[JUDY is standing center stage. She has a panic-stricken expression on her face.]

JUDY
      Well fine, then. Just throw your life away; see what your mother cares. You go off to New York and get yourself stabbed to death by Puerto Ricans and I'll just stay here and make some brownies. [Miming phone call.] Hello? Oh, good morning officer. Yes, this is his mother. Really? Before he got off the bus? With a sharpened screwdriver? Well, I warned him. Was he wearing clean underwear? I didn't think so. Well, thank you, officer. I need to go now. [Screaming.] I've got to go put my head in the oven because my only son bled to death in a puddle of some Mexican's vomit on the floor of the Madison to Manhattan Greyhound!
      I'm sorry_I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. But you're young. You don't know what the world is like. I read Newsweek magazine, you know. They're animals in New York City. They'll kill you for your sneakers. And you have nice sneakers _ your mother always made sure you did. I didn't buy you all those pairs of Keds just so some negro could wear them to one of his crack parties.
      Now don't talk to your mother like that. It's not a stereotype if it's true, and what I said is a true fact. Every time you see a picture of one of those inner-city schools or a jail or some place like that it's always just filled with negroes. And let me tell you, they don't take kindly to handsome little blonde boys from Madison. You don't know what it's like. I was the only white person on the bus back from your uncle's funeral in Detroit. I couldn't even get up and use the bathroom because I knew they'd go through my purse if I left it on the seat and they'd just kill me on the spot if I took it with me. That's what New York is like all the time.
      It's a war zone, honey. I heard there's a real estate company out there that makes bulletproof houses for police officers and suits of metal armor for the schoolteachers. Little boys not eight years old in gangs and homeless men with machine guns riding around in helicopters. I didn't raise my son up right for twenty years just to send him off into some war zone to be a marijuana prostitute. Don't give me that look. Just because I'm your mother doesn't mean I don't know a few things. I watch television, you know.
And what are you going to do out there that you can't do here? Besides get shot in the back by some Irishman, I mean. They've got theaters here, you know. What about the Stetzman Dinner Theater down on 23rd street? They just had Our Town there three weeks ago. Our Town. That's a very popular play, you know. You could stay here and be in your plays at the Stetzman. You could even live with me until you find a place.
      Do you think your father would do that for you in New York City? No, he's too busy with that hussy secretary of his to even remember your birthday. Twenty years old and not even a card from your own father. Twenty is an important birthday, you know. You're not a teenager anymore. Twenty-one's a big birthday, too, but I guess I won't have to worry about finding you a present for that one [screaming] because you're going to move to New York City to live with your father so you can both get your throats slit by some greasy Italian!
      I'm sorry, honey. There I go yelling at you again. It's just that I've been so nervous, what with our financial problems and all. The judge said I can't use you father's child support checks to pay for my doctor bills, you know. Said they have to go to you. I told him that a boy needs his mother and a mother needs a clear urinary tract and that's that. But don't you worry about that. You just go off to New York and I'll stay here and they can repossess my donor kidney.
You should go if you want to go. I suppose when a mother gets old she should get used to the idea of being alone. I had twenty good years with you and now my time is up. No, it's okay. I'm just going to tidy up around the kitchen a little bit and then I'll get your suitcase down from the attic. Go ahead and have some brownies, now. Now sense going off and getting yourself murdered and breaking your mother's heart on an empty stomach. New York City's a long way away, you know. Maybe you should have some milk, too.

[Blackout.]

"New York" debuted September 11, 1998, performed by Mary Fons.

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