Scene I: A messy kitchen on a morning before school; Mommy is finishing packing her son's lunch and trying to find a container big enough for all the Halloween candy that has taken over her house. She grabs a brown chest and begins to dump out the assorted stickers. Son enters, Stage Right.)
"Mommy, why are you emptying the Treasure Box?"
(Please don't make me talk about this.)
"Because."
"Because you don't have any piano students?"
(Really? We're going to talk about the fact that my blasted infirmities have robbed me of my career, my vitality, even my sense of humor? And my favorite students? We're going to talk about this at 7:41 a.m.?! )
"That's right."
"So you - " he paused over the big word, " - cancelled your studio?"
(Sure, kid. Twist the knife.) "Yes."
Pause.
(... It's ridiculous how much this hurts. Please go away.)
"But you're getting better now."
(Slowly but surely - now that I've cancelled my whole life.) "That's true. I am getting better."
Son dashes across the kitchen and throws his arms around Mommy with enthusiasm. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
Mommy nearly falls over, startled. "For what?"
"For getting better!" Son beams with his father's beautiful smile. "Because I want to play with you!"
"Oh. And I can play with you now?"
"Yes! Because you don't need to sleep as much anymore!"
(That's true, little man.) "That's true."
