INTERLUDE: "I wish I could draw."

A young boy sits at a table, scribbling on a piece of paper. He draws aggressively, trying to get something down, pushing through the paper as he does. His mother, a young woman, enters, and watches him from behind, her hands on the back of his chair. He rips through the paper with his pencil. She puts her hands on his shoulders.

BOY

I wish I could draw.

MOTHER

You can write.

BOY

I know I can write. I wish I could draw.

MOTHER

You draw with your words.

Pause. The BOY looks at her - a hard, almost angry look.

MOTHER

What?

BOY

It's not the same thing.

MOTHER

Anyone can draw--

BOY

Anyone can write--

MOTHER

It takes talent to write.

BOY

It takes talent to draw.

MOTHER

Listen: [she kneels down in front of him] You are a beautiful, talented young man, and you can draw, if you just practice, I know you can do it.

BOY

You don't know anything.

MOTHER slaps him in the face. Pause.

MOTHER

I'm sorry.

BOY

I hate you!

BOY runs off. Stops at the door, turns back.

BOY

[choking back tears]

I wish...I wish...

MOTHER

I know, you wish you could draw.

BOY

I wish I lived with dad!!!

BOY exits; MOTHER puts her head in her hands.

MOTHER

[to herself]

Why is it every tender moment has to turn out like this?

Blackout.