells.â
JESSIE. (Getting the slipcover out the laundry basket.) \
donât think you want this manicure we've been looking for-
ward to, I washed this cover for the sofa, but it'll take both
of us to get it back on.
MAMA. I watched his eyes. I know thatâs what it was. The
magazine said some people donât even know theyâve had one.
JESSIE. Daddy wouldâve known if heâd had fits, Mama.
MAMA. The lady in this story kept track of her fits and sheâd
had 80,000 of them in the last eleven yeats.
JESSIE. Next time you wash this cover, it'll dry better if you
put it on wet.
MAMA. Jessie, listen to what Iâm telling you. This lady had
anywhere between five and five hundred fits a day and they
lasted maybe 15 seconds apiece, so that out of her life, she'd
only lost about two weeks altogether and she had a full-time
secretary job and an I.Q. of 120.
JESSIE. (Has to be amused by Mama's approach.) You want
to talk about fits, is that it?
MAMA. Yes. I do. I want to say...
JESSIE. (Interrupting.) Most of the time I wouldnât even
know I'd had one, except I wake up with different clothes on
feeling like I've been run over. Sometimes I fee! my head
start to turn afound or hear myself scream. And sometimes,
there is this dizzy stupid feeling a little before it, but if the
TVâs on, well, itâs easy to miss. (As Jesste and Mama replace
42
the slip cover on the sofa and the afghan on the chair, the
physical struggle somehow mirrors the emotional one in the
conversation.) ,
MAMA. Ican tell when you're about to have one. Your eyes
get this big! But Jessie, you haven't . . .
JESSIE. (Taking charge of this.) What do they look like? The
seizures.
MAMA. (Re/uctant.) Different each time, Jess.
JESSIE. O.K. Pick one, then. A good one. I think I want to
know now.
MAMA. Thereâs not much to tell. You just . . . ccumple, in
a heap, like a puppet and somebody cut the strings all at
once, or like the firing squad in some Mexican movie, you
just slide down the wall, you know. You donât know what
happens? How can you not know what happens?
JESSIE. Iâm busy.
MAMA. Thatâs not funny.
JESSIE. Iâm not laughing. My head turns around and I fall
down and then what?
MAMA. Well, your chest squeezes in and out and you sound
like you're gagging, sucking air in and out like you canât
breathe.
JESSIE. Do it for me. Make the sound for me.
MAMA. I will not. Itâs awful sounding.
JESSIE. Yeah. It felt like it might be. What's next.
MAMA. Your mouth bites down and I have to get your
tongue out of the way fast so you don't bite yourself,
JESSIE. Or you. I bite you too, donât I?
MAMA. You got me once real good. I had to get a tetanus!
But I know what to watch for riow. Then you turn blue and
the jerks start up. Like Iâm standing there poking you with
a cattle prod or you're sticking your finger in a light socket
as fast as you can.
JESSIE. Foaming like a mad dog the whole time.
MAMA. Itâs bubbling, Jess, not foam like the washer
overflowed, for Godâs sake, it's bubbling like a baby spitting
43
Agnes and the Truth
Mama shares eccentric stories about Agnes, a woman who allegedly set fires and keeps a house full of birds.
Jessie questions the validity of these stories, prompting Mama to admit she exaggerated to make Jessie laugh.
The conversation turns serious as Jessie demands to know why Agnes refuses to visit their home.
Mama reveals that Agnes is terrified of Jessieâs seizures, viewing them as a bad omen or something contagious.
The dialogue underscores the social isolation and stigma Jessie endures because of her chronic illness.
Jessieâs shook the hand of death and I canât take the chance itâs catching, Thelma, so I ainât cominâ over and you can understand or not, but I ainât comin.
up. I go get a wet washcloth, thatâs all. And then the jerks
slow down and you wet yourself and itâs over. Two minutes
tops. _
JESSIE. How do I get to the bed?
MAMA. How do you think?
JESSIE. I'm too heavy for you now. How do you do it?
MAMA. I call Dawson. But I get you cleaned up before he
gets here and I make him leave before you wake. up.
JESSIE. You could just leave me on the floor.
MAMA. I want you to wake up someplace nice, O.K.?
(Then making a real effort.) But Jessie, and this is the reason
I even brought this up! You haven't had a seizure for a solid
year. A whdle year, do you realize that?
JESSIE. Yeah, the phenobarbâs about right now, I guess.
MAMA. You bet it is, You might never have another one,
ever! You might be through with it for all time!
JESSIE. Could be.
MAMA. You are. I know you are!
JESSIE. I sure am feeling good. I really am. The double vi-
sionâs gone and my gums aren't swelling. No tashes or
anything. I'm feeling as good as J ever felt in my life. 'm
even feeling like worrying ot getting mad and Iâm not afraid
it will start a fit if I do. 1 just go ahead.
MAMA. Of course you do! You can even scream at me, if
you want to. I can take it. You donât have to act like you're
just visiting here, Jessie. This is your house too.
JESSIE. The best part is my memoryâs back.
MAMA. Your memoryâs always been good. When couldnât
you remember things?. Youâte always reminding me
what...
JESSIE. Because I've made lists for everything. But now, I
remember what things mean on my lists. I see dishtowels and
I used to wonder whether I was supposed to wash them, buy
them or look for them because I wouldnât remember where
I put them after I washed them, but now I know it means
wrap them up, they're a present for Lorettaâs birthday.
44
MAMA. (Finished with the sofa now.) You used to go look-
ing for your lists, too, I've noticed that. You always know
where they are now! (Then suddenly worried.) Lorettaâs birth-
day isnât coming up, is it? °
JESSIE. I made a list of all the birthdays for you. I even put
yours on it. (A small smile.) So you can call Loretta and re-
mind her.
MAMA. Letâs take Loretta to Howard Johnson's and have
those fried clams. I ÂŁzow you love that clam roll.
JESSIE. (A slight pause.) 1 won't be here, Mama.
MAMA. What have we just been talking about? You'll be
here. You're well, Jessie. You're starting all over. You said it
yourself, You're remembering things and...
JESSIE. I won't be here. If I'd ever had a yeat like this, to
think straight and all, before now, I'd be gone already. â
MAMA. (Not pleading, commanding.) No, Jessie.
JESSIE. (Folding the rest of the laundry.) Yes, Mama. Once
I started remembering, 1 could see what it all added up to.
MAMA. The fits are over!
JESSIE. Itâs not the fits, Mama.
MAMA. Then itâs me for giving them to you, but I didnât do
it!
JESSIE. Itâs not the fits! You said it yourself, the medicine
takes care of the fits.
MAMA. (Interrupting.) Your Daddy gave you those fits,
Jessie. He passed it down to you like your green eyes and your
sttaight hair. Itâs not my fault!
JESSIE. So what if he had little fits? Itâs not inherited. I fell
off the horse. It was an accident.
MAMA. The horse wasnât the first time, Jessie. You had a fit
when you were five years old.
JESSIE. I did not.
MAMA. You did! You were eating a popsicle and down you
went, He gave it to you. Itâs Ais fault, not mine.
JESSIE. Well, you took your time telling me.
MAMA. How do you tell that to a five year old?
45
JESSIE. What did the doctor say?
MAMA. He said kids have them all the time. He said there
wasnât anything to do but wait for another one.
JESSIE. But I didnât have another one. (Now there is a real
silence.) You mean to tell me I had fits all the time as a kid
and you just told me I fell down or something and it wasnât
til I had the fit when Cecil was looking that anybody
bothered to find out what was the matter with me?
MAMA. It wasnât a// the time, Jessie, and they changed
when you started to school, more like your Daddyâs. Oh, that
was some swell time, sitting: herewith the two of you turning
on and off-like- lightbulbs some. nights.
JESSIE. How. many fits:did-I have?
MAMA. You-never-hurt yourself. I never let you out of my
sight: I caught you every time.
JESSIE. But you didnât tell anybody.
MAMA. It was none of their business.
JESSIE. You were ashamed.
MAMA. I didnât want anybody to know. Least of all you.
JESSIE. Least of all, me. Oh right. That was mine to know,
Mama, not yours. Did Daddy know?
MAMA. He thought you were... you fell down a lot.
Thatâs what he thought. You were careless. Or maybe he
thought I beat you. I donât know what he thought. He didnât
think about it.
JESSIE. Because you didnât tell him!
MAMA. IfI told him about you, I'd have to tell him about
him!
JESSIE. I donât like this. I donât like this one bit.
MAMA. I didnât think you'd like it. Thatâs why I didnât tell
you.
JESSIE. If I'd known I was an epileptic, Mama, I wouldnât
have ridden any hotses.
MAMA. Make you feel like a freak, is that what I should
have done?
JESSIE. Just get the manicure tray and sit down!
46
MAMA. (Throwing it to the floor.) 1 don't want a manicure!
JESSIE. Doesnât look like you do, no.
MAMA. Maybe I did drop you, you donât know.
JESSIE. If you say you didnât, you didnât. ,
MAMA. (Beginning to break down.) Maybe | fed you the
wrong thing. Maybe you had a fever some time and I didnât
know it soon enough. Maybe itâs a punishment.
JESSIE. For what?
MAMA. I donât know. Because of how I felt about your
father. Because | didnât want any more children. Because I
smoked too much or didnât eat right when I was carrying you.
It has to be something I did.
JESSIE. It does not. Itâs just a sickness, not a curse. Epilepsy
doesnât mean anything. It just is.
MAMA. Iâm not talking about the fits here, Jessie! I'm talk-
ing about this killing yourself. It has to be me thatâs the mat-
ter here. You wouldnât be doing this if it wasnât. I didnât tell
you things or I martied you off to the wrong man or I took
you in and let your life get away from you or all of it put
together. I donât know what I did, but I did it, I know. This
is all my fault, Jessie, but I donât know what to do about it,
now!
JESSIE. (Exasperated at having to say this again.) \t doesn't
have anything to do with you!
MAMA. Everything you do has to do with me, Jessie. You
canât do anything, wash your face or cut your finger, without
doing it to me. That's right! You might as well kill me as
you, Jessie, itâs the same thing. This has to do with me, Jessie.
JESSIE. Then what if it does! What if it has everything to do '
with you! What if you are all I have and you're not enough?
What if I could take all the rest of it if only I didnât have you
here? What if the only way I can get away from you for good
is to kill myself? What if it is? I can st do it!
MAMA. (le desperate tears.) Donât leave me, Jessie! (Jessze
stands for a moment, then turns for the bedroom.) No!
