by David Budbill
MISS FORTY
You from around here? Where you from?
I'm not from around here either. I'm from down near Belly-fon-tane.
People think it's Bellefountain–the beautiful fountain–but
those of us from down that way know its just plain old
Belly-fon-tane. Where you from?
Chillicothe? Athens? Akron? Fort Defiance?
You from McConnelsville, Beverly? How about Mingo Junction?
Now there's one for ya! Mingo Junction. I knew a guy from there once.
I knew a guy once from there. . . . Both of those.
It was the same guy.
Where you from? Akron, Canton, Toledo? I bet it's Westerville or Worthington or Waverly or West Carrolton. You from Cincinnati?
I know you ain't from Cleveland. Nobody with hair and a shirt
like yours is ever from Cleveland.
Me? I'm from Ashtabula. Right next door to Conneaut. No. Really. I am. Born and bred . . . well . . . in Ashtabula. Yes sirree.
Samovar and Zeemahoolah
Lived in a house in Ashtabula.
Ashtabula, O-hi-o.
That's the place we want to go!
Christ, I bet you know that one. You know that one, don't ja?
It's a kids' book.
Me? I'm from Ashtabula. Ashtabula, O-hi-o.
Here! look at this map. See? Ashtabula, O-hi-o.
Right there by the lake. Isn't it beautiful?
Oh, it's lovely right there by the lake.
But I ain't goin' back there or anywhere is my guess.
I'm stuck here is what I think. They won't let me go nowhere.
I'm here to stay is what I think.
Oh, God, I sure would like to get away, get out and see some places. I'd like to go to Cincinnati and take a ride on one of them river boats, you know, the ones with the paddle wheels. What they call them kind of boats? Paddlewheelers. Yeah, that's it. I'd like to go see Columbus. See the Capital. Hell, I never even been to Akron. I never been anywhere, except Ashtabula . . . and here. . . .
They got me here to stay. Forty years old and here to stay.
Forty years old. Can you believe that? I know, I know, I don't look it,
but I am. Forty years old and I ain't never been to Akron.
I ain't ever even been to Steubenville! But I read my maps.
You bet I do. Got one right here. Wanna see?
Forty years old and never been anywhere. Well, hey!
life begins at forty, right? Ain't that what they say? Hell,
I got time. Right? That's what they say, ain't it? I mean,
I'm just a kid still. Right?
Just another couple seconds, please! Really. Please!
Oh, God! how I would like to get away . . .
just for a little while, but I know I never will.
I never will. Forty years old and here to stay. . . .
Well! it's been nice talking with you. See, I told you it'd only be
a couple more seconds. You got a nice shirt. I gotta go. Got to run.
Got a lot of things I got to do today.
Oh, hell! it ain't true. I know you know it ain't.
I got nothin' to do. Not a damn thing. I never do.
Say, I like you. What say . . . what say you and me–what say
you and me–we go over to Matia's and get a coffee. Wadaya say?
Just the two of us, you and me, we'll go over to Matia's
and we'll get a coffee.
Hey! wait a minute! Let's go over to Matia's. Comeon.
Hey! Where you goin'?
JEANIE
My life is a wreck. I'm 27 years old and I feel like my life is over.
What am I going to do? Am I going to spend the rest of my life
waiting tables at Matia's?
Matia's is nice and all that and it's not a bad place to work,
the pay's okay and the tips are pretty good–a lot better than when
I waited table in that veggie-reggie-hippy-dippy restaurant.
Jeeze! All those left-wing, power-to-the-people types
are the tightest fisted, holier-than-thou crabs I ever met.
Matia's isn't like that. The folks are friendly and the tips are good.
I mean, workers look after workers, don't you think? It's not all up here, in the head, like it was with those other types. The ones who come into Matia's aren't that way. For them, it's in the stomach . . .
where it counts.
I like it there. I do. But . . . I mean . . . it's a diner! How am I gonna meet
a guy in a place like that? Not that there's anything wrong with the guys that come in, but, . . . you know . . . it's . . . a diner!
And when I get off work I stink. I mean, waiting table is heavy work.
Anybody who's done it knows! Ditch diggers, jack hammer operators and waitresses–they're all the same. And on top of all of that
the grease and all that cigarette smoke is in my hair and clothes. . . .
So I come home, take a bath, wash my hair, sprinkle myself with powder and put on some nice, clean clothes. I feel better. I feel good.
I smell good. I like myself that way, all clean and sweet and my clothes pressed and smelling good.
So then what do I do? I go down stairs and have dinner with Mom.
And then the rest of the evening I watch TV–with Mom.
I mean, Holy Kripes, I'm 27 years old and I'm workin' in a diner
and I'm still livin' at home . . . with Mom!
I actually look forward to comin' to work! At least it gets me out of the house. At least it's something different. At least it gets me away from Mom!
Every time I step out the door, when it's not to work, I mean,
Mom wants to know where I'm goin'. I can't go out with a guy–not that I get that many chances–without her asking all kinds of questions. It's like I'm 12 years old, like I'm in jail!
I ought to get my own place. I know I should. I would too, but . . . .
What would she do without me? She can't get along with out me.
She'd fall apart without me.
I'm 27 years old and all I do with my life is work at a diner and watch TV at home with Mom.
Is that all there is to life? Matia's every day, come home, a bath,
then dinner and TV with Mom? Is that all there is?
Isn't there something more to life? What am I going to do?
PURSE LADY
You work here? You should put lights up here. You ever been here
after dark? Around dark? I mean when it gets dark? It's not safe.
Not anymore. Not like it used to be. It's too dark at night. And it's
an eye-sore. You should clean up this place. You should put lights.
I mean, it's not right: this place. You work here?
It used to be so nice, very nice, so beautiful. A Japanese garden.
And taken care of. You just don't know. Why, when Mrs. Colechester
was alive . . . . I knew your mother. I knew Mrs. Colechester.
She told me I could sit here anytime, anytime I wanted.
And I did too. I still do. I've got the permission.
But it's not the same. Not anymore. You work here?
It's not right the way it is now. It's too dark at night and, well,
look at it. It's not right. You should put lights. This neighborhood's
not the way it used to be. Not anymore. I've lived here all my life.
Of course, I don't mean here. Not right here. I'm not like them.
I have an apartment, a very nice one too–if I do say so myself–
just a couple blocks from here. I've been there forty years.
Forty years. But it's not like it used to be, I mean this place. Huh.
I guess not. My apartment is because I take care of it.
It's neat and clean. Not like this place. Just look at it. It's awful now.
It's a parking lot. A human being parking lot. And it's too dark at night.
You should work here. You should put lights.