To re-cap: I’m writing every day in June on my new play Slam. Slam is short for Samantha Lamb, and she is a pregnant, angry Iowan. Her life is about to change and not through her sound judgment or anyone’s good graces. Today’s subject? Read on….
Here’s a brief scene between Slam and Desda, Slam’s mother. Desda left the family when Slam was a little girl.
This scene, by the way, took place many years prior to the setting of the play. The subject here is another pregnancy and not Bobby, either. Slam was busy, kids.
Forgive my illusiveness and nonsensical-ness. I stayed up way too late last night on the internet tracking down blogs and tweets and F-book postings on Istanbul and all the protests in Turkey. My father was born in Istanbul and he had been visiting and was on his return flight to Phoenix the day the protests in Gezi Park began.
But let’s talk theatre here. Let’s talk Slam.
Desda moved to Iowa City and did well for herself. She’s in the IT department at the university, owns a house, and takes advantage of all the bike trails that surround the city and skirt the Missouri River.
Slam is a teen here. She escaped her dad and sought out Desda, but not for advice, exactly. Perhaps she went just to show off what she’d done.
Slam was a legendary teen. More on that later.
(Stern) It’s not your fault.
Samantha Lynn? None of this is your fault.
None of it. Absolutely nothing. No way.
You’re a child.
Who got pregnant.
It’s not your fault.
Get in the car.