Stair Lift
Brigid Amos

A modestly furnished living room in a small house in Lincoln, Nebraska.
Among other furnishings, there is an easy chair with an end table at its
arm. A door upstage right leads to an unseen bathroom. Stairs upstage left
lead to the upstairs of the house. These stairs are never used by the actors
but should be indicated in some way. The unseen kitchen is offstage right.
An unseen picture window, through which the actors look out over the
audience, is downstage center. A twin-sized inflatable mattress made up
with sheets, blanket, and pillow lies downstage center on the floor.
At rise, Mother, a woman in her seventies, leans on her walker
downstage center in front of the mattress, looking up and down the
street. After a few seconds, Ellen, a forty-six year old woman, enters from
stageright and looks at Mother in exasperation.
ELLEN: Mother, why do you keep looking out that window?
MOTHER: I’m looking for the moving van.
ELLEN: The van will be here soon enough. They have the address.
What do you think? They’re driving around town looking for a
house with an old lady staring out the window?
MOTHER: Ellen, please don’t call me old! You know how that
upsets me.
ELLEN: Oh, that’s right. You’re not old. I meant to say they’re
driving around looking for the house with a female septuagenarian
staring out the window.
MOTHER: Now I don’t even understand what you’re saying.
ELLEN: You don’t understand what?
MOTHER: That word you just used. I don’t understand that word.
ELLEN: You mean septuagenarian? You don’t understand that
word? It means—
MOTHER: I know what it means. I’m not stupid. I know my
vocabulary. I just don’t know why you’re using that word on me.
Nobody uses that word that way.
ELLEN: Sure they do. They use it when they’re not allowed to use
the word old on someone well, and I mean well, into her seventies.
Septuagenarian is politically correct.
MOTHER: Well, we didn’t have politically correct in my day. We
knew what we meant to say, and we said it straight.
ELLEN: All right then, how should I describe you? You don’t care
for the word septuagenarian, so give me a better word and I’ll use it.
MOTHER: Well, I don’t see why you have to describe me at all.
ELLEN: I won’t then. I promise I’ll never describe you again.
MOTHER: Good.
ELLEN: Mother, just come away from the window. Staring down
the street won’t make the van come any faster.
MOTHER: But I need my bed, Ellen. I need to sleep in my
own bed on my own mattress. (Kicking the air mattress through her
walker.) I can’t sleep on this leaky thing one more night. I’m sorry.
It’s like sleeping on a deflated balloon. My hip bone is right on the
floor.
ELLEN: It’s not leaky. I just bought this mattress. I probably didn’t
inflate it enough, that’s all.
MOTHER: That thing was a waste of money if you ask me. I could
have slept better on the couch.
ELLEN: All right. I know that now.
MOTHER: Shouldn’t you get it out of the way? Aren’t they going
to set my bed up down here?
ELLEN: Yes, that’s right. Let’s see…(She picks up the air mattress and
bedding, carries it upstage, and props it up against a wall.) I’ll just stick
it over here. I’ll deflate it later; it’s kind of an ordeal. (She strips the
mattress and begins to fold the bedding. She may continue this business at
other times as needed.)
MOTHER: You’ll never even use that thing again.
ELLEN: Sure, I will. I’ll use it for houseguests.
MOTHER: Houseguests? What houseguests are you going to get
out here?
ELLEN: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe Sally and Greg and the kids.
MOTHER: Your sister is not coming here to visit. I can tell you
that right now. This is not Sally’s type of place.
ELLEN: What do you mean not her type of place?
MOTHER: The house, the town, even the state. Sally is used to a
higher level of living. She’s used to moving among a better class of
people. I mean, look at this neighborhood, Ellen.
ELLEN (joining her mother at the window): What’s wrong with it?
Tell me one logical thing that’s wrong with it.
MOTHER: Okay. (Pointing out the window.) See that white house
across the street? There isn’t a single tree, or bush, or flower, or any
other plant besides grass in that yard.
ELLEN: Maybe they want to keep it simple.
MOTHER: Maybe they’re just lazy.
ELLEN: You don’t know that, Mother.
MOTHER: Besides, the grass is weedy, and there are bare patches
everywhere. Would it kill them to throw down some grass seed once
in a while?
