LOS DREAMERS                                                      

 

 

 

                                                                        Scoobi and her mother, Petra place the folded                                                                              items  into the laundry baskets. Scoobi brings                                                                              her computer  to the table and types furiously.                                                                            Petra scrutinizes her.

 

 

 

SCOOBIE

What?

                                                                       

                                                                        Petra shrugs; keeps observing.

 

                                                                     

                                                                        Petra gets up and walks around the house                                                                                    quietly as though she is looking for                                                                                              something...or someone. Scoobi pretends not to                                                                          notice. Petra returns to the  table.

 

 

PETRA

He’s gone, isn’t he?

 

SCOOBI

Who?

 

PETRA

...Roko.

 

SCOOBI

Yes, mom. He’s dead, remember?

 

 

                                                                        Petra takes in a giant breath and lets it out.

 

PETRA

Que descanse en paz Roquito.

 

SCOOBI

Yup. Somebody around here might as well get some peace.

 

PETRA

It was time. Time you both let go.

 

SCOOBI

Rrrrright.

 

PETRA

Qué qué??

 

SCOOBI

Nothing.

 

PETRA

Uh-uh, cómo qué, “rrrrrrrright”?

 

SCOOBI

Never mind!!

 

PETRA

Say it. No!Spit it out! NOW!

 

SCOOBI

FINE!!

When are you gonna “let go”?!

 

PETRA

Let go of what?!

 

SCOOBI

Let go of your own ghost! You don’t do anything but work work work! You coulda had a

companion! And I coulda had a father ...figure--but you’re such a righteous little mojada-- staying faithful to your fucking ghost of a revolutionary, while you pimp me out to have the life you wanted for yourself, but were too scared to live--

 

 

                                                                        Petra slaps her. Beat.

 

 

SCOOBI

There! There it is! Finally! That’s all you got?! No wonder you’re revolution failed.

​

                                                                       

                                                                        Petra breathes deep. She produces the tequila                                                                              and  two glasses.

 

 

PETRA

Sit.

 

SCOOBI

Wow, great parenting. When the going gets tough, pull out the booze!

​

 

                                                                        Petra makes an offering, pours and sips. A                                                                         deafeningly quiet quells Scoobi.

                                                                        Petra pushes the glass toward Scoobi.

                                                                        Scoobi pounds it. Petra pours her another.

                                                                        Scoobi  sips.

 

 

PETRA (calm)

My revolution did not fail. My ‘revolution,’ she just grew up. Salud.

 

You’re right, the ghosts are still here, but not for me, you’re the draw. The ancestors are counting on you.

 

SCOOBI

I didn’t ask for this! Everything is so hard because you chickened out! What if you had

stayed? What if we had stayed? My father sacrificed his life, he was a hero, and then you just checked out?

 

PETRA

Your father was a pendejo....Okay maybe not a a pendejo, but a very very handsome macho idealist, and now we know better... we always did.

 

SCOOBI

...?

 

PETRA

Que chinga’o. “Honor,” “revenge,” “violence,” it’s all a bunch of overcompensating

mierda so we don’t have be accountable, so we don’t have to feel: “Whoever kills the most is the winner?!” No imagination.

 

SCOOBI

You are such a hypocrite—

 

PETRA

Am I?  ...No, I don’t think so. Even in the beginning, the gun was a last resort and we knew

it was transitional. We knew violence cannot sustain peace—

 

SCOOBI

Right. What about that “certain dose of bullets”?

 

PETRA

Exactly. We used a certain dose of bullets. And then it was time for literacy, and co-ops,

and art and music and poetry, and us, the women. It’s our time to offer another way. The compañeros in the mountains, they know it. And now it’s time they know it here.