FITZ Oh! Oh, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t—I’m very sorry for your loss.
TRICIA Thank you.
FITZ I didn’t realize. Usually the family meets with the director when they arrive. I’ll get Mr. McKenzie for you.
TRICIA Oh, no, that...not right yet.
FITZ Okay, well...yeah, have a seat. Can I get you anything?
TRICIA No. Thank you.
[They stand there. TRICIA looks at the urn, but doesn’t move any closer. FITZ is unsure what to do.]
Actually, could I have a moment alone?
FITZ Yes, of course.
[FITZ instinctively gives a small nod, almost a bow, and then heads for the door.]
TRICIA And a cup of coffee?
FITZ Ah...sure. Milk or sugar?
TRICIA Just black, thanks.
[FITZ exits. TRICIA looks at the urn for a few moments, then crosses to it. She opens her purse and pulls out a torn concert ticket. She reaches for the urn, pausing for a moment, then picks it up. She feels its weight in her hands, then looks for a lid or a way to open it, but can’t find one.]
Had to make it hard for me, didn’t you, Mom.
[TRICIA sets the urn back on the table just as FITZ reappears in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee.]
FITZ Here you go.
TRICIA Thank you.
FITZ Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to wait in the reception area? It just may not be very peaceful here with me coming in and out. I don’t want to disturb you, and I’m sure the rest of your family will be arriving—
TRICIA Are you “Fizz?”
FITZ I’m sorry?
TRICIA Did you sign the book? I couldn’t read what it said.
FITZ Oh. Yeah, I’ve got the penmanship of a four-year-old. Yeah...I knew your mother.
TRICIA Really?
FITZ She taught me piano for eight years, starting when I was nine or ten.
TRICIA Wow. Long time.
FITZ She was a wonderful teacher.
TRICIA Thank you. She loved the piano.
FITZ That she did.
[Pause. FITZ sees that TRICIA has no plans to leave.]
FITZ Well, I’ll be back.
[FITZ exits, and TRICIA sits with her coffee. FITZ soon returns with programs, placing them by the condolence book, then taking one over to TRICIA.]
Would you like one of the programs?
TRICIA Yes, thanks.
[Slight pause.]
Do you still play?
FITZ Piano? Not really, no.
TRICIA Why not?
FITZ I just...don’t. I don’t have a piano anymore.
TRICIA Do you want one?
FITZ What?
TRICIA My mother’s piano is in storage, and it’s costing an arm and a leg. I don’t play, and I couldn’t take it back to New York with me even if I did. I’ll give you a good deal.
FITZ Ah...no. Thanks. I couldn’t.
TRICIA Know anyone who might be in the market for one?
FITZ Not offhand. Excuse me.
[FITZ turns away from her and begins arranging the chairs into neat, orderly rows. TRICIA digs into her purse for a business card.]
TRICIA Listen, if you happen to think of anyone who might want a piano, would you give them my number? It’s been so long since I was back and—
[She halts abruptly, then quickly changes gears.]
I’m sorry. I’m being rude. I’m Tricia Roberts.
[She holds out her hand. FITZ hesitates a moment and then reaches out to shake her hand. Perhaps he winces slightly or some pain is reflected in his face.]
FITZ Fitz. Miller.
TRICIA Oh, “Fitz,” not “Fizz.” That makes—oh! You’re Fitzhugh.
FITZ It’s just Fitz now. My folks called me “Hugh.” Which I never really liked. Fitzhugh is this family name thing. No one ever called me that. Except your mother.
TRICIA Fitzhugh Miller. You were Mom’s favorite of all time.
FITZ Oh, thanks.
TRICIA Yeah, I remember you.
FITZ Really? You couldn’t have been more than seven or eight when I left for college.
TRICIA She talked about you for years. Said you were gifted.
FITZ We stayed in touch some. Can I get you more—
TRICIA You got a big scholarship to Juilliard.
FITZ . . . Yeah, I...was in New York for a while.
TRICIA Mom went to Juilliard too.
FITZ I know. Excuse me.
[FITZ turns and leaves quickly. TRICIA checks her watch, then looks over the program. FITZ returns with two more chairs.]