ELLEN: I don’t know, Mother. Maybe it would kill them. Maybe
the whole family has a deathly allergy to grass seed and would go
into anaphylactic shock in seconds if they threw down some grass
seed.
MOTHER: I wish you would just speak plain English once in
awhile.
ELLEN: All right.
MOTHER: I mean, I know you have this doctorate and all that, but
it doesn’t give you the right to bombard people with these ten-dollar
words…. Anyway, that little white house is not the only problem
house on this street. Take a look at this other one.
ELLEN: Which house? That yellow one there?
MOTHER: Oh, yes. The yellow one.
ELLEN: It looks all right to me. I see a linden tree in the front yard,
a yew hedge by the house, some hostas coming up in the bed there.
Seems to pass muster if you ask me.
MOTHER: Have you gone blind all of a sudden? How many cars
do you see parked there?
ELLEN: Well, I see four in the driveway and three parked on the
street out in front. Plus there’s a two-car garage, so there may be
more parked inside. Oh, and there are two more parked on the lawn
over here next to the house. So?
MOTHER: Doesn’t that seem strange to you?
ELLEN: Maybe they’re having a party?
MOTHER: And everyone who comes to this party drives a junker
car manufactured before 1980?
ELLEN: Probably not.
MOTHER: So? There must be an ordinance against that sort of
thing. We should notify the authorities that this person is keeping
junker cars on his property. I bet they aren’t even registered.
ELLEN: I don’t know whether they’re registered or not.
MOTHER: So you’ll call the authorities?
ELLEN: No, I’m not calling the authorities, Mother.
MOTHER: Why not?
ELLEN: Because I live in this neighborhood. I live right down the
street from those people. I really don’t need that kind of trouble.
MOTHER: Well, I have to live in this neighborhood, too.
ELLEN: What?
MOTHER: I said I have to live here, too.
ELLEN: Oh, yes.
MOTHER: I have to look at all that now.
ELLEN: Yes. Mother, sit down, would you? You’re making me
nervous.
MOTHER: All right. I am feeling a bit tired. (Goes to the easy chair.)
ELLEN (trying to help her mother sit in the easy chair): Do you need
help getting down?
MOTHER (waving Ellen off): No, no. Leave me alone now. I can
get down all right. It’s getting up that I need help with.
ELLEN: All right, all right! Comfortable?
MOTHER (reaching underneath herself): Sort of. Is there a spring
popped in this seat?
ELLEN: I don’t know. I bought it at the Salvation Army. It didn’t
come with a warranty.
MOTHER: Hmph! Well, we can replace it with my nice blue
brocade armchair when my furniture comes. (Pause.) Is there any
coffee left?
ELLEN: No, we finished it hours ago.
MOTHER: Well? Couldn’t you make another pot?
ELLEN: Another pot?
MOTHER: Yes, another pot of coffee.
ELLEN: But you had three cups this morning, Mother.
MOTHER: Well, I’d like another cup, maybe even two.
ELLEN: Oh … well … how about a small glass of milk? Good for
the bones.
MOTHER: Good for the … I don’t want milk; I want coffee. What,
it’s not the custom in Nebraska to drink coffee in the afternoon? Is
it being rationed for some reason?
ELLEN: No, but you—
MOTHER: I’ll pay for the coffee if that’s the problem. I have
plenty of money.
ELLEN: You don’t have to pay for the coffee; it’s not that. It’s just
that when you drink coffee, you always have to go to the bathroom.
MOTHER: Well, excuse me for being human.
ELLEN: No, I mean more than usual.
MOTHER: So? The bathroom is right there…. Oh, I see.
ELLEN: What?
MOTHER: You resent having to help me. Well, you don’t have to,
you know.
ELLEN: I don’t resent it, really I don’t. And yes, until I get the
bathrooms made handicapped accessible, I do have to help you.
MOTHER: I am not handicapped.
ELLEN: Right. Not old, not handicapped. I got it.
MOTHER: So?
ELLEN: What?
MOTHER: The coffee?
ELLEN: It’s just not a good time, don’t you think? I mean, the
movers will be here any minute, and if you have to go to the
bathroom while they’re here, and then I have to take you and deal
with them at the same time…. Couldn’t you just wait until after
they leave?
