By now you may be getting tired of seeing so much poetry on these pages. So a change of pace is in order. Here then, for your reading pleasure, I offer you Scenes From A Café – Three one-act plays.
Scene One – Why did you lie to me?
“Why did you lie to me?” the girlfriend asked.
“I didn’t mean to. It just happened,” the boyfriend answered.
“All those times you were telling me how much you loved me, you were seeing another.” Why did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t mean to. It just happened. I told you already.”
“And when you begged me never to leave, when you made me swear that I would always be at your side, you were holding on to another. Why did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t mean to. It just happened. Let it go, get over it.”
“All those times that you were in bed with me, making love to me, you were also in her bed, making love to her. Why did you lie to me?’
“I DIDN’T MEAN TO. IT JUST HAPPENED,” the boyfriend replied in an exasperated manner.
“For god’s sake baby, how many times will I have to answer the same stupid question? What are you trying to do to me here? I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”
I saw the girlfriend get up from the table. She seemed small and frail - vulnerable. I saw her reach inside her purse, fumbling around, looking for something – then she founded it and I panicked.
Out of her purse the girlfriend pulled out a small handgun. The sunlight filtering through the café’s large windows caught the gun’s barrel, making it glimmer in the late afternoon sun. The gun was so new and shiny that it almost looked like a toy. Then in an instant, before I or anyone else could do anything, a bright flash eclipsed the sun. The loud shot that followed after the flash momentarily drowned the incessant chattering.
“I guess you won’t have to answer anymore,” the girlfriend said, her voice totally devoid of emotion. She then returned to her seat at the table while two dozen cell phones simultaneously dialed 9-1-1.
Hours later, back at police headquarters, two burly cops stood over the girlfriend. In their presence, she looked tiny, like a little girl called to the Principal’s office to explain why her homework was not done.
“OK lady; let’s do this one more time. Don’t lie to us, or it will get worse; understand lady?”
In a barely audible voice the girlfriend responded, “Yes sir, I do.”
“Why did you shoot your boyfriend?”
She looked up, looked at one cop first and then looked at the other. After pausing she responded.
“I didn’t mean to. It just happened. How many more times do I have to repeat myself?”
Scene Two – Why didn’t you protect me?
“Why didn’t you protect me?” The young woman asked.
The question was asked in a loud enough voice that several of the café’s patrons, myself included, stopped what we were doing and looked in the direction of the speaker.
A young woman, wearing blue jeans, a pale pink top and grey sport shoes, was seated at the table by the corner. She was sitting at a slight angle away from me so it was hard to see her features and gauge her age. Her long hair was blonde and it was tied in a neat pony tail. From what I could see of her face, she had generous lips; her nose tilted slightly up at the tip giving her an almost playful look. She wore no make-up which only enhanced her natural beauty. In her hands, the young woman held a paper napkin that she was busily tearing up, strip by strip.
The young woman’s coffee companion was dressed in a short, dark blue dress which made her look older, but not by a lot, than her young companion. Her short blonde hair was neatly cut - her bangs were perfectly trimmed and in place. She wore a double-strand pearl necklace that stood in sharp contrast to the dark blue dress. She wore make-up, but not enough to look overdone. There were enough physical similarities between the two women that they could have passed for sisters - or mom and daughter.
“I did the best I could,” said the older of the two in an almost equally loud voice. “Things were not that easy for me either. You have no idea of what I was dealing with.”
“It doesn’t matter,” replied the younger woman, her voice dropping to an almost imperceptible level. “You are my mom, you were supposed to protect me mom. Instead you let him hurt me.”
By now most of the café’s patrons had lost interest in the two women and all had returned to their lattes and chatter. Only I continued to be fascinated by them. I took a sip from my cup and continued to listen to this private family drama being played out in such a public place.
“Mom, it is not just that you didn’t protect me,” continued the young woman, “but when I finally got enough courage to tell you, you called me a liar and even worse.”
“Honey, why can’t you let it go, it is all in the past now.” The tone of the mom’s voice was oddly cold and detached – there was no feeling or emotion behind the woman's words to her daughter. Given what the subject of their conversation was, I looked for some hint of emotion in the mother’s voice; I found none. Perhaps this was the mother’s defense mechanism to help her cope with the immensity of the crimes her daughter charged her with or perhaps she really was a cold, uncaring parent.
