Open Mic Night at Westminster Cemetery

by Mary Amato

  MRS. STEELE: I heard you screaming, Lacy Brink. Strike three! You are now officially Suppressed!

  A sickening, exhausted silence follows. Lacy feels as if the fog has returned, a thickness in the air that is making it seem difficult to breathe. She looks at Olivia, passed out, her hair covering her face.

  LACY: But my sister . . .

  MRS. STEELE (follows Lacy’s gaze): Your sister? Intoxicated . . . disheveled . . . reeking of alcohol . . . shameful! Two peas in a pod, I see. Well, she is not our concern, thank goodness. You are—

  LACY: I have to help her.

  MRS. STEELE: You are Suppressed. (She looks out at everyone with a satisfied smirk.) This whole ordeal is finally over!

  Lacy puts her hand on a nearby crypt to steady herself. Trying to process her own fate and her sister’s guilt and pain is too difficult. The stories of pain endured by Clarissa, Owen, Sarah, Peter, Virginia, Edgar, Sam, Henry, and, yes, Mrs. Steele are still ringing in her ears. Life seems impossibly complex. Her sister is tangled up in addiction and remorse, and there’s nothing Lacy can do about it. What comes after death? More fear? More hiding from the truth? A sad, beaten look comes over Lacy’s face. She says nothing.

  SAM (steps forward): Mother—

  MRS. STEELE: To sleep, all of you.

  SAM: Mother—

  MRS. STEELE: Samuel! I said, to sleep.

  LACY (closes her eyes): She’s right. Leave me alone, Sam. Go back to sleep—

  SAM: No. This cannot stand. Mother—

  LACY (exhausted): Sam, don’t get a strike for me.

  SAM: But Lacy—

  LACY: Sam, it’s too late.

  Billy puts his hand on Sam’s shoulder. Now that Lacy is Suppressed, Billy’s interest in her and his desire to thwart Sam are both moot.

  BILLY: She’s got the third strike, Sammy boy. We might as well go back to sleep.

  The self-centered interruption from Billy has a wonderful effect on Sam. It shows him exactly how he does not want to behave. Sam turns to Billy and looks him square in the eyes with confidence.

  SAM: Good night, Billy. Enjoy your sleep.

  Clueless, Billy shrugs and picks up his drumsticks and walks off. Without a confession or apology, he simply takes his bad deeds with him to his grave.

  [We, dear Reader, might even feel a little sorry for Billy at this point, for in choosing to be selfish, he has squandered the chance to expand his soul. But we will follow Sam’s gracious lead and bid Billy adieu and turn our attention where it deserves to be.]

  SAM (turns to Lacy): I have been a coward, Lacy. I’m sorry it took me so long to come forward—

  MRS. STEELE: Enough! Ever since this girl arrived, she has been—

  Sam brushes past his mother, walks to Lacy, and looks at her tenderly.

  SAM: Wonderful. Ever since you arrived you have been wonderful, Lacy.

  MRS. STEELE: Stop it—

  SAM (ignoring his mother): You have this way of lighting up the dark, Lacy. My soul feels connected to you. I know we haven’t known each other long and you might not feel the way I do, but I love you, Lacy. I don’t expect you to say anything in return, but I want to say it out loud—

  His words come to Lacy like colors in a dream. A knot of guilt rises in her throat. Nothing will change here, and all she has done is make it worse.

  LACY: Don’t, Sam. I screwed up. I put everybody at risk and—for what? Because I wanted to have an open mic? What good is opening up and expressing your emotions when all you get is more pain? When I first got here I thought the Sleepers were crazy for giving up, but now I think that’s smart. It’s too hard.

  She walks toward her grave.

  MRS. STEELE: Finally. A little reason. I, for one, am looking forward to the restoration of order.

  Sam stands tall. His voice rings out.

  SAM: Fuck the restoration of order.

  Lacy stops.

  Mrs. Steele looks at Sam. Her left eye is twitching imperceptibly. Her heart is racing. No one says a word. Then she turns her back to Sam and faces the group.

  MRS. STEELE: It has been a long night. I suggest that everyone go to bed.

  SAM (anger rises): I know you heard what I said, Mother. Go ahead, give me my third strike.

  Mrs. Steele steps close to Sam.

  MRS. STEELE (whispers): Don’t do this, Samuel.

