A Song For Grandma

A hospital room. An old woman lies unconscious in the bed. She’s attached to a whole variety of machines that beep and chirp and whoosh and buzz. It’s just her on stage for a bit, long enough to establish the rhythm of these machines helping to keep her alive. 

The door opens and Mama walks in, followed by her two sons, Lance and Chris. They are both in their early 20’s. Lance wears military fatigues and his hair is buzzed Marine length. He carries an acoustic guitar. Chris is dressed in ill-fitting khakis and a polo shirt that bears the emblem of the shitty retail establishment where he works his shitty job. He even has a shitty little nametag. He carries a small portable stereo. Lance and Chris are both a bit emotional at the sight of the old woman in the bed. They kneel at her side. 

MAMA

Now she’s unconscious, but the doctor says she can still hear you.

Pause. Lance and Chris struggle with tears.

MAMA

Well go on, say something to her.

The boys look at each other.

LANCE

You first, dude.

CHRIS

          Works up nerve
Grandma? It’s me, your Chrissy.

Lance chuckles. Chris smacks him.

CHRIS

Me and Lance came to see you.

LANCE

I came from Iraq.

CHRIS

Shut up, dude! Damn. Always interrupting.
          Turns back to Grandma, starts to speak, but can’t. Smacks Lance again.
Damn dude, you made me forget what I was gonna say!

LANCE

I didn’t make you do nothing.

CHRIS

Dumb jarhead.

LANCE

At least I got in.

Chris smacks him hard, Lance smacks back, a smack fight ensues, a continuation of the same smack fight that they’ve had going since they were little boys.

MAMA

Boys!

They stop.

MAMA

I swear, what is the matter with you two? If y’all can’t behave for Grandma, then by God, you might as well just go on home. Honestly. Now Chris, you’ve had your chance to speak, why don’t you let your brother take a turn?

LANCE

I don’t know what to say.

MAMA

Just say whatever you would say to her normally.

LANCE

But she ain’t normal.

MAMA

Well just pretend she is. Just.....here.

Mama adjusts Grandma’s bed, her pillows, and her head so that she’s facing towards the boys. But of course, her eyes are still closed. Both boys are freaked out. 

MAMA

There now, just pretend like she’s got her eyes open and y’all are having a little visit.

Lance clearly does not like this. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He babbles for a few moments, then breaks down in tears. Chris is too freaked out to even make fun of his brother for crying. 

MAMA

Oh for heaven’s sakes! You can go halfway around the world to get shot at by a bunch of Muslims but you can’t even talk to your grandma without turning into a big baby.

LANCE

She’s not right!

Chris is also crying now.

MAMA

Well it ain't doing her a damn bit of good having you two come in here and bawl like a couple of babies. Good lord. Now pull it together, the both of you. Chris, why don’t you tell your grandma something nice that you remember about her?

CHRIS

Uh, well, uh....

LANCE

Fig newtons.

CHRIS

Fig newtons!

LANCE

In that glass cookie jar up on the counter in her kitchen.

CHRIS

Next to the T.V.

LANCE

And she kept that old step stool right there next to it.

CHRIS

So we could reach ‘em when we were little. Damn, I don’t even like Fig Newtons, but I ate a ton of ‘em every time we were over there.

LANCE

Me neither. They only tasted good at Grandma’s house.

Pause for a moment.

LANCE

I been in Iraq, Grandma. I been being careful like you told me to. Ain’t nothing bad happened yet. Not to me anyway. Dude in my company got blown up pretty bad.

CHRIS

You shoot anybody yet?

Lance shakes his head. Chris nods understanding.

CHRIS

Seen anybody get shot?

Lance nods.

CHRIS

Bad guys?

Lance nods.

CHRIS

Cool.

Pause.

MAMA

Boys, why don’t y’all tell Grandma about your music?

CHRIS

Oh yeah. Um, should I just tell her about it?

MAMA

Well of course. Go on.

LANCE

Go ahead, dude.

CHRIS

Grandma, you remember how me and Lance used to have a band with Trevor and them? We had to quit when Lance went off to the Marines.

LANCE

Y’all ain’t had to.

CHRIS

We ain’t had no guitar player, dummy.

LANCE

What about Lucy’s brother?

CHRIS

I don’t like that dude. I’m trying to talk to Grandma here.

LANCE

Then talk.

CHRIS

Damn. Um....what was I saying?

LANCE

The new song.

Lance grabs his guitar and starts tuning it.

CHRIS

Oh right. Um, Grandma, we been writing this new song since Lance got back a couple of days ago. We were gonna play it for you, if you want us to.

MAMA

I think she’d like that.

LANCE

You sure the doctors and them ain’t gonna mind?

MAMA

We’re paying for a private room, ain’t we?

CHRIS

You sure she can hear us?

MAMA

I don't see why not. Go on. Play your song.

Chris queues up the portable stereo. Lance is seated, guitar in his lap, ready to play.

CHRIS

Ready?

Lance nods. Chris presses play on the stereo which bursts forth with a southern-style hip-hop beat. Chris dances accordingly, Lance bobs his head and taps his foot, but he does not, I repeat, he does NOT play a note on his guitar. Mama sits and watches, seemingly pleased. 

Finally it’s lyrics time. Lance and Chris trade off back and forth.

Bitch!

    Take them panties off!

    Take them panties off!

Bitch!

    Take them panties off!

    Take them panties off!

                Take em off!

    Take them panties off!

    Take them panties off!

Bitch!

    Take them panties off!

    Take them panties off!

Bitch!

    Take them panties off!

    Take them panties off!

                Take em off!

    Take them panties off!

    Take them panties off!

This repeats for as long as necessary in order for it to go from ridiculous to just plain stupid. Somewhere during the song a nurse enters to check some vitals. She pays them absolutely no mind while she goes about her business, then exits.

The song finally ends with boy boys yelling:

    Beeeyotch!

Lance strums an A-minor chord.

CHRIS

Dumbass! E-minor!

LANCE

I like A-minor better.

CHRIS

I don't care what you like. It’s supposed to be an E.

LANCE

Says you.

CHRIS

That’s right, says me.

LANCE

I’m the guitar player.

CHRIS

You’re the dipshit.

Lance stands, chest puffed out all fighting rooster-style.

MAMA

Boys! That’s enough. It sounded very nice, whatever chord it was.

LANCE

A-minor.

MAMA

Okay, that’s probably enough for today. We should get going. We’re meeting your Aunt Louise at the Golden Corral in 30 minutes and I need to swing by the Wal-Mart for some pantyhose. Y’all kiss Grandma goodbye now.

The boys take turns kissing Grandma goodbye and telling her they love her. They exit, followed by Mama.

Grandma is once again alone on stage, and I find myself with a choice to make. Part of me wants to do something fucked up like have her heart stop, as indicated by having her heartbeat monitor go flat line, with the little beeps suddenly turning into a long continuous beep. Nurses rushing in and all that. But that seems so cliche. On the other hand, I want to do something kind of sweet like have her give a sign of life, maybe a twitch of her hand, or maybe even open her eyes, maybe even say something. But that seems cliche too. 

I seem to run into this question a lot in my writing: do the fucked up thing or the sort of sweet thing? 

In the end, what I would probably go with is to have nothing change. Just leave Grandma on stage, just as she was at the beginning, as the lights fade out. Visiting hours are over.

What'chall think?