The mother spoke in an almost mechanical monotone, as if these were words that she had rehearsed so often that by now they had lost all feelings. As the mother spoke, her hands clutched the cup in front of her – she never raised her eyes, even while speaking directly to the daughter.
“Damn it mom, I’ve had to live with the memories of what your husband did to me, not a day goes by that I don’t think about it. It may have been years ago for you, but in my head it is still happening today.”
“Well, maybe that is why you are so upset,” said the mother in an almost flippant tone. “Let it go, learn to forget, move on. You have to…”
Even before the mom finished speaking the daughter banged the table with closed fists, once again attracting the attention of the café goers. I looked over at the young woman. She had turned slightly and I could see all of her face. She had beautiful blue eyes that shone look like cool mountain lakes. On her face, I could see the outlines of the ancient, pent up anger bubbling to the surface. She leaned forward until she was directly face to face with her mother.
The daughter took the mom’s face and held it on her hands. For a moment I feared that the young woman would do something foolishly violent. I put down my cup of coffee, ready to leap at the first sign of trouble. Fortunately, the young woman seemed content with just holding her mom’s face.
“At least do me the courtesy of looking up while I talk to you mom.”
The mom did not reply.
“Let it go? You want me to let it go? You have no heart. It is so easy for you to tell me to ‘let it go.’ That is because it wasn’t you who was being made to do all those awful, vile thing. Could you even begin to understand the hell I went through?”
“I know how you must have felt.”
“Goddamn it mom, you will never know what I felt every time that your husband walked into my room, locked the door and got into my bed – the one place in the entire world where a kid is supposed to feel and be safe. Sure ‘forget about it’ that’s so easy for you to say.”
As the young woman’s fury spent itself out her words began to trail off. She was no longer leaning forward holding her mother’s face up. Instead, the young woman buried he face in her own hands and began to sob quietly.
“Please, people are staring. We really should finish this somewhere else.”
In the flash of a second, the anger returned – full blown and scary in the power of its fury.
The young woman spoke, in slow, measured tones as if engaged in a struggle with her emotions – trying hard to maintain her composure.
“I won’t keep it down. I won’t be polite. I won’t be proper. I won’t let you hide YOUR shame. I don’t care who hears me or who finds out. I can’t live another day carrying a cross that you should be carrying for me mom.”
“For God’s sake, he is dead and six feet underground. Come on, let’s go home and we can talk all you want.” The mother reached across the table and touched her daughter’s hand. The young woman stiffened up and jerked her hands away from her mom – she looked like she had just been bitten by a venomous snake.
“Damn you, don’t try to touch me. He may be dead and buried, but I still have the scars.”
“Come on, let’s just go home.”
“Home, mom? The same home where your husband molested me mom? The same home where your husband abused me mom? The same home where your husband made me do things children should never have to even imagine in their worst nightmares mom? You really want me to return to THAT home mom? Is that the home you want me to go back to so we can just ‘talk things out?’ Why did God even let you have me? You should have just aborted me, killed me in the womb; you would have done me a kindness mom - my pain would have been far more bearable.”
The daughter looked at her mom as the mom laid slumped over the café table; she looked as if some huge weight had been lifted off her shoulder. The daughter went on.
“I won’t go to that home until you can answer me this one question mom. Why didn’t you protect me?’”
The mother sad reply had not changed, “I did the best I could.”
As her mother spoke her empty words, the young woman stood up. I heard her say “Good bye mom,” and then she headed towards the exit, right in my direction.
When the young woman headed towards the exit she strode forward with purposeful steps. Out of consideration for her pain, I tried to look away. But she held my gaze almost taunting me to look at her – her defiant bravery held my attention. I noticed that her face looked different – somehow the daughter seemed younger, happier. As she walked past I could see that her eyes were clear and dry.
In another instant she stepped into the boulevard’s sidewalk and was gone forever – I never saw her again.
After a while, I looked back in the direction of her mom. She now got up from the table and headed for the exit. Her steps were slow and shuffling. She seemed to have aged considerably; she had wrinkles that I had not noticed when I first saw them. As the mother walked past me, she turned to face me. Her eyes were red and swollen from all the crying.
