ROSCOE’S VOICE: (To dog—off right.) Shall we take a walk? What do you think? A little walk? Piss and poop? Tinkle, tinkle. Yes? Shall we go? Oh—happy dog! Happy, happy, happy dog! Here we go! Poop and piss! Jumping, jumping! Happy, happy, happy, happy dog! Let’s go—here we go! Yes—happy, happy, happy, happy—

(ROSCOE’s voice fades away off right. Pause. SALLY just sits and stares out in the same posture. She speaks calmly to some invisible partner in same direction as audience.)

SALLY: You should’ve told me it was going to be like this. You could’ve warned me. ’Course, how would you know? You were the same as me. Right? Young. Babies, really. What were we then—ten? Eleven? I forget. How could we know what was up ahead? (Pause.) I’m glad you’re still around, though—some part of you. I’m glad—(Stops.) You have to stop visiting me, though, in the middle of the night. I can’t—I have to get some sleep. You understand? Some peace. I can’t be dealing with—

(LUCY, SALLY’s older sister, enters from stage left. LUCY is dressed very drably in a dark cardigan sweater, a knee-length skirt, and flat shoes. She carries a metal tray in both hands with syringes, bottles, cotton balls, alcohol, etc. LUCY stops when she sees SALLY sitting there. SALLY ignores her, keeps staring out.)

LUCY: You’re up early.

(SALLY holds posture, ignores her.)

Have you taken your pills, “Sunshine”?

(No response from SALLY.)

Did you have your orange juice? Vitamin D?

(No response from SALLY.)

Sally, what are we going to do with you?

SALLY: (Holding posture.) Who’s “we”?

(LUCY exhales, crosses to table, sets down medicine tray, and sits in opposite chair, stage right. SALLY remains standing still, staring straight ahead. LUCY goes about her daily routine of filling syringes with various serums, medicines—flicking the bottles expertly as she speaks to SALLY.)

LUCY: (As she works.) Did you do anything domestic this morning—like make coffee, flip an egg—?

(SALLY shakes her head.)

How ’bout your new friend—what’s his name?

SALLY: Roscoe.

LUCY: How ’bout Roscoe. He looks like the “rise and shine” type. Did Roscoe put any coffee on?

(SALLY hunches her shoulders.)

I can smell something warm and nutty—

SALLY: Must’ve, then.

LUCY: We’re just sociable as hell this morning, aren’t we?

SALLY: Oh—sorry.

LUCY: Don’t apologize.

(Long pause. SALLY remains in her posture, LUCY continues her work.)

Did you happen to hear a scream, earlier?

(SALLY slowly turns her head toward LUCY and stares at her.)

SALLY: What?

LUCY: A scream. High-pitched—piercing. Nightmarish.

(SALLY turns away from her, back to original posture.)

SALLY: Must’ve been Mable.

LUCY: Mom doesn’t scream. She moans.

SALLY: She used to scream.

LUCY: That was way back.

SALLY: Yeah—she’s been screaming for decades.