by John David Westby

**This work uses // marks within the dialogue of this work, meant to indicate that the two lines of dialogue are overlapping.**

TIME: Now

CHARACTERS:
MOSES, teen; tough exterior, shaky interior.
MINA, 40s-50s, female presenting; owner of nail salon; feisty and fed up.
Any ethnicity for either of these characters will work.

SETTING: Late afternoon. MINA’S nails salon. Broken glass glints on the floor. A slingshot lies nearby.

(AT RISE: While MINA stands watching, MOSES, on hands and knees, picks up glass shards and drops them in a plastic bin. PLUNK!)

MINA: That’s it, every shard, every piece. In the trash. And maybe I won’t—

MOSES (cuts his finger): “OW!!”

MINA: That’s how the window felt, kid. (MINA exits quickly.)

MOSES: I hate blood, dude!

MINA (reenters, tosses him a paper towel roll): Here!

MOSES: Don’t you got a Band-Aid, bruh?

MINA: I’m not your bruh, bruh. Wrap it. Pull it tight like a tourniquet. (He does.) See it works!

MOSES: A Band-Aid would be better.

MINA: No Band-Aids for you, kid. All the damage is in here.

(Glass clinks in the bin. PLUNK!)

MOSES (holding up a shard): This looks like a smile. A great big clown smile.

MINA: Don’t try to be charming, kid. You’re a sucky little teenager.

MOSES: That’s not comforting.

MINA: Nobody’s here to comfort you, kid.

MOSES: I said I was sorry.

MINA: You said it like you were late for a bus.

MOSES: Said it twice.

MINA: The second one was even faster.

MOSES: I panic easy. It’s not my fault. I was diagnosed.

MINA: You threw that rock, then you panicked. What’s that? Breakage disorder?

(She nudges the slingshot with her foot.)

MINA: This the lethal weapon?

MOSES: It’s not a lethal weapon.

MINA: You killed my day for sure. I couldn’t do any more clients after that. So thanks a lot. That’s money out of my pocket.

(He resumes picking up glass.)

MOSES: I wasn’t aiming at the window.

MINA: Then your aim is pretty shitty.

MOSES: I aimed at the sign.

MINA: My “Open” sign?

MOSES: Yeah.

MINA: You knew I was working in here. And you fired anyway.

MOSES: I thought it would … bounce, I don’t know.

MINA: You think glass is a trampoline?

MOSES: Do you want me to bleed on your floor?

(MINA mocks his tone as she picks up the sling shot.)

MOSES: Mocking is mean.

MINA: Awwwwww! So sorry, kid.

(MINA spots something else, picks it up. A metal ball bearing. She loads it. Aims at MOSES.)

MOSES: Dude—!!

MINA: You used something even more dangerous than a rock. That’s bad, kid.

MOSES: It’s an industrial ball bearing, sheesh! My dad’s company makes ‘em.

MINA: Don’t you give me lip, kid. I know all about lip from kids. My kids gave me lip. Boy and girl. Different lip. Different styles. Both did fucked up things, just like this. Skipped school, smoked dope, a lot of dope, stole money from my purse. Now they’re in the army. Perfect place for both of them. You should try it. See how far “bro” gets you there, bro. (Notices how fast MOSES is working and warns—) Hey, you should slow down or you’ll stick—

MOSES: OW!!

MINA: —Yourself.

(MOSES slows. Breath shaky.)

MOSES: You keep looking at me, you make me nervous.

MINA: You look familiar. You’ve been here before.

MOSES: No I // never been

MINA: You were … smaller.

MOSES: Are you kidding, bro? I’ve never been to a nail salon? As if!!

MINA: You were here with your mom.

MOSES: Stepmom! She’s not my mother!

MINA: Oh, yeah! The lady with that stupid color, that Tangerine Poof and the acrylic allergy. She’s a nutcase, but woah she’s a rich lady.

MOSES: She’s a bitch. She likes to yell. Her stupid orange nails.

