Speak
DINNER THEATER
The Parents are making threatening noises, turning dinner into performance art, with Dad doing his Arnold Schwarzenegger imitation and Mom playing Glenn Close in one of her psycho roles. I am the Victim.
Mom: [creepy smile] “Thought you could put one over on us, did you, Melinda? Big high school student now, don't need to show your homework to your parents, don't need to show any failing test grades?”
Dad: [Bangs table, silverware jumps] "Cut the crap. She knows what's up. The interim reports came today. Listen to me, young lady. I'm only going to say this once. You get those grades up or your name is mud. Hear me? Get them up!" [Attacks baked potato.] Mom: [annoyed at being upstaged] “I'll handle this. Melinda. [She smiles. Audience shudders] We're not asking for much, dear. We just want you to do your best. And we know your best is much better than this. You tested so well, dear. Look at me when I talk to you.” [Victim mixes cottage cheese into applesauce. Dad snorts like a bull. Mom grasps knife.] Mom: “I said look at me.” [Victim mixes peas into applesauce and cottage cheese. Dad stops eating.] Mom: “Look at me now.”
This is the Death Voice, the Voice that means business. When I was a kid, this Voice made me pee in my pants. It takes more now. I look Mom square in the eye, then rinse my plate and retreat to my room. Deprived of Victim, Mom and Dad holler at each other. I turn up my music to drown out the noise.