(Mama grabs her arm.)
47
Unveiling Family Truths
Mama reveals that Agnes avoids visiting because she is irrationally afraid that Jessie's conditionâlikened to the 'hand of death'âis contagious.
Jessie confronts Mama about her history of lying, forcing a shift toward blunt honesty regarding their family's past.
Mama admits she never loved Jessie's father, explaining that their marriage was built on a foundation of mutual disappointment and silence.
The characters bond over the shared realization that even their attempts at comfort, like the poorly made cocoa, are tainted by the reality of their lives.
He wanted a plain country woman and thatâs what he married and then he held it against me the rest of my life like I was supposed to change and surprise him somehow.
JESSIE. (Carefully takes ber arm away.) 1 have a box of
things I want people to have. Iâm just going to go get it for
you. You... . just rest a minute. (And Jessie is gone and
Mama heads for the telephone, but she can't even pick up the
receiver this time, and instead, stoops to clean up the bottles
that have spilled out of the tray. Jesste returns carrying @ box
that groceries were delivered in. It probably says Hershey
Kisses or Starkist Tuna. Mama is still down on the floor clean-
ing up, hoping that maybe if she just makes it look nice
enough, Jessie will stay.)
MAMA. Jessie, how can I live here without you? I need you!
You're supposed to tell me to stand up straight and say how
nice ] look in my pink dress and drink my milk. You're sup-
posed to go around and lock up so I know we're safe for the
night, and when I wake up, you're supposed to be out there
making the coffee and watching me get older every day and
you're supposed to help me die when the time comes. I canât
do that by myself, Jessie. Iâm not like you, Jessie. 1 hate the
quiet and I donât want to die and I donât want you to go,
Jessie. How can1... (Has to stop a moment.) How can I
get up every day knowing you had to kill yourself to make it
stop hurting and I was here all the time and J never even saw
it. And then you gave me this chance to make it better, con-
vince you to stay alive and I couldnât do it. How can I live
with myself after this, Jessie?
JESSIE. 1 only told you so I could explain it, so you wouldnât
blame yourself, so you wouldnât feel bad. There wasnât
anything you could say to change my mind. I didnât want you
to save me. I just wanted you to know.
MAMA. Stay with me just a little longer. Just a few more
yeats. I donât have that many mote to go, Jessie. And as soon
as I'm dead, you can do whatever you want. Maybe with me
gone, you'll have all the quiet you want, tight here in the
house. And maybe one day you'll put in some begonias up
the walk and get just the right rain for them all summer. And
Ricky will be married by then and heâll bring your grand-
48
babies over and you can sneak them a piece of candy when
their Daddy's not looking and then be real glad when they've
gone home and left you to your quiet again.
JESSIE. Donât you see, Mama, everything I do winds up like
this. How could I think you would understand? How could
I think you would want a manicure? We could hold hands for
an hour and then I could go shoot myself? P'm sorry about
tonight, Mama, but itâs exactly why Iâm doing it.
MAMA. If you've got the guits to âkill yourself, Jessie, you've
got the guts to stay alive.
JESSIE. I know that. So itâ s really j just a matter of where Id
rather be.
MAMA. Look,â âmaybe 1 canât think of what you âshould do,
but that doesnât mean thete i isnât something that would. help.
You find it. You think of i it. Y6u can. keep trying: You cari
get brave and tiy some mote. You donât have to give. up!
JESSIE. I'm vot giving up! This zs the other thing Iâm trying.
And Iâm sure there are some other things that might work,
but zeight work isnât good enough any more. I need
something that wi// work. This will work. Thatâs why I picked
it.
MAMA. But something might happen. Something that
could change everything. Who knows what it might be, but
it might be worth waiting for! (Jessie doesnât respond.) Try
it for two more weeks. We could have more talks like tonight.
JESSIE. No, Mama.
MAMA. I'll pay more attention to you. Tell the truth when
you ask me. Let you have your say.
JESSIE. No, Mama! We wouldnât have more: talks like
tonight, because itâs this next part thatâs made this last part
so good, Mama. No, Mama. Ts is how | have my say. This
is how I say what I thought about it Âą// and I say No. To
Dawson and Loretta and the Red Chinese and epilepsy and
Ricky and Cecil and you. And me. And hope. I say No!
(Then going to Mama on the sofa. ) Just let me go easy,
Mama.
49
MAMA. How can I let you go?
JESSIE. You can because you have to. Itâs what you've always
done.
MAMA. You are my child!
JESSIE. I am what became of your child. (Mama cannot
answer.) 1 found an old baby picture of me. And it was
somebody else, not me. It was somebody pink and fat who
never heard of sick or lonely, somebody who cried and got
fed, and reached up and got held and kicked but didnât hurt
anybody, and slept whenever she wanted to, just by closing
her eyes. Somebody who mainly just laid there and laughed
at the colors waving around over her head and chewed on a
polka-dot whale and woke up knowing some new trick nearly
every day and rolled over and drooled âon the sheet and felt
your hand pulling my quilt back up over me. That's who I
started out and this is who is left: (There ts 20 self-pity here.)
Thatâs what this is about. Itâs somebody I lost, all right, itâs
my own self. Who I never was. Or who I tried to be and never
got there. Somebody I waited for who never came. And never
will. So, see, it doesnât much matter what else happens in the
world or in this house, even. Iâm what was worth waiting for
and I didnât make it. Me . . . who might have made a dif-
ference to me. . . Iâm not going to show up, so thereâs no
reason to stay, except to keep you company, and
thatâs . . . not reason enough because Iâm not . . . very good
company. (A pause.) Am I.
MAMA. (Knowing she must tell the truth.) No. And neither
am I.
JESSIE. I had this strange little thought, well, maybe itâs not
so strange. Anyway, after Christmas, after I decided to do
this, | would wonder, sometimes, what might keep me here,
what might be worth staying for, and you know what it was?
It was maybe if there was something I really liked, like maybe
if I really liked rice pudding or cornflakes for breakfast ot
something, that riight be tnough. " â
MAMA. Rice puddingâis good.â «
50
JESSIE. Not to me.
MAMA. And you're not afraid?
JESSIE. Afraid of what?
MAMA. I'm afraid of it, for me, I mean. When my tine
comes. I know itâs coming, but. . .
JESSIE. You donât know when. Like in a scary movie.
MAMA. Yeah, sneaking up on me like some killer on the
loose, hiding out in the back yard just waiting for me to have
my hands full some day and how am I supposed to protect
myself anyhow when I donât know what he looks like and I
donât know how he sounds coming up behind me like that
or if it will hurt or take very long or what I donât get done
before it happens.
JESSIE. You've got plenty of time left.
MAMA. I forget what for, right now.
JESSIE. For whatever happens, I donât know. For the. rest of
your life. For Agnes burning down one more house ot
Dawson losing his hair or. . .
MAMA. (Quickly.) Jessie. I canât just sit here and say O.K.,
kill yourself if you want to.
JESSIE. Sure you can. You just did. Say it again.
MAMA. (Really startled.) Jessie! (Quiet horror.) How date
you! (Furious.) How dare you! You think you can just leave
whenever you want like youâre watching television here? No,
you can't, Jessie. You make me feel like a fool for being alive,
child and you are so wrong! I like it here, and I will stay here
until they make me-go, until they drag me screaming and I
mean screeching into my grave and you're real smart to get
away before then because, I mean, honey, youâve never heard
noise like that in your life. (Jessie turns away.) Who am I
talking to? You're gone already, arenât you? Iâm looking right
through you! I canât stop you because youâte already gone! I
guess you think they'll all have to talk about you now! I guess
you think this will really confuse them. Oh yes, ever since
Christmas, you've been laughing to yourself and thinking,
âBoy are they all in for a surprise.â Well, nobody's going to
51
Memories of a Silent Man
Jessie and Mama clash over their conflicting perceptions of Jessieâs late father and the emotional distance he maintained.
Mama confesses to a long-standing jealousy of the private, quiet bond Jessie shared with her father.
Jessie finds comfort in memories of her fatherâs whimsical pipe-cleaner creations, which she saw as a form of communication.
Mama reveals that the fatherâs frequent fishing trips were a lie, and that he actually spent the time sitting alone in his car.
The exchange reveals the profound lack of intimacy in Mamaâs marriage and the different ways both women interpreted the father's silence.
Big old faded blue man in the chair. Quiet.
be a bit surprised, sweetheart. This is just like you. Do it the
hard way, thatâs my girl all right. (Jessze gets up and goes into
the kitchen, but Mama follows her.) You know who they're
going to feel sorry for? Me! How about that! Not you, me!
They're going to be ashamed of you. Yes. Ashamed! \f
somebody asks Dawson about it, heâll change the subject as
fast as he can. Heâll talk about how much he has to pay to
park his car these days.
JESSIE. Leave me alone.
MAMA. Itâs the truth!
JESSIE. I should've just left you a note!
MAMA. (Screaming.) Yes! (Then suddenly understanding
what she has said, nearly paralyzed by the thought of it, she
turns slowly to face Jessie, nearly whispering.) No. No.
I... might not have thought of all the things you've said.
JESSIE. Itâs O.K., Mama. (And Mama is nearly UNCONSCIOUS
from the emotional devastation of these last few moments,
She sits down at the kitchen table, hurt and angry and so
desperately afraid. But she looks almost numb. She ts so jar
beyond what is known as pain that she is virtually
unreachable and Jessie knows this, and talks quietly, watch-
ing for signs of recovery. She washes her hands in the sink.)
I remember you liked that preacher who did Daddyâs, so if
you want to ask him to do the service, thatâs O.K. with me.
MAMA. (Not an answer, just a word.) What.
JESSIE. (Putting on hand lotion as she talks.) And pick some
songs you like or let Agnes pick, sheâll know exactly which
ones. Oh and J had your dress cleaned that you wore to Dad-
dyâs. You looked real good in that.
MAMA. I donât remember, hon.
JESSIE. And it won't be so bad once your friends start com-
ing to the funeral home. You'll probably see people you
haven't seen for years, but I thought about what you should
say to get you over that nervous part when they first come in.
MAMA. (Simply repeating.) Come in.
JESSIE. Take them up to see their flowers, they'd like that.
52
And when they say, âI'm so sorry, Thelma,â you just say, âI
appfeciate your coming, Connie.â And then ask how their
garden was this summer or what they're doing for Thanksgiv-
ing or how their children . . . â
MAMA. I donât think I should ask about their children. I'll
talk about what they have on, thatâs always good. And I'll
have some crochet work with me.
