Scraps by Sarah Espinoza Repp

CHARACTERS

ALMA – Late 50s-early 60s. The matriarch of the little group. Stern, but caring and with a good sense of humor, ALMA has worked in this factory since she was 13 but would have liked to have had a career and gotten an education. 

HAZEL – 16. Scrappy and a little rough around the edges. Working to support herself and her child-brother after her alcoholic father was sent to prison for murder. She and ALMA are paying for her brother’s schooling. Her house is falling apart, but she is trying to keep her and her brother out of group homes. 

MARY-ANN – 20-25. Reserved, friendly. Mary-Ann is new to the factory floor. She is very well educated, a pastor’s daughter, and has training as a teacher. Mary-Ann was caught with a married man in her hometown and sent away to live in Kentucky with her aunt to spare her family the shame.

RUTH – 20-25. Pregnant. Friendly, spacey, and a little “different”. Married to an abusive millworker. Ruth can seem a little “off”. She has a lot of trauma surrounding her husband and marriage. Despite this, she is very sweet and welcoming, if not a little talkative. 

FOREMAN/ CHARLIE/ WILLIAM/ DADDY/ PAPA – nondescript, never actually seen on stage

The scene opens in a 1930s Kentucky, clothing factory workroom with one long work table at the center. On each side of the table are two sewing machines and a stool. There is also a cutting table piled with fabric in the corner of the room. The workroom is disorderly and cluttered. The floor is littered with fabric scraps. Three of the four workstations are piled with sewing supplies, little containers, and half-finished projects. By the cutting table, there are a few male mannequins toppled together with patterns in various stages of completion pinned to them. 

ALMA is seated on one side of the work table. HAZEL and RUTH are seated on the other. There is one empty workstation beside ALMA. The scene opens with the three women seated at the table, all in various stages of sewing men’s shirts. ALMA works quietly and efficiently at adding buttons to a shirt. A young pregnant woman, RUTH, is sewing on her machine. HAZEL is fiddling with her malfunctioning sewing machine, her frustration growing. They all wear matching aprons over their regular clothes. HAZEL and RUTH chatter while ALMA sits quietly working and listening. 

From off-stage, a conversation can be heard approaching. The women get quiet. 

FOREMAN

Now, your pay will be every other week. Fifteen dollars a week. That’s thirty dollars on payday, in case you never learned your math. You’ll wear this apron. It’s one size fits most. Should fit you just fine. You familiar with sewing? Who am I askin’? ‘Course you are. If you have any questions just ask the girls. They know how everything works ‘round here. Ain’t that right, Alma? 

(Enter FOREMAN and MARY-ANN)

Well, don’t be shy. Come on in. Come on. 

Listen up, ladies. This is Miss Mary Aldridge. She’ll be workin’ with ya now. Ya’ll better be nice to her and show her how it’s done right. I don’t want to see a bunch of wasted fabric and sloppy sewing. Any waste at the end of the week is coming out of your pay and if I catch you stealing scraps, you’re done. Got it? Go on now. 

(EXIT FOREMAN and there’s an awkward beat as MARY-ANN stands in the doorway. HAZEL and RUTH stare at her blankly before turning back to their work. ALMA waits.)

MARY-ANN

My name’s Mary-Ann, actually. Not just Mary.

ALMA

Well, don’t just stand there, Mary-Ann. Come on in and grab a seat. Girls? Aren’t you gonna introduce yourselves? 

RUTH

Well, I’m Ruth. And this here is little August! (Rubbing her obviously pregnant belly)

HAZEL

Sorry. My machine’s been turning out scratch all mornin’. The damn things—

ALMA

That’s enough of that language. 

HAZEL

Sorry, Alma. 

ALMA

Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to our new friend here. 

HAZEL

Sorry, Mary-Ann. I’m Hazel, by the way. That’s Alma if you didn’t catch it. (affectionately) She keeps us in line around here. 

MARY-ANN

It’s nice to meet you all. 

ALMA

Likewise. Now, Mary-Ann, do you sew? 

MARY-ANN

Do I sew—? Yes! Yes. Of course. Needlepoint, quilting, cross-stitch, darning, mending— 

ALMA

Do you sew on a machine? 

MARY-ANN

A machine? Oh! A machine! Yes. Of course. 

ALMA

Perfect. That saves my week from having to teach you the basics. I can see by your dress that you’ve got a knack for ladies’ wear. You ever made men’s clothing? 

