August: Osage County Page #7

Mom?

Mom!

Mom!

Where are you going?

Mom!

Mom!

Mom, wait!

Mom!

Mom.

What are you doing?

Where the f***

are you going, Mom?

There's nowhere to go.

There's no place to go.

Mom.

I'm sorry.

Honey, please.

No, it's important I say this.

I...

I lost my temper at dinner

and went too far.

Barbara. The day, the funeral...

...the pills. I was...

...spoiling for a fight

and you gave it to me.

So...

...truce?

Truce, honey.

Yeah, sure.

Now what?

How do you mean?

Well, don't you think you should

consider going back to a rehab center?

No, I can't...

I can't go through that again.

Um, I can do this.

You, uh...

- You took all my pills, right?

- All that we could find.

Well, I don't have that many

hiding places.

Now, Mom, come on.

You want to search me?

No.

If the pills are gone,

I'll be fine.

I just need a few days to get my...

...my feet back under me.

I want you to know you're not alone,

if you need any help...

I don't need help.

- Well, I want to help.

- I don't need your help.

- Mom.

- I don't need your help.

I have gotten myself...

I know how this goes.

Once all the talking's through,

people just go back

to their own nonsense.

I know that.

So don't worry about me.

I'll manage, I get by.

Remember the time

we checked her into the psych ward,

- that stunt she pulled?

- Big speech,

she's getting clean, making this

incredible sacrifice for her family.

She's let us down, but now

she'll prove she's a good mother.

She smuggled Darvocet

into the psych ward

in her vagina.

There's the "greatest generation"

for you. She's giving us this speech

while she's clenching

a bottle of pills in her cooch.

- I've never heard this story.

- Did you just say "cooch"?

The phrase "Mom's p*ssy"

seemed gauche.

You're a little more comfortable

with "cooch," are you?

What word should I use

to describe our mother's vagina?

- I don't know, Barb.

- "Mom's beaver"?

- "Mother's box"?

- Oh, God!

Barbara!

One thing about Mom and Dad

is you got to tip your cap to anybody

who can stay married that long.

Karen, he killed himself.

We don't know that for sure.

Is there something going on

between you and Little Charles?

I don't know that I'm

comfortable talking about that.

Because he is our

first cousin, you know.

Give me a break.

You know you shouldn't

consider children.

I can't anyway.

I had a hysterectomy last year.

- Why?

- Cervical cancer.

- I didn't know.

- Neither did I.

I didn't tell anyone except Charles.

- That's where it started between us.

- Why not?

And hear it from mom the

rest of my life?

She doesn't need another excuse

to treat me like some damaged thing.

Well, you might have told us.

You didn't tell us

about you and Bill.

- That's different.

- Why? Because it's you, and not me?

Because divorce is an

embarrassing public admission of defeat.

Cancer is f***ing cancer. You can't

help that, we're your sisters.

I don't feel that connection

very keenly.

Well, I feel very connected

to the both of you.

We never see you.

You're never around.

You haven't been around...

I still feel that connection.

I can't perpetuate these myths

of family or sisterhood anymore.

We're just people, some of us

accidentally connected by genetics,

a random selection of cells.

- When did you get so cynical?

- That's funny, coming from you.

Well, bitter, yes,

but "random selection of cells"?

Maybe my cynicism came

with the realization

that the responsibility of caring

for our parents was mine alone.

Oh, don't give me that,

I participated.

Until you had enough and got out,

you and Karen both.

I'm not criticizing.

Do what you want.

You did, Karen did.

And if you didn't,

that's not my fault.

That's right, so don't lay this

sister thing on me, all right?

When I leave here, I won't feel

any more guilty than you two did.

I can't believe

your world view is this dark.

You live in Florida.

- You're thinking about leaving?

- Yeah.

Charles and I are going to New York.

What are you gonna do in New York?

We have plans.

- Like what?

- None of your business.

- What about Mom?

- What about her?

- You feel comfortable leaving her here?

- Do you?

You're going back to Miami, right?

Yes.

I... Yes.

Well, there you go, Barb.

You want to know

what we're doing about Mom?

Karen and I are leaving.

You want to stay, that's your decision,

but nobody gets to point a finger at me.

Nobody.

My three girls,

all together.

Hearing you just now

gave me a warm feeling.

- You had a bath?

- Yeah.

- Want something to eat or coffee?

- No. I'm fine, honey.

Thank you.

I'll bet this house has heard

a lot of Weston girl secrets.

I get embarrassed

just thinking about it.

Oh, there's nothing to

be embarrassed about.

Secret crushes, secret schemes.

I can't imagine anything

more delicate or bittersweet.

That's just some part of you girls

I always identified with.

No matter how old you get,

a woman's hard-pressed to...

throw off that part of herself.

That smells so good.

Oh, it's apple.

- You want some?

- Hmm.

Sure, I do.

Hey, hey, did I ever tell you

the story of Raymond Qualls?

That's the boy I had a crush on

when I was 13 or so.

Rough-looking boy,

beat-up jeans and...

messy hair.

Terrible under-bite.

But he had the most beautiful

pair of cowboy boots,

shiny chocolate leather.

Mmm.

He was so proud of those boots.

You could tell the way

he'd just strut around,

all arms and elbows, you know,

all puffed up and cocksure.

And I, I convinced myself

that I needed to get

a girly pair of those boots.

And... I was sure, if I did that,

that he would ask

me to go steady.

You know, he'd see me in the boots,

and he'd just say,

"That's the gal for me."

Oh, gosh.

Yeah.

Oh, so I found the boots

in a window downtown.

And I just... I just went crazy

praying for those boots

and I'm rehearsing the conversation

that I would have with

Raymond when, uh,

when he saw me in the boots and...

Oh, I must've asked my mama

a hundred times

if I could just get those boots.

"Vi, what do you want for Christmas?"

"Mama, I'd give it all up

just to have those boots."

You know, bargaining.

So she started laying little

hints around about a box.

There was

a package under the tree

she had wrapped up

about the size of a boot box,

real nice wrapping paper.

"Now, Vi, don't you cheat

and don't you go in there

before Christmas morning."

You know, with a little smile

on her face.

So Christmas morning,

I was up like a shot, boy,

under that tree.

I was tearing that paper.

And...

...there were boots in there.

Men's work boots.

Holes in the toes and

chewed-up, uh, laces

and, uh, caked in mud...

caked in mud and dog sh*t.

You...

Lord.

My mama laughed

about that for days.

Please don't tell me

that's the end of the story.

Oh.

No, that...

That's, that's the end.

You never got the boots?

No.

Uh-uh.

My mama was a mean,

nasty, mean old lady.

I suppose that's where I get it from.

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