Riley's Grandmother

RILEY is looking prim and proper, her hair in a high ponytail with glasses on and a rather put together appearance. She looks like someone who drinks enough water and gets eight hours of sleep a night.

RILEY is sitting on a high stool, picks up a bag on the ground next her and pulls out a notebook. She opens it and begins to write.

RILEY

When I was small, I tried writing an autobiography. What I realized, was that although I felt I had the experience, I didn't have the respect. A child writing about themselves is foolish to believe that these experiences mean anything, that they are any different than any of the 7 Billion people on the planet.

RILEY closes the book and starts fiddling through the bag again until she pulls out a hair brush. She takes her hair down carefully and starts brushing it, slow at first.

RILEY

When I was small, I watched my grandmother start to deteriorate in front of me. I thought this mattered enough for someone, somewhere to feel a pull. A pang of sympathy. I didn't want her, or I, to be lost. I tried writing an autobiography. It didn't pan out.

RILEY puts the brush away and tosses her hair a few times before running her hands through it and putting her glasses on her forehead.

RILEY

When I was small, I had what I still believe to be a good comprehension of death and it's implications and intentions. I think it's because I saw it work in transition. I watched my grandmother die. I tried to write about it. Rinse and repeat.

Riley sits up a little straighter, looking constricted.

RILEY

When I was small, I grew up, and I wanted everyone to know how big and smart I was. I think I've regressed.

Riley starts to walk around, looking as though she's regaining feeling in her body.

RILEY

As I got older, I kept trying to write that autobiography. I still haven't given up, but it's taken new forms. I want to tell everyone everything that has ever happened to me, but I want to do it without actually having to tell them.

Riley straightens her blouse, looking self-conscious. She paces.

RILEY

I'm always trying to be a better person, trying to learn through experience how many rungs up on the ladder I need to achieve before I get my seventy virgins and a shiny Mercedes in the sky. I want to earn it. For me, that means not talking about myself. Never get too cocky, sweetheart.

She stands still.

RILEY

These things conflict. I don't want to attention, I don't want to look like I want attention, and I want attention.

 

She starts pacing again.

RILEY

My grandma used to tell me that if you really want something, you can't say it out loud. She still tells me this, but differently. Through webs of wires and tanks of pure oxygen hooked up and in through her being.

Riley looks at her bag. She sits back down and pulls out the notebook to the last page, and rips it out. She starts to fold it into a paper airplane.

RILEY

We all want to fight, we all have it in us. We're all looking for the one last thing that will make us great.

Riley throws it.

RILEY

Some just have a different, more passive way of getting there.