Devyn Gilbert

12/8/23

James Clauss

Honors 210

Housewife

Set: Present. A living room, that midwestern style common among the elderly, the lace

fringe of the drapes has gone yellow with age and is tattered in many places. The set should feel

cramped and imposing, as much like a cage as possible. The walls extend high and there are no

windows. Center stage is a large and ugly sofa and next to it is a chest of drawers which a

telephone sits on top of. Connected and within view is a bathroom, although only the sink and

mirror are visible. Everything is unpleasant to look at, but is trying very hard to be the opposite.

[A woman enters, moderate in height, perhaps 5’5’’ or 5’6’’, stage right. Her face and

hands are covered in blood; a harsh dichotomy to her subtle features and pale hair, which is

pinned back, but uneven lengths in places and messy. She wears a sweater, which is bizarrely

pristine, except at the collar, which has some blood on it, and a shin length skirt. Her skirt is torn

at the bottom and ajar. She adjusts it as she trudges with a slight limp toward the couch.

She plops down on the couch and lets out a deep sigh, her shoulders fall, though she still doesn’t

relax entirely, as is indicated by her legs, which are tersely crossed at the ankles.

She reaches beneath the sofa and pulls out a thick binder, a photo album. It’s labeled, “Leda’s

Photos”]
 [She flips through the photos and comes across one from her freshman year of college.

Her hair was shorter then and time hadn’t set lines in her face. In the photo, she and her friends

are smiling, grouped together at a football game. The photo is labeled with the name of her

college, the date, and the names of the people in the photo]

Leda (in a whisper): I was so lovely before, wasn’t I?

[She smiles and puts the photo to the side, now stained with blood. She flips the page and

her face sours. She picks up a photo, which should be shown to the audience as subtly as

possible. The same goes for the other photos in this scene. It’s of her and a man smiling together,

though she is younger in the photo. She smiles openly, but the man seems underwhelmed. He has

the look of someone who knows something he shouldn’t. The photo is labeled with their names

and the date, which is a year or so later than the first date.

[She tears it in half, taking the man’s half and tearing it to pieces, much harder than is

really required to tear a photo. She takes a deep breath after finishing and takes the other half in

her hand, running a gentle thumb over it. She rises from the couch and takes a piece of tape from

one of the drawers next to the sofa.

[She walks to the bathroom, she has the footsteps of someone who has long been afraid to

make a sound. She attaches the half of the photo to the mirror. She grabs a towel from a shelf and

accidentally knocks over a perfume bottle. She jumps and yelps when it falls to the ground,

shattering. She grips the edge of the sink and breathes until she calms down enough to continue.

She looks between the photo of herself on the mirror and her reflection.
 [After running the towel under water from the faucet, she wrings it out a bit and starts to

wipe the blood from her face, but it doesn’t come off. The towel is now stained with blood, but

her face is no cleaner. She runs the towel under the water again and wipes and wipes, but the

blood still drips from her chin. Her growing confusion is visible in the mirror as she scrubs her

face.]

Leda: Is it mine? Am I bleeding?

[She leans closer to the mirror to search for cuts, though she has none.]

Leda (trying to brush off her fear, though with increasing confusion and then freneticism): I must

be… I must be.

[She scrubs more aggressively.]

Leda: No! I want to be the same, [She begins to cry.]

Leda: Why is this happening? I want to be the same as I was! Why is his blood still on me? Why

is he still on me!?

[She lets out a cross between a scream and an animalistic growl as she hits the mirror, shattering

it and casting the photo of her younger self to the ground. She gasps at herself and looks at the

broken mirror in horror.]

Leda: No… (pause) No! I’m not him… I’m not him! I don’t do the things he did! I’m me!

[Her breath is frantic until she catches her eyes in the broken mirror. Her breath stops. She looks

at the shattered reflection of her face.]

Leda: I’m…
[She sighs, as if deflating, and stares at herself with dead eyes.]