JESSIE. And Agnes will be there, so you might not have to
talk at all.
MAMA. Maybe if Connie Richards does come, I can get her
to tell me where she gets that Irish yarn, she calls it. I know
it doesnât come from Ireland. I think it just comes with a
green wrapper.
JESSIE. And be sute to invite enough people home after-
watd so you get enough food to feed them all and have some
left for you. But donât let anybody take anything home,
especially Loretta. , :
MAMA. Loretta will get all the food set up, honey. Itâs only
fair to let her have some macaroni or something.
JESSIE. No, Mama. You have to be more selfish from now
on. (Setting down now with Mama.) Now, somebody's bound
to ask you why I did it and you just say you donât know. That
you loved me and you know I loved you and we just sat
around tonight like every other night of our lives and then
I came over and kissed you and said, â "Night, Mother,â and
you heard me close my bedroom door and the next thing you
heard was the shot. And whatever reasons I had, well, you
guess I just took them with me.
MAMA. (Quiet/y.) It was something personal.
JESSIE. Good. Thatâs good, Mama.
MAMA. Thatâs what Iâll say, then.
JESSIE. Personal. Yeah.
MAMA. Is that what I tell Dawson and Loretta too? We sat
around, you kissed me, â âNight, Mother?â They'll want to
know more, Jessie. They won't believe it.
JESSIE. Well, then, tell them what we did. I filled up the
33
candy jats. I cleaned out the refrigerator. We made some hot
chocolate and put the cover back on the sofa. You had no
idea. All right? I really think itâs better that way. If they know
we talked about it, they really wonât understand how you let
me go. (Mama does not answer.) Itâs private. Tonight is
private, yours and mine, and I donât want anybody else to
have any of it.
MAMA. O.K. then.
JESSIE. (Standing behind Mama now, holding her
shoulders.) Now, when you hear the shot, I donât want you
to come in. First of all, you wonât be able to get in by
yourself, but I donât want you trying. Call Dawson, then call
the police and then call Agnes. And then you'll need some-
thing to do til somebody gets here, so wash the hot chocolate
pan. You wash that pan til you hear the doorbell ring and
I donât care if itâs an hour, you keep washing that pan.
MAMA. I'll make my calls and then Iâll just sit. I won't need
something to do. What will the police say?
JESSIE. They'll do that gunpowder test, and ask you what
happened and by that time, the ambulance will be here and
they'll come in and get me and you know how that goes. You
stay out here with Dawson and Loretta. You keep Dawson
out here. I want the police in the room first, not. Dawson,
O.K.?
MAMA. What if Dawson and Loretta want me to go home
with them?
JESSIE. (Returning to the living room.) Thatâs up to you.
MAMA. I think I'll stay here. All they've got is Sanka.
JESSIE. Maybe Agnes could come stay with you for a few
days.
MAMA. (Standing up now, looking into the living room.)
I'd rather be by myself, I think. (Walking toward the box
Jessie brought in earlier.) You want me to give people those
things?
JESSIE. (They sit down on the sofa, Jessie holding the box
54
on her lap.) 1 want Loretta to have my little calculator.
Dawson bought it for himself, you know, but then he saw
one he liked better and he couldn't bring both of them hoine
with Loretta counting every penny the way she does, so he
gave the first one to me. Be funny for her to have it now,
donât you think? And all my house slippets are in a sack for
her in my closet. Tell het I know they'll fit and I've never
worn any of them and make sure Dawson hears you tell her
that. Iâm glad he loves Loretta so much, but I wish he knew
not everybody has her size feet.
MAMA. (Taking the calculator.) O.K.
JESSIE. (Reaching into the box again.) This letter is for
Dawson, but itâs mostly about you, so read it if you want.
Thereâs a list of presents for you for at least twenty more
Christmases and bitthdays, so if you want anything special
you better add it to this list before you give it to him. Or if
you want to be surprised, just donât read that page. This
Christmas, you're getting mostly stuff for the house like a
new rug in your bathroom and needlework, but next
Christmas, you're really going to cost him next Christmas. |
think you'll like it a lot and you'd never think of it.
MAMA. And you think he'll go for it?
JESSIE. I think he'll feel like a real jerk if he doesnât. Me tell-
ing him to like this and all. Now, this numbetâs where you
call Cecil. I called it last week and he answered so I know he
still lives there.
MAMA. What do you want me to tell him?
JESSIE, Tell him we talked about him and I only had good
things to say about him, but mainly tell him to find Ricky
and tell him what I did and tell Ricky you have something
for him, out here, from me, and to come get it. (Pulls a sack
out of the box.)
MAMA. (The sack feels empty.) What 1s it?
JESSIE. (Taking it off.) My watch. (Putting it in the sack and
taking a ribbon out of the sack to tie around the top of tt.)
35
The Burden of Practicality
Mama admits that she never loved Jessie's father, claiming that mutual love was irrelevant to their shared life.
In a frantic reaction to Jessie's plans, Mama attempts to throw away her cookware and declares she will survive on candy and tuna.
Mama rejects Jessie's suggestion to live with her friend Agnes, realizing Jessie is trying to provide her with a babysitter before leaving.
The dialogue reveals the profound emotional void left by Jessie's father, who chose silence even in his final moments.
I donât like things to think about. I like things to go on!
MAMA. He'll sell it!
JESSIE, Thatâs the idea. I appreciate him not stealing it
already. I'd like to buy him a good meal.
MAMA. Heâll buy dope with it!
JESSIE. Well, then, I hope he gets some good dope with it,
Mama. And the rest of this is for you. (Handing Mama the
box now. Mama picks up the things and looks at them.)
MAMA. (Surprised and pleased.) When did you do all this?
During my naps, I guess.
JESSIE. I guess. I tried to be quiet about it. (As Mama is
puzzled by the presents.) Those ate just little presents. For
whenever you need one. They're not bought presents, just
things I thought you might like to look at, pictures, ot things
you think you've lost. Things you didnât know you had, even.
You'll see. _â .
MAMA. Iâm not sure I want them. They'll make me think
of you. me
JESSIE. No they won't. They're just things, like a free tube
of toothpaste I found hanging on the door one day.
MAMA. Oh. All right then.
JESSIE. Well, maybe thereâs one nice present in there
somewhere. Itâs Grannyâs ring she gave.me and I thought you
might like to have it, but I didnât think you'd wear it if I gave
it to you right now.
MAMA. (Taking the box to a table nearby.) No. Probably
not. (Turning back to face her.) 'm teady for my manicure,
I guess. Want me to wash my hands again?
JESSIE. (Standing up.) \tâs time for me to go, Mama.
MAMA. (Starting to her.) No, Jessie, you've got all night!
JESSIE. (As Mama grabs her.) No, Mama.
MAMA. Itâs not even ten o'clock.
JESSIE. (Very calm.) Let me go, Mama.
MAMA. Icanât. You canât go. You canât do this. You didnât
say it would be so soon, Jessie. I'm scared. I love you.
JESSIE. (Takes her hands away.) Let go of me, Mama. I've
said everything I had to say.
56
MAMA. (Standing still a minute.) You said you wanted to
do my nails.
JESSIE. (Taking a small step backward.) \ can't. Itâs too late.
MAMA. Itâs not too late!
JESSIE. I donât want you to wake Dawson and Loretta when
you call. I want them to still be up and dressed so they can
get right over.
MAMA. (As Jessie backs up, Mama moves in on her, but
carefully.) They wake up fast, Jessie, if they have to, They
donât matter here, Jessie. You do. I do. We're not through
yet. We've got a lot of things to take care of here. I donât
know where my prescriptions ate and you didnât tell me what
to tell Doctor Davis when he calls or how much you want me
to tell Ricky or who I call to rake the leaves or. . .
JESSIE. Donât try and stop me, Mama, you canât do it.
MAMA. (Grabs her again, this time bard.) \ can too! Vil
stand in front of this hall and you canât get past me. (They
struggle.) You'll have to knock me down to get away from
me, Jessie. Iâm not about to let you... (Mama struggles
with Jessie at the door an in the struggle, Jessie gets away
from her and:)
JESSIE, (A/most a whisper.) "Night, Mother. (Jessie vanishes
into her bedroom and we hear the door lock just as Mama
gets to it.) â
MAMA. (Screams.) Jessie! (And pounds on the door.) Jessie,
you let me in there. Donât you do this, Jessie. Iâm not going
to stop screaming until you open this door, Jessie. Jessie!
Jessie! What if I donât do any of the things you told me to
do! Pll tell Cecil what a miserable man he was to make you
feel the way he did and I'll give Rickyâs watch to Dawson if
I feel like it and the only way you can make sure I do what
you want is you come out here and make me, Jessie! (Poxn-
ding again.) Jessie! Stop this! I didnât know! I was here with
you all the time. How could I know you wete so alone? (And
Mama stops fora moment, breathless and frantic, putting her
ear to the door and when she doesn't hear anything, she
57
stands back up straight again and screams once more.) Jessie!
Please! (And we hear the shot, and it sounds like an answer,
it sounds like No. And Mama collapses against the door, tears
streaming down her face, but not screaming any more. In
shock now.) Jessie, Jessie, child . . . Forgive me. (A pause.)
I thought you wete mine. (Azdâ she leaves the door and
makes her way through the living room, around the fur-
niture, as though she didn't know where it was, not knowing
what to do. Finally, she goes to the stove in the kitchen and
picks up the hot chocolate pan and carries it with her to the
telephone and holds onto it while she dials the number. She
looks down at the pan, holding it tight like her life depended
on it. She hears Loretta answer.) Lotetta, let me talk to
Dawson, honey. â
THE END
38
PROPERTY PLOT .
KITCHEN â
Percolator
Spices & spice rack
Hand lotion
Dish soap
Paper towels & rack
Dish drainer
Potholders & mitts
Soap dish
Dish rag & rack
Sponge
Metal garbage can w/pedal
Salt & pepper shaker
Stove
Double sink
Refrigerator
Stove hood exhaust
2 candy dishes (in drainer)
Toaster & cover
Mixmastet
Radio
Mug of pencils & pens
Cook books
59
Final Instructions and Confrontations
Jessie asks about her father's final moments, and Mama reveals that he chose to spend his last breaths in pointed silence rather than speaking to her.
While cleaning the kitchen, Jessie attempts to set up a system of support for Mama, framing her planned departure as a holiday.
Mama launches into a frantic series of personal questions, desperate to bridge the emotional distance between herself and her daughter.
