Author: Nicky Silver

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NO GOOD ANYWAY, BECAUSE YOU JUST KNOW YOU’LL END UP WITH A HUMP AND ALL YOUR DRESSES ARE GOING TO LOOK LONGER IN THE FRONT!! OF COURSE YOU CAN ALWAYS GET A KNAPSACK—BUT THEN, PEOPLE JUST THINK YOU’RE A LESBIAN!! I’D LIKE TO GET MY HANDS ON THE FILTHY, MISOGYNIST MOTHERFUCKER—I’D LIKE TO MURDER WHOMEVER THE PRICK WAS THAT INVENTED THE HANDBAG!!

(She composes herself a bit) I’ve strayed.

As I was saying, I was at Times Square when I realized that I’d forgotten my handbag. I start to feel a little dizzy. And nauseous. I hadn’t had anything to eat. I haven’t eaten in days—I don’t like to keep any food in the house because it attracts roaches and I just end up eating it when I shouldn’t. I hadn’t been hungry all week. But all of a sudden I was very hungry, famished, starved! I wasn’t sure if I could make it back to the diner on my corner without fainting. I had to eat something! I had sixteen cents in my pocket. So . . . I loitered at a hot dog stand. Now, I try not to eat hot dogs because of the nitrites, but at this point they weren’t hot dogs, they were IVs! They were plasma! They were bread and water! AND THEY COST A DOLLAR TWENTY-FIVE!

I tried looking sweet and pathetic, like the poster for Les Miserables: I let a tear come to my eye and looked to heaven . . . (She does so) But the man selling the hot dogs ignored me completely!

So I tried flirting with him. Subtly. I wet my lips and held my arms in a way that I thought accentuated my bust. (She does so) He smiled, at me, lewdly, and I saw that what few teeth he had in his head were the khaki color of dead leaves! I was dizzy and sick and swooning, but I wasn’t ready to sell myself to this fetid extortionist for a dollar twenty-five’s worth of pig snouts and feet!

I was sure there were other vendors, kinder souls who’d take pity on me . . . and so I headed south! Back to my corner, back to the diner, back to the hateful waiter and my purse. At first I kept my eyes on the pavement, searching all the while for a nickel, a dime—a subway token I could barter . . . . Then I noticed . . . my hand was out, in front of me . . . my palm was up. I wasn’t begging, per se. But if someone wanted to give me their spare change, who am I not to help them purge their guilt?! FORD DID THIS TO ME! HE REDUCED ME TO THIS! I HATE HIM!

But I did my best: groveling, begging, looking wan—but the competition was fierce! I was surrounded, on all sides, by people so disfigured by their misfortune I was certain I’d stumbled onto the set of a Fellini film! A woman on my right had no shoes. I felt badly for her, until I realized that a man on my left had no feet! He was chasing me on a skateboard, spitting and shouting at me in a language I didn’t recognize—but I gather I’d been working his turf—so I ran. I ran ahead, the traffic swimming in front of me! I no longer wanted to eat! I didn’t want to see Binky! I wanted my purse! And my key! And my bed! And a bath! I ran forward! Every block I survived was a victory! And then I made it!

It was across the street. Home! I was standing on the corner, surrounded by what seemed to be hundreds of children all wild and loud and out of control, and under the care of ONE adult with a badge from the Chelsea Day School. The sun was so hot! I was sure I standing under an enormous magnifying glass! And soot from the cars and buses was making me sicker and sicker! And we were all together, standing on the corner, waiting for the light to change. AND IT WOULDN’T! It would not! We stood for hours! We waited weeks and the fucking light WOULD NOT CHANGE! And then . . . it turned green—I KNOW IT TURNED GREEN! I KNOW IT! So I staggered, or stumbled or walked into the street and a car, FROM NOWHERE, came zooming at me! It was headed directly at me!! It was going to kill me!! I WAS GOING TO DIE!

It swerved! It swerved to the side! Onto the curb and all at once the children were screaming! SCREAMING! But I didn’t look back! I RAN! I couldn’t turn around! I RAN! Past the diner!! I don’t know what happened! I DON’T WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED! I RAN! STRAIGHT TO MY BUILDING AND HOME!

(Bea’s light returns.)

BEA (Simply): What do you think happened?

AMANDA: I don’t know.

BEA: You think someone was hit?

AMANDA: I said, I don’t know! I didn’t look.

BEA: Was it on the news?

AMANDA (With great bitterness): That light was green! I didn’t do anything wrong! I wasn’t driving the goddamn car! I didn’t do anything!

BEA: Maybe nothing happened.

AMANDA: I do not want to talk about this! This is not why I called you! My husband is gone and I haven’t eaten in a week and I don’t have a purse and THIS IS NOT WHY I CALLED YOU! YOU ARE NOT HELPING ME!

(A long pause. General lighting has returned, but it is a good deal dimmer.)

BEA: What are you wearing?

AMANDA: What? Why do you ask?

BEA: Answer the question.

AMANDA: A T-shirt.

BEA: Change your clothes.

AMANDA: My life is in a shambles and—

BEA: Change your clothes!

AMANDA: I fail to see how that—

BEA: You have a shorty nightgown?

AMANDA: Yes.

BEA: Put it on.