The Gravitational Pull of Bernice Trimble

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The Gravitational Pull of Bernice Trimble Page 2

by Beth Graham


  (calling out) Mom, we need a damp cloth.

  BERNICE

  (calling back from the other room) What are you telling me for?

  IRIS gets a damp cloth.

  SARAH

  I’m a mess. Icing in my hair, sprinkles down my bra. Shit. They were all decorated too. Heaven helped me.

  IRIS

  She has a daughter named Heaven. I’m not kidding. Heaven. Who names their kid that? I guess if you want her to grow up to be a stripper.

  SARAH

  Shit.

  IRIS

  (handing the cloth to SARAH) Here. Clean yourself up.

  SARAH

  Thanks. You won’t believe what Heaven did yesterday.

  IRIS

  What’d she do?

  SARAH

  A poop! Right in her potty. A big poop too; solid. Then she wiped her own little bum bum, all by herself, held up the toilet paper, and said, “Yuck.”

  IRIS

  No kidding?

  SARAH

  Last week she ate an entire box of crayons and pooped a rainbow. Kids are too funny.

  IRIS

  Yeah, hilarious.

  SARAH

  We just got Heaven her very own little potty that she can sit on all by herself, so I’m sure I’ll have a lot more stories to tell you.

  IRIS

  And I look forward to each and every one of ’em.

  SARAH

  You better. She’s your niece.

  IRIS

  All Sarah talked about these days was—

  SARAH

  Heaven, Heaven, Heaven.

  IRIS

  It’s like she’d died and given birth to—

  SARAH

  Heaven.

  IRIS

  Okay, she hadn’t died, but she had definitely given birth.

  Sarah lives on the outskirts of the city with Mike. I probably see her once a week when she tells me all about—

  SARAH

  Heaven threw up all over the car. I’m talking projectile vomit. Sprayed everywhere. It hit the back of my head while I was driving. Disgusting. Hilarious, but disgusting. I’ll never get the smell out of the car. Never.

  (calling out) Mom? Is there room in the fridge for cupcakes?

  BERNICE

  (calling back) Good luck!

  SARAH crosses to the fridge.

  IRIS

  Heaven’s an exciting kid, and it’s great to hear all about her bodily functions, but there is so much verbal debris out there in the atmosphere already and sometimes. . .

  What I’m getting at is that my sister is the talkative one.

  PETER enters from the living room.

  Whereas my brother, Peter. . .

  (to PETER) Hey.

  PETER

  Hey.

  IRIS

  As soon as Peter graduated from university, he moved. Not far, but far enough. He’s a statistician. The smart one. The youngest. He didn’t even tell me he was in town.

  SARAH

  (to PETER) Hey, Petey.

  PETER

  Hey.

  IRIS

  (to PETER) Wow. I haven’t seen you in months.

  PETER

  Yeah.

  IRIS

  How are the statistics going?

  PETER

  Good.

  IRIS

  Still living in the same place?

  PETER

  Uh-huh.

  IRIS

  I wonder if Peter feels more comfortable with numbers than he does with people. Or maybe he’s just like this around his dumb sisters.

  SARAH

  Mom, how much stuff can you cram in here? It’s like a clown fridge.

  BERNICE

  Are you calling your mother a clown?

  SARAH

  Wouldn’t dream of it.

  IRIS

  I don’t think we’d all been in a room together since my dad’s funeral. The oldest, the youngest, and moi—the middle. The three of us could not be more different. Is it possible for people to have the same DNA and have nothing in common? Switched at birth, I bet. It happens. People take the wrong kids home from the hospital all the time.

  BERNICE enters.

  BERNICE

  My bambinos. Come here.

  IRIS

  Mom hugged us all. She’s a good hugger. She always gives you a good solid squeeze and hangs on for just the right amount of time. Then she takes your face in her hands and says—

  BERNICE

  Like the Italians.

  IRIS —

  and gives you a big kiss on each cheek.

  BERNICE

  (kissing IRIS on each cheek) Mwah. Mwah.

  IRIS

  The hug I like, but the kissing I can do without. I’m always rubbing off lipstick.

  BERNICE

  Oooh, your skin doesn’t look so good. Have you been picking?

  IRIS

  Please, can we just leave my skin alone?

  BERNICE

  I know I can leave it alone. The question is, my dear—can you?

  IRIS

  I’m doing my best.

  BERNICE

  That’s all I ask for, your best. I made a casserole. Your favourite.

  IRIS

  Excellent.

  I don’t know when my mother decided that casserole was my favourite. I don’t like casserole. I prefer my food in separate areas on my plate, not all mushed up together in one giant, goopy spoonful.

  BERNICE

  Tuna!

  IRIS

  Excellent!

  BERNICE exits.

  You have to choose your battles and casserole was not a hill that I wanted to die on.