MARY-ANN

Oh yes. Before my daddy sent me awa—(self-correcting) Before I moved here, I used to make all my daddy’s Sunday shirts. 

ALMA

Even better. Well, all right then, we’ll put you to the test. I’m gonna give you a pattern to sew from for today and I want to see your best work down to the last button. Eventually, you’ll know these patterns by heart and make twenty, even thirty shirts a day. But for today, I just want one good shirt outta you. Understand?

(ALMA rises to shuffle through the cluttered cutting table for a pattern) 

RUTH

So, Mary-Ann, you said that you moved here? Where from? 

MARY-ANN

Springfield.

HAZEL

Is that near Louisville? By the river? 

MARY-ANN

Um, no. Illinois, actually. 

RUTH You lived in the city and you came here?! 

HAZEL

Why? You got family here?

MARY-ANN

Well, yes I do. I moved for a lot of reasons actually. My daddy, he’s a preacher you see and well… he caught me—

HAZEL

Shit! 

ALMA 

Hazel!

HAZEL

I’m sorry, but this machine’s shredding my thread like a damned—I mean… darned goat!

MARY-ANN

It’s the tension. Your thread tension is too high. It’ll just keep breaking and eat up your threads and fabric if you don’t give it a little slack. Here, let me show you. 

(MARY-ANN fixes the machine quickly)

HAZEL

Well, I’ll be damned—darned. They need to just stick with the same thread and same fabric. It’s hard enough to pattern-match the seams without worrying about ruining the whole bolt on a single shirt. 

RUTH

It’d make a nice bit of scrap though. The pattern is beautiful. 

ALMA 

Hush now, Ruth. There’s not gonna be any fabric gone to scrap on purpose. No need to give them any more reason not to pay us our full wage. 

RUTH

It was a joke, Alma. 

ALMA

Then what’s that bit of paisley peeking out of your bag? 

(RUTH embarrassedly tucks the fabric deeper into her purse)

That’s what I thought. 

RUTH

There’s hardly anything to it anyway. 

ALMA

If you’re gonna poach leftovers at least have the sense not to be so obvious, Ruth. You know better. 

HAZEL 

Oh, lighten up. I know for a fact that you’ve got a few inches of that same paisley in your apron and at least three strips of that indigo cotton you’ve been working on in your bag! 

ALMA

But you wouldn’t know by lookin’ at me, would you? 

MARY-ANN

I thought we weren’t allowed to take the scraps. He said—

HAZEL

Watch out, ladies! We’ve got a tattle-tale in our midst. 

MARY-ANN

What?! No! I wouldn’t dare—

ALMA

Listen here, Mary-Ann. There’s a whole lot worse sins that tuckin’ trash into your bust or bag at the end of the day. Taking a few scraps here and there when they’re available for the takin’ has never hurt a soul on this earth. 

MARY-ANN

But why would you want them? They’re trash. 

(A look passes between ALMA, RUTH and HAZEL)

Well, they are! I mean why would you risk it? What good—

ALMA

You’re papa’s got money hasn’t he?

MARY-ANN

Some. He does well. The Parish stipend kept us—

ALMA

Hush now and come here. Hazel, go watch the door for us. Ruthy, get your bag and spread out here what you’ve been workin’ on. 

(Hesitantly RUTH stares are ALMA, but then relents and goes to her bag. She rummages for a moment and then pulls out a neat little beginning of a quit-top. As she spreads it out on the table, it becomes clear that the little quilt pieces are made of scraps of shirt fabric taken from the factory floor.)

MARY-ANN

You’re making quilts out of them. Out of the scraps

ALMA

Not everyone can afford to buy their linens or fancy fabrics for their sewin’. Especially not the likes of an old widow, a poor man’s wife, and a child. But! Everybody’s gotta keep their kin warm somehow when the snow sets in. 

MARY-ANN

I’m sorry. I didn’t think—

ALMA 

You sure didn’t. We don’t take all of the scraps. Not even half of ‘em. If the shop gets too clean the boss’ going to suspect something. They like to sell the scraps by the pound to upholsterers for cushion stuffing. If you need a few scraps though, you take just what you need, okay? Just enough to get you by until you need more. The boss’ pretend they don’t know so long as you stay quiet about it and don’t hurt their turning a profit. 

HAZEL

And so long as they don’t see you doin’ it. 

MARY-ANN

This is beautiful, Ruth. 

