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Desperation

Sarah Lucille Marchant

    [SETTING: A quiet kitchen at six in the evening. MIRANDA sits at the table alone. Her hands nervously wander down her stiff red dress, smoothing out any creases they find. She starts to stand, thinks for a moment, then sits back down.]

    MIRANDA: [under her breath] He should be here by now... I don’t want...

    Three quick knocks sound at the door and MIRANDA jerks to her feet. She peers through the peephole to be safe before turning the locks and opening the door. DEREK stands before her, looking tired but content.

    DEREK: Good evening, sweetheart.

    MIRANDA: [anxiously] Hello. Won’t you come inside?

    DEREK takes the hint and strides in. She hastily shuts and locks the door then follows him over to the table.

    DEREK: What’s for supper?

    MIRANDA: Just sandwiches, if that’s okay. It’s been a long day.

    DEREK: [very slowly] Did you stay home today?

    MIRANDA sighs softly and nods. Silence is the dominant force in the room as she walks over to the counter and carefully opens the bread box. DEREK takes a breath, too loudly, for the words he’d wanted to say have been scared away at the sound he made. Meanwhile, she sets the bread out on plates.

    MIRANDA: What will you have on yours?

    DEREK: [softly, knitting his fingers together] Doesn’t matter. I’m not picky.

    MIRANDA: Sorry this didn’t turn out to be a cozy, romantic dinner.

    DEREK: It doesn’t matter. [smiling slightly] We’re together, aren’t we? That’s romantic enough for me.

    DEREK strides over to stand next to her and places his hand at her waist. At first she cringes and ignores his touch, but a few moments pass and she forgets what she was worrying about, leaning into his side.

    MIRANDA: What toppings will you have?

    DEREK: [teasing] Who calls them “toppings”? Isn’t that what goes on ice cream? [playfully poking her cheek]

    MIRANDA: And what would you call them? [grinning in spite of herself]

    DEREK: I call them lettuce, tomato, pickle, and onions.

    MIRANDA: Well! [laughing] Aren’t you an intellect?

    DEREK: I try.

    MIRANDA: [turning slightly so her nose brushes his cheek] Well mister, you—

    Their playful banter cuts off abruptly at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. MIRANDA’s eyes widen and her hands freeze in place.

    DEREK: [hurriedly] Guess I have to go. Call me when you get the chance, please? Love you.

    He dashes from her side to the back door where he makes his escape. It’s hard for MIRANDA to ignore the pulsating space he left behind or the warmth that followed him out. Her hands begin to shake, but she can’t seem to make her feet move.
Footsteps pound on the walkway to the front door. MIKE slips his key in and throws the door open.

    MIKE: [sarcastically with an unmistakable slur] Aw, hunny, are you making those for me?

    MIRANDA would respond - it’s what he prefers - but her mouth is malfunctioning as well, so she stares at the yellowing wallpaper as he makes his way over and tears the bread from her hands.

    MIKE: [angrily] You will answer me when I talk to you! Understand?

    She cannot form a reply, so he grabs her arm tightly, demanding her compliance. She finally finds her strength and tries to struggle free, but she’s forgotten - it only makes things worse.

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