MOTHER: Oh, all right.
ELLEN: Thank you.
MOTHER (pause): Ellen?
ELLEN: Yes?
MOTHER: I have to go to the bathroom.
ELLEN: Really?
MOTHER: Yes, really.
ELLEN: All right. (She goes to stand in front of her mother to help her
up.) Hold onto me. There you go. Careful now.
MOTHER: My walker, hand me my walker!
ELLEN (handing her mother the walker): Here you go. Got it?
MOTHER: Yes, yes! (She grabs the walker and moves faster than usual
toward the bathroom door.)
ELLEN: Slow down, there’s no rush.
MOTHER: Yes, there is.
ELLEN: Oh.
MOTHER: See? It’s nothing to do with coffee. (She enters the
bathroom.)
ELLEN: Well, you had three cups this morning. (She follows her
mother into bathroom.)
ELLEN (from the bathroom): Okay, hold onto me here. Can you get
that zipper yourself?
MOTHER: Yes, yes! (Beat.) No! It’s stuck! Help me.
ELLEN: All right.
MOTHER: Hurry up!
ELLEN: All right already! There, it’s down now. Easy does it. All
right, just call me when you’re finished. (She exits bathroom.)
MOTHER: Close the door!
ELLEN: All right, I’m closing the door. (She closes bathroom door,
takes out a cell phone, and dials. On cell phone.) Hello, this is Ellen
Redmond—Yes, that’s right. When do you think you’ll get here? Oh,
I see—No, that’s all right. I just wanted some idea of when you’d be
here. You have my address? Yes, that’s right. Oh, I need to ask you
something. When you get here, could you just park the van on the
street and wait until I signal you to come in? No, we’ll see you pull
up. We’re right here in the living room.
MOTHER: Ellen, I’m finished!
ELLEN (on cell phone): Okay. Thank you. (She puts cell phone away.
To her mother.) Coming, Mother! (She opens bathroom door and goes
in.)
ELLEN: Okay, hold on around my neck. Ready? One, two, three.
Upsy-daisy. Can you manage that? Here’s your walker then.
Mother exits bathroom. Ellen follows her out.
MOTHER (looking around the room): Were you talking to someone?
ELLEN: Just the movers. They’ll be here soon.
MOTHER: Are they lost?
ELLEN: No, they’re not lost. They’ll be here soon.
MOTHER: Good. I can’t wait for my bed to come. So, we’re going
to set it up here in the living room?
ELLEN: Just temporarily, until I can put in a stair lift so that you
can go up and down the stairs. Then we’ll move it up to the spare
bedroom.
MOTHER: And the rest of my furniture?
ELLEN: We’ll put it in the basement until I can sell mine off.
MOTHER: You don’t mind?
ELLEN: No. I can just ship all this stuff back to the Salvation
Army, if they’ll take it back, that is.
MOTHER: It’s just that I’d like to have my own things around me.
It’ll give me the illusion of being back in my house in Connecticut.
ELLEN: No, I understand.
MOTHER: If I squint my eyes and don’t look at those hovels across
the street.
Sound of a distant toilet flushing.
MOTHER (looking upward): What was that?
ELLEN: What was what?
MOTHER: It sounded like someone flushed the toilet.
ELLEN (pointing upstage to the bathroom door): You were just in
there. It’s probably still running. (Moving toward the bathroom.) I’ll
go jiggle the handle.
MOTHER (looking upward, moves toward the stairs): No, not that
toilet. It sounds like it’s coming from upstairs. Is there someone up
there?
ELLEN: No, how could there be someone up there?
MOTHER: Go up and check.
ELLEN: I’m not going to go up to check. I know that no one could
be up there.
MOTHER: But it sounds like a toilet flushed upstairs. (Yelling up
the stairs.) Who’s up there?
ELLEN: Mother, don’t yell up there like that; there’s no one there, I
tell you.
MOTHER: If there’s no one there, what difference does it make if I
yell up there?
ELLEN: Oh, hang on a minute. I know what you heard. You mean
that sound like running water?
MOTHER: It was clearly a toilet flushing. Upstairs.
ELLEN: Yes. That’s right. The ballcock on that toilet doesn’t seal
properly. The water slowly drains out of the tank, and then it triggers
it to flush on its own.
