Rob Hayes Writes Plays

Free Plays From Rob Hayes.

Tag: mother

Mother (Third Variation)

She holds my face tight, pushing my cheeks in like this.

He pushes his cheeks in.

‘Look at that face’, she says. Obviously I can only see hers. She is pretty, if the light’s right. But this feels really quite weird. I don’t know if it’s because I’m leaving or because she’s a bit pissed, but she’s really making things quite uncomfortable.

Then she says ‘don’t waste it’.

He shrugs.

‘Waste what?’ She holds my face tighter, ‘what you’ve got, right here’. I’m lost. I just kind of raise one eyebrow and try to smile, but I can’t because of the.

He squeezes his cheeks.

Her eyes are glistening, just along the rim, and then she says, ‘if I had it back, I’d probably just waste it all over again.’

And I say.

I say.

Nothing. I don’t say anything. I want to, but I can’t. Then she lets me go.

But just because I never said it doesn’t mean she didn’t know. She knew I loved her. She must’ve known.

Because I did. I loved her.

And she knew that, even though. Even though I never said it. 

You Wouldn’t Believe What Mother Said Today

A Patio.

An old lady is sat in an armchair crocheting a tablecloth. Her adult son sits reading the financial section of a newspaper. He has an empty espresso cup on the arm of his chair.

Pause.

MOTHER Did I say that out loud?

SON Say what out loud?

MOTHER That just then. About Georgia’s school uniform.

SON No. You didn’t say anything.

MOTHER Hnn.

Beat.

MOTHER Must’ve said it in my head.

SON I think you did.

She continues to crochet. Her son returns his attention to the newspaper.

MOTHER Did I say that out loud?

SON What?

MOTHER About asking you about the other thing?

SON We just had a brief conversation mother yes.

MOTHER So I did?

SON Yes you did.

MOTHER Hnn.

She returns to her crocheting. Her son observes her for a moment.

Mother (Second Variation)

Jack. She holds my face. Holds it tight, pushing my cheeks in like this.

Jack pushes his cheeks in.

‘Look at that face’, she says. Obviously I can’t. My mother is a particularly stupid beast, right? She is not smart whichever way you look at it. She was attractive once, I’ve seen the pictures. But mostly she’s unintelligent. And this is a case in point because she’s stood holding my head like a. Like a clamp. And telling me to look at my own face. Behind me my driver’s side door’s open and all my worldy possessions are in the back seat, and round here’s the kind of place you lose a fight before you know you’re in one, if you get me. So she starts on about how young I am and I’m having to stare back at her because she’s not giving me any choice. And then she says ‘don’t waste it’.

And I say, waste what?

And she holds my face tighter, and says ‘What you’ve got’.

I’m just like, what the fuck? ‘I won’t’, I say.

‘Not like me’, she says. And then she starts to cry a bit, and says ‘if I had it all back, I’d probably just waste it again.’ 

Mother (First Variation)

Jack. My mum’s not really a mum. She’s more like a woman that had a kid. And I think it was a mistake, because she only had one. And she’s a smart woman, and smart people don’t make mistakes more than once. I think she found looking after a mistake quite difficult. I lived with dad for a while. Except it turns out he wasn’t my dad he was my uncle. One of those uncles that aren’t actually your uncle, they’re just a man with a beard who knows your name.

And I sometimes wonder if it was all my fault, everything that happened. But then I think, no I didn’t have a choice in being born. The matter was out of my hands. It was her choice, and she chose to have me rather than, you know, get me put in a sandwich bag and flushed down the toilet. Or whatever. So maybe it was a good thing for her. At the time maybe. I don’t know.

Sometimes I wish I could climb back inside her. Just sit there listening to her breathing. Heart beating in her chest cavity. And you don’t feel that about just any old woman, do you?

Yeah, I love her I think.