SCENE 1
(Black out. Sound of a ventilator. Fade up on LEAH
sitting in the hospital room. JEFFREY lies in bed,
hooked up to the ventilator. CLAIRE enters with a
wheeling suitcase, purse and a poster.)
LEAH
Hi. (Rises to hug CLAIRE. Ventilator sound fades away.) How was your trip?
CLAIRE
(Hugs LEAH, conspicuously angling herself so she
doesn’t touch her pregnant belly.)
(flustered) I almost missed my train getting the poster. Jeffrey said no sunsets—all they had were
sunsets. And beaches. He said no beaches too, right?
LEAH
I don’t know. I thought he wanted animals.
CLAIRE
Yeah, he said monkeys, but the sales guy only had baboons. There weren’t any samples so I just
grabbed this one− (She unrolls an obscene poster of baboons and their pink butts.) Oh. (beat)
You think it’s too…?
LEAH
It’s better than those damn balloons. I’m sure he’ll have a good laugh when he’s off the
ventilator.
CLAIRE
Let’s put it up where he can see it. Is there any surgical tape?
LEAH
Over there. You should say hello to him.
CLAIRE
I know, I will; just let me hang it first. I want him to see it and smile.
(They hang the poster on the armoire. CLAIRE
approaches JEFFREY’s bedside and touches him.)
CLAIRE
Hey Jeffrey…is it ok if I touch you? You’ve probably been poked and prodded to death. God,
I’m sorry. (to LEAH) Why are his eyes so glassy?
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CLAIRE
You’re doing so well. You’ll be off this in a couple days. (to LEAH) That’s what the doctor said,
right? (to JEFFREY) Just hang in there, you’re doing great.
1
LEAH
He’s sedated so he doesn’t fight the machine. But the nurse said he can hear us talking.
LEAH
Mom and Dad went to get coffee; they’ll be back any minute.
CLAIRE
I’m armed and ready. (She takes her gym bottle from her purse, makes a “cheers” motion and
takes a slug.)
LEAH
You’re…fully hydrated?
CLAIRE
It’s vino. Keeps it chilled.
(MOM and DAD enter; both are estranged from
CLAIRE. MOM gives CLAIRE a suffocating hug.)
MOM
Claire…you’re here.
CLAIRE
Hi Mom…Ok…Mom, you’re grabbing−
MOM
It’s been so long.
CLAIRE
Mom, you’re…stop, you’re hurting my neck!
DAD
(reserved and formal) Hello Claire.
MOM
David, some manners? Give your daughter a hug. I swear if I didn’t put a meal down in front of
your father he’d try to gnaw through a tin can.
(DAD leans in for the obligatory hug with their
torsos angled toward each other, but clearly avoids
touching. MOM looks quizzically at the baboons.)
MOM
Where did this come from?
LEAH
Jeffrey wanted some funny animal posters…
MOM
We can’t have naked pictures hanging in here. He has friends visiting from shul.
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MOM
2
LEAH
They’re primates, Mom; it’s not exactly Penthouse.
(MOM takes the poster down.) Well, he can take it home with him if he wants. Claire, how have
you been?
CLAIRE
Fine.
MOM
And…your work? (struggling for conversation) Leah said you’re editing, a newsletter or something?
CLAIRE
A book.
MOM
Your train ride here was ok?
CLAIRE
Yup.
MOM
Well, the last time your father and I took Amtrak, we rode backwards the whole way. I thought
we should drive here but he doesn’t like me sitting in one position for so long.
DAD
Not with your varicose veins, Naomi. And since you won’t wear the support hose …
MOM
They’re like a sausage casing. Did you girls bring warm clothes? They keep it so cold in here.
Layers, that’s what they say, right?
LEAH
(annoyed) Mom…
MOM
Well, if either of you needs a sweater I packed extras. (She arranges JEFFREY’s sheet.) His
color looks good, doesn’t it, David? And he’s gaining back some weight.
DAD
Well, I think that’s probably swelling in his legs.
LEAH
Mom, I thought you wanted to wash Jeffrey’s hair?
