Peach or Pink

A clean mattress. A whole night's sleep. A body that is your own. A smile that is true. Seemingly petty? Indeed. But not for those women-those that we avert our gazes from; those women that wake every night when the world sleeps, dabbing hurridely, cheap makeup for one stranger. Or sometimes they say, more than one. In an era where brothels still exist, little girls and women have tales to tell. Not happy ones.

Here is one small sketch.

Mellow lights. Enter young girl with a candle, humming as she moves. Walks to the center, places candle atop desk. Picks up the mirror and two lipsticks. As she starts applying, she looks doubtfully into the mirror and turns to the audience.

Peach or pink. (looks between the lipsticks)

What is it that you prefer?

Not that I care. But that you do.

(Walks forward, leans in conspicuously)

Come young man, the candles burn bright. The night beckons with its secrets.

Quick! tell me now,

Peach or Pink,

What is it that you prefer?

(With a tone of surprise)

What’s my name you ask!

Alas!(sighs) I forgot my own.

Why don’t you give me one?

Call me anything. Anything you want.

Name me after a lover you missed-

or another whore that you kissed.

Name me after the dog you kicked on your way here-

or another chicken you brought down your blade upon this morning.

I do not care.

What’s my name you ask.

Alas! I forgot mine.

I forgot the sound of mine.

Long ago. (distant voice, vaguely looking up, starts walking slowly around the stage)

Long ago, when I heard it escape my mother’s cracked lips the dawn I left.

Long ago when my name still lived.

Long ago when it still meant something.

I lost it long ago.

Now I can’t find it. (looks at the audience)

I can’t find it.

But hey...(smiles)

What is a name but a shaft of air that your lips spit out?

My darling...You can call me anything.

Anything you want.

How do you like a pint of wine?

I know this ain’t better than the lure of the feminine.

A cheap substitute. A paltry dime.

The crescendo curves,

the stray curls,

the stark swabs of makeup,

the steep slide of shimmering fabric.

Allure, Anxiety and Anticipation.

This and more. Just for you.

Bathe me in gold.

I shall do things right.

Just the way you like.

How old I am you ask.

Come darling, count with me.

I age into the night-

I age as soon as this candle burns out.

I age until the sunlight slants in bringing the birds to cry along.

I age every night.

I bloom every morning-or at least I try to.

How old I am you ask.

Darling come, count with me.

I could be young.

I could be old.

Young enough to be your sister.

Old enough to be your mother.

How old I am you ask.

Come count with me.

(contradictions)

How I am, you ask.

I donot know.

I am not sure.

But I am happy.(goes cold, grey and sad)

I am happy. Yes...yes...happy.

I smile.(sheds a tear, sniffs)

Everyday.

I laugh out loud.(a quick loud sob)

Everyday.

I meet new people.(disgust writ upon ‘people’)

Everyday.

I get to live.(kneels to the ground, anguished and helpless)

Everyday.

Every. Damn. Day.(pounds at the floor)

(snaps out, shakes her head and smiles)

(turns brightly to the audience)

But why bother my young prince?

The candles burn low. The night beckons with its secrets.  

Tell me now,

(rolls open the lipsticks)

Peach or Pink,

What is it that you prefer?