Pieces of April Page #4

- My mama, God rest her soul...|- Lord, not another mama story!

- She was drivin'.|- Your mama can't drive.

You didn't even know my mother,|and I pity you for that.

You don't have to pity me.|You the one in love.

Anyway, my mother was drivin',|and I was just a baby.

The car flipped over, and I|was trapped underneath the car.

You know what she did?|She lifted up the car.

- Bullshit.|- I'm tellin' you.

She lifted up the car,|and she pulled me to safety.

She had this moment|of unbelievable strength,

'cause she had love.

That's what love does.

- Bravo, bravo!|- Encore, encore!

- Any requests?|- That you stop.

I'm sorry. I'm terrible.

Who are you?

Don't start with that.|You know who I am.

I know who you say you are,

but my daughter is kind|and sweet and soft-spoken.

Not anymore.

Then I don't know you.

Oh, sh*t!

Joy, honey, are you all right?

I am so critical.

It's one of my worst faults,

and some of the reasons|for this are obvious.

But why, I keep asking myself,

why am I so hard,|for instance, on you, Beth,

when, for years, you've been|the daughter of my dreams?

You have. You know you have.

Apart from your weight problems,|we're practically the same person.

So why am I so hard on you?

Forget the fact that you're|making the same mistakes I made,

and I wish you'd make your own.

But I think I'm hard on you because|we've had so many good times.

And I think it's likely,|as this gets worse, Timmy,

I'll be hard on you, too, because|we've had so many good times.

So then, why am I hard on April|when we didn't have any good times?

That's not true, though.

For days, I've been trying|to think of nice April memories,

and I can only come up with one.

One vivid, beautiful memory.|There's gotta be more.

- One can be a lot.|- Okay, what was it?

It's not important.

Like hell, it's not.|Tell us. What was it?

Okay, she had just turned three.

She was looking out the|picture window on Locust Street,

and it was early in the morning,|but it was already sunny.

She was just gazing out the window,|and she turned back to me,

and she said, "Oh, Mother,|don't you just love every day?"

That was me.

It was!

April was six when|we lived on Locust Street.

Is that right?

Well, what about the crayon drawing

she did of the Mayflower...|the one you had framed?

- That was me, too.|- Cut it out!

I'm sorry, but it's important|that we're accurate here.

- These are my memories, too.|- Are you sure?

She's absolutely right,|God freakin' dammit.

Just off the top of my head,|I have one.

She was... I don't know how old,

but she was wearing|a pink nightgown.

That was me.

- I'm kidding.|- Funny. Very funny.

And I was coming back|from a trip, or maybe not,

but I came into her room,|and she was sleeping...

in her crib, and it was lovely.

- That's it?|- Yes, that's it.

That's lovely.

No, it's not. Your happiest moment?|She was asleep!

I didn't say it was|my happiest moment,

it's just what came to mind.

Joy|Momh?

Joy, watch...!

- What are you doing?|- It's shitty, Jim.

All I can remember|is the petulance,

the shoplifting,|the fire in the kitchen.

Which was an accident.

Was it an accident the way|she used to light matches

and throw them at Beth?

Or the time she used a lighter|to trim Timmy's bangs?

- Joy, come on.|- I mean, the drugs, the ingratitude!

She bit my nipples|whenever I tried to breastfeed.

Sweetie, come on.

No wonder there's cancer.|She's the cancer.

Get back in the...

Get back in the car!

Stop! Stop!

What's going on?

Mom needed to stretch her legs.

Joy, stop. Stop!

I tried, okay,|but I can't go, I can't.

I can't... I can't have|another bad experience with her.

- It won't be like that.|- You don't know that.

It's the whole point of going.

We're making a memory.

You're not listening to me.|I have too many memories!

A good memory.|We're making something good.

What if it's not?

It will be. I promise.

I promise it will be beautiful.

How do you know?

Because I told her it had to be.

And if it's not?

Then I'll kill her.

Wayne!

Hi. I'd like to report a kidnapping.

I said I'd like to report|a kidnapping.

This man who lives|in my apartment building,

he's taken my turkey hostage,

and he's had it for|over an hour now, and I can't...

My turkey.

Turkey. Turkey! Yes.

No, look, I know...|that's why I called.

You have to understand.|No, no, no!

Bad girl!

I want my turkey.

- So this is the thanks I get.|- Give me my turkey.

I'm looking for a word.

Please give me|my stupid f***ing turkey.

Ah, yes, that's better.

It's all yours.

- You don't have to thank me.|- Don't worry.

- Thank Bernadette.|- What?

Without her, we wouldn't|have found a solution.

She prefers her meat lightly fried.

Would sweetie like it|cut into little pieces?

You're a bad girl!

A very, very bad girl.

No, I'm not.

Welcome to our home.

Tyrone's lookin' for you.

How you been, Bobby?

- Eddie.|- No, Eddie's dead.

- I'm sorry?|- Yeah. I changed my name.

I'm Tyrone now.

- So you're Tyrone?|- Yeah. I changed my name.

Everybody else is changin'.|The whole world is changin'.

My who e wor d, wh ch was Apr

- I gotta get goin'.|- Hey, man.

Even if I wanted to hurt you,|and I kinda do,

I won't, so you can relax.

- Thank you.|- It's her choice.

If she wants to be with you,|that's fine.

It's just... there's something I...

You could tell her|something for me?

What you want me to tell her?

Happy Thanksgiving.

Let's go.

'Cause...

Once, there were|people here called "Indians. "

Native Americans, whatever.

Then a boat came|called the "Mayflower. "

Landed on a big rock|carrying people just like me.

The first year|on their own was hard.

It was... really, really hard.

Let me start again.

This was long ago...

before we stole most of their land,

killed most of them,|and moved the rest to reservations.

Before they lost their language|and their customs.

Okay, forget what I just said.

Once there was this one day

where everybody seemed|to know they needed each other.

This one day when...

they knew for certain|that they couldn't do it alone.

Why did we stop?

Daddy thought...

168...

- 160...|- 163.

I think they get... Daddy!

Dad, watch out!

- Who are they?|- 154. It should be up here.

Oh, my God!

Oh, my.

This is the wrong street.

- No, I think we're here.|- No, it can't be.

We have obviously...

We've obviously got the wrong...|the wrong address.

Daddy, I think this is it.

Goddamn it, April.

I don't understand.|How did you...?

What?

- It's carved dough.|- Carved dough.

Thank you.

Lock your doors!

Hey, welcome!|How you guys doin'?

Mom, don't! Mom!

I'm Bobby.

Aren't you April's family?

That hurts.

You must be her mother.

Well, um...|I'm gonna go get her.

April, they're here!

Hey, babe, your family's here!

They're here!

- They're here?|- Yeah.

Oh, my God,|what happened to you?

- I'm good.|- You need first aid.

No, no, look...

your family is downstairs.

Look at your lips and your eye.

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