CHRISTOPHER. Huh? Sure.

CATHY. Who?

CHRISTOPHER. Too many to count.

They look at each other intently. The twins come out.

CORY. We’re ready, Cathy.

CATHY. Okay.

She leads them to the mattresses. They crawl under a blanket, and she looks back at Christopher as the lights dim.

Scene 11

Soft music underscores Older Cathy’s monologue. The spotlight finds her on stage left, but she is looking through the dimly lit scrim. The scene holds for a few moments.

OLDER CATHY. So many subtle things were happening to Christopher and me as time passed. The longer the gaps between when Momma would see us, the more and more Christopher and I became like the twins’ parents. When they cried, I comforted them, sang to them. When they hurt themselves, Christopher applied first aid and behaved as if he were already a doctor.

She turns to the audience. The lights go out behind the scrim.

OLDER CATHY. But perhaps even more subtle, insidious, was the way our own sexuality began to play out. When we lived at home, each of us had so much privacy. Now there were often times when he would get a glimpse of me naked and I would get a glimpse of him. We both pretended it wasn’t happening or we saw nothing, but it was there, hanging like a cloud above us, a cloud that would rain passions and feelings we both had yet to fully explore even before we had been locked in this attic.

Behind Older Cathy, the scrim lightens softly to show us Cathy in a ballet costume.

OLDER CATHY. Christopher surprised me one day by building a barre and having Momma bring me music, a ballet costume, and shoes. I was dancing again, but I knew I was dancing for him as well as for myself.

Christopher enters and watches Cathy dance. As she does, the lights brighten more, and Older Cathy steps back into the wings.

Scene 12

The music stops. Cathy catches her breath and turns to Christopher.

CHRISTOPHER. You’re really good, Cathy. I mean, you’re beautiful. [Quickly, searching for the safe words.] You’re beautiful to watch. You will be great someday.

CATHY. Right, Christopher Doll.

CHRISTOPHER [stepping closer]. You haven’t called me that for a while.

CATHY [wiping her neck]. I haven’t done a lot of things for a while. [She looks up at him.] You oughta try some dancing.

CHRISTOPHER. Me? Forget it.

CATHY. I don’t mean ballet.

She goes to the phonograph, finds a record of an old-time waltz, and puts it on.

CATHY. C’mon.

CHRISTOPHER. I can’t. I mean . . .

She steps up to him and puts her right hand on his shoulder and her left on his waist.

CATHY. Dance. One, two, three; one, two, three . . .

He begins, and they move together. He steps on her foot, apologizes, and continues, obviously very nervous.