TRICIA What are you doing here?
FITZ Hmm?
TRICIA Why aren’t you playing anymore? You had a real career going.
FITZ It’s, ah, long story. Boring story.
TRICIA I’m sorry. Was that a bad question to ask?
FITZ No, no, it’s fine. But Mr. McKenzie will want to greet you. I’ll let him know you’re here.
[FITZ turns to leave.]
TRICIA Wait, can you tell me how this opens?
FITZ What?
TRICIA The urn. I want to put something in with her.
FITZ Oh, there are screws in the bottom. Mr. McKenzie can help you with that.
TRICIA Can’t you do it?
FITZ Well, he really likes to—
TRICIA Because, actually, it involves you in a way.
FITZ How’s that?
TRICIA It’s a ticket from a concert my mother and I went to, like, ten or twelve years ago. It was a concert you were doing at Tanglewood.
FITZ Really? You came? When? I played there a couple times.
TRICIA Debussy. “Clair de Lune.” It was lovely.
[She holds out the ticket, which he takes and looks at.]
FITZ It was lovely to play. Yeah, this was the first time I was there. Why didn’t you say hello afterward?
TRICIA We tried, but they wouldn’t let us backstage. They said you had a no-visitors policy or something.
FITZ Oh. Yeah, I was a little full of myself for a couple years there.
[Slight pause.]
Sorry.
TRICIA It’s all right. Mom was disappointed, but she was very proud of you. Said she knew you’d be successful.
FITZ I need to, ah...get some more chairs.
TRICIA Could you get a screwdriver for the urn too?
FITZ Sure. I’ll take a look.
[FITZ exits. TRICIA sits, suddenly exhausted. She looks over at the urn for several moments, before she breaks off and looks away determined not to cry. She composes herself, then checks her watch. FITZ returns with two more chairs, which he places in the last row that he started.]
TRICIA Do you know if anyone else has arrived?
FITZ I didn’t see, but I can check.
TRICIA No, that’s okay.
FITZ I’m sure people will be arriving soon.
TRICIA Did you find a screwdriver?
FITZ Yeah.
[He picks up the urn.]
Why don’t you follow me to the office, and—
TRICIA Can’t we do it here? I just want to slip it in. It doesn’t have to be formal or anything.
FITZ It’s not very private.
[TRICIA goes over to the doors to the room, peeks out, and then closes them.]
TRICIA Voila.
FITZ All right.
[FITZ turns the urn on its head and sets it on the tabletop, then takes a screwdriver from his pocket.]
Why that ticket?
[He works to loosen the screws holding the bottom plate in place as TRICIA talks. One or two of the screws are tight, forcing him to grip the screwdriver hard and bear down. This causes him some discomfort, and he gives a sharp intake of breath after one stab of pain, and nearly drops the screwdriver. TRICIA watches him as he struggles with the screws.]
TRICIA A good memory. Summer between junior and senior years at college. I was s’posed to go to Europe with my dad, but he cancelled. Seems he’d just met the very beautiful, young, and s
oon-to-be second Mrs. Roberts, so he decided to take her instead. You’d think I’d’ve been mad at him for being stuck in Pittsfield all summer—and I was—but he wasn’t around, so I took it out on my mom instead.
[Slight pause.]
I think she knew why I was being such a jerk, though, because she took me everywhere that summer. Museums, theater at Williamstown, minor league baseball games. But my favorite was taking picnic dinners to Tanglewood for concerts like yours. And James Taylor.
FITZ Of course.
TRICIA By the time I went back to school we’d relapsed to our standard mother-daughter cat fights.
[Pause.]
By the next summer she’d been diagnosed. She thought she was being forgetful because she wasn’t getting enough sleep.
FITZ I’m sorry I didn’t see you after the concert.
TRICIA Oh, we had a good time. It was a beautiful night. Warm. Lying on a blanket and watching the stars overhead, while Debussy drifted through the air.
[Pause.]
Why don’t you play anymore?
FITZ [Overlapping.] Okay, I think I got it.
[He removes the bottom plate and steps back to allow TRICIA to come forward. She does so slowly, with the ticket in her hand. She looks down into the urn.]
