In The Mind's Eye

Part four: "BLOWING OUT"

BLOWING OUT

(a fragment, an unfinished play)

Act One

At rise WARREN stands alone down stage baby spotted.  The stage is otherwise black.  WARREN wears casual clothes, perhaps jeans, a T—shirt, an over-sized sport jacket with cuffed sleeves.  He's dressed too young for his age, in his fifties.

                                                WARREN

Excuse me for a second.  I wasn't sure what you asked.  (pause; he shrugs)  Did I ever wonder about it?  Personally?  Yes.  I did.  (long pause)  It is a wonder, isn't it? 

            Laughs.  Walks to extreme down stage, stares, then glares, as though he is fixed on a specific image.  He shrugs.

I've always hated mirrors.  Has anyone told you about that?  Probably not.  I've tried not to let anyone see me avoiding mirrors.  (pause)  It isn't easy, you know.  Being married.  It isn't easy when you're married. 

            Walks back upstage slowly, back to audience, raises both arms and shakes both hands.

I know.  I know.  You said it was a wonder.  (pause)    Yes.  I know.  Did I ever wonder?

That was it, wasn't it?  (pause)  No.  I don't wonder.  I know.  I think I've known about it as long as I've known about anything.  You know.  You never wonder about certain things.  Like what makes your nose itch.  Or your fingers.  You don't wonder about having them or what to do with them.  (pause)  But it might be a wonder.  It could be, couldn't it?

            Turns to the audience, suddenly stiffens and salutes.

I can remember being told that I did that.  I saluted MacArthur's picture in the window of a department store on a street in Philadelphia before I knew what a street in Philadelphia was or wondered what the people in uniforms really did for a living.  She told me that I did that and it was another reason people thought I was so cute.  That's what they said.  Can you believe that?  (pause)  Maybe that's something to wonder about.  People thinking I was cute.  And she telling me that they had told her that.  As though I might have asked her.  As though I really would want to know.  Maybe that's something to wonder about.  Why she kept telling me that.

            Stage dissolves to darkness, then up on set, upstage right.  A kitchen from the middle class Forties.  WARREN, age 7 and MOM, age 35.  It's mid-afternoon.  The two sit at right angles, facing their tea cups, WARREN facing the audience. A small dish of ginger snaps rests in the middle of the table.  MOM reaches and smoothes her hand across WARREN'S short hair.

                                                            MOM

You look so sad, dear.  (he ducks and stares at the cup)   Did you have a good time at school today?  (pause)   I heard about what Liam Doyle did.  Why didn't you tell me, dear?  You're such a good boy.  (pause)  Why didn't you tell me?

                                                            WARREN

It wasn't anything, Mom.  It was at school.  (pause)   What did they tell you, anyway?  I bet it was Mrs. Cale.  (pause)   It was, wasn't it?   (pause)    Nothing happened.  Everyone got excited, but nothing happened.