David-Matthew Barnes - Better Places to Go

LINDA. (Barefoot, wet and cold, she enters the restaurant. She is dazed and weak. She is very pregnant and very young.) Help me.

RICARDO. (He enters from the kitchen.) Rosie? (A moment of realization:) Oh my God—

NATHAN. Is she dead?

BRITNEY. I didn’t mean to do it! (She throws the knife down and runs out of the restaurant, repeating the same phrase over and over, like a hysterical mantra.)

LINDA. (She staggers to Ricardo.) Can you please help me?

(Linda faints, falling into Ricardo’s arms. He gently guides her down to the floor.

Nathan scrambles up, goes behind the counter and picks up Rosie’s suitcase. He rips the suitcase open and throws its contents on the floor. He opens the cash register, and empties it into the suitcase. Ricardo does not try to stop him or intervene. Instead, he grabs a tablecloth and covers Rosie’s body with it. Nathan dashes out of the restaurant.

Ricardo picks up the road map, discarded on the floor. Slowly, he folds it up and puts it into his back pocket.

Lights fade to black.)

(When the lights come up, two hours have passed. Linda is sitting at one of the tables, hunched over a bowl of soup. It is evident she is hungry.

Ricardo is on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. A bucket of water is nearby.

The radio is on.)

RADIO ANNOUNCER. Winds have reached 50 miles per hour in parts of the state. We’ve got enough rain to fill an ocean. The temperature has continued to drop. Folks, it’s getting cold out there. Stay warm and hopefully the storm will pass over us soon. Here’s a little something to heat things up.

(Music begins to play. Judy rushes inside from the main entrance, wet from the rain. She is carrying a grocery bag with her. She turns off the radio.)

JUDY. (To Linda:) Oh good. You’re eating. How are you feeling?

LINDA. Much better, thank you.

JUDY. You are a precious thing. Do you know that? I could curse your folks for throwing you out. Have they no shame?

LINDA. I’m the one who shamed them. My father said he’d rather see me dead than pregnant. He almost got his wish. Do you think the storm will hit soon?

RICARDO. It already has.

JUDY. Ricardo, this soup is cold. And she needs some crackers. Get her some crackers.

RICARDO. They’re behind the counter. My shift ended five minutes ago. Kimberly’s running late.

JUDY. What time is it?

RICARDO. It’s after ten, Judy. I’ll be leaving soon.

JUDY. Made up your mind, did you?

RICARDO. It was made up for me.

JUDY. Do you think Derek knows about his sister?

RICARDO. He’s waiting for me down at the bus station. I’ll be on my way soon.

JUDY. I pray to God that Britney went fast. The sheriff said he only used one bullet. I don’t think she felt anything.

RICARDO. I’m sure she felt everything. Britney was a sensitive woman.

JUDY. (She goes behind the counter and gets crackers. She takes them to Linda.) Look, Linda. I brought you some stuff. I wasn’t sure what size shoe you wore, so I brought you a pair of house slippers. I only wore them once. They made my feet swell. And here’s a sweatshirt. The zipper sticks a little. It’s temperamental. Here, try this on. (She literally dresses Linda as if she were dressing a doll. Linda obliges.)

LINDA. Thank you, ma’am. Thank you both. I don’t know what I would’ve done. I saw the light from the highway and I just followed it.

JUDY. I’m just glad you got out of that car when you did. That maniac could’ve killed you. And the baby.

LINDA. My father wanted me to have an abortion.

JUDY. It’s the will of God you didn’t.

LINDA. Do you have any children?

RICARDO. She doesn’t need any. She’s got you now.

JUDY. I’ve never been married, Linda. I don’t have any children of my own. I take care of my father because he — well, my mother left us years ago to fend for ourselves. He’s been broken hearted ever since.

RICARDO. He isn’t broken hearted, Judy. He’s a drunk.

JUDY. Don’t speak that way in front of Linda.

RICARDO. She isn’t made of glass.

JUDY. Why are you scrubbing the floor, Ricardo?

RICARDO. I can still smell her blood.

JUDY. Use some bleach. That works on everything.

LINDA. I think it’s very nice that you take care of your father. It means you’re a woman of good character. That’s what my Aunt Ruth always says. People who take care of other people are of good character.

JUDY. Your Aunt Ruth sounds like a good Christian woman to me.

LINDA. Well, no. Actually, she ran off with a married man and they robbed a Dairy Queen up north. (Beat.) Last I heard she was wanted in three states. She’s the one who introduced me to Alfred. He was my boyfriend. But he slept with my cousin and he told me he hated me when I got pregnant because I ruined any chance he ever had of getting out of Harmonville. That’s where I’m from. It’s about a hundred miles from here.

JUDY. I know where it is. It’s in Hell’s backyard.

RICARDO. What are you going to do now, Linda?

LINDA. I have no idea. (Making light of her situation:) I don’t really have many options.

JUDY. She’s coming home with me. I’ve already fixed up the guest room for her. Linda, you need to be drinking milk. Let me get you some.

LINDA. I’m allergic to milk. It makes me sick. I throw up all the time. Can’t keep nothing down.

JUDY. How old are you?

LINDA. I’m fifteen, ma’am.

JUDY. You’re just a child. A baby. And your folks just tossed you out in the cold?

LINDA. I don’t have folks anymore. My father said I was disowned. He said Alfred was a bad influence on me, since he was so much older.

JUDY. How much older?

LINDA. He’s thirty-seven. (Judy nearly faints.) He’ll be thirty-eight next week. We were supposed to go to Cheyenne for his birthday. His sister owns a nightclub there. Alfred said after my baby was born, his sister was gonna give me a job as a dancer. I love to dance. I took ballet class when I was nine but the classes got real expensive and then my father lost his job at the refinery and we had to sell the car. It was an old car and it broke down all the time, but we sure missed it when it was gone. My mother worked in town and she walked back and forth everyday — seven miles, total. She had blisters all over her feet. They were huge. She would come home at night and sit in the kitchen and peel off her stockings and her feet would drip blood. But she’d never cry. My father didn’t like it if we cried. He said it made us weak. Alfred cried once. When he found out I was pregnant. At first, I thought he was crying because he was so happy. But I was wrong. He was angry. I’ve never seen someone so angry before. He said I was stupid. He used to always say he had big plans — real big plans. But he never did anything. Never did anything but tell me I was stupid. Except when he was nice to me. I used to wonder if he was

going to include me in his big plans but I was too scared to ask. I figured when the time came, he’d take me with him. And he did. (Beat.) But a hundred miles down the road, he decided he didn’t like me anymore. He said I would be the death of him. I don’t wanna be that to anybody. So, when we stopped at a gas station — I got out of the car. And I ran.

RICARDO. I’m tired of cleaning this place up.

JUDY. You go on then. Get down to the bus station. I’m sure that boy is waiting for you. You need to tell him about his sister. And Rosie.

RICARDO. What difference does it make, Judy?

JUDY. It makes a difference. I know it does.