RUTH

(smiling) Not bad for trash, huh?

MARY-ANN

Far from it. 

RUTH

So you’re a rich city girl then? 

MARY-ANN

Far from it. 

(MARY-ANN’S  face is slightly stricken by this turn in the conversation. ALMA notices her discomfort) 

HAZEL 

But you said your daddy—

ALMA

Girls, let this poor girl get to cuttin’ her fabric and working a little before you interrogate her any further. 

(The women all work in silence for a moment)

HAZEL

(to RUTH) All I’m saying is that if my daddy was rich, I sure wouldn’t be sewin’ shirts for a bunch of businessmen.

RUTH

No. I’d be married to one instead!

HAZEL

Stop it! You’re a married woman! 

RUTH

A girl can dream! 

HAZEL 

And what does this dream man look like? 

RUTH 

Oooh… he’s tall. He’s got dark hair and big shoulders. And I’d be his little wife.

(RUTH wraps fabric around her head like a scarf and approaches one of the mannequins throwing the ‘scarf’ of fabric over its shoulders, pulling it in close like a lover. RUTH and HAZEL laugh)

HAZEL 

What else? 

RUTH 

Oh! Well, he’d have a pretty face and strong arms and well…. 

(RUTH grabs a measuring tape and places it at the crotch of the mannequin, letting it dangle flaccidly.)

MARY-ANN

I think you mean—

(As she passes on her way to the cutting table MARY-ANN grabs the tape and pulls it out even longer. There’s a silent moment of disbelief between HAZEL and RUTH. MARY-ANN looks back sheepishly, wondering if she’s gone too far with these new people. After a beat, laughter between the three women erupts)

ALMA

Girls! 

(They all go silent as ALMA rises from her chair and approaches the mannequin sternly.)

I think you mean—

(ALMA grins and stretches the tape out even longer. The four of them burst in even more laughter.)

RUTH

Oh what a man! A tall muscular man! He’d never raise a hand against ya!

(The mannequin’s arm falls off)

HAZEL

Oh and such a gentleman. Never says a mean word and hardly touches liquor! 

(The mannequin’s head falls off.)

RUTH

Get the radio! What’s your name, mister? Care for a dance? I won’t tell if you won’t. I know we’ve been watching each other across the workroom floor for so long. 

(HAZEL tunes the radio and the two of them laugh as they dance the mannequin around.)

Now you’re not a married man, are you? What was that? Oh, the scandal! 

(RUTH and HAZEL continue to be silly and play with the mannequin and fabrics for a little bit as ALMA and MARY-ANN return to their work)

MARY-ANN

You were married?

(ALMA stares at her, confused for a second)

You mentioned it earlier. An ‘old widow’? You were married.

ALMA

That’s right. Yes, I was married for 36 wonderful years. Now, Charles? He wasn’t perfect. Lord knows neither of us were. But he treated me right and I gave him two beautiful boys, Thomas and Mathew. He was as good a man as a woman could ask for, I suppose. That old heart of his gave out on the factory floor just two years ago this July. 

MARY-ANN

I’m sorry. 

ALMA

Don’t be. Thirty-six wonderful years is longer than most people get. Even rarer with a good man. I’ve got those two boys, good boys—spittin’ images of Charles—to show for it. There’s not a single sorry thing about that. 

MARY-ANN

You’re a lucky woman, then. 

ALMA

I think so too. Workin’ here keeps the bills paid up, and Charlie’s pension covers the rest. Put those two boys through school. Tommy works at some school in Paducah and Matt owns a tailor’s shop with another man over in Louisville. Charles and I worked every factory on this mountain to give those boys a chance. Maybe I’d have liked to be a nurse or something at one point… I know I was smart enough for it and when that ladies nursing college opened up by the river… But, oh, Charlie used to break my heart when I’d mention it to him. He’d say: 

CHARLIE

You’ve got work, Alma! Steady work! In the factory! What more could you want?

ALMA

He meant well. Charlie was a simple kind of man, you know. Didn’t think much about schoolin’ or anything like that. But a good man. Maybe I’d have been a nurse in a different life but… not this one… I consider myself a very lucky woman, Mary-Ann. I wish that kind of luck for every one of you girls in here, I do. 

MARY-ANN

Me too. But it looks like Ruth has a little bit of luck anyway. You’re going to have a baby!

(During this chat, HAZEL and RUTH have settled down and returned to work.) 

