Fiction by Marc Erdrich
Soul Mates - page 5
time you and Mom went to California and left me home alone – the time I nearly burnt the house down
cooking a TV dinner – I took the Packard out for a little spin. The car was so wide I smacked into the door
frame trying to back out of the garage. You never noticed, though. God, was I scared. I was so scared I was
shaking. The only other time I shook that bad was once when I slept with a blind woman. Can you believe
that? I don’t know why I was so scared then, but I couldn’t stop shaking. She thought I was cold. I don’t
know, it just didn’t seem right, sleeping with her. There was something so exciting about it though.
(Continues cleaning, silently) I’m always judging myself. I always do that. I judge everything. I can’t let things
be, on their own terms. You – you were never very judgmental. You just let things happen. You never really
thought about anything, did you? I’ll bet you never even stopped to think why you lived with Mom for so
many years. She never had a decent word to say to you. She cheated on you. I bet you didn’t know that. She
did. I remember, I was nine years old and it was summer vacation; mom and I were staying at a bungalow in
the country. You worked during the week and came up on weekends. Well, one weekday night I was in bed. I
was supposed to be sleeping when Mom came home with a strange man. I could hear them kissing in the
living room. I knew something wasn’t right, but I was too scared to get up. Can you believe it? Mom! Having
an affair! Ha. What about you? Did you ever have an affair? I’ll bet you did. But then, I never really knew
anything about you, did I? To me, you were always a grandpa – first sixty, then seventy, then eighty. God it
was awful. Did you know that when I was little I always thought you were going to die because you were
older than all the other kids’ dads? Remember when you had that heart condition? One night I was lying in
bed with the light on and I started listening to the beating of my own heart. As I listened, the sound got
louder and louder; pretty soon it sounded as if it was going to explode. I got so scared that I jumped out of
bed and ran into the bathroom and threw up.... So what do you think, Dad? What’s going to be with Mom?
She just sits there in front of the TV all day. She doesn’t get dressed. She doesn’t do anything. Not that she
did much before you died. At least then she had your meals to make, and she could yell at you a few times a
day. But now...now she doesn’t do anything. She won’t even touch the piano. Every time I mention it she
gets weepy. She says, “Oh, I remember how your father used to sit on the couch and whistle while I played.”
That’s what she says now. What about all those years she screamed at you? “Why can’t you make more
money? Why can’t you be a better father? What kind of a husband are you?” How did you stand it? Now she
talks about how wonderful it was. Can you believe it?
Scene 3. MOTHER and SON are sitting on easy chairs on opposite sides of the stage. Next to each chair is an
end table with a lamp and a telephone. MOTHER is holding the receiver to her ear. The other phone is
ringing. SON answers it.