TRICIA What’s that?
FITZ They put the remains in a plastic bag after cremation.
[Slight pause.]
One of the things you learn working here.
TRICIA Why are you here?
[FITZ sees he can’t escape her questions any longer.]
FITZ It’s...it’s my hands.
TRICIA Yeah?
FITZ I have neuropathy.
TRICIA What’s that?
FITZ Damage to the peripheral nervous system. It can happen if you get an inflammation that damages the sheath around your nerves. And that can cause a lot of different effects. For me, I have some loss of sensation in my fingers. Plus what doctors like to call “positive” phenomena. Which means I feel things that aren’t there. Mostly pain. Although that feels pretty real.
TRICIA Oh my God.
FITZ All in all, it makes it pretty hard to play the piano. Or to play it very well at any rate.
[Pause.]
And there you are.
TRICIA How did it happen?
FITZ Don’t know. There’s a lot of possible causes. I had a bout of Lyme disease a few years ago. It could’ve been that.
TRICIA Is it always there?
FITZ Some days are better than others.
TRICIA I’m so sorry.
FITZ There are worse things, I guess.
TRICIA Yeah.
FITZ Do you want me to leave while you put that in with your mother?
TRICIA No, that’s okay. I’m not a big one for ceremony.
[She looks at the ticket, then into the urn, then she places the ticket carefully inside. Quietly.]
Bye, Mom.
[She looks into the urn for a moment longer, then turns to FITZ.]
Well...that was anticlimactic.
FITZ I don’t think people ever feel the way they think they’re supposed to. I see a lot of acting in here. People throw themselves on top of caskets and stuff. I don’t know. Maybe they do really do feel that strongly, and I....Maybe it’s just something else I don’t feel.
TRICIA I just hoped it would be different.
FITZ [Indicating the urn.] May I?
TRICIA Sure.
[FITZ replaces the plate on the bottom of the urn and screws it back together as they talk. TRICIA checks her watch and retrieves her purse. Once FITZ finishes the job, he turns the urn right side up again and places it in the center of the table again.]
Well, thank you for that, and for all you’ve done.
FITZ You’re welcome.
TRICIA I think I’ll be going.
FITZ Yeah, I’m sure some of your family’s arrived by now. I’ll walk you up.
TRICIA No, I mean, I’m leaving.
FITZ What?
TRICIA Like I said, I’m not big on ceremony. And I did what I came to do.
FITZ Wait, are you serious?
TRICIA Yes, I just—
FITZ It’s your mother’s memorial.
TRICIA I’m aware of that. Thank you.
FITZ You can’t leave.
TRICIA I can do what I want. Not that it’s your business, but I don’t feel like dealing with my family or answering all their questions.
FITZ Really? ’Cuz you wouldn’t stop asking me questions while I was trying to work in here.
TRICIA Excuse me?
FITZ “Why aren’t you playing the piano?” “Why are you here?”
TRICIA Look, I don’t get along with my aunt or my cousins. None of them lifted a finger to help us when my dad left, so I don’t have much to say to them, or feel like listening to anything they might have to say.
FITZ Oh, you mean, like, where were you while your mother was slowly dying of Alzheimer’s?
TRICIA [Long pause.] Excuse me?
FITZ Well, you didn’t visit her.
TRICIA I visited all the time.
FITZ No, you didn’t.
TRICIA How would you know?
FITZ Because I did.
TRICIA What?
FITZ I was there.
TRICIA At the nursing home?
FITZ With your mother. Someone had to be.
[Silence.]
TRICIA Maybe I will see Mr. McKenzie. He might want to know how his staff deals with grieving clients.
FITZ Oh, hey, if you wanna risk bumping into your aunt, be my guest.
[TRICIA stalks over to the doors, but stops.]
TRICIA How often did you visit her?
FITZ Two or three times.
TRICIA That’s it?
FITZ A week.
TRICIA Two or three times a week?!
[FITZ nods. Pause.]
For how long?
FITZ The last five or six months.
TRICIA Oh my God.
[Pause.]
Why?