RUTH

I am lucky, and so is little August.

MARY-ANN

Is this your first? 

(A sober look passes between ALMA and HAZEL. RUTH freezes. There’s an awkward beat)

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I just—!

RUTH

No! No. It’s just fine Mary-Ann. It’s fine. I did have a baby before this one. When I first got married. I think I woulda been seventeen, right Alma? Maybe? Yeah. I had a baby girl…

ALMA 

And a beautiful baby she was Ruth. 

HAZEL

A perfect baby.  

RUTH 

Her name was Naomi. You know, like Ruth and Naomi from the bible? Where you go… I go? 

HAZEL

Such a clever name. 

RUTH

And she had the whitest hair. Like corn silk before it turns. 

ALMA

She was perfect, Ruth. 

MARY-ANN

What… did something happen to her? 

RUTH

(Having been lost in thought) What? 

(RUTH is still again. She seems to sink into herself, lost in a memory. It looks like she might cry.) 

ALMA

No matter about that right now. Let’s see those stitches Mary-Ann. 

RUTH

Mary-Ann, do you believe in changelings or… you know… fairy folks or things like that? You know, like the tales your mama might have told ya about the woods growing up to keep you from wanderin’ too far in? 

MARY-ANN

I’m sorry. I don’t think… I don’t understand—

ALMA

(Wearily) Ruth—

RUTH

Because Naomi was always crying, you know? Like those little babies that doctors say have colic or something? I’d feed her and clean her up and get her all nice and warm and she’d still be screamin’ and carryin’ on like I was starving her. Drove William crazy. And she wasn’t a bad baby! There are a good many things to cry about out there. But, before long he’d be yellin’ and Naomi, she’d be cryin’ and there’d not be a single thing that I could do to stop any of it. 

MARY-ANN

Ruth, you don’t have to—

RUTH

And usually, I could break the tension. William’s got a hot temper, but usually, he stays away when he’s hot. He’s the kind of man who rarely warms his own bed if that makes sense, and if I’m honest, I like it better when he’s not home. Isn’t that terrible?

That winter though, I’d taken really sick. I was bed bound, you see. It was hard to do the housework and care for Naomi. I was just so sick. I could barely move and I couldn’t get Naomi to stop cryin’. So I’d just hold her in my arms and I’d cry with her. The both of us together… just cryin’ by the wood stove. 

HAZEL

Ruth…

RUTH 

And one night, after William got home from the mill, and Naomi wouldn’t stop he said to me real soft like— 

(From off stage, WILLIAM voice enters)

WILLIAM 

Give her to me, Ruth. 

RUTH

And I held onto that baby. Screamin’ and cryin’ as she was—as we both were by then—I held onto her so hard. And he said it again so quiet I could barely hear him—

WILLIAM

Give me the damn baby. 

RUTH

He took her from me after that. I held onto her but I was too sick to even fight him. I think he knew that. He left with her and went out into the woods. It was snowing that night. Real soft, big flakes. I could hear her screamin’ get further and further away until all I could hear was the wind. I lay there in the quiet for hours.

William came back without her and climbed into bed with me. Like nothin’ ever happened. Like Naomi was never even there. Sometimes I thought I dreamt her up until I’d find a little sock beneath my chair or a strand of white hair on a blanket, fine as spider silk…

MARY-ANN

Ruth…

RUTH

I like to think that the fairy folk took her, ya know? Like they do with all the little babies left in the woods? Raised her up to be magic and that she’s playin’ in the woods out there, just beyond my line of sight… or somethin’ like that. She’d be almost six by now.

Sometimes, I sit out on the porch real early in the morning with my coffee, hoping to catch a glimpse of her during the witching hours. I haven’t yet. But I might… ya know? With that white hair, I’d know her anywhere. She was so beautiful. She’d make a fine fairy folk. Don’t you think?

(A nervous glance passes from MARY-ANN to ALMA. ALMA nods.) 

MARY-ANN 

I think she’d be beautiful. Just like her mama. 

RUTH 

Thank you, Mary-Ann. 

(RUTH seems to settle a little. ALMA nods again that MARY-ANN has said the right thing.)

MARY-ANN

And little August will have a big sister watching over him from the woods. If he ever strays in too far, maybe she’ll remember the way home. 

RUTH

I think you’re right.  (This seems to satisfy RUTH) Hazel, could you help me with this? I think my machine’s having the same problem yours was. 