She briefly stopped and said, to no one in particular. “I did the best I could. I really tried to protect her.”
Then she stepped into the sidewalk and was gone – I never saw her again either.
Scene Three – Why didn’t you tell me sooner?
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” The man asked.
The man asking the question appeared to be in his mi-thirties. He was handsome, but not in a pretty-boy manner. He wore a neatly pressed grey pin-stripped suit, a white shirt, a regimental tie and highly polished black shoes. The man’s short hair was neatly combed, with subtle patches of grey at the temples. Judging by his manner of dress and the measured tones of his voice, the man could have been any of the hundreds of lawyers, investment bankers or insurance executives who thronged the office buildings on either side of the boulevard. The man and the woman sat, facing each other, at a table near a corner of the café – away from the noisy crowd.
“I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t sure how you would take the news – I was afraid that you…” The man quickly interrupted, not giving the woman a chance to finish her answer.
The woman was equally well-dressed, but in a casual way. The woman’s simple A-line sunny, yellow sleeveless dress fitted her to a T. Although she was not slender in the manner of a starving-fashion manner, she was nevertheless in obvious good shape. Her skin had a deep, golden tan and her bare arms were firm without being over muscular. Her features were partly hidden by a shock of wavy, light brown hair that cascaded down to her bare shoulders. The woman was younger than the man, but not by a lot.
“My God this is wonderful news. What did you think my reaction would be?”
He reached for her, took her hands in his and kissed her finger tips. His gesture was quaint, even old-fashioned, like you would expect in a Cary Grant movie. She smiled at him, a big, bright smile that lit up the corner of the café where they both sat.
.
“But about your plans? This will affect them, even delay them” When the woman asked these questions the light suddenly went out of her smile. It was as if the cold, dusty moon had moved across the sun, eclipsing its light and diming its warmth.
“This will put everything on hold. We both know that things will change.” As she spoke, the woman pulled her hands away from the man and folded them over her lap.
“Look, I will find a way, we will find a way. This is the best news ever.” The man reached forward, held the woman by her shoulders pulled her unto him, across the table, and kissed her – the man held the kiss for a long time.
“So you are OK with this?” the woman asked after the man released the hold of his kiss enabling the woman to sit down again. “You are not angry? Or even a little upset?”
“Am I OK? Am I angry? Am I upset? What are you, crazy?” The man laughed. “Why do you even ask me these questions?”
“I don’t know. I guess I believed you all those times when you said that you didn’t want to this, that you didn’t want to be tied by anything or anyone. I was scared about what you would do.”
“I am sorry – I am very happy. We’ll make new plans, you will see.” As he spoke the man once again reached for the woman’s hands, which were again holding her cup of coffee.” The woman did not pull back.
“I love you,” the woman said in a whisper. “I want you to be happy with this; I want us to be happy.”
“We will be happy, I promise. Now let’s go and celebrate the good news.”
The man stood up, reached into his pocket and pulled a few bills which he then placed on the table. He took the woman’s hand and helped her out of her chair.
Together, holding hands they stepped outside the café. Her head rested on his shoulder, her long hair was draped over both of them, like a mantilla.
I couldn’t hear what they were saying as they walked out the door. But judging by their loving glances I was certain that what was going on between the two of them at that moment was good – very good indeed.
As the happy couple left the café, they walked past another couple headed in the opposite direction - a woman dressed in a dark blue dress and her younger companion, dressed in blue jeans and a pink top.
As they passed each other, the man paused for a moment. He momentarily let go of his companion and in a moment of unrestrained joy grabbed the woman in the blue dress and held her in a hug. If the woman in the blue dress was offended by the man’s hug, she said nothing about it. As the young woman in the blue jeans and a pink top looked on, the man exclaimed.
“I am having a baby…we are having a baby, my wife and I are having a baby. Please I am sorry that I hugged you…,” his words trailed off and I was not able to hear the rest of his explanation.
After the man released the woman from the hug, he went back to his companion.
The man in the grey suit and the woman in the yellow dress happily walked down the boulevard.
The woman in the dark blue dress and her companion in jeans and a pink top walked inside the café and sat at a corner table.
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