FITZ I “retired” from the concert circuit about two years ago. I tried playing through the pain. Just grit my teeth and hit the keys. And I could get through a concert, but...
[He shrugs.]
The bookings dried up, and the way it felt, I was relieved. So I came home. And did nothing. For a long time. Until my mother made me take this job.
[Slight pause.]
My dad was the one who heard your mom was at Stony Field. I knew she’d gone to Juilliard and done the concert thing too, so I thought she’d be the only one around who’d understand how I felt. I didn’t know she had Alzheimer’s.
TRICIA Why did you keep going?
FITZ I turned around to leave when I first saw her. But instead I got a chair and sat with her. Ended up babbling about what a nice day it was and stuff like that. Even wheeled her outside, but I got no response. So I’m bringing her back in, we pass the common room, and she sees the piano and points. So I push her over, and we play “Chop Sticks.” Then she says, “Thank you, Fitzhugh.”
[Slight pause.]
I wasn’t sure I’d go back. But I did. For her.
TRICIA “For her.” I visited her. For years, while she got worse and worse, I was here every weekend. And it wasn’t easy. I’m in Manhattan. I don’t have a car. I’d ride four hours on a bus, get into town late Friday night, stay in a dingy hotel, then Saturday get a cab to Stony Field. Sometimes she knew me, and we’d fight. Sometimes she didn’t know me, and we’d fight. Sometimes she knew me, and she’d cry. Sometimes she didn’t know me, and I’d cry. Then I got to turn around and spend another five or six hours getting back home.
[Pause.]
I left angry and upset, and she forgot I’d even been there as soon as I left the room. Then one trip home I found myself wishing she’d just die. Wanting her to die.
[Pause.]
So I just stopped going.
FITZ [Pause.] You must’ve been relieved then.
TRICIA Yo
u’d think. I was at LAX just about ready to board a plane when they called to tell me she died. I was too stunned to do anything but just get on the plane to come home.
[Slight pause.]
I got bumped up to first class. Isn’t that something? I travel a lot for work, and I’d just gotten enough frequent flyer miles to make the Silver Medallion class of membership. And I got upgraded. It was like they knew. I sit down and they give me a hot towel, which I press to my face, let the warmth sink into my skin. Then they bring me a mimosa. And when I finish that one...they bring another. And a third. Then somewhere over Nebraska...I snap. And I get up in the aisle and start tearing my clothes off, telling everyone on the plane what a terrible daughter I am because my mother who I haven’t seen in five months just died alone.
FITZ [Slight pause.] You didn’t take your clothes off.
TRICIA Oh yes, I did, and I’ve got the court appearance ticket to prove it.
FITZ Didn’t the crew stop you?
TRICIA They asked me to return to my seat. Does that count?
FITZ And none of the passengers tried to help?
TRICIA What, and miss the train wreck? I was almost totally naked before a flight attended wrapped one of those pathetic little blankets around me while I was trying to unhook my bra. They got me back to my seat, and then several passengers offered up Xanax...so the rest of the trip was pretty calm.
[Silence.]
FITZ She used to ask for you a lot.
TRICIA Oh, thanks. Yes, please. Pile it on.
FITZ Some days I could distract her with the piano. But this one day, my hands hurt too much, and she just kept crying.
TRICIA You’re an asshole, you know that.
[She heads for the door.]
FITZ So I told her you were coming.
TRICIA What?
FITZ I said you’d be there that afternoon. It just came out.
TRICIA You lied to her?
FITZ And she calmed down right away. I mean, really peaceful. We actually had a real conversation.
[FITZ lapses into silence. TRICIA studies his face.]
TRICIA Oh. Tell me you didn’t.
FITZ Didn’t what?
TRICIA You kept telling her I was coming, didn’t you?
FITZ Yes. Every time I visited.
[Slight pause.]
And eventually that you’d been there.
TRICIA What?
FITZ In the afternoon, she couldn’t remember what’d happened in the morning. So I’d say, “Wasn’t that a great visit with Tricia this morning? You two had so much fun talking.” And she’d ask some questions...and I’d make up your conversation...and she’d smile and laugh.
The Best American Short Plays 2010-2011 Page 8