MOTHER: You should really get that fixed.
ELLEN: Yes, I will.
MOTHER: I mean it’s a terrible waste of water. You really should
get it fixed as soon as possible.
ELLEN: I will. Please, Mother. Why don’t you sit back down again?
MOTHER: Oh, all right. I’ll sit. But if I have to sit, I want a cup of
coffee.
Ellen looks at her mother in disbelief.
MOTHER: What? I already went to the bathroom. What harm
will it do now?
ELLEN: Oh, all right. I don’t want to argue this with you anymore.
I’ll start a new pot.
Ellen exits stageright to kitchen. Mother sits down in easy chair.
MOTHER: Don’t take this the wrong way, Ellen, but I really wish I
could have moved to Greenwich.
ELLEN (from kitchen): Greenwich? How were you going to move
to Greenwich?
MOTHER: I mean, move in with Sally.
ELLEN: Oh.
MOTHER: I mean, just to stay close to my old life. To not …
uproot myself so much. Do you know what I mean, Ellen?
ELLEN: Yes, I know what you mean.
MOTHER: I mean, it really would have been better, right? It just
would have been a short move for me. I would have been able to see
my grandchildren any time I wanted. I could have even helped raise
them. That’s how it used to be done. And it would have been better
for you, right? You wouldn’t have had to get rid of all your furniture
to make room for mine. I mean, this really is an inconvenience for
you, isn’t it?
ELLEN: There’s no inconvenience.
MOTHER: But don’t you think it would really be better for me to
live with Sally? I mean, you’re a single woman and—
ELLEN: Oh, here we go—
MOTHER: No, I don’t mean that as a criticism. You always take
everything I say to you as a criticism. I just was trying to point out
that it would be hard for a single woman to have her mother living
with her. Hard socially, I mean. It’s going to be very difficult for you
to meet anyone with me living here.
ELLEN: Oh no, Mother. That won’t matter.
MOTHER: Well, it will matter to some man. How do you think
he’ll react when he finds out that you’ve got your mother living with
you? And how will you entertain him?
ELLEN (entering stageright from kitchen): Entertain him?
MOTHER: Here in your house? How will you entertain him …
overnight?
ELLEN: Mother!
MOTHER: Oh, please. I’m not so old that I don’t know the score. I
know how it’s done nowadays.
ELLEN: Well, this is really not something you need to worry about,
Mother.
MOTHER: Don’t you want to get married, Ellen? Don’t you want
to have kids?
ELLEN: Mother, I’m forty-six years old. There aren’t going to be
any kids.
MOTHER: Why not?
ELLEN: My eggs are … past their expiration date.
MOTHER: There’s no need to be crude. (Beat.) It’s not too late, you
know. Well, maybe it is too late for the children, but it’s never too
late to get married. Remember your great aunt Rita? She married
for the first time at fifty-four. In the 1960’s. That was quite a feat
back then.
ELLEN: Wasn’t her husband like eighty-something?
MOTHER: I’m just saying it can be done at any age.
ELLEN: Okay, Mother. I’ll work on that. (Looking out the window.)
Where is that van?
MOTHER: I hope it never comes.
ELLEN: Oh, hell.
MOTHER: Yes, I hope it never left Connecticut. That there was
some mix-up or something, and that all my things are still sitting in
a storage vault back in Connecticut, and that I could just get on an
airplane and go back. Today, that I could go back today.
ELLEN: The house is sold, Mother. And anyway, you can’t—
MOTHER: No, not back to my house. I mean, I could go to Sally’s
house.
ELLEN: You can’t go to Sally’s house.
MOTHER: Why not? She has that big beautiful house in
Greenwich, in a lovely neighborhood. There’s plenty of room in that
house. There’s even a guest room with a bathroom on the first floor.
She wouldn’t even have to install a stair lift, which is going to cost a
fortune if you ask me.
ELLEN: Yes, it would have been nice for you at Sally’s house.
MOTHER: Then why did you insist on dragging me out here? My
life isn’t here, you know. My life is in Connecticut. I’m too old to
start over like this, Ellen. I don’t mind saying it myself, but I’m too
old.
ELLEN: Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it?
