Angry Girlfriend With No Voice
The following reflection was written in 2003, when I was between 25 and 26 years old.
I’d finally met Stef’s sister Anisa, albeit briefly, during a break from a playwriting workshop I attended on Saturday February 28th with Dolores Whiskeyman, the playwright of Driven To Abstraction, the play being mounted that weekend at Bradford. I don’t recall much of that meeting, except that it took place in the dining hall when we were on break. I think they were stopping in for breakfast after Stef had picked Anisa up from her apartment in Salem, MA on their way up to Maine. It was my second encounter with Anisa that sticks with me.
Sometime on Sunday afternoon I received a call from Stephanie, whose voice was almost entirely gone after a day and a half away in Maine to celebrate one of her Bahai holidays. Her car wasn’t cooperating and she wondered if I could drive her sister home if she got the car as far as Bradford. It was quite odd that my car, the motherloving Tempo, was being called upon for “reliability.”
When Stef and Anisa arrived at Bradford we quickly hopped into my car and began our trek East towards Anisa’s place in Salem. Stef was angry about something, probably about some argument she’d had with her family over the weekend, but she couldn’t talk. It was quite amusing to see her wanting to yell but not even able to make more than a peep.
We got Anisa home safely and then drove back to Bradford. It would not be the last time we had to be Anisa’s ride somewhere far out of our way, but it’s an interesting trip that never really grows all that tiresome.