Jessie admits that her marriage ended because she refused to choose her husband, Cecil, over her smoking habit.
The scene illustrates the deep-seated resentment and lack of understanding that permeate the domestic life of the two women.
It was his last chance not to talk to me and he took full advantage of it.
Dial telephone
Memoboard
Phone book (thin)
Assorted terra cotta bowls
Assorted wicker baskets
Assorted small appliances
Soda syphon
Honey beat
Assotted plastic bowls
Wooden ttay
Knife rack es
Napkin holder (w/ folded napkins)
Pitcher & bow! °
Assorted dish towels
Sugar bow! w/spoon
Cannister set
Cookie jar
Kitchen table w/2 chairs
Loud wind up clock
Hanging lamp over kitchen table
Rubbermaid sink stop
Magic marker
Address book
Wicker basket w/6âknitting and pre-measured 6â cloth tape
and knitting equipment
Ashtray
Reftigerator: (main compartment)
Assorted jats, cans, cartons & Tupperware
Milk
Catsup
Pickles
Cream cheese (used & spoiled)
Sour cream (used & spoiled)
Cottage cheese (used & spoiled)
60
Cheese whiz (used & spoiled)
Chocolate syrup (used & spoiled)
Refrigerator: (crisper)
Celery stalksâ wilted
Cucumber (% in baggie)
Lettuce leavesâwilted
Cabinets:
Assorted plates, cups & saucers, bowls, glassware
Canned goods, boxes
Can of cocoa
Bag of marshmallows
Bag of caramels
Clear plastic sacks of wrapped candy
Canoftuna
Snowballs (*%% empty)
1 mixing cup (for cocoa)
2 cups & saucers (for cocoa)
6 coffee bag sacks:
1 chocolate kisses
1 hard candy
1 chewy mint
1 chocolate covered cherries
1 red hots
1 caramels
4 large pill jars (w/ prescription labels for Thelma Cates) %
filled with pills
4 small prescription bottles w/Thelma Cates labels-empty
1 small prescription bottle w/Jessie Cates label-% full
1 hand towel to catch spilled pills
Cupboards:
6 assorted sauce pans
61
Stewpot w/cover
Plastic trash container (under sink)
Box of small white plastic garbage bags (sink can)
Box of large black plastic garbage bags (pedal can)
Cleaning supplies
Drawers:
Assorted silverware in rubbermaid tray
4 placemats
1 large spoon (wooden)
1 large can opener (plastic handles)
1 measuring spoon
Hammer & lock ties (black garbage bags)
Peel off wire ties (white garbage bags)
Extention cord
Bic lighter
Sand paper
Masking tape
Elmer's glue
Thumbtacks
Batteries
NOTE: all food, cleaning supply, refrigerator and candy
props should be national brands which do not indicate any
specific area in the country.
62
PROPERTY LIST
LIVING ROOM
2 cushion sofa w/Afghan over back
Oblong drop leaf table behind sofa
Buffet tableâcandy bow! w/8 caramel wrappers & 1 caramel
2 tall bar stools
1 chair (matching to kitchen chairs)
TV on rolling stand
Corner hutch
Sewing tableâempty chewy mint bowl
Upholstered arm chairâcrochet & needle on seat
Arm chair side table
Sofa side table
Arm chair side table: on topâ
Wind up clock
Embroidery
Mamaâs glasses (%%2 moon)
Small table lamp
Arm chair side table: in open shelfâ
Magazines
Newspapets opened to crossword puzzles
Sofa side table:
Manicure tray w/4 bottles of polish, plastic bottle
63
Failed Marriages and Faded Memories
Mama relentlessly questions Jessie about her epilepsy and the underlying reasons behind her divorce from Cecil.
Jessie defends her smoking habit as a reliable source of consistency and describes the semantic conflict between 'seizures' and 'fits.'
Mama confesses that she orchestrated Jessie's marriage to Cecil and eventually caught him in an affair with a local girl.
Despite his abandonment, Jessie reflects fondly on Cecilâs craftsmanship and the exhausting effort she made to save their relationship.
The conversation reveals deep-seated resentment regarding Mama's past interference in Jessie's independence and personal life.
Smoking is the only thing I know thatâs always just what you think itâs going to be. Just like it was the last time and right there when you want it and real quiet.
site in saat ete eb iG te AE REO UA BN AMIN ti AE aise iis
Nail polish remover, 2 folded Kleenex, nail files,
Cuticle sticks, metal finger bowl
Eyeglass cleaning spray
TV Guide (opened to Saturday evening)
Magnifying glass
Candy bow! w/4 chocolate kiss wrappers
Oblong drop leaf table:
Embroidered sewing basket w/towel inside
Whitman Sampler candy box w/chocolates & 4 empty
wiappers
Laundry basket: (filled in layers from bottom to top)
5 towels
2 sofa doilies
Right sofa cushion cover
Left sofa cushion cover
Armchair Afghan
2 armchair doilies
Sofa slipcover
Assorted pictures, knick knacks (on shelves) and starburst
clock on R. and U. walls
BEDROOM (offstage preset)
Large beach towel
Folded newspapet
Spital notebook (small)
Pen
Crush proof box cigarettes
Black Bic lighter
6 loose bullets (old) |
6 boxed bullets (new)
Wrist watch (Jessieâs)
Cardboard star kist tuna box:
1 old calculator
64
Small brown bag w/red ribbon inside
Manilla legal envelope w/Dawson written on face
Square piece of paper w/Cecilâs phone number clipped to
manilla envelope â
Assorted size boxes gift wrapped w/assorted types of gift
paper
ATTIC
Old shoebox (no label): â
Gun wrapped in sheepskin
Old package of pipe cleaners
Gun oil
Cleaning cloth
Home made hanger cleaning rod w/cloth inserted
65
COSTUME PLOT
THELMA
White half-slip
Red & white house dress
Light blue embroidered sweater
Tan tights (Capezio hold 'n stretchâlong suntan)
Glitzy house slippers
JESSIE
Grey floral blouse
Grey courduroy pants
Grey belt
Black sweater
Black socks
âtop-siderâ type shoes
66
Jessie argues that her son Ricky is an inseparable blend of her and her ex-husband's worst qualities, doomed to repeat their failures.
She admits she forged a sympathetic note from Cecil to herself, revealing her deep need to feel loved even if she has to fabricate it.
Jessie describes her self-worth in stark terms, comparing herself to garbage that needed to be discarded for Cecil to find peace.
Mama tries to convince Jessie to contact Cecil, but Jessie insists that his departure was a relief because she no longer had to feel watched.
The dialogue shifts to meticulous instructions about garbage disposal, emphasizing Jessie's detachment and her preparation for Mama's life without her.
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The Anatomy of a Seizure
Jessie provides Mama with specific instructions for household management, such as garbage schedules and the necessity of buying heavy-duty bags.
Mama reveals her belief that Jessie's father also suffered from undiagnosed seizures, which the family previously dismissed as 'thinking spells.'
The conversation shifts from mundane chores to a raw confrontation as Jessie demands a detailed description of her own epileptic fits.
Mama reluctantly describes the visceral reality of Jessie's seizures, including the loss of muscle control, gagging sounds, and physical jerking.
The physical struggle of the two women putting a slipcover on a sofa mirrors the emotional tension of discussing Jessie's traumatic medical history.
You just . . . crumple, in a heap, like a puppet and somebody cut the strings all at once, or like the firing squad in some Mexican movie, you just slide down the wall, you know.
.
JESSIE. (Unterrupting her.) Garbage night is Tuesday. Put it
out as late as you can. The Davisâs dogs get in it if you donât.
4i
(Now replacing the garbage sack in the can under the sink.)
And keep ordeting the heavy black bags. It doesn't pay to
buy the cheap ones. And Iâve got all the ties here with the
hammers and all. Take them out of the box as soon as you
open a new one and put them in this drawer. They'll get lost
if you donât and rubber bands or something else wonât work.
MAMA. I think your Daddy had fits too, I think he sat in
his chair and had little fits. I read this a long time ago in a
magazine, how little fits go, just little blackouts where maybe
their eyes donât even close and people just call them âthink-
ing spells.â
JESSIE. (Getting the slipcover out the laundry basket.) \
donât think you want this manicure we've been looking for-
ward to, I washed this cover for the sofa, but it'll take both
of us to get it back on.
MAMA. I watched his eyes. I know thatâs what it was. The
magazine said some people donât even know theyâve had one.
JESSIE. Daddy wouldâve known if heâd had fits, Mama.
MAMA. The lady in this story kept track of her fits and sheâd
had 80,000 of them in the last eleven yeats.
JESSIE. Next time you wash this cover, it'll dry better if you
put it on wet.
MAMA. Jessie, listen to what Iâm telling you. This lady had
anywhere between five and five hundred fits a day and they
lasted maybe 15 seconds apiece, so that out of her life, she'd
only lost about two weeks altogether and she had a full-time
secretary job and an I.Q. of 120.
JESSIE. (Has to be amused by Mama's approach.) You want
to talk about fits, is that it?
MAMA. Yes. I do. I want to say...
JESSIE. (Interrupting.) Most of the time I wouldnât even
know I'd had one, except I wake up with different clothes on
feeling like I've been run over. Sometimes I fee! my head
start to turn afound or hear myself scream. And sometimes,
there is this dizzy stupid feeling a little before it, but if the
TVâs on, well, itâs easy to miss. (As Jesste and Mama replace
42
the slip cover on the sofa and the afghan on the chair, the
physical struggle somehow mirrors the emotional one in the
conversation.) ,
MAMA. Ican tell when you're about to have one. Your eyes
get this big! But Jessie, you haven't . . .
JESSIE. (Taking charge of this.) What do they look like? The
seizures.
MAMA. (Re/uctant.) Different each time, Jess.
JESSIE. O.K. Pick one, then. A good one. I think I want to
know now.
MAMA. Thereâs not much to tell. You just . . . ccumple, in
a heap, like a puppet and somebody cut the strings all at
once, or like the firing squad in some Mexican movie, you
just slide down the wall, you know. You donât know what
happens? How can you not know what happens?
JESSIE. Iâm busy.
MAMA. Thatâs not funny.
JESSIE. Iâm not laughing. My head turns around and I fall
down and then what?
MAMA. Well, your chest squeezes in and out and you sound
like you're gagging, sucking air in and out like you canât
breathe.
JESSIE. Do it for me. Make the sound for me.
MAMA. I will not. Itâs awful sounding.
JESSIE. Yeah. It felt like it might be. What's next.