MINA: Tangerine!

MOSES: Yeah, that’s fucked up.

(MINA watches him work.)

MINA: How old are you?

MOSES: Eighteen.

MINA: More like 15, right. BRO?

MOSES: Those cops are taking forever.

MINA: They slow down when they come out here. The 9-1-1 bitch, she says, “Oh, it’s you, Mrs. Young,” she says it like that, “Mrs. YOUNG,” like it’s a foreign language and she thinks I’m lying. I know they don’t believe me. I said some stupid kid broke my window. She says, “Okaaaaay then, ‘Mrs. Young,’ is the kid still there? I say, “Yes!” She says, “I’ll send a patrol car.” That was a fucking long time ago.

MOSES: They suck. They hate me too.

MINA: We’ll find out who they hate more when they get here.

MOSES: Yeh, I’ll tell them my stepmom is rich even though we’re not and she just likes to pretend. My dad lost his business—but I’m not supposed to tell people. (Wipes his forehead. Tears? Sweat?) I can’t do this.

MINA: Do what.

MOSES: Pick up every piece like it’s my fault.

MINA: It is your fault.

MOSES: I know, but—

MINA: Then do it slower.

MOSES: Why slower?

MINA: So it stays with you.

MOSES: That’s messed up, lady.

MINA: Yeh. It is, isn’t it?

MOSES: You like this.

MINA: If you rush, you forget.

MOSES: I won’t forget.

MINA: You’d be surprised.

(MINA leaves. Comes back. Hands him a fun-sized candy bar or box.)

MINA: Here. You look like you’re getting sugar slow.

MOSES: (tries it, it’s hard) Bro, it’s stale.

MINA: They’re from Halloween. Two years ago. Had a little costume party and the clients brought their kids. They had these stupid fucked up costumes and I had to give them all candy—(realizing)—Oh, hey! You were there! You were uh— uh— that little kid with the glasses and the magic wand!

MOSES: Harry Potter! So yeah okay? I don’t even like that shit anymore.

MINA: That’s so fucked up. Pretending to be a pretend person with that little stick—

MOSES: WAND!

(MINA remembers. Rushes out, comes back with an object wrapped in paper towels.)

MINA: Here. Mr. Wizard.

(MOSES opens it. It’s his Harry Potter wand!)

MOSES: I thought she took it away—she said I didn’t deserve it anymore.

MINA: You left it on the chair when she started yelling at you about something you did, or something said to her that she hated. What a mouth she had for you, a kid. Yeah you were annoying but—She kept pulling your arm, saying worse things as you left. You were cute as a … Potter.

MOSES: I don’t do that anymore.

MINA: Well, now you can, kid. Go ahead and magic all you want.

(MINA grabs a broom, starts sweeping. MUZAK plays, suddenly: Motown, tinny.)

MINA: Now what the hell? There it goes! Been broken all morning. I don’t have music. And now it kicks in when no one’s here.

MOSES: I’m here.

(She looks at him. Keeps sweeping. She starts to dance. Just a little. MOSES watches.)

MOSES: My real mom used to do that. My real mom was… Pretty. (MINA stops dancing.) She taught me. She used to do it all the time. She was so beautiful … Like this. (awkwardly does some Electric Slide)

MINA: Oh, man, that’s the Slide! Wooo! We did the slide all the time. (She joins him. Silently. They dance. Then MINA stops cold. Looks out.)

MINA: Beat’s over. Back to the glass, dude.

(Music continues low. MOSES kneels.)

MOSES: You know, when we got in the car, that Halloween, it was getting dark. That “Open” sign was blinking, open open open at me, and my stepmom was still yelling about what she doesn’t like about me and my face and my hair and this place and how I embarrassed her and I thought, looking at that sign, I thought it should be closed, everything … everything should be closed.

MINA: Listen, I’ve swept glass off this floor so many times.

MOSES: From broken windows? From kids?