MOM
I’m glad you reminded me; I brought him that new dry shampoo. (She rummages through her
purse.) It’s in here somewhere… (She unwraps it from two plastic bags.)
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MOM
I didn't want it to spill all over and ruin my purse. Let me run to the bathroom first.
3
LEAH
Why do you have to triple wrap everything in plastic?
(MOM exits to the bathroom.)
LEAH
It's dry shampoo, for God’s sake. You know how long it takes plastic bags to decompose in a
landfill? I will forever think of Mom and the sound of rustling plastic as one and the same.
MOM
(from the bathroom) Do you think it’s safe to drink the water from the tap?
LEAH
(chiding) Omigod, she asks me that every time she comes to our apartment, like you need those
purification tablets in New Jersey. (to MOM) Mom, it’s a hospital; I don’t think the water’s
contaminated.
DAD
Your mother’s stomach is giving her trouble. She’s just being cautious.
LEAH
Dad, we live in a concrete jungle, not the jungle.
MOM
(Mom enters.)
Claire, did you wash your hands? They have that Purell dispenser on the wall. You have to use it
every time you go in and out.
CLAIRE
I saw the sign, Mom.
MOM
You washed both hands?
CLAIRE
Well you can’t really wash just one. And I wiped front to back so we’re good.
LEAH
Why does everything degenerate to bathroom humor in this family within five minutes? It’s like,
six degrees of defecation.
CLAIRE
I think Jeffrey was the inspiration for that as a kid with his explosive farts.
MOM
Don’t make fun of your brother. He had IBS.
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LEAH
4
CLAIRE
Yeah, that’s what they call it now. Back then he was just one smelly bastard. He’d let one rip on
cue just to torture us. (Sound of a fart from JEFFREY.)
(to JEFFREY) Remember how you’d fart up a storm in the back seat of our old Chevy Malibu?
That infamous car with the back windows that didn’t open.
CLAIRE
Yeah, you and I would make SOS signals to passing drivers. I think if we had a car with better
air circulation we would have had a much happier childhood.
DAD
And then perhaps you wouldn’t feel the need to blame your parents for everything?
MOM
Claire, how is your dog doing?
CLAIRE
Oh, that’s nice of you to ask. Stella’s good; she’s still feisty at 14, getting into everything.
LEAH
STELLLAAA! (mimicking Stanley in Streetcar Named Desire)
CLAIRE
That’s her namesake.
LEAH
I like human names for dogs.
CLAIRE
There are two pugs on my block named Richard and Barbara.
MOM
Now that is ludicrous.
CLAIRE
What’s even weirder is my neighbor has a yappy chihuahua named Lucy, which is fine, but I met
her parents and her mother’s name is Lucy. What if I called and said, “Hey dad, I just got a pit
bull and named him David.”
LEAH
Stella’s been ok since the seizure?
CLAIRE
Yeah, the MRI was clear so−
DAD
(incredulously) You...you got your dog an MRI?
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DAD
Obamacare will be repealed, but your dog, baruch hashem, is covered.
5
CLAIRE
Yes, I got her an MRI. She has health insurance.
CLAIRE
You hate dogs so I don’t expect you to understand.
DAD
I don’t hate them. I was a mailman during medical school; I had a few run-ins.
CLAIRE
Then why did you disappear our cat?
DAD
Why did I what?
CLAIRE
The neighborhood cat I fed and sat with outside? (Dad looks blankly) The one I dressed in a
wedding gown for Purim? When we went with mom to Aunt Janet’s wedding in Chicago you
were supposed to feed her and when we got back the cat was gone.
DAD
I don’t know about that. It was a street cat. But I let you have that guinea pig.
LEAH
(jovial) Puddles!
MOM
Aptly named because he’d crawl onto my lap and pee.
LEAH
Remember how I used to wash him in the tub…
DAD
Ugh, don't remind me…
LEAH
And then when you took your bath at night, Puddles’ poop would rise up from the drain.
CLAIRE
We could hear the shriek followed by frenzied splashing all the way downstairs.
DAD
That I can’t forget. (Looks at his watch) The attending should have made rounds by now.
I want to go check on Jeffrey’s labs.