MOTHER: What do you mean by that? What was the problem?
ELLEN: That you were too old to live on your own anymore in that
big house with the big yard in Connecticut.
MOTHER: Ellen, I told you to stop calling me old! Didn’t I just
say that? I wasn’t too old to live on my own. It was just getting a
little hard, but I was managing.
ELLEN: But you weren’t managing. Don’t you remember when
Sally couldn’t get you on the phone, and she had to call the local
police, and they came to the house and found you on the patio?
You’d been lying there on your back for five hours.
MOTHER: I fell, that’s all. Everyone has a fall sometimes.
ELLEN: And the time you fell in the supermarket? You sat
right there in the middle of the frozen food section, with all the
customers wheeling their carts around you for almost half an hour
before you’d even let the employees help you out to your car.
MOTHER: That story just proves my point. I drove myself there
and back. I could still be driving, you know. I’m sorry I let Sally talk
me into selling the Cadillac.
ELLEN: You ran over Mrs. Kelly. Right in the driveway
MOTHER: I did not run her over. I only just tapped her a little.
She’s fine. Anyway that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask her to come over
right when I was trying to get to my hair appointment. And then
she goes disappearing where I can’t even see her. One minute she’s
talking to me through the driver’s side window and the next she’s
walking down the driveway behind the car.
ELLEN: Well, where do you think she went? Did you think she
flew up into the air and hovered over the car?
MOTHER: Oh really, Ellen!
ELLEN: And by the way, that was not the only accident you had in
the Cadillac.
MOTHER: I had some bad luck, that’s all. I was doing fine on my
own. (Pause.) I feel so tired all of a sudden. Is that coffee ready yet?
ELLEN: I’ll get you a cup. (She exits to kitchen.)
MOTHER: Thank you. That would be nice.
Sound of light footsteps.
MOTHER (looking upward): Ellen?
ELLEN (from the kitchen): I’m pouring the coffee, I’ll be right there.
MOTHER: I hear someone walking around upstairs.
ELLEN (enters from stageright with a cup of coffee): What did you
say?
MOTHER: Listen to that. Someone walking around upstairs. Don’t
you hear it?
ELLEN: It’s an old house. It makes noise. (Setting down the coffee
cup on the end table.) Here you go.
MOTHER (picking up the coffee and starting to drink it): Thank you.
I’ll try to hold it for awhile.
ELLEN: It’s okay, Mother. If you have to go again, just let me know.
MOTHER (looking upward): That’s so strange. It really sounded
like…. You’ve got a nice little house here, Ellen. I didn’t mean to be
so critical.
ELLEN: It’s okay, Mother. I know I haven’t done as well as Sally.
MOTHER (with genuine admiration): Yes, well your sister Sally
has an MBA and a great job in New York. Plus, she has the second
income, you know. That Greg. One thing’s for certain, that guy
knows how to make money.
ELLEN: Yes, they do just fine, don’t they?
MOTHER: There’s no reason you couldn’t have done the same. But
you were so determined to not be successful, so determined to not
make money. I mean, what is wrong with all that?
ELLEN: Nothing. Nothing is wrong with it.
MOTHER: And why Nebraska, for heaven’s sake? Why couldn’t
you have found something in the Northeast?
ELLEN: I tried to, Mother. I applied everywhere. You don’t know
how hard it is to find a job in academia, especially in my field. I
didn’t move out here to be defiant or perverse or anything like that.
It was just … a bad decision, I guess. But here I am, and there’s no
going back to the Northeast at this point, believe me.
MOTHER: Well, not for you maybe, but I intend to go back. You
can spend the rest of your life here if it suits you, but not me.
Sound of light footsteps.
MOTHER (looking and pointing upward): Listen…there it is again.
I’ll be glad when the stair lift is put in. Then if I hear a noise, I can
just go up on my own and check it out.
ELLEN: You could.
MOTHER: And when the bathrooms are renovated, I can go by
myself.
ELLEN: That would be better.
MOTHER: Still, it would be even better at Sally’s house, wouldn’t
it? They have plenty of money to do that kind of thing, don’t they?
ELLEN: They do. Mother, do you remember what Sally talked to
you about when you started having trouble?
MOTHER: What do you mean?