MAMA. Your mouth bites down and I have to get your
tongue out of the way fast so you don't bite yourself,
JESSIE. Or you. I bite you too, donât I?
MAMA. You got me once real good. I had to get a tetanus!
But I know what to watch for riow. Then you turn blue and
the jerks start up. Like Iâm standing there poking you with
a cattle prod or you're sticking your finger in a light socket
as fast as you can.
JESSIE. Foaming like a mad dog the whole time.
MAMA. Itâs bubbling, Jess, not foam like the washer
overflowed, for Godâs sake, it's bubbling like a baby spitting
43
up. I go get a wet washcloth, thatâs all. And then the jerks
slow down and you wet yourself and itâs over. Two minutes
tops. _
JESSIE. How do I get to the bed?
MAMA. How do you think?
JESSIE. I'm too heavy for you now. How do you do
The Weight of Clarity
Mama describes the physical reality of Jessie's seizures and the efforts she made to protect Jessie's dignity during them.
Jessie reveals that she has been seizure-free for a year and is finally experiencing a return of her cognitive functions and memory.
The return of Jessie's clarity is bittersweet, as she uses her improved mental state to confirm her decision to end her life.
Mama attempts to keep Jessie home by highlighting her health, eventually revealing that Jessie's condition is a hereditary trait from her father.
The dialogue reveals a long-standing family secret regarding the onset of Jessieâs epilepsy, which occurred much earlier than Jessie believed.
Once I started remembering, I could see what it all added up to.
ou with
a cattle prod or you're sticking your finger in a light socket
as fast as you can.
JESSIE. Foaming like a mad dog the whole time.
MAMA. Itâs bubbling, Jess, not foam like the washer
overflowed, for Godâs sake, it's bubbling like a baby spitting
43
up. I go get a wet washcloth, thatâs all. And then the jerks
slow down and you wet yourself and itâs over. Two minutes
tops. _
JESSIE. How do I get to the bed?
MAMA. How do you think?
JESSIE. I'm too heavy for you now. How do you do it?
MAMA. I call Dawson. But I get you cleaned up before he
gets here and I make him leave before you wake. up.
JESSIE. You could just leave me on the floor.
MAMA. I want you to wake up someplace nice, O.K.?
(Then making a real effort.) But Jessie, and this is the reason
I even brought this up! You haven't had a seizure for a solid
year. A whdle year, do you realize that?
JESSIE. Yeah, the phenobarbâs about right now, I guess.
MAMA. You bet it is, You might never have another one,
ever! You might be through with it for all time!
JESSIE. Could be.
MAMA. You are. I know you are!
JESSIE. I sure am feeling good. I really am. The double vi-
sionâs gone and my gums aren't swelling. No tashes or
anything. I'm feeling as good as J ever felt in my life. 'm
even feeling like worrying ot getting mad and Iâm not afraid
it will start a fit if I do. 1 just go ahead.
MAMA. Of course you do! You can even scream at me, if
you want to. I can take it. You donât have to act like you're
just visiting here, Jessie. This is your house too.
JESSIE. The best part is my memoryâs back.
MAMA. Your memoryâs always been good. When couldnât
you remember things?. Youâte always reminding me
what...
JESSIE. Because I've made lists for everything. But now, I
remember what things mean on my lists. I see dishtowels and
I used to wonder whether I was supposed to wash them, buy
them or look for them because I wouldnât remember where
I put them after I washed them, but now I know it means
wrap them up, they're a present for Lorettaâs birthday.
44
MAMA. (Finished with the sofa now.) You used to go look-
ing for your lists, too, I've noticed that. You always know
where they are now! (Then suddenly worried.) Lorettaâs birth-
day isnât coming up, is it? °
JESSIE. I made a list of all the birthdays for you. I even put
yours on it. (A small smile.) So you can call Loretta and re-
mind her.
MAMA. Letâs take Loretta to Howard Johnson's and have
those fried clams. I ÂŁzow you love that clam roll.
JESSIE. (A slight pause.) 1 won't be here, Mama.
MAMA. What have we just been talking about? You'll be
here. You're well, Jessie. You're starting all over. You said it
yourself, You're remembering things and...
JESSIE. I won't be here. If I'd ever had a yeat like this, to
think straight and all, before now, I'd be gone already. â
MAMA. (Not pleading, commanding.) No, Jessie.
JESSIE. (Folding the rest of the laundry.) Yes, Mama. Once
I started remembering, 1 could see what it all added up to.
MAMA. The fits are over!
JESSIE. Itâs not the fits, Mama.
MAMA. Then itâs me for giving them to you, but I didnât do
it!
JESSIE. Itâs not the fits! You said it yourself, the medicine
takes care of the fits.
MAMA. (Interrupting.) Your Daddy gave you those fits,
Jessie. He passed it down to you like your green eyes and your
sttaight hair. Itâs not my fault!
JESSIE. So what if he had little fits? Itâs not inherited. I fell
off the horse. It was an accident.
MAMA. The horse wasnât the first time, Jessie. You had a fit
when you were five years old.
JESSIE. I did not.
MAMA. You did! You were eating a popsicle and down you
went, He gave it to you. Itâs Ais fault, not mine.
JESSIE. Well, you took your time telling me.
MAMA. How do you tell that to a five year old?
45
JESSIE. What did the doctor say?
MAMA. He said kids have them all the time. He said there
wasnât anything to do but wait for another one.
JESSIE. But I didnât have another one. (Now there is a real
silence.) Yo
Buried Truths and Maternal Guilt
Mama reveals that she hid Jessie's epilepsy for most of her life, keeping the seizures a secret even from Jessie's own father.
Jessie expresses deep resentment over the deception, noting that the lack of information prevented her from understanding her own life and safety.
Mama suffers a breakdown, viewing Jessie's illness and planned suicide as a divine punishment for her own failings as a mother and wife.
The conversation exposes a suffocating codependency, with Mama claiming that Jessie's death is equivalent to her own.
Jessie confronts Mama with the possibility that their relationship is not enough to sustain her, and may even be the reason she wants to die.
What if you are all I have and you're not enough? What if the only way I can get away from you for good is to kill myself?
time, Jessie. You had a fit
when you were five years old.
JESSIE. I did not.
MAMA. You did! You were eating a popsicle and down you
went, He gave it to you. Itâs Ais fault, not mine.
JESSIE. Well, you took your time telling me.
MAMA. How do you tell that to a five year old?
45
JESSIE. What did the doctor say?
MAMA. He said kids have them all the time. He said there
wasnât anything to do but wait for another one.
JESSIE. But I didnât have another one. (Now there is a real
silence.) You mean to tell me I had fits all the time as a kid
and you just told me I fell down or something and it wasnât
til I had the fit when Cecil was looking that anybody
bothered to find out what was the matter with me?
MAMA. It wasnât a// the time, Jessie, and they changed
when you started to school, more like your Daddyâs. Oh, that
was some swell time, sitting: herewith the two of you turning
on and off-like- lightbulbs some. nights.
JESSIE. How. many fits:did-I have?
MAMA. You-never-hurt yourself. I never let you out of my
sight: I caught you every time.
JESSIE. But you didnât tell anybody.
MAMA. It was none of their business.
JESSIE. You were ashamed.
MAMA. I didnât want anybody to know. Least of all you.
JESSIE. Least of all, me. Oh right. That was mine to know,
Mama, not yours. Did Daddy know?
MAMA. He thought you were... you fell down a lot.
Thatâs what he thought. You were careless. Or maybe he
thought I beat you. I donât know what he thought. He didnât
think about it.
JESSIE. Because you didnât tell him!
MAMA. IfI told him about you, I'd have to tell him about
him!
JESSIE. I donât like this. I donât like this one bit.
MAMA. I didnât think you'd like it. Thatâs why I didnât tell
you.
JESSIE. If I'd known I was an epileptic, Mama, I wouldnât
have ridden any hotses.
MAMA. Make you feel like a freak, is that what I should
have done?
JESSIE. Just get the manicure tray and sit down!
46
MAMA. (Throwing it to the floor.) 1 don't want a manicure!
JESSIE. Doesnât look like you do, no.
MAMA. Maybe I did drop you, you donât know.
JESSIE. If you say you didnât, you didnât. ,
MAMA. (Beginning to break down.) Maybe | fed you the
wrong thing. Maybe you had a fever some time and I didnât
know it soon enough. Maybe itâs a punishment.
JESSIE. For what?
MAMA. I donât know. Because of how I felt about your
father. Because | didnât want any more children. Because I
smoked too much or didnât eat right when I was carrying you.
It has to be something I did.
JESSIE. It does not. Itâs just a sickness, not a curse. Epilepsy
doesnât mean anything. It just is.
MAMA. Iâm not talking about the fits here, Jessie! I'm talk-
ing about this killing yourself. It has to be me thatâs the mat-
ter here. You wouldnât be doing this if it wasnât. I didnât tell
you things or I martied you off to the wrong man or I took
you in and let your life get away from you or all of it put
together. I donât know what I did, but I did it, I know. This
is all my fault, Jessie, but I donât know what to do about it,
now!
JESSIE. (Exasperated at having to say this again.) \t doesn't
have anything to do with you!
MAMA. Everything you do has to do with me, Jessie. You
canât do anything, wash your face or cut your finger, without
doing it to me. That's right! You might as well kill me as
you, Jessie, itâs the same thing. This has to do with me, Jessie.
JESSIE. Then what if it does! What if it has everything to do '
with you! What if you are all I have and you're not enough?
What if I could take all the rest of it if only I didnât have you
here? What if the only way I can get away from you for good
is to kill myself? What if it is? I can st do it!
MAMA. (le desperate tears.) Donât leave me, Jessie! (Jessze
stands for a moment, then turns for the bedroom.) No!
(Mama grabs her arm.)
47
JESSIE. (Carefully takes ber arm away.) 1 have a box of
things I want people to have. Iâm just going to go get it for
you. You... . just rest a minute. (And Jessie is gone and
Mama
The Final Bargain
Mama expresses her deep dependency on Jessie, listing the domestic tasks and emotional support she fears losing.
Jessie clarifies that she shared her plan not to be saved, but to provide closure and prevent Mama from blaming herself.
Mama experiences intense guilt for failing to notice Jessie's long-standing pain and for her current inability to persuade Jessie to stay.
Jessie rejects Mama's attempts to offer hope for the future, stating she needs a definitive solution that 'will work' rather than temporary fixes.
The dialogue reveals that their current level of honesty is only possible because Jessie's decision is already final.
