It's her fault. It's her fault. It's HER fault.

OLD WOMAN.

Don't you mean the doctors? Or your father? God, even?

YOUNG WOMAN.

I mean all of them. Collectively. Fuck 'em all. (she sits down on the floor at stage center)

OLD WOMAN.

Fine, fine, that's fair. (goes and sits on YOUNG WOMAN'S left, so that she can also lean against the bed frame) But, lemme ask you this: what do you do now?

YOUNG WOMAN.

She's gone. What can I do?

OLD WOMAN.

Tell me about it.

YOUNG WOMAN.

I used to be able to fit into her lap. Now she fits into the palm of my hand. That's…disconcerting.

(OLD WOMAN chuckles, and YOUNG WOMAN continues without really noticing)

YOUNG WOMAN.

You don't think about something like this. About death. When you're really young. I think some people don't even think about it when they're older. But it could be anything, anywhere, anytime, y'know? A speeding car, a tornado, a bottle of fucking pills, a brain giving up.

I just wanted to ask her what it was like. To be trapped inside that mess of useless flesh. What did she dream about? Is there a goddamn light at the end of the tunnel or do we do it blind, reaching our hands out into darkness and hoping for something solid? She could always tell me. She could always point me to where I needed to go. Even when she forced me to wear a dress, I would learn something. Now, I don't know. Now I'm beginning to think that the whole thing was made up, wasn't real, that it's an elaborate trick my memory takes sadistic pleasure in playing on me.

(She wraps her arms around her knees and begins first slowly to rock back and forth, then rocks further and further back until she's literally rolling around on the ground like an egg)

You should have seen me climb trees then. Like a monkey.

(She stops rolling suddenly, lying on her side, arms still wrapped around her knees, and stares out above the audience - a few beats go by before she goes on, now very much like a fifteen-year-old)

She had this helmet the doctors made her wear, because they removed a piece of her skull, to relieve the pressure or something. People stared at us when we took her out to eat and stuff. I wanted to punch them in their stupid fucking faces. I remember thinking once that I wished she'd just die, so it would be over, and I almost threw up when I realized what I'd thought. I wanted it over. Shit. I'm such a punk-ass. (chuckles, then addresses the OLD WOMAN) What would you have done?

OLD WOMAN.

Same as you, I imagine. But maybe I would have punched those people for staring. Who knows?

YOUNG WOMAN.

I'm trapped, you know.

OLD WOMAN.

I was beginning to suspect something like that.

YOUNG WOMAN.

I'm an adult. (as in chanting a mantra) I am an adult. I am an adult…

OLD WOMAN.

(said over the YOUNG WOMAN'S chant) You don't have to tell me.

YOUNG WOMAN.

…I am an ADULT! Dammit, you old bag, why are you here anyway?

OLD WOMAN.

You tell me.

YOUNG WOMAN.

Stop being Socratic. Ah ha! See! Big words. I am an adult. Now, why doesn't anyone love me?

OLD WOMAN.

That's a stupid question. Ask something else.

YOUNG WOMAN.

(whining) Don't call me stupid! I'm not stupid. I'm…conflicted. (she stands and walks to the fallen chair, picks it up with great care, and places it center stage) You should sit.

OLD WOMAN.

You first.

(YOUNG WOMAN sits in the chair, folds her hands in her lap, assumes the posture of a proper lady. The OLD WOMAN gets up and stands directly behind her, one hand on YOUNG WOMAN'S shoulder)

OLD WOMAN.

Look at her bed. (YOUNG WOMAN turns her head and looks) That, what you saw in the hospital room that day, you know what that was.

(pause)

YOUNG WOMAN.

Yes. No. No I'm not really sure.

OLD WOMAN.

Don't give me that crap. You know what that was.

YOUNG WOMAN.

No. Yes. Why…this… (she begins to cry quietly, though she tries to hold it back) This was her body, broken for me.

OLD WOMAN.

See, there. Guilt. That's why religion and death go so well together. They're masters of creating guilt in the living. Because what do the dead care of guilt?

YOUNG WOMAN.

What?

OLD WOMAN.

Did you kill your mother?

YOUNG WOMAN.

I don't--

OLD WOMAN.

(forcefully) Did you kill your mother?