  SAM (steps back): Rules are funny, aren’t they? People in power get to apply them—or not—as they see fit. People who aren’t in power are at the mercy of the rulemakers and the rule upholders.

  MRS. STEELE: You’re talking nonsense! The rules are the only things that we can control. Basic decencies keep us civil—

  SAM: Not if the rules themselves are flawed, Mother. Deep down, I think you know that. (Gently) You’re flawed. I am, too. We’re all flawed.

  That left eye won’t stop twitching. Mrs. Steele squeezes her eyes shut tight for a moment and then opens them again. Her son, standing before her, looks changed—older, but that’s impossible.

  MRS. STEELE: Samuel, how could you? I have tried all these years to protect you—

  SAM: I didn’t want that. How do you think it has felt for me to watch good people go under while I remained free? Do your duty, Mother. Give me my third strike.

  A curious thing is happening inside Mrs. Steele. She feels as if the invisible internal stitches that hold her soul to her body are unraveling and her soul is falling down inside the shell of her body. She has a thought—I am dying—while simultaneously being aware of the ridiculousness of that thought. Her body is starched and standing while the rest of her is in a puddle. Words come out of her mouth, and she doesn’t know how it is possible.

  MRS. STEELE: Samuel Steele, that is strike three.

  Lacy puts her face in her hands.

  Mrs. Steele sways on her feet, thinking that she is like one of those chickens at the market that would walk around for a few seconds after its head had been chopped off.

  Like the ghost he is, Henry Steele rises out of his grave, and a shudder runs through Mrs. Steele. With surprising tenderness, Henry goes to her and takes her hand.

  HENRY: I’m sorry for everything, Gertrude. For how you had to live and what it did to you.

  Anxious not to lose her composure, Mrs. Steele pulls her hand away. The last bit of starch that is holding up her body is evaporating. She tries desperately to stand tall.

  MRS. STEELE: I do not know what you’re talking about. (She turns to Lacy and Sam, avoiding Sam’s eyes.) You have both been given strikes. According to Rule 231, the Suppression is immediate and— (She turns to Owen.) Owen Hapliss, do your job.

  Everyone looks at Owen, who steps forward.

  OWEN: I will not.

  Now the world tilts and Mrs. Steele has to put her hand against the roof of the nearby crypt to catch her balance. Owen Hapliss has been firm ground on which she has been able to stand for more years than she can count.

  Edgar, who has risen from his hiding place behind a tombstone, applauds.

  MRS. STEELE (turning to Edgar): Who are you?

  EDGAR: Edgar Allan Poe.

  Clarissa Smythe steps out from behind her tombstone and stands next to Owen. Mrs. Steele presses her other hand against her stomach.

  MRS. STEELE: Owen Hapliss, strike three for refusing to do your duty. We clearly have souls here who need to be Suppressed. (She turns to Maria, her voice growing weaker.) Mrs. Clemm, I hereby proclaim that Owen Hapliss is relieved of his duties as Suppressor and that you appoint another in his place.

  Another silence. Maria steps over to join Owen, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  MARIA: I’m sorry, Gertrude. But no.

  Mrs. Steele looks from resident to resident. She doesn’t understand it. She has just sentenced her own son and the girl and Owen to Suppression. Instead of the hostile looks she was expecting from the others, they are gazing at her with a kind of soft sympathy. She doesn’t know what to make of it. The entire experience is dizzying.

  Lacy
, too, feels dizzy. Sam’s love is radiating toward her. She doesn’t want to return to her grave, but she doesn’t have the strength to fight. She sits on her bench, struggling for breath, as if she were trying to stay afloat in a deluge.

  And then, like a lifeline, a voice comes from just outside the cemetery gate. Lacy knows it immediately. It is her mother’s voice calling Olivia’s name.

  Lacy stands and looks.

  LACY: Mom.

  Deborah Brink is standing at the gate. She has left the house in a hurry, has thrown her coat over her pajamas and slipped on her black boots. Her eyes are red and her nose is running. Lacy always thought of her mom as solid and tough. Tonight she looks fragile and frightened, searching for sight of Olivia among the dark shapes of the tombstones and crypts.

  In the shadows near the back, Olivia hears her mother’s voice, too, and wakes.

  The Dead do not move.

  As Deborah pushes open the gate, Olivia doubles over and vomits. The mother hears something . . . she isn’t sure what . . . and she calls again. Quickly Olivia wipes her mouth and slips into a shadowy hiding space between the church wall and a crypt. She clutches her stomach and shivers more violently.