I hate the quiet and I donât want to die and I donât want you to go, Jessie.
at if I could take all the rest of it if only I didnât have you
here? What if the only way I can get away from you for good
is to kill myself? What if it is? I can st do it!
MAMA. (le desperate tears.) Donât leave me, Jessie! (Jessze
stands for a moment, then turns for the bedroom.) No!
(Mama grabs her arm.)
47
JESSIE. (Carefully takes ber arm away.) 1 have a box of
things I want people to have. Iâm just going to go get it for
you. You... . just rest a minute. (And Jessie is gone and
Mama heads for the telephone, but she can't even pick up the
receiver this time, and instead, stoops to clean up the bottles
that have spilled out of the tray. Jesste returns carrying @ box
that groceries were delivered in. It probably says Hershey
Kisses or Starkist Tuna. Mama is still down on the floor clean-
ing up, hoping that maybe if she just makes it look nice
enough, Jessie will stay.)
MAMA. Jessie, how can I live here without you? I need you!
You're supposed to tell me to stand up straight and say how
nice ] look in my pink dress and drink my milk. You're sup-
posed to go around and lock up so I know we're safe for the
night, and when I wake up, you're supposed to be out there
making the coffee and watching me get older every day and
you're supposed to help me die when the time comes. I canât
do that by myself, Jessie. Iâm not like you, Jessie. 1 hate the
quiet and I donât want to die and I donât want you to go,
Jessie. How can1... (Has to stop a moment.) How can I
get up every day knowing you had to kill yourself to make it
stop hurting and I was here all the time and J never even saw
it. And then you gave me this chance to make it better, con-
vince you to stay alive and I couldnât do it. How can I live
with myself after this, Jessie?
JESSIE. 1 only told you so I could explain it, so you wouldnât
blame yourself, so you wouldnât feel bad. There wasnât
anything you could say to change my mind. I didnât want you
to save me. I just wanted you to know.
MAMA. Stay with me just a little longer. Just a few more
yeats. I donât have that many mote to go, Jessie. And as soon
as I'm dead, you can do whatever you want. Maybe with me
gone, you'll have all the quiet you want, tight here in the
house. And maybe one day you'll put in some begonias up
the walk and get just the right rain for them all summer. And
Ricky will be married by then and heâll bring your grand-
48
babies over and you can sneak them a piece of candy when
their Daddy's not looking and then be real glad when they've
gone home and left you to your quiet again.
JESSIE. Donât you see, Mama, everything I do winds up like
this. How could I think you would understand? How could
I think you would want a manicure? We could hold hands for
an hour and then I could go shoot myself? P'm sorry about
tonight, Mama, but itâs exactly why Iâm doing it.
MAMA. If you've got the guits to âkill yourself, Jessie, you've
got the guts to stay alive.
JESSIE. I know that. So itâ s really j just a matter of where Id
rather be.
MAMA. Look,â âmaybe 1 canât think of what you âshould do,
but that doesnât mean thete i isnât something that would. help.
You find it. You think of i it. Y6u can. keep trying: You cari
get brave and tiy some mote. You donât have to give. up!
JESSIE. I'm vot giving up! This zs the other thing Iâm trying.
And Iâm sure there are some other things that might work,
but zeight work isnât good enough any more. I need
something that wi// work. This will work. Thatâs why I picked
it.
MAMA. But something might happen. Something that
could change everything. Who knows what it might be, but
it might be worth waiting for! (Jessie doesnât respond.) Try
it for two more weeks. We could have more talks like tonight.
JESSIE. No, Mama.
MAMA. I'll pay more attention to you. Tell the truth when
you ask me. Let you have your say.
JESSIE. No, Mama! We wouldnât have more: talks like
tonight, because itâs this next part thatâs made this last part
so good, Mama. No, Mama. Ts is how | have
Jessie's Final Say
Mama pleads with Jessie to postpone her decision for two weeks, promising a more honest and attentive relationship if she stays.
Jessie rejects the offer of hope, asserting that her choice to end her life is the ultimate way to have her 'say' and reject a lifetime of disappointments.
Jessie describes a profound sense of self-loss, explaining that she views her childhood self as a different person who never grew into the adult she was supposed to be.
The dialogue reveals a stark contrast between Mamaâs primal fear of death as a lurking predator and Jessieâs calm indifference toward it.
Mama's desperation turns to fury as she accuses Jessie of making her feel like a fool for wanting to live while Jessie treats her own life as something she can simply switch off.
I found an old baby picture of me. And it was somebody else, not me.
MAMA. But something might happen. Something that
could change everything. Who knows what it might be, but
it might be worth waiting for! (Jessie doesnât respond.) Try
it for two more weeks. We could have more talks like tonight.
JESSIE. No, Mama.
MAMA. I'll pay more attention to you. Tell the truth when
you ask me. Let you have your say.
JESSIE. No, Mama! We wouldnât have more: talks like
tonight, because itâs this next part thatâs made this last part
so good, Mama. No, Mama. Ts is how | have my say. This
is how I say what I thought about it Âą// and I say No. To
Dawson and Loretta and the Red Chinese and epilepsy and
Ricky and Cecil and you. And me. And hope. I say No!
(Then going to Mama on the sofa. ) Just let me go easy,
Mama.
49
MAMA. How can I let you go?
JESSIE. You can because you have to. Itâs what you've always
done.
MAMA. You are my child!
JESSIE. I am what became of your child. (Mama cannot
answer.) 1 found an old baby picture of me. And it was
somebody else, not me. It was somebody pink and fat who
never heard of sick or lonely, somebody who cried and got
fed, and reached up and got held and kicked but didnât hurt
anybody, and slept whenever she wanted to, just by closing
her eyes. Somebody who mainly just laid there and laughed
at the colors waving around over her head and chewed on a
polka-dot whale and woke up knowing some new trick nearly
every day and rolled over and drooled âon the sheet and felt
your hand pulling my quilt back up over me. That's who I
started out and this is who is left: (There ts 20 self-pity here.)
Thatâs what this is about. Itâs somebody I lost, all right, itâs
my own self. Who I never was. Or who I tried to be and never
got there. Somebody I waited for who never came. And never
will. So, see, it doesnât much matter what else happens in the
world or in this house, even. Iâm what was worth waiting for
and I didnât make it. Me . . . who might have made a dif-
ference to me. . . Iâm not going to show up, so thereâs no
reason to stay, except to keep you company, and
thatâs . . . not reason enough because Iâm not . . . very good
company. (A pause.) Am I.
MAMA. (Knowing she must tell the truth.) No. And neither
am I.
JESSIE. I had this strange little thought, well, maybe itâs not
so strange. Anyway, after Christmas, after I decided to do
this, | would wonder, sometimes, what might keep me here,
what might be worth staying for, and you know what it was?
It was maybe if there was something I really liked, like maybe
if I really liked rice pudding or cornflakes for breakfast ot
something, that riight be tnough. " â
MAMA. Rice puddingâis good.â «
50
JESSIE. Not to me.
MAMA. And you're not afraid?
JESSIE. Afraid of what?
MAMA. I'm afraid of it, for me, I mean. When my tine
comes. I know itâs coming, but. . .
JESSIE. You donât know when. Like in a scary movie.
MAMA. Yeah, sneaking up on me like some killer on the
loose, hiding out in the back yard just waiting for me to have
my hands full some day and how am I supposed to protect
myself anyhow when I donât know what he looks like and I
donât know how he sounds coming up behind me like that
or if it will hurt or take very long or what I donât get done
before it happens.
JESSIE. You've got plenty of time left.
MAMA. I forget what for, right now.
JESSIE. For whatever happens, I donât know. For the. rest of
your life. For Agnes burning down one more house ot
Dawson losing his hair or. . .
MAMA. (Quickly.) Jessie. I canât just sit here and say O.K.,
kill yourself if you want to.
JESSIE. Sure you can. You just did. Say it again.
MAMA. (Really startled.) Jessie! (Quiet horror.) How date
you! (Furious.) How dare you! You think you can just leave
whenever you want like youâre watching television here? No,
you can't, Jessie. You make me feel like a fool for being alive,
child and you are so wrong! I like it here, and I will stay here
until they make me-go, until they drag me screaming and I
mean screeching into my grave and you're
The Logistics of Loss
Mama initially reacts with visceral fury and horror, accusing Jessie of being selfish for treating her life like a television program she can simply turn off.
The emotional confrontation shifts into a state of numb resignation as Mama begins to accept the inevitability of Jessie's impending suicide.
Jessie meticulously coaches her mother through the social etiquette of the funeral, providing specific scripts for how to respond to neighbors' condolences.
The dialogue reveals a jarring contrast between the tragic reality of death and mundane domestic fixations, such as crochet work and funeral food leftovers.
In her final moments, Jessie attempts to secure her mother's future comfort by instructing her to be more selfish and prioritize her own well-being.
I will stay here until they make me-go, until they drag me screaming and I mean screeching into my grave and you're real smart to get away before then because, I mean, honey, youâve never heard noise like that in your life.
nd say O.K.,
kill yourself if you want to.
JESSIE. Sure you can. You just did. Say it again.
MAMA. (Really startled.) Jessie! (Quiet horror.) How date
you! (Furious.) How dare you! You think you can just leave
whenever you want like youâre watching television here? No,
you can't, Jessie. You make me feel like a fool for being alive,
child and you are so wrong! I like it here, and I will stay here
until they make me-go, until they drag me screaming and I
mean screeching into my grave and you're real smart to get
away before then because, I mean, honey, youâve never heard
noise like that in your life. (Jessie turns away.) Who am I
talking to? You're gone already, arenât you? Iâm looking right
through you! I canât stop you because youâte already gone! I
guess you think they'll all have to talk about you now! I guess
you think this will really confuse them. Oh yes, ever since
Christmas, you've been laughing to yourself and thinking,
âBoy are they all in for a surprise.â Well, nobody's going to
51
be a bit surprised, sweetheart. This is just like you. Do it the
hard way, thatâs my girl all right. (Jessze gets up and goes into
the kitchen, but Mama follows her.) You know who they're
going to feel sorry for? Me! How about that! Not you, me!
They're going to be ashamed of you. Yes. Ashamed! \f
somebody asks Dawson about it, heâll change the subject as
fast as he can. Heâll talk about how much he has to pay to
park his car these days.
JESSIE. Leave me alone.
MAMA. Itâs the truth!
JESSIE. I should've just left you a note!
MAMA. (Screaming.) Yes! (Then suddenly understanding
what she has said, nearly paralyzed by the thought of it, she
turns slowly to face Jessie, nearly whispering.) No. No.