ELLEN: I mean what she suggested. What living arrangement she
tried to get you to consider?
MOTHER: No, I don’t remember.
ELLEN: Yes you do. Sally and Greg took you to visit that assisted
living place? They told you they were taking you out to lunch at a
restaurant, but they took you to that assisted living place.
MOTHER: Oh, that. I don’t know what got into her. It was that
Greg, I’m sure. That man never liked me.
ELLEN: You figured out that it wasn’t really a restaurant, and you
refused to even set foot in the place.
MOTHER: I refuse to nail down my own coffin!
ELLEN: Mother—
MOTHER: No, that’s what those places are. Coffins for the living.
That’s where old people go to die. I don’t belong in a place like that.
I don’t want to be around those old people all day with their aches
and pains and all their complaints. I don’t want to smell old people
up and down the halls. And I’ve never been crafty, you know. That’s
what they make you do in those places; they herd all the old ladies
into the craft room, and they make you knit or weave baskets or
make scrapbooks or whatever. No, that is not for me, waiting to
die while I make stuff that nobody wants or has a use for. I want to
enjoy my life. I want to be involved in my grandchildren’s lives on a
day-to-day basis. If I’m stuck in one of those assisted living places,
those kids won’t want to go there to visit me. They won’t even know
me then, and when I’m gone, they won’t remember me. That’s why I
wanted to live with Sally and her family. But no, no, you had to step
in and convince all of us that I should come out here and live with
you. For what? It’s no good for you, and it’s no good for me.
ELLEN: This wasn’t my idea. It was Sally’s.
MOTHER: Sally’s idea? That doesn’t make sense. Why would she
want me to come out here to live with you?
ELLEN: Because you were so stubborn. Because you refused to go
into assisted living. She thought that if we could get you out of your
house, get you out here, you would go willingly.
MOTHER: Go to … but the stair lift … and the bathrooms.
ELLEN: Mother, I rent this house. I don’t own it. I can’t make all
those changes. Even if I did own this house, those things would
cost a fortune. I don’t have that kind of money and don’t expect to
get it out of Sally and Greg. I’m barely making it here. You keep
telling everyone that I’m a professor at the university, but I’m not;
I’m a part-time adjunct instructor, and I’m still paying off my loans.
I couldn’t even pay the rent here without taking in a roommate. I
might as well tell you now; I have a roommate living in the other
bedroom. That’s what you’ve been hearing upstairs.
MOTHER: But I don’t understand. How can I live here if you have
this roommate? I can’t sleep in this living room forever.
ELLEN: No, of course not.
MOTHER: So I’m right about Sally’s house. I should go live with
Sally.
ELLEN: You can’t live with Sally. Sally doesn’t want you living in
her house. Sally sent you here. Sally dumped all this on me, and I
let her do it because she made me feel so guilty for coming out here
and not being there and not being able to help.
MOTHER: I’m so confused. This is so strange, I don’t even know
what to say.
ELLEN: Oh. The van just pulled up.
MOTHER: Can you believe the timing of these people? Here I just
sat down with my coffee.
ELLEN (goes to stand in front of her mother): Let me help you up,
Mother. Hold on to me. Ready? One, two, three, up. Here’s your
walker.
Mother goes to the window to look out.
MOTHER (bewildered): That’s not a moving van. It’s too small to
be a moving van. It’s just a regular van.
ELLEN (goes to the window to stand next to her mother): Yes.
MOTHER: My furniture couldn’t possibly fit in that.
ELLEN: No.
MOTHER (realizing her situation.): It’s here for me, isn’t it?
ELLEN: Yes, it is.
MOTHER: Where are all my things?
ELLEN: Sally sent some of them to the place. The rest she’s selling
at an auction. You gave her power of attorney over all your affairs,
remember?
MOTHER: Yes, I remember. She insisted we go to the lawyer and
sign those papers.
ELLEN: And then you just let her do whatever the hell she wanted.
MOTHER: She’s my daughter. I never thought she would…. Why
are they just sitting there? What are they waiting for?
ELLEN: They’re waiting for my signal. I told them I’d give them a
signal when you were ready.
MOTHER: So give them the signal.
Just before the blackout, Ellen and her mother turn to each other and
exchange a look of silent understanding.
END of PLAY