Play 7: Dusty Photographs

CHARACTERS
1, male, 16

(He stands in the middle of the stage facing the audience.)

1
The weirdest thing happened to me earlier. I was washing my hands in the bathroom, I looked up in the mirror and I noticed this faint pink line on the bottom of my chin. I’d noticed it now and then, I would be shaving and look at it for a second in the mirror, and think—wait a minute, what the hell is that? I think, ehh, I probably just cut it the last time I shaved or something, but then I think for a second and realize I never remember having done that. But then I just keep shaving and forget about it.

(Pause.)

But not this time, I’m washing the soap off my hands and I just can’t get the thought out of my head. And then suddenly a thought pops in my head: it’s from when you split your chin open. And as soon as the thought occurs to me, I know it’s true. It’s funny though, I had to think about it for a second before I could remember what happened. It was a while ago-−shit, must’ve been preschool. It was pretty early, hadn’t been at school too long that day, and they’d have this ramp we would play on. I was running up it, and somehow I slipped or something—I don’t remember what exactly happened, just that something did; but anyways, I slipped, and I hit my chin on this metal edge on the top. There was blood everywhere, I must’ve been screaming, I can’t say for sure though. Anyways, since I hadn’t been there long, it turned out my mom was still there at school and she came with me to the hospital and everything. I got some stitches, and eventually the mark faded and went away: at least I though it had. I hadn’t thought about it in years, I didn’t even remember it had happened. Then I see that mark in the mirror and it all comes back.

(Pause.)

The strangest part about it though, is when I think about it, I keep getting this image in my head; it’s in a room, I don’t know exactly what the room looks like, it’s a faint image, and there’s this ramp in the middle of the room. And I think for another second and I can see that edge on the top that I hit my chin on. But when I try to just visualize the room where it happened, I can’t remember almost anything. I don’t remember the ramp, I don’t know what color it was, or what it looked like at all really. But where’s that image I get in my mind when I think about it come from? Is it snapshot of that moment that’s been buried in my subconscious all these years and I just found it again? Or in thinking about it, is my mind just trying to make some image up to try to reassure myself that it actually happened? I have no idea.

(Pause.)

It gets me thinking: what else have I forgotten? I remember almost nothing from back then, but I was probably around 5 then, so who remembers shit that long ago? But then I think of even middle school, that’s only a few years ago. A few images flash to mind, a few moments I can remember. But what about those? Are they really what everything looked like and how it went? Why should I trust them any more than that picture I keep seeing of the ramp? And the weirdest part is even though I have those pictures in my head, I never see myself in them. I try to think about it for a minute, and i get this image of myself when i was running up that ramp, but then i think for another second and i realize the image looks exactly like that picture on the wall at home of me when i was little. It's just another image my mind scrambled to fit in there thinking i wouldn't realize it. And I can’t remember what I was thinking in those moments. Shit, I don’t even remember who I was then. It’s like, every few years, we’re reborn, and we’re suddenly this new person. And all that’s left of that old one is those few snapshots you have from back then, and once in a while you think of something, or you notice something and it comes back to you—and you try to keep thinking about it, thinking, if you keep reaching around you'll will eventually stumble onto another picture. But you can never find more than a few.

(Pause.)

And I’m only a teenager. What about in 50 years? Shit, even 10. Where will everything I see now be? Will this be one of those moments I can remember, or will I just make up an image in my mind to try to recapture what I think there was there? And who I thought was there; will who I am now be just a series of images in my head? Maybe not. Maybe the older you get and the more defined your personality is, the more you remember it, or maybe it just doesn’t change so much so it’s not so dramatic a difference. Or maybe in ten years, I’ll look in the mirror, and see that scar again, and I’ll come up with another dusty photograph in my mind, and I’ll reach around for others, and there’ll be nothing there. Who knows, maybe it’s for the best, maybe it’s better we forget things. Maybe I suppressed that memory of splitting my chin cause it was painful and I don’t want to remember it. Who knows. All I can tell you is, I sure as hell don’t know.