Motherhood Ain't Easy

Sometimes I worry that I made mistakes when raising my children, but I'm glad I never asked my middle schooler to pass out pamphlets while I protested nude on the streets of North Beach.

Luckily, they're all grown up now so the danger has passed. 

Charybdis ~ A short play

(A woman is sitting on a bench in a park, staring out blankly at the audience. She's clean and well dressed, holding a purse on her lap. She is waiting for someone. She looks at her watch. A young man enters and sits next to her. He's unshaven, in shabby clothes.)

SON

Hey, Mom! I've been looking for you.

MOTHER

I've been waiting right here.

SON

Well, I'm glad I finally found you. Are you hungry? Do you want to go get a sandwich?

MOTHER

Sure. I guess we could do that.

SON

Let's go. I'm starving.

MOTHER

Why haven't you eaten?

SON

I don't have any money.

MOTHER

What happened to your money?

SON

I spent it on other things.

MOTHER

What kind of things?

SON

Oh, you know. The usual.

MOTHER

(looks away, then down at her feet; seems surprised by something she sees there and lifts her feet a little off the floor)

The water is rising.

SON

What water? I don't see anything.

MOTHER

My shoes are getting wet.

SON

What are you talking about? There isn't any water! C'mon, let's go get a sandwich or a piece of pizza. I'm starving to death!

MOTHER

(gives him an appraising look) Yes, you do look like you're starving. You look like a skeleton. Why are you are ruining the good looks that God gave you? You got a great gift of beauty and you're throwing it away for no reason!

SON

Mom, no. Not this.

MOTHER

Not what?

SON

Not this big load of bullshit.

MOTHER

(Sighs dramatically. Looks away, then takes a hand towel out of her purse and starts drying off her shoes.)

SON

(watches her skeptically for a moment before continuing)

There's a reason.

MOTHER

A reason for what, Son?

SON

It’s because I'm suffering.

MOTHER

What?

SON

I'm suffering because you never loved me.

MOTHER

(Sits up straight and looks at him)

How can you say that? I've always loved you! I love you more than my own self!

SON

That's what you say.

MOTHER

I gave you everything--everything I had. I rack my brains every night about how I can help you!

SON

And then you don't do it.

MOTHER

I'm trying!

SON

No you aren't. You're not even getting me a sandwich. You're just sitting there polishing your shoes.

MOTHER

I’m not polishing my shoes! Forget about the fucking sandwich! Listen to me! The water is rising. It's already past my ankles!

SON

I don't see any water.

MOTHER

It's almost up to my knees!

SON

(nonchalant) Whatever. I'm not really hungry anyway. After you go a day or two without eating, your stomach forgets.

MOM

A day or two? Jesus! No wonder you’re so skinny! Okay, let’s go get a piece of pizza.

SON

No. Forget about it. That's not my problem. I’m suffering because Joanna left me.

MOTHER

Joanna? Son! That was 2 years ago! That's not a good reason to starve yourself.

SON

I think it is.

MOTHER

So you're feeling lonesome? Guess what? So am I. I miss you so much. Why don’t you come back to your senses?

SON

(annoyed) How can you miss me when I'm sitting right in front of you?

MOTHER

But I never see you! I don’t know where you are! Every night, I worry that you're freezing to death under some overpass. Why don't you ever answer your phone?

SON

I lost it.

MOTHER

Again?! I just bought that last month. How could you lose another phone?

SON

The same way everybody loses things! I put it down and forgot to pick it up!

MOTHER

(taps the top of her purse and looks away again)

Have you seen your doctor lately?

SON

You’re not allowed to ask me that.

MOTHER

When is your next appointment?

SON

I don't know. Maybe next week.

MOTHER

Are you taking your medication?

SON

You’re not allowed to ask about that, Mom, remember?

MOTHER

But are you?

SON

What do you want me to say? Yes?

MOTHER

(Sighs. Taps her purse.)

You smell like you need a shower.

SON

I’m sure I do.

MOTHER

Why don't you take one at the shelter?

SON

They kicked me out.

MOTHER

What?! When did that happen? What did you do?

SON

I don't know. It was crazy. They said they couldn't wake me up.

MOTHER

Why couldn't they wake you? Were you on drugs?

SON

No.

MOTHER

Why wouldn't you wake up, then?

SON

I don't know. I guess I was tired.

MOTHER

How can you be tired when you don't do anything all day?

SON

What do you know about it!? I spend all day walking from place to place, just looking for somewhere to sit down. It's exhausting! It took me three hours just to get here on the bus to meet you!

MOTHER

(penitant)

Where are you going to sleep tonight?

SON

I don't know. I was thinking maybe I could spend the night on your couch. What do you think? I just need a place to lie down for a few hours...

MOTHER

I don't think I can let you do that...

SON

Why not?

MOTHER

Because something always goes wrong when I do. Remember the last time?

SON

It's Dad, isn't it? You won't let me sleep over because Dad says no.

MOTHER

You need to check into a hospital, Son, or a drug treatment program. Those are your options. We don't want to enable you to go on living like this.

SON

Why don't you think for yourself for a change? It's pathetic.

MOTHER

I am thinking for myself. I agree with Dad. This isn't working. It's not right. You're in danger. (putting her hand out to touch his jaw) Why is your mouth swollen? Did somebody hit you?

SON

(pulling away from her) Yes. But it didn't hurt. I was smiling the whole time.

(giving her a strange smile) Don't worry about it! Everything will be fine as soon as my loan comes through.

MOTHER

Your loan?

SON

The $50,000 government transparency loan I told you about. Damien is going to co-sign for me.

MOTHER

No one is going to loan you $50,000! And if someone said they would co-sign for you, they're lying. They’re probably trying to get their hands on your disability money--to rip you off.