MINA: Storms. Accidents. Drunk guys. Bad people. They see “Open” and … it’s an invitation.

(She mimes a sling shot then shoots a finger gun.)

MOSES: So I’m another one.

MINA: You’re this one, this time.

MOSES: I watched you that time. That Halloween with my step. Putting on her color, that ugly tangerine, in dabs. Your eyes and face like lasers on her nails.

MINA: No matter how they treat me I always do a good job.

MOSES: I wanted mine, you know, painted. I wanted yellow flames on my fingers!

(MINA decides something. Points to rack of nail polishes.)

MINA: Okay then. Pick a color.

MOSES: What?

MINA: Pick a color and I’ll paint your nails. You want yellow flames shooting out your fingers when you raise your hand in school.

(MOSES looks at the bottles. Picks yellow.)

MINA: Now sit! (She gestures to the manicure chair. He sits. MINA looks at MOSES’s nails.) Oh my God, your nails! You bite these claws, don’t you?

MOSES: Yeh, I get real nervous.

MINA: You won’t want a mouth full of yellow polish now. You’ll stop.

MOSES: (She puts brush on nail, he pulls away suddenly.) No! On second thought—I don’t—

MINA: Hey, you broke my window, bro. So today, you’re the one who leaves marked. (She paints one nail.) Oooh wooahhh!

MOSES: (at the same time) Oooh wooah! (MINA paints another nail.) I don’t even know why I did it.

MINA: Kids like you don’t know sometimes.

MOSES: I guess, I was … I don’t know …

MINA: Yeah no one knows, kid, no one.

MOSES: Do you ever want something, anything, to happen really bad? And it doesn’t so you make something happen even if it’s bad.

MINA: Sometimes. But not this. Not my “Open” sign on my window.

MOSES: (as MINA finishes the one hand) I’m gonna get so bullied tomorrow. More than I already am.

MINA: Now under the lamp to dry, Harry Potter.

MOSES: I—I don’t even like Harry Potter anymore. That’s for young kids.

MINA: So you grow out of stuff. But sometimes there’s a part of you that says, “I remember me, I remember those times, I remember the fun.” Am I right?

MOSES: Aren’t you gonna paint the other hand?

MINA: (shakes her head) This way you’ll remember where it started. (MINA switches the lamp off. MOSES looks at his nails. And the debris.)

MOSES: I’m sorry. For real this time.

MINA: You can do magic on yourself, you know. Transform into someone with yellow flames instead of grudges against. Store signs and … people. (Out of habit, MOSES puts his finger in his mouth.) Stop—! (Too late, he’s sucking on a painted fingernail.) Oh … bro …!

(MINA sighs. She gives the slingshot to MOSES.)

MOSES: Am I done?

MINA: You’re finished.

MOSES: What about the police?

MINA: They suck. I’ll tell them I don’t know who did it. If they ever show up. Sometimes they don’t.

MOSES: You gonna fix the window?

MINA: Always do.

MOSES: Put OPEN right back there in the glass. I would!

MINA: Yeh. Probably. That’s how you know it’s my place. (MINA holds up the yellow nail polish.) This is your color, kid. I’ll keep it right here in case you want to come back.

(MOSES smiles. Then stops. Then smiles again, this time for real. He starts out. MINA picks up the waste bin. They stop, look back at each other. Then they exit, MOSES out the front door, MINA to the back of the shop.)

(Sounds of doors closing. Lights go out. Then, the sound of glass shards sliding into a dumpster as MINA empties the trash somewhere.)

END OF PLAY

John David Westby is an award-winning playwright, actor, and director from the Midwest who writes about reinvention, regret, and the secrets we keep. His plays range from original works to inventive adaptations of classics. His plays have been produced and staged throughout Chicagoland and nationwide. He earned an MFA from Lesley University and is a proud member of the Dramatists Guild, Chicago Dramatists, The Playwrights Center, and New Play Exchange.