  Unable to see Olivia, Deborah walks in slowly, looks around, walks right past Lacy, and sits down on Lacy’s stone bench.

  She hasn’t been back to the cemetery since that day, over a month ago, when they brought Lacy’s ashes, a garden trowel, Lacy’s poetry journal, and a bouquet of flowers. They had come in the early evening, when it was still light enough to see but after the street had quieted. They picked the spot by the bench because the space around the bench had no other graves. The dirt was firmer than she thought, but they dug a hole and buried the ashes quickly, knowing they didn’t have permission. Deborah didn’t like the secrecy, but she didn’t know what else to do. She had looked at three other cemeteries, but they seemed like meaningless choices. After Olivia had mentioned that Lacy liked to write poems in this cemetery, Deborah had read Lacy’s poetry journal. In between a poem about school and one about music, she found one about Westminster being her only place of peace. The day of the burial, Deborah had brought the journal, intending to read that poem from it, but the whole thing was too hard. She stood and cried with a swollen throat, feeling like a failure. Olivia couldn’t speak either.

  The flowers were, of course, gone now. The groundskeeper assumed they had come from Poe’s grave—literature lovers sometimes left flowers at his grave—and he had raked them up the day after the burial.

  Deborah had driven past the cemetery several times since then, but she couldn’t stop. She felt guilty about driving on, but she couldn’t face it.

  Tonight she forced herself to come because she thought she’d find Olivia here. It was a hunch, but she was sure it was the right hunch.

  Now she is staring at the place where her youngest daughter’s ashes lie and wondering whether her oldest daughter is okay. One more time, she checks her cell phone, hoping to see a text from Olivia. Nothing.

  She looks at the ground and tries to see Lacy in her mind. For some reason, the picture that comes to her is of Lacy and Olivia at the dinner table. It was maybe a week before Lacy died. They were teasing each other about who deserved the last piece of garlic bread. None of them had any idea what was to come.

  She speaks, her voice barely a whisper.

  DEBORAH BRINK: Lacy . . . sweetheart . . . what am I going to do?

  LACY (softly): She’s here, Mom. It’s okay. Olivia is here.

  DEBORAH BRINK: If I lose both of you . . .

  Deborah starts to cry, and tears well in Lacy’s eyes.

  The Dead stand transfixed, silent.

  DEBORAH BRINK: We miss you so much, Lacy.

  LACY: I miss you, too.

  DEBORAH BRINK: It’s not fair.

  LACY: No. It’s not.

  A sob comes out of Lacy. Hearing these words from her mother releases something in her. She feels as if the pain that was too big for her to hold is now outside of her, in a space that is big enough to contain it.

  DEBORAH BRINK: I’m failing her. I failed you.

  LACY: No, you didn’t. It’s not your fault.

  DEBORAH BRINK: I got caught up in things. I didn’t listen. I shouldn’t have gone out that night—

  LACY: Don’t blame yourself. We can’t make perfect decisions when we don’t know what’s going to happen.

  DEBORAH BRINK: I’ve been sleepwalking through life, Lacy, ever since it happened. I go to work and get home and take a sleeping pill. I haven’t been there for Olivia. I woke up tonight and she was gone. I don’t even know where she is.

  Deborah’s tears flow. In the midst of her anxiety, she feels a sense of gratitude. She needed the push to come here. She needed to say all this.

  LACY: It’s not too late. It’s going to be okay.

  The exhaustion Lacy felt before is gone. Brimming with urgency, she runs to Olivia’s hiding place.

  LACY: Olivia, you have to come out and face this.

  SARAH (steps forward): They can’t hear you.

  Sam stops her. He knows that Lacy is responding instinctively. He’d do the same.

  Lacy is too engrossed to notice. She is focusing on Olivia, who is sitting on the ground, her head back against the church, her eyes closed, shivering uncontrollably, trying to stay silent.

  LACY: Liv . . . come out.

  Deborah wipes her face and stands. Lacy panics.

  LACY: No! Mom . . . don’t go! Liv needs you. She’s drinking too much. (She turns to Olivia.) Liv . . . you can’t hide. You can’t keep how you’re feeling a secret.

  Deborah bends down, kisses her fingertips, and presses them into the ground.

  DEBORAH BRINK: I love you, Lacy.

