Parker's Pad

[Parker]

The Marsha Norman play 'Night, Mother was on my mind tonight ...

For those who dont know, 'Night, Mother is a play set in real time with no breaks - it is about a woman, Jesse (played my Sissy Spacek in the movie) who has lived with her mama, Thelma (played by Anne Bancroft) for years. She is disabled and cant work (epilepsy if I remember correctly) and she rarely, if ever, leaves the house.

Jesse decided to kill herself because her life is nothing and going nowhere. She isnt depressed or anything, she just feels that if this is all there is then she doesnt want to stay. The play is the 2 hours before she kills herself and she is spending that time getting the house in order, making lists, and mostly just explaining to her mama why she is doing what she is doing.

It has one of my favorite monologues in it - I actually pieced 2 into 1 to help that last paragraph, which is my favorite, make sense:

Mama, I only told you I was going to kill myself so I could explain it, so you wouldn't blame yourself, so you wouldn't feel bad. There wasn't anything you could say to change my mind. I didn't want you to save me. I just wanted you to know. Don't 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? That we could hold hands for an hour and then I could go shoot myself? I'm sorry about tonight, Mama, but it's exactly why I'm doing it. I'm not giving up! This is the other thing I'm trying. And I'm sure there are some other things that might work, but might work isn't good enough any more. I need something that will work. This will work. That's why I picked it.

Mama, listen. I am not your child, I am what became of your child. I 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 didn't 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 on 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 is no self-pity here) That's what this is about. It's somebody I lost, all right, it's 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 doesn't much matter what else happens in the world or in this house, even. I'm what was worth waiting for and I didn't make it. Me...who might have made a difference to me...I'm not going to show up, so there's no reason to stay, except to keep you company, and that's...not reason enough because I'm not...very good company. (A pause) Am I? Just let me go, Mama, let me go easy.

Mama, I know you used to ride the bus. Riding the bus, and it's hot and bumpy and crowded and too noisy, and more than anything else in the world, you wanna get off. And the only reason in the world you don't get off is it's still fifty blocks from where you're going. Well, I can get off right now if I want to. Because even if I ride fifty more years and get off then, it's still the same place when I step down to it. Whenever I feel like it, I can get off. Whenever I've had enough, it's my stop. I've had enough.