YOUNG WOMAN.

(she yells this at the empty bed) Yes! Yes, goddamnit, yes!

(A long pause as the OLD WOMAN stands in shock, her hand moved slowly away from the YOUNG WOMAN'S shoulder. Enter MOM from audience, stage left. She walks silently down the aisle, steps up onto the stage, goes to the bed and lies down.)

YOUNG WOMAN.

(looking at MOM on the bed) I wanted…to know if I'd go on living if the place I came from was dead. If flesh was connected that way. She wouldn't tell me, and I'm starting to suspect that she didn't know.

MOM.

(motionless, from the bed) You never got to know me very well. How would you know what I knew? I understood a lot for a woman my age. You could have climbed into that bed with me and whispered questions into my ear all night and day, and in the morning I would have been filled with them, enough to keep me alive. I was a little girl, too, and I danced the Maypole and I played on the rocks and I went to Germany and bought a cuckoo clock.

OLD WOMAN.

That's all she knows.

YOUNG WOMAN.

That's all I know.

MOM.

So this is memory again?

YOUNG WOMAN.

I think so. Yes.

OLD WOMAN.

…she says with such authority.

MOM.

Where am I?

YOUNG WOMAN.

In a small box, near your parents. They wouldn't even give you back to the earth.

(YOUNG WOMAN rises from the chair and begins to walk slowly toward the bed. Each time she speaks she takes a step)

MOM.

What if I was claustrophobic?

YOUNG WOMAN.

How would I know?

MOM.

Did I do right by you?

YOUNG WOMAN.

(indicates OLD WOMAN with a flick of her head) Ask her. She's got more hindsight.

MOM.

So you didn't die at my age after all?

OLD WOMAN.

No. Not until much later. I always felt a little guilty about that.

MOM.

You didn't kill me.

OLD WOMAN.

I know. But try telling her that. (she indicates YOUNG WOMAN with her hand)

YOUNG WOMAN.

All I wanted was for you to be there. You didn't have to do anything. But I lost you completely. Not even an aunt or a grandparent.

MOM.

Get over it.

(pause)

(YOUNG WOMAN takes a slow step away from the bed, shocked, looks at OLD WOMAN, who's smiling serenely)

YOUNG WOMAN.

What did you--?

MOM.

I said, get over it. Move on. (she sits up in bed, legs over the side, facing YOUNG WOMAN) Memory isn't something that never happened. This is how it goes. It might be disease, suicide, accident, old age--doesn't matter. This is how it goes, sooner or later.

OLD WOMAN.

(moving again to stand directly behind YOUNG WOMAN, who is still motionless with shock) Take it with you, but don't let it crush you. You were, after all, pretty damn lucky.

YOUNG WOMAN.

Lucky?

OLD WOMAN.

To have had any time at all. And good time.

MOM.

(standing) And we learned about this…together. (pause) Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm not supposed to be here anymore. Not like this.

YOUNG WOMAN.

I miss you.

(MOM smiles, pauses, then moves slowly to and out the hidden door)

(OLD WOMAN goes back to the chair, picks it up and moves it to the far right of the stage)

OLD WOMAN.

Have you learned anything from her?

YOUNG WOMAN.

Probably. She is…she was a teacher. She had her ways.

OLD WOMAN.

So you'll stop throwing chairs eventually?

YOUNG WOMAN.

Eventually.

OLD WOMAN.

Good. (moves back toward YOUNG WOMAN but stops several feet short) Y'know, you remind me of someone I once knew…

YOUNG WOMAN.

Old flame?

OLD WOMAN.

(smirking) Old self.

(OLD WOMAN gives YOUNG WOMAN one last smile and then exits through the hidden door)

(YOUNG WOMAN stands still for a moment, takes a few steps toward the chair, stops, turns to face the bed, then lowers herself into a crouch, at an angle to the audience)

YOUNG WOMAN.

Well. (pause) There is so much more. Always so much more. But, I think, I can keep going from here. (pause, then YOUNG WOMAN stands up and addresses the audience dead on)

I'm in a very strange place right now. I should warn you. I've been like this for years now and I think my friends are starting to lose hope. They shouldn't, though. I haven't.

Anyway, this isn't the end. I won't let it be. You'll see.

(fade out)