A story in dramatic form

by Nell Voss

Nursing Home –Day

The apartment is badly disguised as a home. Pieces of hospital are poking through in the pink and beige plastic implements and institutional furniture. BEA, a smiling, white- haired old lady with stains on her pink Orlando, Florida sweatshirt stands over one of the two hospital beds folding a pile of laundry and humming quietly.

MARTY wears enormous bifocal glasses and a Marlins baseball hat. He sits over a special lamp with a magnifying glass on it that bubbles out colored sections of his maps and bus schedules.

Bea finishes folding the laundry and puts it away. She wanders over to the window to stare absently at the leafless tree branches. Marty notices she’s done and gets up, pulls the laundry she’s just finished out and tosses it onto the bed, making sure it gets unfolded.

He returns to his table. Bea notices the laundry and, smiling pleasantly, shuffles over and begins the exact same routine: folding and humming.

In the hallway a loudspeaker crackles to life.

LOUDSPEAKER:

Will all non-essential staff please report to the conference hall for the staff meeting? All non-essential staff to the conference hall.

MARTY:

(Hopping up and pulling an old suitcase from its hidden place under the hospital bed)

It’s time to go, Bea!

BEA:

Get your hands off me, Roger!

MARTY:

Bea, we gotta go before they come to take you to your afternoon therapy!

BEA:

Roger, Daddy said you had to stay home! I’ll smack you if you go. You know he’ll hold me accountable if I let you!

MARTY:

No, Bea, Bumble Bea. It’s me Marty.

Don’t scream, look, remember?

He picks up an old black and white photo. It shows the two of them in younger days. They stand on a boardwalk near a beach somewhere full of health, and happiness. Marty points first to the woman.

MARTY:

Look. That’s you, right? And that’s me. Remember?

BEA:

Don’t be idiotic. That’s my husband, Marty. I don’t know what kind of nonsense you’re trying to pull buddy, but you aren’t going anywhere until daddy comes back.

MARTY:

Bea, it’s me! We gotta go now! This place is no good for you. Florida, Bea! You’ll be better in Florida! Please, just put on your coat.

He reaches for her parka and tries to get it over her arms. She struggles with him viciously.

BEA:

I’m not going to let you kidnap me, you big bully! When Daddy gets back you’re going to get your butt whooped and I won’t share the punishment!

MARTY:

I promise everything will be fine. Please put your coat on?

BEA:

 Give it a rest, Roger!

Marty looks anxiously towards the door. In that brief moment, Bea returns to the bed and starts folding the laundry again. Her expression calms and in a moment she’s humming again. Marty checks his watch and approaches her again. He starts to hum along and she turns to him with a smile.

MARTY:

Hey Bumble Bea, you ready to get going?

BEA:

Marty! Let me get my coat.

She accepts his help with the coat. He struggles to lift the heavy old suitcase, puts his hat on his head and takes Bea by the arm. Together they shuffle down the pastel fluorescence of the sterile hallway and through the grey swinging doors beneath the tantalizing sign that marks in letters large enough for even Marty’s milky eyes: EXIT.

The doors swing shut behind them.

FADE TO BLACK.