  Tears stream down Lacy’s face. She watches helplessly as her mother starts to leave. Lacy turns back to Olivia.

  LACY: Liv . . . don’t you see? You need help.

  Lacy looks at Sam and the souls she has come to know. They are standing among the gravestones, as helpless as she is. Their secrets, their regrets, the things about themselves that they wished they had faced in their lifetime seem to be swirling around them like a fog.

  LACY: You can’t be like us, Liv. Don’t pretend that you’re not in pain. Talk about how you’re feeling and what happened. You have to ask for help because it’s hurting you and what’s hurting you hurts other people. You are chained down right now with all this regret and guilt, but hating yourself only makes it worse. You think that’s the way you can pay me back for saying fuck you? It’s not, Liv. I don’t want that. Shine the light in the darkest part. I know it’s hard. But if you don’t do it, you won’t be alive! This is your chance to be alive, Liv. You have to take it.

  Olivia is shivering, gripping her knees, looking out through the space, watching her mother turn to go. Lacy crouches down in front of Olivia.

  LACY: You think that what you’re feeling now is going to be the way you feel tomorrow and the way you feel the next day and on and on, but the truth is you don’t know what the future holds. There are good people out there, people you don’t even know now who you will connect with. (She looks at Sam.) They’ll make you smile and you’ll make them smile. You don’t even know them right now, but they are out there, Liv. And you think Mom won’t forgive you, but she will. She needs your forgiveness as much as you need hers. She needs you, Liv, the real you.

  Their mother turns back for one last look at the cemetery. Olivia, in her hiding place, sees her and catches her breath. For a moment, Lacy thinks Olivia is going to call out for her, but then Deborah turns. Without making a sound, Olivia starts to cry.

  LACY: Say yes to it all, Liv. Do it for us. Do it for me. It’s what I want. I love you, Liv. (A funny sound comes out of Lacy, a half cry, half laugh.) We’re sisters. You’ve been remembering the times you hurt me, but we had fun, too. When we were little, we put on those plays, Liv. Remember? And then we saved up our money and went all by ourselves to secretly see Cabaret
at the Hippodrome. We thought we were sophisticated. Remember? And that teasing song wasn’t the only song you sang to me. Remember the no-sleeping song? At night, when I was scared to go to sleep, you used to sing me that song. You made it up for me. Remember? I loved it. I’d be there, smiling in the dark, singing along with you.

  (Tears streaming down, Lacy sings brokenly.)

  You don’t want to go to sleep.

  I don’t want to either.

  We don’t want to close our eyes.

  We don’t want to say good-bye to the day.

  So we’re gonna sing a song.

  Gonna sing it all night long.

  Come on, sing it with me, Lacy.

  Fa-lee la-lee la-lee lay.

  Olivia doesn’t move. Lacy looks toward the front. Their mother is opening the gate. Lacy doesn’t know what to do. She turns back to Sam.

  LACY: Help me, Sam.

  Sam’s eyes are glistening. He turns to Raven, perched on Poe’s monument.

  SAM (to Raven): They’ll hear you.

  Raven lifts off and lands on Lacy’s stone bench. In the quiet darkness, he trills the childhood melody that Lacy has just sung.

  From her hiding place in the shadows, Olivia looks out, startled. Deborah stops at the gate and turns. For a moment, we see what they see: a black bird singing on a stone bench in an otherwise empty cemetery. The bird turns his head to look at Olivia, and a spark ignites inside of her. The bird sings again, and Olivia’s heart seems to catch fire. Tears well in her eyes.

  OLIVIA (whispers): Lacy.

  Olivia crawls out of the shadows and stands. Olivia can feel that Lacy is listening. This is her chance. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

  OLIVIA: I love you, Lacy.

  The words come to Lacy like a kiss. Lacy cries.

  LACY: I love you, too, Liv.

  Sam steps to Lacy’s side and holds her hand.

  Raven lifts off the bench and flies back up to his usual perch, and the Dead step back.

  Deborah runs into the cemetery and Olivia rushes into her arms. As they walk out together, Olivia begins to talk.

  Scene 9: The Rules

  The cemetery is quiet. Lacy and Sam are standing hand in hand, watching Olivia and her mother cross under the streetlamp and disappear into the darkness. Maria, Edgar, Owen, Clarissa, Virginia, the Spindly sisters, Peter, Sarah, and Dr. Hosler step forward. Mrs. Steele and Henry remain motionless.