HAZEL

Sure thing. 

ALMA

Well, let’s see what you’ve got so far, Mary-Ann. (ALMA examines the half-finished shirt that MARY-ANN has been working on over the course of the day.) It looks good so far. The sewing is clean and the stitching is even…. but the arms are too long. 

MARY-ANN

What?

ALMA 

The arms are too long. Who are you dressin’? A giraffe? 

MARY-ANN

You didn’t even measure them!

ALMA

I don’t have to. (ALMA holds the shirt up and the arms are indeed, very long.) You cut on the wrong lines when patterning. Just take the seam out and trim it up, it’ll be fine. 

MARY-ANN

I can’t believe—

ALMA

Well, believe it. And tuck them scraps in your apron. There’s the start of your first quilt. 

RUTH 

It’s okay, Mary-Ann. That’s better than what she did to my first shirt. 

HAZEL

She takes a good whack at my work weekly. You get used to it. 

(MARY-ANN begrudgingly returns to the cutting table.)

RUTH

So what about you then Mary-Ann? 

MARY-ANN

Hm? What about me? 

RUTH

Well, all we know is that you’re from Springfield, you’re rich but not really, and that you can’t measure your way out of a paper bag. Do you have children? A husband or fiancé? 

HAZEL

How’d you end up all the way down here? 

ALMA 

Now girls, she just met you. If she doesn’t want to share—

MARY-ANN

They didn’t tell you all when I got hired? 

HAZEL

Tell us what? 

RUTH

I’m sure it’s none of our business anyway. 

HAZEL

Well, I’d like to know. 

ALMA

Hazel! Now you mind your own business! If this girl doesn’t want to share her—

MARY-ANN

No, it’s okay. It’s not a secret. At least not a very well-kept one. My daddy sent me here to live with my aunt after… well… there’s no nice way to say it is there… I suppose I—

HAZEL

What? Did you kill a man? 

ALMA

Hazel! 

MARY-ANN

No! No. Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid. I didn’t kill a man… I did love one, though. Frances was his name. He was kind and gentle. Well educated. A professor, if you’d believe it. He was my fiance—or so I thought—and I was his… his mistress, I suppose. Isn’t that funny? He was already married! He probably still is! 

We were lovers for a year and I didn’t suspect a thing. And it’s not like we were secretive! He gave me gifts. Took me dancing. He took care of me. I never would have… He has four kids. Four! With his real wife! I had no idea! 

He was an atheist, his wife a Catholic, so it’s not like they attended church together. When he asked me to marry him he told me to keep it a secret. He said we’d tell my father once we were ready, but being a damned fool…I told daddy early. I was just so excited and in love….

ALMA

Oh, Mary-Ann. 

RUTH

You poor thing. 

MARY-ANN

Do you want to know the best part? Daddy beat me for it. Like it was all my fault. He beat me so bad I couldn’t get off the floor that night. Of course, he knew this man was married. He said—

(Enter DADDY’S voice from off stage.)

DADDY

If there’s no innocence left in you then I guess I’m gonna have to beat the devil out of you.  

MARY-ANN

The next day the doctor was called when they found me still laying on the floor. He said my hips had been shattered. A couple of ribs, my cheekbone, and a few fingers, all broken. Bruised from tip to toe… and the doctor never even asked me how it happened. Didn’t have to. There was a blue handprint wrapped around my neck for a month. I lay in my bed for months thinking about what I could have done differently. Finally, when I could just barely walk, my aunt came by train to get me. The train ride was awful. Every time the car bumped I thought I might shatter apart again.

And you know what? In all that time, that whole night on the floor, all those months in bed, and even when I first got here… I expected Frances to write. Or… come get me. Something. Anything… Not a word. Isn’t that funny? The whole thing. It’s funny now… 

(The room is silent for a moment. MARY-ANN looks up at the others trying to judge their response to what she has said. ALMA is the first to speak.)

ALMA

Not a lick of that is funny. Not a single bit and I hope you don’t really believe that. It’s wrong and I don’t mean the part you played in it, though the church has many an opinion on mistresses and the like. That man knew what he was doin’ and he wasn’t any better than to ignore it when it came to light. And that daddy of yours? Any old man can be a preacher, but that doesn’t mean he’s any closer to God than the rest of us. In fact, I’ve met a good many godly men who wouldn’t know the lord if they looked him in the eye. Mary-Ann? 

