Mum Season
Isobel Ali
SCENE ONE
The interior of a mid-century, multi-generational ranch house. The paint on the cabinets is chipped, the wallpaper nicotine-stained and peeling. The mismatched rugs and furniture are as faded as the blue exterior of the house, slowly bleached by sun and time. It’s autumn, and the windows are finally closed to the cool breeze and smell of decay that clings to the fallen leaves. JENNIFER, a 51-year-old stay-at-home-mother, watches from just inside as her brother ROBERT, a 52-year-old programmer analyst, pulls into the driveway in a beat-up sedan, then gets out and makes his way to the small brick porch. JENNIFER holds the door open for him. Both are tall, but essentially opposites in all other ways: JENNIFER is willowy, freckled from the time she spends in the garden, her hair fair and her face increasingly lined. ROBERT is heavyset and fairly pale, his slightly balding head relatively unwrinkled and decorated with dark features. She wears old jeans and a neutral, long-sleeved shirt; he wears a large black t-shirt and black basketball shorts.
ROBERT: Kathryn’s got pink-eye again. [Fiona, JENNIFER’s family dog, hurtles around the corner and launches herself at ROBERT, licking his hands and legs. ROBERT bends over to scratch her.]
JENNIFER: [nods politely, resisting the urge to make a comment] That’s okay- I wasn’t expecting you to bring everyone. How’s Laura?
ROBERT [shrugs wearily] She’s busy, and with all the time she’s spending at the school, she might catch it too. And David’s started volunteering at the animal shelter.
JENNIFER: Wow. Not enough pets at home?
ROBERT: [laughs drily] Yeah, I think it’s a good environment for him. Give him a chance to “socialize.”
[They move further into the quiet house, passing a closed door behind which the faint sound of typing can be heard.]
ROBERT: How’s Adnan?
JENNIFER: Eh. He’s got a slave-driver of a boss right now, and because everything’s remote, she seems to think he doesn’t need to stop working until like eleven every night.
[They pause in the kitchen. A loud, conservative daytime news show can be heard, emanating from an unplaceable source. JENNIFER starts rifling through the stacks of paper and folders on the dining table, separating out a much smaller pile.]
ROBERT: [sucks his teeth] That sucks. Kids are at school?
JENNIFER: [absentmindedly] Yeah, both out around the end of August. House has gotten really quiet. Buddy and I usually end up eating dinner in front of the TV now.
ROBERT: You still looking at jobs?
JENNIFER: [looks up, disappointment etched in the lines on her face] Can’t. When Buddy goes back to the city, I’m gonna have to be here for Dad.
[Robert rounds the dining table for a short, gated hallway just off of the room. The news show grows slightly louder.]
ROBERT: [nearly shouting] DAD?
PETER: [faintly] Who?
ROBERT: It’s your son! You decent?
PETER: Robert?
ROBERT: Yeah, Dad, it’s me. [he moves the dog gate and proceeds down the hall, the floorboards creaking underfoot. JENNIFER follows him and closes the dog gate behind her, carrying her papers.]
[PETER, JENNIFER and ROBERT’s 83-year-old father, lays in a hospital bed in the back room, the autumn light bathing everything in a golden glow. An abandoned exercise bike sits in the center of the room, and just behind it are three desks covered with various PCs, keyboards, monitors, and extraneous parts. The bed is crowded by a huge wheelchair and two walkers, as well as an umbrella stand holding various canes. A thick layer of dust coats the bookshelves and the photographs of PETER’s children and wife. A large bag of Tootsie Rolls sits on the bedside table. PETER watches them walk in, then shifts his gaze back to the news show. Once a strong, proud man, he lays on his side, his shoulders hunched and his fingers gnarled. His hair is gray, short in some places and long in others from a recent, botched attempt at cutting it himself. His mouth is slightly open, revealing ill-fitting dentures.]
ROBERT: [laughing] Woah, Dad, what happened to your head?
JENNIFER: Buddy offered to help him buzz it off, but Dad wanted to do it himself.
ROBERT: [grinning] You gotta be careful- people’ll think you’re abusing him.
JENNIFER: [nods, eyes wide] Oh, I know. When Cindy, our new visiting nurse, came over, he told her we lock him in here. [she looks over at her father, but there’s no anger or sadness in her gaze, only exhaustion] I had to explain that the dog gate’s the only way we can keep Fi out of here.