I... might not have thought of all the things you've said.
JESSIE. Itâs O.K., Mama. (And Mama is nearly UNCONSCIOUS
from the emotional devastation of these last few moments,
She sits down at the kitchen table, hurt and angry and so
desperately afraid. But she looks almost numb. She ts so jar
beyond what is known as pain that she is virtually
unreachable and Jessie knows this, and talks quietly, watch-
ing for signs of recovery. She washes her hands in the sink.)
I remember you liked that preacher who did Daddyâs, so if
you want to ask him to do the service, thatâs O.K. with me.
MAMA. (Not an answer, just a word.) What.
JESSIE. (Putting on hand lotion as she talks.) And pick some
songs you like or let Agnes pick, sheâll know exactly which
ones. Oh and J had your dress cleaned that you wore to Dad-
dyâs. You looked real good in that.
MAMA. I donât remember, hon.
JESSIE. And it won't be so bad once your friends start com-
ing to the funeral home. You'll probably see people you
haven't seen for years, but I thought about what you should
say to get you over that nervous part when they first come in.
MAMA. (Simply repeating.) Come in.
JESSIE. Take them up to see their flowers, they'd like that.
52
And when they say, âI'm so sorry, Thelma,â you just say, âI
appfeciate your coming, Connie.â And then ask how their
garden was this summer or what they're doing for Thanksgiv-
ing or how their children . . . â
MAMA. I donât think I should ask about their children. I'll
talk about what they have on, thatâs always good. And I'll
have some crochet work with me.
JESSIE. And Agnes will be there, so you might not have to
talk at all.
MAMA. Maybe if Connie Richards does come, I can get her
to tell me where she gets that Irish yarn, she calls it. I know
it doesnât come from Ireland. I think it just comes with a
green wrapper.
JESSIE. And be sute to invite enough people home after-
watd so you get enough food to feed them all and have some
left for you. But donât let anybody take anything home,
especially Loretta. , :
MAMA. Loretta will get all the food set up, honey. Itâs only
fair to let her have some macaroni or something.
JESSIE. No, Mama. You have to be more selfish from now
on. (Setting down now with Mama.) Now, somebody's bound
to ask you
Planning the Final Aftermath
Jessie instructs her mother to lie to the authorities and family by framing the suicide as a sudden, inexplicable act rather than a planned conversation.
To preserve the sanctity of their final night together, Jessie insists that the details of their talk remain private and hidden from her brother and sister-in-law.
Jessie provides her mother with mundane, repetitive tasks to perform immediately following the gunshot, such as washing a hot chocolate pan, to keep her occupied until help arrives.
A distribution of personal belongings is arranged, including a calculator for Loretta and a list of future holiday gifts for Mama spanning the next twenty years.
Jessie requests that the police be the first to enter her bedroom after the event, specifically wanting to spare her brother Dawson from being the one to find her.
You wash that pan til you hear the doorbell ring and I donât care if itâs an hour, you keep washing that pan.
doesnât come from Ireland. I think it just comes with a
green wrapper.
JESSIE. And be sute to invite enough people home after-
watd so you get enough food to feed them all and have some
left for you. But donât let anybody take anything home,
especially Loretta. , :
MAMA. Loretta will get all the food set up, honey. Itâs only
fair to let her have some macaroni or something.
JESSIE. No, Mama. You have to be more selfish from now
on. (Setting down now with Mama.) Now, somebody's bound
to ask you why I did it and you just say you donât know. That
you loved me and you know I loved you and we just sat
around tonight like every other night of our lives and then
I came over and kissed you and said, â "Night, Mother,â and
you heard me close my bedroom door and the next thing you
heard was the shot. And whatever reasons I had, well, you
guess I just took them with me.
MAMA. (Quiet/y.) It was something personal.
JESSIE. Good. Thatâs good, Mama.
MAMA. Thatâs what Iâll say, then.
JESSIE. Personal. Yeah.
MAMA. Is that what I tell Dawson and Loretta too? We sat
around, you kissed me, â âNight, Mother?â They'll want to
know more, Jessie. They won't believe it.
JESSIE. Well, then, tell them what we did. I filled up the
33
candy jats. I cleaned out the refrigerator. We made some hot
chocolate and put the cover back on the sofa. You had no
idea. All right? I really think itâs better that way. If they know
we talked about it, they really wonât understand how you let
me go. (Mama does not answer.) Itâs private. Tonight is
private, yours and mine, and I donât want anybody else to
have any of it.
MAMA. O.K. then.
JESSIE. (Standing behind Mama now, holding her
shoulders.) Now, when you hear the shot, I donât want you
to come in. First of all, you wonât be able to get in by
yourself, but I donât want you trying. Call Dawson, then call
the police and then call Agnes. And then you'll need some-
thing to do til somebody gets here, so wash the hot chocolate
pan. You wash that pan til you hear the doorbell ring and
I donât care if itâs an hour, you keep washing that pan.
MAMA. I'll make my calls and then Iâll just sit. I won't need
something to do. What will the police say?
JESSIE. They'll do that gunpowder test, and ask you what
happened and by that time, the ambulance will be here and
they'll come in and get me and you know how that goes. You
stay out here with Dawson and Loretta. You keep Dawson
out here. I want the police in the room first, not. Dawson,
O.K.?
MAMA. What if Dawson and Loretta want me to go home
with them?
JESSIE. (Returning to the living room.) Thatâs up to you.
MAMA. I think I'll stay here. All they've got is Sanka.
JESSIE. Maybe Agnes could come stay with you for a few
days.
MAMA. (Standing up now, looking into the living room.)
I'd rather be by myself, I think. (Walking toward the box
Jessie brought in earlier.) You want me to give people those
things?
JESSIE. (They sit down on the sofa, Jessie holding the box
54
on her lap.) 1 want Loretta to have my little calculator.
Dawson bought it for himself, you know, but then he saw
one he liked better and he couldn't bring both of them hoine
with Loretta counting every penny the way she does, so he
gave the first one to me. Be funny for her to have it now,
donât you think? And all my house slippets are in a sack for
her in my closet. Tell het I know they'll fit and I've never
worn any of them and make sure Dawson hears you tell her
that. Iâm glad he loves Loretta so much, but I wish he knew
not everybody has her size feet.
MAMA. (Taking the calculator.) O.K.
JESSIE. (Reaching into the box again.) This letter is for
Dawson, but itâs mostly about you, so read it if you want.
Thereâs a list of presents for you for at least twenty more
Christmases and bitthdays, so if you want anything special
you better add it to this list before you give it to him. Or if
you want to be surprised, just donât read that page. This
Christmas, you're getting mostly stuff for the house
The Final Goodbye
Jessie provides a comprehensive list of future gifts and a letter for Dawson to ensure Mama is cared for over the next twenty years.
Jessie leaves her watch for her son Ricky, calmly accepting that he may sell it for drugs rather than keeping it.
A box of sentimental items is given to Mama, designed by Jessie to provide comfort and memories of things once lost.
Mama attempts to physically block Jessie's path, desperately listing household chores and practicalities to delay the inevitable.
I'll stand in front of this hall and you can't get past me.
ut I wish he knew
not everybody has her size feet.
MAMA. (Taking the calculator.) O.K.
JESSIE. (Reaching into the box again.) This letter is for
Dawson, but itâs mostly about you, so read it if you want.
Thereâs a list of presents for you for at least twenty more
Christmases and bitthdays, so if you want anything special
you better add it to this list before you give it to him. Or if
you want to be surprised, just donât read that page. This
Christmas, you're getting mostly stuff for the house like a
new rug in your bathroom and needlework, but next
Christmas, you're really going to cost him next Christmas. |
think you'll like it a lot and you'd never think of it.
MAMA. And you think he'll go for it?
JESSIE. I think he'll feel like a real jerk if he doesnât. Me tell-
ing him to like this and all. Now, this numbetâs where you
call Cecil. I called it last week and he answered so I know he
still lives there.
MAMA. What do you want me to tell him?
JESSIE, Tell him we talked about him and I only had good
things to say about him, but mainly tell him to find Ricky
and tell him what I did and tell Ricky you have something
for him, out here, from me, and to come get it. (Pulls a sack
out of the box.)
MAMA. (The sack feels empty.) What 1s it?
JESSIE. (Taking it off.) My watch. (Putting it in the sack and
taking a ribbon out of the sack to tie around the top of tt.)
35
MAMA. He'll sell it!
JESSIE, Thatâs the idea. I appreciate him not stealing it
already. I'd like to buy him a good meal.
MAMA. Heâll buy dope with it!
JESSIE. Well, then, I hope he gets some good dope with it,
Mama. And the rest of this is for you. (Handing Mama the
box now. Mama picks up the things and looks at them.)
MAMA. (Surprised and pleased.) When did you do all this?
During my naps, I guess.
JESSIE. I guess. I tried to be quiet about it. (As Mama is
puzzled by the presents.) Those ate just little presents. For
whenever you need one. They're not bought presents, just
things I thought you might like to look at, pictures, ot things
you think you've lost. Things you didnât know you had, even.
You'll see. _â .
MAMA. Iâm not sure I want them. They'll make me think
of you. me
JESSIE. No they won't. They're just things, like a free tube
of toothpaste I found hanging on the door one day.
MAMA. Oh. All right then.
JESSIE. Well, maybe thereâs one nice present in there
somewhere. Itâs Grannyâs ring she gave.me and I thought you
might like to have it, but I didnât think you'd wear it if I gave
it to you right now.
MAMA. (Taking the box to a table nearby.) No. Probably
not. (Turning back to face her.) 'm teady for my manicure,
I guess. Want me to wash my hands again?
JESSIE. (Standing up.) \tâs time for me to go, Mama.
MAMA. (Starting to her.) No, Jessie, you've got all night!
JESSIE. (As Mama grabs her.) No, Mama.
MAMA. Itâs not even ten o'clock.
JESSIE. (Very calm.) Let me go, Mama.
MAMA. Icanât. You canât go. You canât do this. You didnât
say it would be so soon, Jessie. I'm scared. I love you.
JESSIE. (Takes her hands away.) Let go of me, Mama. I've
said everything I had to say.
56
MAMA. (Standing still a minute.) You said you wanted to
do my nails.
JESSIE. (Taking a small step backward.) \ can't. Itâs too late.
MAMA. Itâs not too late!
JESSIE. I donât want you to wake Dawson and Loretta when
you call. I want them to still be up and dressed so they can
get right over.