[She turns from the mirror back toward the audience. Her face is eerily blank, with a hundred

yard stare settled deep in the crimson that stains her face. She sways like a willow as she walks

silently back to the couch and dials a number on the telephone. She holds the phone to her ear

and waits.]

Leda: Mom? (pause) I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while. (pause) I know it’s

been a long time, I’m sorry you worried. I’m fine. I was just calling to ask- (pause) He’s… not

home. It doesn’t matter. Listen, mom, I just wanted to ask you something. What was I like when

I was younger? Was I… Was I a nice kid?

[A pause, she relaxes at the sound of her mother’s voice, her expression warms and her shoulders

fall. She’s truly relaxed for the first time in the scene.]

Leda: How old was I then? (pause) Yeah, I really liked her. I hope she’s doing alright now. I

haven’t seen her in such a long time. (pause, then with an off kilter cheeriness:) Yeah,

everything’s fine. Just taking a trip down memory lane. (pause) Yeah… yeah, I remember. That

was a good birthday. I had so many friends back then. The cake was huge! (She laughs softly,

then pauses) Oh, I wasn’t that popular… (long pause, her smile turns melancholic) Hey mom?

(pause, her smile is gone now) I… I’m worried I’m not like that anymore… (Her voice trembles

and shrinks in volume in this sentence). I’m not… He… I think he changed me. I don’t think I’ll

ever be that way again. [her voice breaks and she starts to cry inaudibly] And I hate him for it. I

hate him. I never used to hate anyone, did I? I used to be nice and sociable and kind, and now

I’m… lonely. I haven’t talked to anyone but him and the grocery clerk in months. And I’m angry.

I’m just so angry. I’m scared I’m getting angry the way he did. I- I broke a mirror, mom. And my

hand… It looked so much like his. I’m… I’m not sure who I am anymore. I look around at
everything in this God forsaken house that used to be mine and all I see is him and it’s all…

rotting. It’s rotting. The lace on the curtains is yellow and the sofa’s worn down and the floor and

walls are dented from everything he did and it feels like it shrinks more by the day and I’m afraid

I’m rotting with it. I’m afraid I’m dented and yellowed and worn out just like this stupid house

that he ruined. And I loved this house! When we first moved in, I filled it with my favorite things

and painted it green, like I always wanted, and planted hydrangeas in the garden. I loved it so

much… and now it’s just… him. Him and everything he’s done to me. (pause) I… already left

him. I left him today. But I think I did it too late. (Pause, she fumbles with her torn skirt, then, in

a whisper:) Mom, I- I feel… inhuman. (Pause) He treated me like this… thing. Something for

him to use, to cook for him, to clean for him, to push, to hit, to kiss, to fuck. I was just… his

thing. And when I look in the mirror, I don’t see a person anymore. I just see his thing. I want to

be me again, but I’m not sure “me” exists anymore… Mom, I- I wanna come home. [she wipes

away a tear from her face, but the blood still doesn’t smudge] I can’t. (Pause) I just can’t. I’m

sorry, I really didn’t mean to worry you. I can’t come home, though. I just have so many chores

to do. [Pause, she smiles again, through her tears] I’ve missed you too… Mom? Listen, I have to

go– [Pause] I know I’m sorry, but everything’s fine. (pause) Everything is fine, I promise. I

really do have to go. The house is just… [she looks at the blood on her hands and then around at

the trail of blood that stains the floor leading to the sofa] a mess, but I just wanted to tell you, I

love you. I have to go, but I love you. (Pause) Ok, goodbye.

[She puts the phone back on the receiver, rises from the sofa, and gently smooths her

skirt. She walks quietly back to the bathroom and picks up her photo from the floor and clutches

it to her chest for a moment before she lies it on the edge of the sink. She bends down and picks
up the largest shard of the mirror from the floor and presses it to her wrist. The lights go out. We

hear a slice and then a long, weary sigh.]

(end)