A reason to laugh… that was the first thing 10-year-old Mary Murphy wished for each morning when she opened her eyes. Unfortunately, laughter had no place in her life, especially on Saturday mornings. Before her feet even hit the floor, she knew exactly what to expect. Her mother, Audrey, would be sitting at the kitchen table making lists on the back of old envelopes… one list for the grocery store and one list for the butcher. It was Mary’s responsibility to do all the shopping and cleaning because Audrey was always sick… sick being a selective term used to describe the alcohol and drug induced stupors that kept her incapacitated most days.
After a quick breakfast of stale bread soaked in hot black coffee, Audrey would push Mary out the door with orders to “Go to Mickey first.” Mickey was the butcher. His shop was a 20 minute walk from the house up and down hills and across busy intersections. Mary knew the route by heart. She also knew that when she got to the butcher shop, Mickey would have a nice, thick slice of bologna or a fresh hot dog waiting for her… and something special for her mother.
Upon arriving, Mickey always greeted Mary with a cheery “Top of the mornin’ to ya, Little Miss. What can I get you today?” Mary never bothered to answer. She just handed Mickey the list and waited for her treat. While Mickey cut, sliced and trimmed the day’s order, wrapping it in clean, white butcher’s paper, Mary sat on the front stoop and nibbled at whatever hunk of meat she had been given. It could well be the only meal she got that day.
When she was finished, she went back inside, her timing always perfect. Mickey would be putting the last paper wrapped package in a canvas sack. Then, he would reach under the counter, and Mary would hear the familiar sound of something hard rattling against plastic. When Mickey’s hand reappeared, he would be holding a small brown vial, which he also wrapped in white paper and dropped into the sack. Mary handed Mickey a $20 bill and he handed her the bag of meat.
“Hurry home, me girl. Don’t stop or drop… ya hear me?”
Although Mary had no choice but to stop at the grocery story, she had no intention of dropping the canvas sack. She knew what would happen if she got careless and left the bag somewhere. Audrey’s violent temper tantrums became a hundred times more vicious if she did not get her daily supplements.
Having recently reached the ripe old age of 10, Mary was a woman of the world. She knew her mother was a drug addict. She had the bruises on her arms and legs to show for it. The bite marks on her shoulders were badges of honor. Each week that she suffered abuse was another week she grew stronger. Each time her mother beat her while saying, “I’ll give you a reason to laugh…” made her more determined to survive.
Once the grocery store was behind her, Mary headed home, arms loaded with packages. There was no “Thank you” from her mother… just a quick grab of the canvas sack and an even quicker dump of its contents on the kitchen counter. The pill bottle was opened and two little white seeds went quickly from the palm of her hand into her mouth. She washed them down her throat with a swig of scotch.
Fearful that someone would discover her addiction, Audrey would take a step ladder from the spare bedroom closet and place it in front of the refrigerator, which was perpendicular to the kitchen window. Then, she would take a key from her pocket and unsteadily climb the ladder. When she reached the top, she would unlock the cabinet door and tuck the bottle safely inside. Snap… the cabinet was again locked tight.
Week after week – month after month – this was Mary’s reality until one day, with fresh bruises on her arms and her lip still bleeding from contact with her mother’s fist, she decided to take matters into her own hands. As Audrey stood on tiptoe on the top step of the ladder, Mary accidentally lost her footing and knocked the ladder over, causing her mother to fall sideways and crash through the window to the concrete sidewalk two flights below. Mary watched as a pool of blood spread slowly out around her mother.
Audrey’s eyes were open. Mary stared into them. Her mother stared back at her, but Audrey’s eyes could not see the relief in Mary’s face. Her eyes could not see anything anymore. Mary righted the ladder, climbed it and removed the bottle of pills from the cabinet. She made sure the key was still in the cabinet lock. Then, she climbed down, knocked the ladder over again, opened the bottle and poured the pills out the broken window, throwing the bottle out after them.
Mary stood and looked at her handiwork, a smile spreading across her face. She turned and, head held high, began to walk away. After just a few steps, she stopped and returned to the window. In a voice filled with barely concealed humor she said, “Well, mother, you finally did give me a reason to laugh.”
Donna Carbone is the Executive Director/Playwright in Residence at the Palm Beach Institute for the Entertainment Arts, where education through entertainment is the mission statement.
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