Monoloog

The women of Lockerbie
(By Deborah Brevoort)

Bill:

What do you say to the sales clerk?
What do you say to the sixteen year old school girl standing behind the counter at JC Penney’s who smiles at you and asks “why are you returning the sweater sir?”

Do you tell her? What do you say?

I could tell it was her first job.
Her face was round and soft.
Her hands were still chubby, like a child’s.

What do you say to someone so young and innocent?
“This was for my son, but he died?”
“He was blown to bits by a bomb?”
“The plane he was taking home for Christmas….crashed."

What do you say to the pretty young girl with red and green ribbons in her hair?

“I said. My Son…” (pause)

I can not tell her. I cannot show her my grief, because to do so would taker her innocence from the world.

I just said…”My son doesn’t need it anymore”.
And then I breathe a sigh of relief because I think I’ve gotten through it.
But I haven’t. Oh no! It doesn’t stop there.
She smile and says “would you like to exchange this for something else?”
Oh… yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes, I do.
Oh, what I would do to turn this in for something else.

But I say, “No thank you….Your store doesn’t carry what I need right now.
Just give me the credit , please”.

And then I go to the next store. To return the Nikes.
And the next store to return the Pajamas.
And the next store to return the bathrobe and the blue jeans and the bike helmet.
I go to six stores before the day is through.
I have the same conversation in every single place.

She is right…
I didn’t show my grief.
I couldn’t.
I had to keep myself numb just to get through it…