INT a small bedroom
Smith: It’s not my fault.
He said looking at his reflection in the mirror. His hands moving emphatically. His blue eyes and brows crinkling to show regret.
Smith: It’s not my fault.
He said, his brows up, pronunciation each word.
Smith: You know it’s not my fault. You know me baby? I’d never want to hurt you.
Smith: You know me don’t you? We’ve been through a lot right? Why let this one thing come between us.
Smith: How long have we been together? Remember that day on our honeymoon?
Smith: You don’t think it’s really my fault do you?
Smith: Why do you keep blaming me. You know I get really tired of this shit sometimes. Real tired. First it’s your mother, then I have to deal with your coworkers. And how do you expect me to keep everything going on normally like this.
Smith: I miss you baby. Remember us? We were good right? You’d never let a little mistake come between us would you?
He has his hands up. Then he stares at the mirror in silence for a long time. Then takes a deep breath. Puts his hands at his sides.
Smith: I know you think it is. Sh sh, don’t cry. Please, don’t.
He puts an arm out patting the air. Then he drops the looks and looks directly into the mirror noting how his face has deeper wrinkles, starts moving closer and examining the deep marks of age he hadn’t really noticed before. Then he stops, breaking away from the mirror. He paces around the small room, rubbing and pulling the hair on his head in frustration. He jumps around and faces the mirror again
Smith: Come on be reasonable! How long are you going to hold this against me? You know you are being ridiculous.
Then he bows his head.
Smith: Please come back home. The kids and me, we miss you so much.
Smith: Well fine! Be like that. I never cared about you anyway!
Smith: Getting married was your idea! Not mine. You want to give up on everything, so be it. I don’t care anyway. And you’re a slob. You know that? You never pick up the clothes. You let them collect till I trip over it, and it’s always me who has to take it to the laundry room, and I work. I work really hard. And what can you say that you do? Ever think about that? How hard it is for me to feed you and the kids and provide for you all the things you all want and need. And I do. And I don’t complain when you go to your sisters do I? And have I ever got so much as a thank you? Look at me when you talk. You have the nerve to blame me! What about you?
He sinks to the floor his hands in his head. He opens up a book that is on the floor, a love story. It has a pink ribbon in it. He picks it up and sniffs it, it smells like beautiful perfume. He holds it to his chest and rocks. Then he opens it up at the bookmark and begins reading. He turns the page and reads another. He is sighing and sniffling as he reads. He sets the book down and lays on the bed and waits til sleep takes him. He is surprised when he wakes up and he doesn’t recognize where he is. Looking around disorientated.
Then he starts to remember.
Smith: I know. I will really make it up to her. Not just an apology. Anyone could do that. I will do something special, and she will have to come back to me.
He runs out the room.