ROBERT: [nods] Yeah, she doesn’t need Tootsie Rolls.
JENNIFER: Or pills. I keep finding them on the floor.
PETER: [finally returns his attention to his children and shaking his head] Max used to eat whatever we gave him and he was fine. You baby her. She wouldn’t be able to fend for herself if you left her out in the wild.
JENNIFER: [glances at ROBERT] Didn’t Max also have ulcers? Fi’s doing fine. [gesturing at the TV] Can we turn this off?
PETER: [appears to gain some energy] You don’t want to hear about the Chinese? [he starts to laugh scratchily] The hard-working Americans who keep getting replaced by these minorities-
ROBERT: How do you know the Chinese people getting these jobs aren’t hard-working? How do you know they aren’t Americans? [His tone suggests he’s not invested in this argument, merely jabbing at his father] It’s not that big of a deal, Dad.
JENNIFER: [looks at him, resigned] Rob.
PETER: Well it’s not for you because all you do all day is sit on your fat ass.
JENNIFER: [head snapping around] Dad!
PETER: You should try eating a salad, or walking somewhere. Surprised you made it up the front steps.
ROBERT: [looks around the room at the neglected workout and mobility equipment, then cracks another smile] I’ll race you. Let’s see who makes it to the kitchen first. Then maybe you can eat something that isn’t individually wrapped.
JENNIFER: [slightly more forcefully] Alright, can we not?
PETER laughs weakly, his gaze on his daughter, but it dissolves into rattling coughs. ROBERT laughs too, but not at his sister. He picks the remote up from the bedside table and mutes the TV.
JENNIFER: Dad, we need you to sign the paperwork for the hospital. Rob’s here to witness and help us get you into the car. [extends the papers and a pen to PETER]
PETER: Oh, so you’re getting rid of me. Too busy to take care of your father, huh?
ROBERT: [looking at his father] Wasn’t this your idea? [JENNIFER nods wearily, her arm still extended]
PETER: It doesn’t matter. I know she wants me out. They can take better care of me at the hospital anyway, instead of letting me lay here by myself.
JENNIFER: [slightly irritated] I’m not pushing you out. If you’d taken physical therapy seriously, you wouldn’t have to lay here, Dad. [turns to ROBERT] He’s great for the visiting nurses, doing extra laps and showing off, but when it comes to maintaining that… [she trails off, looking at PETER, who’s sporting another leering smile]
ROBERT: Well, he’s right. The hospital will be able to keep an eye on him 24-7, so you’re not up at all hours of the night. [JENNIFER grimaces, remembering the most recent incident]
PETER: [levels a malicious gaze at JENNIFER] She won’t let me use the wheelchair. She keeps telling me to stop buying new things, that I’m wasting money. Money she thinks I’ll give to her.
JENNIFER: It won’t fit through the hall, Dad. You should be using the walker like Cindy said anyway. [she looks at ROBERT] He keeps buying random crap, which he clearly isn’t using. That wheelchair was five thousand dollars. [she folds her arms. ROBERT shakes his head in bewilderment]
PETER: You won’t even help me try to get it out of here.
JENNIFER: [shortly] Yeah, well I’m not your maid.
PETER: Shit one you’d be.
JENNIFER: [nods rigidly and straightens up] Can you…? [holds the papers and pen out to ROBERT]
ROBERT: [takes them and nods] Dad, what’re you gonna do at a hospital? Wouldn’t you rather be here?
PETER: With your fat ass?
ROBERT: Yeah, Dad, because I live here. No, with family.
[JENNIFER extricates herself, listening to the men’s voices escalate. She passes through the dog gate, then moves to the doors that lead out onto the deck, opening them to let Fiona into the yard. She follows her, drinking in the cool air. The day had moved by fast, and she’s confronted with a dazzling sunset as she picks a bit of lichen off the deck railing.]
Isobel Ali is a Classics and Criminal Justice major, class of 2022. She was born and raised in New Jersey, and sees writing as the perfect way to escape.
Isobel wrote this scene in a creative writing course taught by Professor Susan Miller, who selected the work for inclusion in WHR.