  SARAH

  I wish I could have brought Heaven but Mom wanted it to just be us. Iris, what’s this about anyway?

  IRIS

  Beats me.

  SARAH

  Thought I’d ask. You’re always the first to know.

  IRIS

  Haven’t got a clue.

  SARAH

  Wow. Mom kept us all in the dark—even Iris.

  IRIS

  You detect that tone, right? Sarah is the queen of tone.

  I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.

  SARAH

  Hope so. How’s work, Peter?

  PETER

  Good.

  BERNICE enters wearing a cape.

  BERNICE

  Ta-da! Looks like we have quorum.

  IRIS

  What’s with the cape?

  BERNICE

  I thought we needed a bit more ceremony.

  SARAH

  What’s this about?

  BERNICE

  (using a wooden spoon as a gavel) I hereby call this meeting to order. I need a seconder.

  SARAH

  I’ll second that.

  IRIS

  I third it.

  PETER

  . . . I fourth it.

  BERNICE

  Then, it’s official.

  SARAH

  Let’s hear the news.

  BERNICE

  Drum roll, please.

  IRIS does a drum roll on the table.

  Iris, you should have been a musician.

  IRIS hits an imaginary cymbal.

  BERNICE makes a trumpeting sound.

  IRIS

  Wow, the mouth trumpet.

  BERNICE

  Ladies and gentlemen!

  IRIS

  Mom was really putting on a show. It used to work like a charm on us when we were—

  BERNICE

  Child
ren of all ages!

  SARAH

  Mom.

  IRIS

  But we are wise to it now.

  BERNICE

  Lend me your ears.

  SARAH

  We’re waiting.

  BERNICE

  Fine.

  BERNICE takes off the cape.

  Here goes.

  Sarah, Iris, Peter, my bambinos. . . there’s no fun way of telling you what I need to tell you, so I’ll just come right out and say. . . what needs to be said. . . I. . . I uh. . . excuse me. . .

  IRIS

  And then she started to cry.

  SARAH

  Mom?

  BERNICE

  Will you give me a moment?

  IRIS

  So, we did. We gave her a moment.

  It was strange to see my mom cry like this because she’s not this kind of a crier. Out in the open, I mean. She’s like me. We cry at the odd commercial on TV or a song on the radio but never about real things.

  She and I were the only ones who never cried at my dad’s funeral. My mom even said afterward:

  BERNICE

  Well, that’s that.

  IRIS

  And she was right. He was gone. Poof. Here for one moment, one brief, impermanent moment, and gone the next. The memories of my father were packed into boxes and given away to second-hand stores or hung up in photographs on the walls of our houses. That was that.

  We’re practical. Mom and I. People die. That’s life. You say goodbye and you move on.

  BERNICE

  You gotta keep on keepin’ on.

  IRIS

  My mom had been a social worker. She’d seen some pretty crazy stuff, so maybe that’s what dried up her tears. I don’t know what my excuse is.

  BERNICE

  Pull yourself together, Bernice.

  IRIS

  My mom hates her name, refers to it as the curse her mother gave her. She makes an effort to say it aloud as little as possible. So, this was odd behaviour. Sarah pulled out some Kleenex that she always keeps rolled up in her sleeve.

  SARAH

  (giving BERNICE Kleenex) Here.

  IRIS

  And the reluctant Bernice blew her nose and straightened up.

  BERNICE

  Thank you, Sarah.

  IRIS

  She has good posture. Posture is important to her.

  BERNICE

  Just give me a moment to regain my poise.

  IRIS

  Poise. That’s what she calls it. She’s always after me for slouching.

  BERNICE

  You too, Iris, it looks like your chest is apologizing for something.

  IRIS

  Sorry.

  I’d been silently noting my mother’s fantastic posture because I was avoiding a question. A question I don’t think I’ve ever asked before in my life.

  Mom, what’s wrong?

  BERNICE

  I’ve been having trouble remembering things.

  IRIS

  Oh.

  PETER

  Hm.

  SARAH

  What?

  BERNICE

  I said I’ve been having trouble remembering things.

  IRIS

  And that was that. Only it wasn’t.

  PETER

  Like Grandma?

  BERNICE

  What a way to go.

  IRIS

  My mom always says that when Grandma comes up in conversation.

  BERNICE

  What a way to go.

  IRIS

  My mom’s mom had had trouble remembering things and it had gotten worse and worse until she would sit and stare at a pair of pants and not remember how to even put them on. This broke my mom’s heart.

  So, when she said:

  BERNICE

  I’ve been having trouble remembering things.

  IRIS

  We all leaned in a little closer.

  SARAH

  No, you haven’t.

  BERNICE

  Yes, I have.

  SARAH

  That makes zero sense.

  BERNICE

  It seems pretty straightforward to me.