SON

What do you know about it!

MOTHER

I know you aren't being realistic. I know you need help.

SON

Then why don't you help me?! I stink! My feet hurt! I'm cold! I'm hungry! You're sitting there with a purse full of money and you won't even buy me a sandwich!

MOTHER

But I WILL buy you a sandwich! Come on. Let's go get one right now.

SON

No. Wait. That's not really the problem. I'm suffering because I don't understand what's going on.

MOTHER

(suddenly alert)

What?

SON

I'm think I’m sinking into the water, Mom. I'm slipping under the surface.

MOTHER

Please don't say that.

SON

It's scary, but I kind of like it. The water is warm. It protects me from falling. It cushions me from the blow.

MOTHER

No, it doesn't.

SON

I can see a grate at the bottom of the pool, creating a current. It's pulling at me. It's sucking me in.

MOTHER

Don't go towards the grate! It's a trap! Swim up! Swim up to the top!

SON

I can see the sun penetrating the water, and little particles of dust floating beside me in the light; I can see your shadow standing at the edge of the pool, peering in...

MOTHER

(takes a sharp breath)

I can just barely see you. And the water is rising. Now it's covering my shoes. I'm looking around for a rope...

SON

A rope?

MOTHER

I want to throw it to you. I want to pull you out of the water.

SON

Do you have one?

MOTHER

I can't find one. I'm still looking.

SON

You are?

MOM

Come on, Son. Let's go get a sandwich.

SON

(getting up and starting to walk around the bench in a widening spiral)

Forget it. I changed my mind. I don't want anything from you.

MOTHER

What? Why? What did I do? (Following after him. The spiral getting wider and wider until she chases him off the stage; Each time she passes behind the bench, she emerges wetter and wetter.)

SON

Don’t pretend you don’t know.

MOTHER

Slow down! Where are you going?

SON

What do you care?

MOTHER

Don't you want a sandwich?

SON

Not anymore.

MOTHER

(Looking around anxiously, perhaps for the rope) But you said you were hungry! Come on, let me buy you a sandwich!

SON

I'd rather have a beer.

MOTHER

I'm not buying you any alcohol!

SON

(stooping to pick up a cigarette butt off the sidewalk and holding it up to admire in the light) Look at the size of that one!

MOTHER

Don't put that in your mouth! It's dirty.

SON

Stop pretending you care about me.

MOTHER

Stop running away from me!

SON

Stop following me! Go find the fucking rope!

(exits)

MOTHER

Wait up! Come back! Don't leave me! (stops at the edge of the stage, reaching after him; the next line is delivered quietly, in defeat) I could buy you some cigarettes...

(walks back to the bench; sits down carefully; looks down at the ground, then lifts her feet up on the bench to avoid the rising water; settles the purse on her lap; resumes staring blankly out at the audience)

THE END

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P.C. Fergusson is a writer based in San Francisco. See what she’s working on now at northbeachnotebook.blogspot.com. Find more of her work on her Amazon Author Page.

Copyright 2014. All rights reserved.

Cover art is a collage of images found on the Internet.

What You See When the Fog Lifts

When Ace suggested moving back to San Francisco after 20 years plus in the suburbs, I was afraid. And the first night I spent in our rented flat in North Beach, I cried. I felt disconnected from my children, from the comfortable home where they grew up. I could hear the people in the flat next door, walking up and down their hallway. I wasn't sure of my boundaries. Who was I supposed to become?

But just a few days later, the fog lifted: No one knew me. No one watched me. No one judged me in the City. That awful crush of conformity that permeated my life in suburbia was gone. I was free to be anything--everything--I wanted. I was free!

Now we're coming up on our fourth year in San Francisco, and I don't ever want to go back. I want to claim San Francisco as my own, to take her in my arms and devour her, in all her lush and sere and dark deliciousness. She is mine, this city where we met and married, where my grandmother, my mother, and my three children were born. She is mine for the taking.

~At an Easter bonnet contest in Golden Gate Park. 

The Cold and Necessary Bay

When I took this picture I saw the line of light above the hills, god trailing her finger over all her creation. 

Now on my computer I see mostly the bridge, masterwork of human endeavor, with its big bolts, and thick grease, and heavy ironwork. 

In between them lies the water, cold and deep and ever changing, full of strange and dangerous life, a gorgeous and terrifying mystery, connecting man and god.

~Walking southward towards the City on the GGB.

On Angel Island

I've been searching through my photographs for images of San Francisco and environs. So many of my photos have been lost, so many misplaced. 

Back in the day, I was a photographer in college, and Ace and I would make out in a darkroom at San Francisco State University, where we met and started the courtship that would become this marriage of 30 plus years. I was young and confident in my beauty back then, but the red light in the darkroom made me more beautiful, made him look like a dream, and the acrid smell of the chemicals made that dumpy room cramped with equipment seem dangerous and erotic. We hurried back to taste its pleasures week after week.

I used a Leica then, a camera so magical it cast a spell of admiration when I entered the newsroom of the Golden Gater with it slung over my shoulder. I miss the weight of that Leica in my hand, the feel of the lens between my fingers as I spun it back and forth, bringing the two images together in the viewfinder to focus the photo, seeing that my world was in sync.

Now that the world is digital, I take photo after photo on my iphone and never print them out. They cluster on my laptop, until my laptop dies and is replaced; or stack up on an online site, until it goes out of business, warning me politely to rescue my photos before it's too late; or they sit snugly on a firewire storage device, until technology passes me by once again, and the firewire input goes missing.

My photos are like confused salmon, swimming around in the ether, unsure of the way back home. Except for this one--a beauty. It found me, at last, gills glittering in the sun.

~A friend on Angel Island.