Page
MOM
(Strokes JEFFREY’s face) When you were on TV, I went to Diane’s house next door because
they have cable. Six hours I watched that show, the C-SPAN, to get a glimpse of you. You
looked so handsome in your suit and tie. Well, your clip-on tie. It was a little crooked but I’m
sure no one noticed but me. And Diane. And your grandmother called to say what’s with his tie,
he can’t be on the 9/11 Commission with a mashugana tie. Maybe you could wear one of your
6
Scene 14
(MOM enters.)
grandfather’s old bowties next time. I showed Diane the book you wrote—it has such a long title,
I can never remember. Goldstein… Goldwaser? Goldwater, that’s it. The Goldwater Nichols
Act; Reorganizing the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I still can’t believe your grandmother proofread that
manuscript with her arthritic hands. I’d call at night to check on her and she’d say, “Not now;
I’m in the middle of restructuring national defense.” (beat) Oh, I brought it so you can autograph
the book for me. I made a little shelf to display it at home.
(She retrieves the book and a pen from her purse.
She gives Jeffrey the pen and holds the book up for
him. He tries to hold the pen but he’s too weak.)
Here, let me help you.
(She places the open book on his chest, holds his
hand and guides the pen.)
J…that’s good—make the loop at the bottom, like a candy cane. I remember when I tried to
teach you the letters and you weren’t interested because you’d already written your own
language. That’s when I knew I had a genius on my hands. Good, one more F and you can rest.
(She looks at the book.) Jiff. It’s ok, honey. I’ll think about the three years you refused to eat
anything but peanut butter and jelly. (beat) (She hugs him and puts her head on his chest.
JEFFREY wraps his arms around her.) You have to get better so the chemo can work.
Scene 15
(DAD enters.)
MOM
The girls went out to have a bite. Leah asked if maybe we want to speak to the chaplain. She
thought, you know, to talk to someone.
DAD
You can talk to Rabbi Shulman at home. You like him, don’t you?
MOM
Of course. It’s just… his thing is to dig down deep, you know—muster your strength to fight.
DAD
So, what’s wrong with that?
MOM
Well, it’s not always−
DAD
What do you want to hear? The opposite?
Page
DAD
And still he got a perfect score on the SATs. Remember, he forgot to get you a mother’s day
present that year, so he promised you a 1600 instead.
7
MOM
I don’t know. I just don’t understand this. He’s such a good boy. (beat) I’m sure he wants the
covers off. He used to hate the sheets tucked in. (She adjusts the covers to expose his legs.)
Bedtime was always such a struggle with him. I’d move his bed away from the wall and ten
minutes later I’d hear him from downstairs, rocking and banging his head.
MOM
And then for my birthday he promised he’d get into Harvard…
DAD
I prodded him to change his essay about the person he admired most—I said I’m not sure the
Harvard admissions committee knows who Maimonides is—but he stuck to his guns.
MOM
He had a way with words. I’ll never forget that crash as he carried a stack of my good china to
the table for Thanksgiving. The Limoges. What was he, five? He came back empty handed and
said, “Plates gone.”
DAD
(beat) I have a confession to make; I promised Jeffrey I’d tell you. (beat) Remember when I took
you dancing for our 20th anniversary, and said I’d been secretly taking lessons? Jeffrey was
teaching me in the basement. He watched videos on the computer—I didn’t even know how to
use the internet—and he, he even dressed up like a woman so I could learn how to lead.
MOM
(laughing) He did not.
DAD
He raided your closet for heels and a dress, swiped on some of your makeup and we snuck
downstairs to practice. Remember he told you we were lifting weights in the basement on
Wednesday nights?
MOM
I always wondered why you were working out to Wagner.
DAD
You were so gullible—I always loved that about you.
MOM
(She laughs, emits a shocking deep cough, then gets nauseous.) David, I don’t feel well. Get me
a bucket; hurry, a garbage can, something…(DAD grabs a bedpan from under the bed. She
vomits in it.)