MARY-ANN

Yes? 

ALMA

It’s not your fault. 

MARY-ANN

What? 

ALMA

What those men did to you? It’s not your fault.

MARY-ANN

I-I know. 

ALMA

I don’t know that you believe it though. Just know that in here, you ain’t got a thing to be forgiven for. It’s not your fault. 

(MARY-ANN says nothing and ALMA returns to her work. RUTH comes to MARY-ANN and hesitates before hugging her.)

RUTH

(quietly) Sometimes, people do wicked things to us and those we love. It’s not our fault, it hurts like it is. Things do get easier, Mary-Ann. 

HAZEL

She’s right. 

MARY-ANN

What? 

HAZEL

Things do get easier.

MARY-ANN

When? 

HAZEL

Not suddenly. That’s for sure. Slowly. Overtime. Things are only just finally coming together for Little Jack and me and it’s been what? Five years now? 

ALMA

Just about. 

MARY-ANN

Little Jack? You have a… a son? 

HAZEL

No. Jack’s my baby brother! He’s five.  

MARY-ANN

I’m so sorry!

HAZEL

It’s okay. He may as well be mine at this point. 

MARY-ANN

What… What about your mother and father? 

HAZEL

Mama bled out a minute after they pulled Jack from her. Dead before Jack could even cry. They tried to hand Jack to Papa, but Papa wouldn’t even look at him. Wouldn’t even name him. I was crying so hard over Mama. Little Jack was squalling like new babies do and Papa just started yelling at us. 

(Enter DADDY’S voice from off stage.)

PAPA

Will both of you shut the hell up. It’s bad enough that she wanted the two of you, but now I’m going to be stuck wiping your behinds and cleaning up after the both of you. It’s about time you started pulling your weight around here, little girl. 

HAZEL

He put Jack in my arms that night and never held him since. Probably for the best. He was always a drunk, even before mama died. He’s in prison for killin’ a man over a bad hand of cards. Way I reckon it, he’s as good as dead. May as well have been dead for all the good he did us. Never left us anything but bruises and a falling in house. 

ALMA

You know my door and home are always open to you and Little Jack. Since my boys left—

HAZEL

I know, Alma. But, this year I’ll have the money to patch the slats before winter. It’s going to be so nice. For three years now when the snow blows at just the right angle, me and Little Jack wake up with stripes of snow across our covers because the slats on the house are damn near rotted off. But not this year. This year, it’ll be just us all nice and cozy and I’ll be responsible for it.

ALMA

The offer always stands. 

HAZEL

I know. I know. Thank you, Alma. 

MARY-ANN

So you… live alone? 

HAZEL

Well, yeah. Just me and Little Jack. 

MARY-ANN

When do you go to school? 

HAZEL

I haven’t been to school in five years. Somebody’s gotta pay our way and I gotta make sure Little Jack is raised up right. I send him to that nice school downtown. The one with the uniforms and tuition and all of that? Alma helps me with the school money, but we’re gonna make sure he’s learned all the way through, right Alma? Maybe even send him to college like her boys one day. 

ALMA

That’s right. 

HAZEL

Alma helps me with my learning while we work. She taught me to read and write and do a little math right here in the workshop. 

MARY-ANN

I could also teach you… if you like. I was trained and worked as a teacher back in Springfield before everything happened. I’d be happy to help Alma and you out if that’s what you wanted. 

ALMA

You should take her offer, Hazel. I’m sure Mary-Ann knows a good deal more than my education here in the hills can give you. 

HAZEL

You’d do that? 

MARY-ANN

As long as you teach me how to get these sleeves the right length using this pattern.  

HAZEL

I’ll do my best, but I don’t know… I don’t think these are going to pass Alma’s judgment. 

(HAZEL swipes MARY-ANN’S project and holds it up. The sleeves are now different lengths.)

RUTH

Oh, be nice, Hazel! One sleeve is for Little Jack to enjoy now and the other is for him to grow into! 

MARY-ANN

Hey! 

HAZEL

I thought you said you made men’s shirts before!

MARY-ANN

(laughing) I did! For the same man, with the same pattern, over and over! 

ALMA

Well, let’s see it, Mary-Ann. 

MARY-ANN

I’d rather not…

ALMA

Come on. Let’s see what you’ve made. 

