[Note: This short piece was originally published with the title “Wilkes Residency 501: Assignment #1” after my first MA/MFA residency at Wilkes University, which occurred in May 2007. Though it is backdated to the original date of publication, this piece was formally republished on Duncan Heights on June 19, 2022.]
Assignment: drama (playwriting), about 1 page. “Trash or Treasure,” focus on IMAGE.
A sixty-ish mother and her twenties-something daughter are setting knick-knack-like things out on card tables on the elder woman’s front lawn.
DAUGHTER: This is a garage sale, Mom. Meaning… you know, that you actually sell stuff?
MOM: Yes, but—oooh, look at this! I remember when you were just a baby and you wore this for Halloween! You were so adorable in your little spotted make-up and whiskers.
D: Mom, please! I was two. Being a cat for Halloween was the pinnacle of my existence then, I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean we can’t sell the little cat ears and tail now.
M: But what about the memories? What about your children—?
D: I’m not having kids, remember?
M: Of course, of course, dear. Now, what about this? Do you want to keep this?
D: No. Mom, this is a garage sale for a reason.
M: But it’s your first grade lunch box! Look, the My Little Pony picture’s nearly worn off because you loved it so much!
D: Give that to me. (pause) This isn’t mine, it was Bunny’s. She liked—
M: Don’t call her that. Your sister’s name is not “Bunny.” For heaven’s sake; who came up with that?
D: She did, Mom. Hey, hey, hey. Keep putting stuff out on the tables.
M: (sitting on a lawn chair) But what if the people who buy this stuff don’t love it as much as we do?
D: Don’t you mean, “love it as much as we did“?
M: What are you saying? You didn’t like your childhood? Your father spoiled you with all those cotton candy treats and late bedtimes.
D: This has nothing to do with being spoiled, Mom—
M: What? You don’t love your father and me anymore?
D: Mom! No, that’s not what I said. We’re just trying to move you out of this house for now, okay? That means we have to part with some of our old stuff. Not all of it. Not the important stuff.
M: Your memories aren’t important?
D: They’re yours, Mom, not mine. I don’t remember being a cat for Halloween when I was only two!
M: (distraught sputtering, she stands)
D: Mom, calm down. Just because we’re selling some of our things doesn’t mean we’re selling our memories, too, okay? Just sit down again. Here, just sit there and I’ll get you a glass of iced tea. Do you want sugar, or no?
M: No sugar. Make sure to be careful with my nice glasses.
D: (patient sigh) I will, Mom. (she goes into the house)
M: (to a potential customer who just arrived) Good morning! Looking for anything in particular?
[Featured image by Ekaterina Belinskaya.]