  SARAH

  I see you all the time and you’re perfectly fine.

  BERNICE

  I’ve been having trouble for a while.

  PETER

  How long?

  BERNICE

  It’s hard to say. A year. Maybe longer.

  SARAH

  A year?

  BERNICE

  Maybe longer. I didn’t notice it so much when your father was around. He kind of filled things in for me.

  SARAH

  No, he didn’t.

  BERNICE

  Yes. Sarah, he—

  SARAH

  No way.

  IRIS

  Let her finish.

  BERNICE

  Lately, on my own, I’ve been forgetting things and getting. . . confused. I went to see Doctor Funditis and he gave me a test.

  IRIS

  And?

  BERNICE

  It’s what your grandmother had.

  IRIS

  Oh no.

  PETER

  Alzheimer’s?

  BERNICE

  Yes.

  SARAH

  No way.

  PETER

  Really?

  SARAH

  You’re being hypersensitive because of Grandma.

  BERNICE

  What a way to go.

  SARAH

  Doctor Funditis doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

  BERNICE

  He does.

  SARAH

  He’s a family doctor, not a specialist.

  PETER

  Aren’t you too young for Alzheimer’s?

  BERNICE

  Apparently not.

  PETER

  You can get that when you’re fifty-five?

  BERNICE

  Fifty-nine, honey, but thanks anyway.

  PETER

  You can get that when you’re fifty-nine?

  BERNICE

  Apparently so.

  SARAH

  According to Doctor Funditis.

  BERNICE

  That’s the diagnosis, Sarah.

  SARAH

  You can’t trust a doctor whose name sounds like a disease.

  BERNICE

  He’s been my doctor for years.

  SARAH

  Funditis. Gingivitis. Arthritis.

  BERNICE

  I trust him.

  SARAH

  Colitis!

  BERNICE

  That’s enough.

  SARAH

  Did you get a second opinion?

  BERNICE

  No.

  SARAH

  You should always get a second opinion.

  BERNICE

  I don’t need one.

  SARAH

  Why not?

  BERNICE

  Well, my mother had it, so it seems reasonable that I would too.

  SARAH

  No, it doesn’t.

  IRIS

  Is it genetic?

  BERNICE

  It can be.

  SARAH

  Mom, you’ve convinced yourself that you have it. You’re not anything like Grandma.

  BERNICE

  Not yet.

  SARAH

  You need to see an expert.

  BERNICE

  I don’t think that’s nece
ssary.

  SARAH

  I’ll take you.

  IRIS

  She says she doesn’t need to go.

  SARAH

  People get misdiagnosed all the time.

  IRIS

  Let her make the decision.

  BERNICE

  Sarah, I’m inclined to believe Doctor Funditis on this one.

  SARAH

  But doctors can be wrong. It’s best to double-check. You need to see a specialist. I’ll take you. It’s not a big deal.

  IRIS

  Not a big deal? I don’t know if you heard what she just said.

  SARAH

  Yeah, I heard. I’m not deaf.

  IRIS

  It’s a big deal, okay? Alzheimer’s is a big fucking deal!

  BERNICE

  Language.

  SARAH

  Exactly, that’s why I’m—

  IRIS

  Denying it?

  SARAH

  Better than blindly accepting it.

  IRIS

  Oh my god, Sarah, you are such a—

  BERNICE

  Iris! Sarah! That’s enough.

  SARAH

  Such a what?

  IRIS

  But, Mom, she can’t just—

  BERNICE

  Zip it.

  SARAH

  Such a what? Huh?

  BERNICE

  Zip.

  SARAH

  No, I want to hear Iris say it—

  BERNICE

  Zip.

  SARAH

  What were you going to call me?

  BERNICE

  End of discussion!

  IRIS

  My sister and I—nose to nose. Ready to go.

  SARAH

  (under her breath) Say it.

  IRIS

  I wanted to say to her:

  You dick. You treat everyone like a child. You treat your own mother like a child and guess what? She’s not your child; she’s your mom. That picks my ass. You really pick my ass.

  And to be fair, I’m sure there were a few things she was dying to say to me:

  SARAH

  Know-it-all Iris. You think you’re so much better than everybody else. You come across as a real cold-hearted bitch, you know that?

  IRIS

  Shithead.

  SARAH

  Twat.

  IRIS

  Super shithead!

  SARAH

  Super twat!

  IRIS

  But before we could open our mouths and say any of this to each other—

  BERNICE

  Sarah’s right. I’ll go. There’s nothing wrong with another opinion.

  SARAH

  Ha!

  IRIS

  Bernice had spoken. There was no choice but to back down.

  SARAH

  Ha.

  IRIS

  My mom spooned up the casserole and gave me a little extra because it is my favourite after all.

  BERNICE

  You’re too skinny.

 

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