(MARY-ANN brings ALMA the terrible shirt. ALMA turns it over in her hands scrutinously. She examines every inch of it slowly before holding it up in front of her. ALMA looks up at MARY-ANN solemnly. A smile then cracks her face and she begins to laugh. The rest of the women, also begin to nervously laugh.)

Mary-Ann. This has got to be the ugliest, most ill-made shirt I’ve ever seen. 

MARY-ANN

Well—! 

ALMA

And it brings my old heart joy that your bastard of a daddy stands up there every Sunday wearing something like this in front of a congregation!

(They all begin laughing in earnest now.) 

MARY-ANN

Want to know the really funny part? 

ALMA

What’s that? 

MARY-ANN

I sewed all his jackets too! 

(More laughter)

And hemmed his pants! 

RUTH

You said you could sew!

MARY-ANN

I can! I just never said I was any good! 

ALMA

Well, you sure aren’t. You’re not bad, though. I think you’ll be just fine. Come on. Let’s clean up a little before the bell. 

(The women begin to clean up the workshop. Carefully covering their machines, picking up fabric, tidying, and all the while tucking small scraps from here or there in their aprons, bosoms, or bags. While they tidy, MARY-ANN’S face seems to fall as she thinks about their day. She stops cleaning at one point to stare at the shirt she worked on all day.)

MARY-ANN

Alma? 

ALMA

What’s wrong? 

MARY-ANN

Does it ever bother you? Making these shirts? 

ALMA

Why would it bother me? 

MARY-ANN

I don’t know… We give them children, we care for their homes, we feed them, we put clothing on their backs and… they beat us. They abandon us. They use us. We give them our life, day in and day out. We sew these shirts and I don’t think they think for a second about whose hands made them. What are we supposed to do? Women like us? A widow, a child, a poor man’s wife, and… a whore.

ALMA

What do we do? Mary-Ann, we do what we’ve always done. Ladies like us? We’re gonna come to work every day, and cut’n’sew shirts for men who have never and will never give a damn about us. Putting beautiful fabric on the same bodies that break ours down. The same bodies that didn’t let us vote until I was 50 years old and then spat on me as I walked into the courthouse. We’ll keep dressing them. 

And at the end of every day we’ll stuff ourselves with scraps and when we get home we’ll sew these scraps into quilts to keep our bodies and babies warm. 

Women like us? We’ll keep working and caring for one another until every shirt we’ve ever made is worn out or buried on the backs of the bastards who wore them. We’ll keep on keeping on until all that’s left of any of this (motions to the room around them) are the scrap quilts we stole together with our own bare hands. Blankets passed from our old knobby fingers to our children’s to wrap our grandbabies in and their grandbabies in. 

And when these men tell us things like: 

(ENTER cacophony of voices all jumbled together CHARLIE, WILLIAM, PAPA, DADDY)

CHARLIE, WILLIAM, PAPA, DADDY

Will you shut the hell up?
Give me the baby Ruth.
I’m gonna have to beat the devil out of you.
What more could you want? 

ALMA

Just remember that while they are rotting in the earth, and by then you and I will be too, that you are the one still keeping your family warm and safe. That’s what we do. That’s why we take these scraps. Because little by little the scraps we take build something beautiful, and real, and lasting, even if we’re not around to see it. 

(They all stand in silence staring at ALMA who looks between each of them. They all stand in silence until the bell signaling the end of the shift rings.)

Well come on then, let’s get going! Tuck in all your loose ends. (ALMA checks the women over to be sure that none of the stolen scraps are visible. She stuffs what sticks out away.) Good. Good. Good. Oh, and Mary-Ann? 

MARY-ANN

Yes? 

ALMA

Your work really was very ugly. 

MARY-ANN

Oh! I-I know…

ALMA

I’ve got a thawed roast at home. Hazel and Little Jack will be there. Usually Ruth, too. Why don’t you come by my house tonight? I’ll feed you and after dinner, we can pull out the scraps from that ugly shirt you made and start making something beautiful. 

MARY-ANN

I’d like that very much. 

(ALMA, MARY-ANN, RUTH, and HAZEL EXIT together.)

Sarah Espinoza Repp is a mother, wife, writer, and mixed medium artist living in the Midwest. Her academic and artistic interests favor disability studies, the history of disenfranchised women, as well as celebrations of the natural form, both human and non-human. Her inaugural publication, ‘Scraps’, is a semi-autobiographical meditation on old family stories that have been passed down by the women in her family for generations. She would like to thank her readers and dedicate this publication to her mother.