Promise me I won’t be on a ventilator. I mean, unless you think there’s a chance. But I don’t
want to be in a hospital or a, a…facility. You can put a hospital bed in the den. Just make sure it
faces the window so I can see the garden, ok? And call my friend Louise. I’ll put her number on
the fridge, next to the DNR. She was a nurse and she’ll know how to…you know…I don’t want
you washing me or anything. But make sure I have my beret on when she comes; I don’t want
her seeing me without hair. I put enough food in the freezer for the next month−
DAD
Page
MOM
Well, I have to. You don’t even know how to use the microwave…
8
Don’t worry about that now−
DAD
I didn’t realize it needed to be plugged in. Now I know.
MOM
I want to make sure you’re eating. (beat) I think Leah will be OK; she’ll have the two kids to
keep her busy, but Claire, I don’t know. Will you look after her?
DAD
She doesn’t want anything from me.
MOM
She thinks we hurt her. (beat) Did we? Hurt her?
DAD
Are you asking me something?
MOM
(sentimental) I was looking through our albums last week. There’s a picture of the two of you
with her arms draped around your neck like you’re her boyfriend—she’s five, maybe. Five going
on fifteen. She thought you were the most amazing person on the planet. But after that I couldn’t
find another picture of you together…
DAD
So what are you saying?
MOM
I don’t know…I don’t understand why you stopped being close because she was so playful with
you. Tickling fights and that cowboy and horse game on your lap. (beat) That was a game…
wasn’t it?
DAD
What else would it be?
MOM
It’s just…that time I went shopping and the car stalled down the street so I walked home. When I
came in (nervous and hesitant) she was sitting…on…you…her legs…she, she was…straddling−
DAD
What did you say?
MOM
Nothing. I mean, (nervous) you were playing, but she jumped up like she was being chased by a
pack of wild Indians. I sat in the green recliner with her and she clung to me sobbing. After that
she never let me hold her. I couldn’t understand why…
DAD
What?
Page
MOM
9
Did you take your antibiotic today?
DAD
I’ve always loved you, haven’t I?
MOM
Yes, but what’s that got to do with−
DAD
I found the oncologist who gave you that experimental radiation so you lived to watch the kids
grow up. When you wanted them to have two music lessons every week, I took on more patients
at the nursing home. And…and that terra cotta stone you wanted for the porch. I’ve given you
everything so do not question me. Now I asked if you took your medication.
MOM
The surgeon told me not to anymore.
DAD
(yells) I KNOW WHAT’S BEST AND I TOLD YOU TO TAKE IT! (evenly) Now go get me
some coffee, and when you return I expect you to have swallowed that pill!
(MOM exits.)
You know I have always taken care of your mother. I am...I am a good man. I remember taking
you to your first little league game. Your mother stuffed your bag with food, sunscreen, first aid.
Probably some canned goods too in case there was a nuclear holocaust before you got home.
That knapsack was bigger than you were. You were so afraid of failing and sitting in the car
beforehand I said, just remember three things and you’ll be fine. Be brave, do your best, and I
love you. As we got out of the car, I said, Jeffrey, do you remember the three things? You
thought hard for a moment, turned to me and said “I forgot two of them, but you love me.” When
I pinned the flower on your lapel at your wedding, I got all choked up and you said, “Dad, I still
remember the three things.”
I knew when you needed stitches, not a Band-Aid. I knew Harvard was right for you, not Yale.
How could I not know this? What was I thinking, telling you to take antacids and stop eating
dairy. I thought it was an allergy or a…a virus. I’m going to retire when we get home.
(Dad retrieves a prayer book, stands opposite
JEFFREY and sings Ashamnu, a prayer of
forgiveness said on Yom Kippur and at one’s
deathbed. DAD hits his heart with his right fist on
each recitation as customary. On the second verse,
Jeffrey hits his heart simultaneously with DAD. See:
http://tinyurl.com/h7arpps, 00:46-2:08.)
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Don’t forget the three things.
10
Look, that stuff with your sister Claire...you, you know I’d never hurt her. Listen, I am, I can
explain. Listen to me. I−
(He leans in JEFFREY to touch him. JEFFREY
slaps DAD’s face. DAD freezes and hangs his head.
He puts the prayer book on the table and leaves.)