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Scene 22 By Sarah Lubin
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Doug put the car into the next gear. He turned down the stereo, which
played a Aerosmith song, and glanced at Tom, who was sound asleep.
“Finally.” mumbled Doug. He noticed that Tom’s head was in an
uncomfortable position and when the poor guy woke up, he was going have
a pain in the neck. Doug gently pushed Tom’s head up.
“Stop it.” mumbled Tom. He opened his eyes and glared at Doug.
Doug shrugged. “Didn’t want you to whine about a pain in the neck.”
“I’d rather whine about what a pain in the ass you are.” said Tom as he
rubbed his temples. He looked out the window and saw a vaguely familiar
warehouse. “Stop the car.”
Doug looked at Tom. “What?”
“Stop the car.” said Tom. He shot a look that meant trouble at his best
friend.
Doug nodded and stopped the car. He watched, in silence, as Tom got out
of the car. Doug took the key out of the ignition and walked over to
where Tom was standing.
Tom felt hot tears sting his eyes. He found a rock next to his foot and
picked it up. Tom hurled the rock at one of the windows at the
warehouse. The window shattered. “Stupid son of a bitch.” He picked up
another rock and threw it at another window. He missed the window. Tom
hurled a piece of metal at the warehouse, swearing incoherently. He had
tears running down his face. “I hate you.”
Doug touched Tom’s shoulder. “Tom?” whispered Doug.
“I hate you.” said Tom. He turned around and began pounding his fists
on Doug’s chest. “I hate you! Look what you did to me!” Tom began
yelling and screaming at Doug, who just listened to the hateful words
that Tom said.
Doug grabbed Tom’s wrist after a few minutes. Tom was still yelling and
he began to struggle against Doug’s grip.
“Let me go, you son of a bitch!” cried Tom.
Doug’s grip on Tom’s wrist grew tighter. He ignored Tom’s yelling
because he knew that Tom was oblivious of who he was yelling at and the
insults weren’t directed at Doug.
“I hate you.” whispered Tom. He dropped to his knees and sobbed. “I
hate you.” he said in a cracked voice.
Doug let go of Tom’s wrist. “Tom...are you alright?” He knelt down
next to Tom and put a hand on his shoulder. “Tom?”
“Get away from me.” said Tom as he violently shook Doug’s hand off his
shoulder. He looked up at Doug with tears pouring down his face. “What
happened to me?”
Doug pulled Tom into a hug as Tom was overcome by sobs. He looked at
the warehouse and said a silent pray for his friend.
****
Dorothy looked up at Doug. “Come on! We’re going to be late!” She
twisted her hair in a bun and pinned it with the bobby pin in her
mouth. “Doug!”
Doug peeked over the rail. “I’ll be there in a second.” He looked in
the mirror and tied his tie. “Where’s Clavo?” He groaned at the tie
and threw it on the ground.
“Right here, daddy.” said Clavo. He walked out of his room with a pair
of nice blue jeans and a navy blue blazer.
Dorothy smiled. “Well, look at what a little man you are.” She knelt
down in front of Clavo and saw a smudge on his face. “Hang on.” She
took out a napkin and licked it. Dorothy wiped Clavo’s face. “All
better.”
“Ewww!” shrieked Clavo with a giggled. He looked at Doug, who was
coming down the stairs in tan dress pants, a white shirt, and a navy
blue dress shirt. “Daddy! What happened?”
“Funny, Clavo.” said Doug with a smirk. He stuck his tongue out and
picked up Clavo.
Dorothy giggled. “You look very handsome, Douglass.” said Dorothy. She
looked at her watch and took out her car keys. “Come on, we’re going to
be late.”
“For what?” said Doug. A smile crept across his face.
Dorothy nudged him in the stomach. “Come on! We’re suppose to be at
Orlando’s at seven!”
“Hang on.” said Doug. He rushed upstairs and grabbed his house keys.
He looked up and saw a picture of himself with Harry and Murphy. The
picture was taken in 1992.....the year Murphy had graduated high
school. Harry and Doug were in suits and Murphy was dressed in a
strappy sky blue dress with white eyelet and black platform shoes that
had crisscross staps. Her hair was in a bun with some hair hanging
out. Doug was wearing Murphy’s graduation cap and Harry was holding her
little scroll. Next to the picture was a poem written in Murphy’s
neatly printed script. Doug looked at it.
My mother said I could be famous like Fred Astaire.
But I never cared.
My father said I could be like George Washington, honest and true.
But I never would.
My mother said I was like a star in the midnight sky
All alone and ready to cry.
My father said nothing, but he cared for me so.
I never got to say goodbye.
I never told him so.
My mother said I would be a wonderful person when I grew up
When my pain would melt away.
My father died so sudden, without any pain.
How come I have to die in such shame.
Mom, how come everything hurts so much?
How come it just can’t end?
Why do I have to indure this pain
until my life will end?
Mom, why did Dad have to go some quickly?
How come it can’t end like that?
Why do I have to leave so slowly and painfully?
Why can’t I just fall asleep and
let the pain go away?
No one will find me in this hell hole.
A life like mine has it’s toll.
You try to do right, but one thing goes
wrong.
You try to fix it, but everything has been buried
in this hell hole.
Mommy, my stomach hurts with such pain.
Why couldn’t Daddy feel the same?
Mommy, can’t you hear me crying to you?
Daddy, can’t you tell her to come find
me in this room?
Why can’t someone hear my crying?
Can’t anyone feel my pain?
My mother said I could be famous like Fred Astaire.
My father could never say what I could be
until this day....
Mommy, Daddy....I’m sorry.
I’m just another fallen angel, like the rest.
I’ll never be famous like you wanted me to,
but I’ll be there for you.
The End
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Email: kale@localaccess.com