MAMA. (As Jessie backs up, Mama moves in on her, but
carefully.) They wake up fast, Jessie, if they have to, They
donât matter here, Jessie. You do. I do. We're not through
yet. We've got a lot of things to take care of here. I donât
know where my prescriptions ate and you didnât tell me what
to tell Doctor Davis when he calls or how much you want me
to tell Ricky or who I call to rake the leaves or. . .
JESSIE. Donât try and stop me, Mama, you canât do it.
MAMA. (Grabs her again, this time bard.) \ can too! Vil
stand in front of this hall and you canât get past me. (They
str
The Final Answer
Mama attempts to physically and verbally prevent Jessie from carrying out her suicide.
Jessie locks herself in her bedroom after a final, whispered farewell, ignoring her mother's frantic pleas.
The tension breaks with the sound of a gunshot, which serves as a definitive and tragic response to Mama's demands.
Following the shot, Mama experiences a moment of profound realization regarding Jessie's isolation and her own failed assumption of ownership.
The text concludes with an extensive property plot detailing the mundane and often spoiled items that define the household setting.
And we hear the shot, and it sounds like an answer, it sounds like No.
, Jessie, if they have to, They
donât matter here, Jessie. You do. I do. We're not through
yet. We've got a lot of things to take care of here. I donât
know where my prescriptions ate and you didnât tell me what
to tell Doctor Davis when he calls or how much you want me
to tell Ricky or who I call to rake the leaves or. . .
JESSIE. Donât try and stop me, Mama, you canât do it.
MAMA. (Grabs her again, this time bard.) \ can too! Vil
stand in front of this hall and you canât get past me. (They
struggle.) You'll have to knock me down to get away from
me, Jessie. Iâm not about to let you... (Mama struggles
with Jessie at the door an in the struggle, Jessie gets away
from her and:)
JESSIE, (A/most a whisper.) "Night, Mother. (Jessie vanishes
into her bedroom and we hear the door lock just as Mama
gets to it.) â
MAMA. (Screams.) Jessie! (And pounds on the door.) Jessie,
you let me in there. Donât you do this, Jessie. Iâm not going
to stop screaming until you open this door, Jessie. Jessie!
Jessie! What if I donât do any of the things you told me to
do! Pll tell Cecil what a miserable man he was to make you
feel the way he did and I'll give Rickyâs watch to Dawson if
I feel like it and the only way you can make sure I do what
you want is you come out here and make me, Jessie! (Poxn-
ding again.) Jessie! Stop this! I didnât know! I was here with
you all the time. How could I know you wete so alone? (And
Mama stops fora moment, breathless and frantic, putting her
ear to the door and when she doesn't hear anything, she
57
stands back up straight again and screams once more.) Jessie!
Please! (And we hear the shot, and it sounds like an answer,
it sounds like No. And Mama collapses against the door, tears
streaming down her face, but not screaming any more. In
shock now.) Jessie, Jessie, child . . . Forgive me. (A pause.)
I thought you wete mine. (Azdâ she leaves the door and
makes her way through the living room, around the fur-
niture, as though she didn't know where it was, not knowing
what to do. Finally, she goes to the stove in the kitchen and
picks up the hot chocolate pan and carries it with her to the
telephone and holds onto it while she dials the number. She
looks down at the pan, holding it tight like her life depended
on it. She hears Loretta answer.) Lotetta, let me talk to
Dawson, honey. â
THE END
38
PROPERTY PLOT .
KITCHEN â
Percolator
Spices & spice rack
Hand lotion
Dish soap
Paper towels & rack
Dish drainer
Potholders & mitts
Soap dish
Dish rag & rack
Sponge
Metal garbage can w/pedal
Salt & pepper shaker
Stove
Double sink
Refrigerator
Stove hood exhaust
2 candy dishes (in drainer)
Toaster & cover
Mixmastet
Radio
Mug of pencils & pens
Cook books
59
Dial telephone
Memoboard
Phone book (thin)
Assorted terra cotta bowls
Assorted wicker baskets
Assorted small appliances
Soda syphon
Honey beat
Assotted plastic bowls
Wooden ttay
Knife rack es
Napkin holder (w/ folded napkins)
Pitcher & bow! °
Assorted dish towels
Sugar bow! w/spoon
Cannister set
Cookie jar
Kitchen table w/2 chairs
Loud wind up clock
Hanging lamp over kitchen table
Rubbermaid sink stop
Magic marker
Address book
Wicker basket w/6âknitting and pre-measured 6â cloth tape
and knitting equipment
Ashtray
Reftigerator: (main compartment)
Assorted jats, cans, cartons & Tupperware
Milk
Catsup
Pickles
Cream cheese (used & spoiled)
Sour cream (used & spoiled)
Cottage cheese (used & spoiled)
60
Cheese whiz (used & spoiled)
Chocolate syrup (used & spoiled)
Refrigerator: (crisper)
Celery stalksâ wilted
Cucumber (% in baggie)
Lettuce leavesâwilted
Cabinets:
Assorted plates, cups & saucers, bowls, glassware
Canned goods, boxes
Can of cocoa
Bag of marshmallows
Bag of caramels
Clear plastic sacks of wrapped candy
Canoftuna
Snowballs (*%% empty)
1 mixing cup (for cocoa)
2 cups & saucers (for cocoa)
6 coffee bag sacks:
1 chocolate kisses
1 hard candy
1 chewy mint
1 chocolate covered cherries
1 red hots
1 caramels
4 large
Domestic Clutter and Hidden Dangers
The kitchen inventory reveals a domestic environment filled with spoiled produce and an excessive variety of candies and cocoa.
A significant medical presence is established through numerous prescription bottles for Thelma Cates and a specific towel for catching spilled pills.
The prop list for the attic and bedroom introduces a dark narrative element with a concealed gun, gun oil, and both old and new ammunition.
Living room details portray a lived-in space cluttered with domestic hobbies like sewing, needlework, and newspaper crossword puzzles.
The author includes a note regarding the 2004 Broadway production, allowing for dialogue updates to keep the play feeling contemporary.
Dramatists Play Service showcases several prestigious plays including Pulitzer Prize winners Rabbit Hole and Doubt.
The collection spans diverse genres such as black comedy, emotional drama, and satirical musical theater.
Several works explore dark or experimental themes, like The Pillowman's depiction of horror stories coming to life in a totalitarian state.
Contemporary social issues are addressed through plays like The Little Dog Laughed, which satirizes Hollywood's closeted culture.
The service provides digital resources for theater practitioners, including cast size searches and instant performance licensing via email.
In an unnamed totalitarian state, an author of horrific childrenâs stories discovers that someone has been making his stories come true.
r and
Mitch Albom, based on the book by Mitch Albom. The true story of
Brandeis University professor Morrie Schwartz and his relationship with his stu-
dent Mitch Albom. âA touching, life-affirming, deeply emotional drama.â -NY
Daily News. âYou'll laugh. You'll cry.â âVariety. âMoving and powerful.â âNY Post.
[2M] ISBN; 978-0-8222-2188-3
%*& DOG SEES GOD: CONFESSIONS OF A TEENAGE BLOCKHEAD by
Bert V. Royal. An abused pianist and a pyromaniac ex-girlfriend contribute to
the teen-angst of Americaâs most hapless kid. âA welcome antidote to the
notion that the Peanuts gang provides merely American cuteness.â âNY Times.
âHysterically funny.â â~NY Post. âThe Peanuts kids have finally come out of
their shells.â âTime Out. [4M, 4W] ISBN: 978-0-8222-2152-4
DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE, INC.
440 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10016 212-683-8960 Fax 212-213-1539
postmaster@dramatists.com www.dramatists.com
NEW PLAYS
+ RABBIT HOLE by David Lindsay-Abaire. Winner of the 2007 Pulitzer
Prize. Becca and Howie Corbett have everything a couple could want until a
life-shartering accident turns their world upside down. âAn intensely emotional
examination of grief, laced with wit.â âVariety. âA transcendent and deeply
affecting new play.â ~Entertainment Weekly. âPainstakingly beautiful.â âBackSvage.
[2M, 3W] ISBN: 978-0-8222-2154-8
% DOUBT, A Parable by John Patrick Shanley. Winner of the 2005 Pulitzer
Prize and Tony Award. Sister Aloysius, a Bronx school principal, takes matters
into her own hands when she suspects the young Father Flynn of improper rela-
tions with one of the male students. âAll the elements come invigoratingly
together like clockwork.â âVariety, âPassionate, exquisite, important, engrossing.â
âNY Newsday, (IM, 3W] ISBN: 978-0-8222-2219-4
%& THE PILLOWMAN by Martin McDonagh. In an unnamed totalitarian
state, an author of horrific childrenâs stories discovers that someone has been
making his stories come true. âA blindingly bright black comedy.â ~NY Times.
âMcDonaghâs least forgiving, bravest play.â âVariety. âThoroughly startling and
genuinely intimidating.â ~Chicago Tribune. [4M, 5 bit parts (2M, 1W, 1 boy,
1 girl)] ISBN: 978-0-8222-2100-5
*& GREY GARDENS book by Doug Wright, music by Scott Frankel, lyrics
by Michael Korie. The hilarious and heartbreaking story of Big Edie and
Little Edie Bouvier Beale, the eccentric aunt and cousin of Jacqueline Kennedy
Onassis, once bright names on the social register who became East Hampton's
most notorious recluses. âAn experience no passionate theatergoer should
miss.â ~NY Times. âA unique and unmissable musical.â âRolling Stone. [4M,
3W, 2 girls] ISBN: 978-0-8222-2181-4
% THE LITTLE DOG LAUGHED by Douglas Carter Beane. Mitchell
Green could make it big as the hot new leading man in Hollywood if Diane, his
agent, could just keep him in the closet. âDevastatingly funny.â ~NY Times. âAn
out-and-out delight.â VY Daily News. âFull of wit and wisdom.â ~NY Post. [2M,
2W] ISBN: 978-0-8222-2226-2
4c SHINING CITY by Conor McPherson. A guilt-ridden man reaches out to
a therapist after seeing the ghost of his recently deceased wife. âHaunting,
inspired and glorious.â â~NY Times. âSimply breathtaking and astonishing.â
~Time Out. âA thoughtful, artful, absorbing new drama.â ~Star-Ledger. [3M,
1W] ISBN: 978-0-8222-2187-6
DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE, INC.
440 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10016 212-683-8960 Fax 212-213-1539
postmaster@dramatists.com www.dramatists.com
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