Calm Down Mother

by Megan Terry

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Section 1

Megan Terry’s play, Calm Down Mother, unfolds in a single act, yet it is artfully divided into distinct segments. Within these, three women fluidly transform into various personas. In the opening scene, the trio forms a close-knit group, evoking the image of a plant—a directive embedded in the stage notes. They listen intently to a tape narrating the nascent stirrings of life beyond oceanic depths. Woman One boldly assumes the identity of Margaret Fuller (1810–1850), a pioneering transcendentalist credited with igniting the feminist movement in America. Embracing this persona with fervor, she proclaims her acceptance of the universe.

The other two women retort that she ought to accept it, for “Carlyle said that you had better,” an allusion perhaps to Thomas Carlyle (1795–1881), the Scottish historian known for endorsing a stringent and commanding style of governance. Woman One voices the support her father gave her, not as a mere "living plaything," but as a keen intellect. The other two women, however, urge her to seize the universe while she has the chance. This segment concludes as the women enter a "brief freeze" of motion.

Section 2

In the next tableau, the scene shifts to a store, where Woman One morphs into Sophie and Woman Three into Esther, the siblings who labor there. Woman Two adopts the role of a young customer, intent on purchasing a six-pack of beer. Sophie becomes mesmerized by the young woman’s hair, a nostalgic echo of her mother’s locks. Longing to touch it, she reminisces about the times she would comb her mother’s hair, wistfully recalling her own former tresses before surgeries altered them. Esther voices frustration, recalling how Sophie’s fixation on hair began in their youth.

Sophie, overcome with a desire, asks if she might comb the young woman’s hair, marveling at her skin as well. As her thoughts turn melancholic, she laments the loss of her mother and the fleeting nature of her own youth. Esther and the young woman begin a "mournful hum," with Sophie joining in until the hum swells to a climax, driving the young woman to "fling the other Two Women away."

The young woman turns to the audience, expressing her yearning to throw off the weight of others’ imposed depression and anger. She confronts Woman One, projecting her emotions onto her. This leads to a monologue where Woman One reveals a violent urge to strike something, feelings that seem to emanate from one side, as though she has been paralyzed by a stroke, consumed by fury. The scene then settles into another freeze.

Section 3

Woman Three addresses the audience, emphasizing the human compulsion to inscribe the minutiae of their existence with the "absurd conviction they are talking to or will contact someone." Her words barely land before the other two women accost her, knocking her to the ground, where she remains for the duration of this section.

One of the women transforms into Nancy, who has just arrived at her sister Sally’s newly rented apartment in New York, fresh from her divorce from an abusive spouse. Nancy, overwhelmed, confides in Sally, who quips "Stella Dallas," referencing the 1937 film starring Barbara Stanwyck, about a mother's all-consuming sacrifices for her child. Unlike the film, Nancy has shouldered burdens for everyone, including a mother recently diagnosed with cancer, powerless against the looming inevitability of her passing. Her father, grappling with alcoholism, draws her ire, as Nancy suspects his heart attack is merely a ploy to divert attention from his ailing wife. In mutual comfort, the sisters embrace, before freezing in place.

(This entire section contains 1204 words.)

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One of the women transforms into Nancy, who has just arrived at her sister Sally’s newly rented apartment in New York, fresh from her divorce from an abusive spouse. Nancy, overwhelmed, confides in Sally, who quips "Stella Dallas," referencing the 1937 film starring Barbara Stanwyck, about a mother's all-consuming sacrifices for her child. Unlike the film, Nancy has shouldered burdens for everyone, including a mother recently diagnosed with cancer, powerless against the looming inevitability of her passing. Her father, grappling with alcoholism, draws her ire, as Nancy suspects his heart attack is merely a ploy to divert attention from his ailing wife. In mutual comfort, the sisters embrace, before freezing in place.

Section 4

Woman Three, who lay motionless through the previous section, now rises in a nursing home setting. Women One and Two are residents here, taking on the identities of Mrs. Tweed and Mrs. Watermellon. As they converse, Mrs. Watermellon muses that the sunrise blooms within the heart, yet finds disbelief in her assertion. She narrates time’s passage through the metaphor of her menstrual cycle, much to Mrs. Tweed's derisive scoff. Their banter escalates into name-calling, with Mrs. Tweed threatening to notify Mrs. Watermellon’s family and have her committed, a reality Mrs. Watermellon is already living.

The third woman enters the scene as a nurse, offering food which the others refuse, responding to them with mechanical detachment. They mock her, likening the meal to worms and dubbing her a worm in turn. When the nurse attempts escape, the two patients transform into subway doors, chanting "Please keep your hands off the doors." As she finally breaks through, the trio metamorphose into "call-girls," preparing for their nocturnal escapades, assuming the names Momo, Felicia, and Inez.

Section 5

Momo and Felicia are embroiled in a heated argument, each vying to outdo the other. Inez commands silence, reminding them of their impending lateness for the gathering—a party that hints at debauchery. Their exchanges brim with hostility, laden with threats and derogatory name-calling. Amidst this, Felicia brandishes a "roll of bills," claiming they belong to Momo, who unbeknownst to them, has been withholding her share from Ricky, the madam. As the newest member, Momo is told by Inez of her ignorance and need to learn. Felicia, in a twisted display of affection, calls Inez "mommie," seeking forgiveness and half-jokingly inviting a spanking, a notion mirrored by Momo. Together, the women huddle and chant with fervor: "Have confidence. You’ve been found."

Their voices echo the same refrain, yet now the women’s chants shift from bold declarations to introspective inquiries: "You’ve been found? . . . No, I’ve been found." Residing in a modest tenement, they scrub dishes, their hands moving with a familiarity that speaks of long hours spent in such toil. Meet Sue, Sak, and Ma, three women bound by blood and circumstance.

Sue launches into a tirade about birth control, her temper ignited by a magazine article that deems contraceptives immoral. In stark contrast, Sak aligns with Ma, who staunchly opposes any form of birth control. Sue, with fiery conviction, argues the sheer potential of her biology—capable of producing a new life every month for the coming three decades. She argues that every month a woman does not conceive, she engages in a form of birth control, challenging her family’s pious adherence to sermons delivered by men on a topic beyond their grasp.

Sak, unwavering in her faith, forewarns Sue of eternal damnation for her outspoken defiance. Unfazed, Sue jests, “They’ll make me a saint! A thousand years from now they’ll award me a medal for not adding to the population!” Ma, driven by frustration, commands Sue to gather her belongings and leave their home. In response, Sue insists she is simply "born out of my time," deriding her mother and sister as "empty bottles of holy water." With a defiant spirit, she claims no need for material possessions, declaring, "I’ve got everything I need right here in my belly."

In a final, powerful act of unity, the trio turns to face the audience, ending the play with a chant that reverberates with a deep sense of self-sufficiency: their bellies and "eggies" are all they need. The performance closes on a note of uncertainty and introspection with the question lingering in the air: "Are they?"

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