MARC: Jesus Christ, shut up!
CYNTHIA: What will the neighbors think? (Cynthia continues to scream.)
MARC: They know you, so they already know what to think.
CYNTHIA: But do they know you?
MARC: (Bewildered) What?
CYNTHIA: You know how crazy white boys are getting these days…next thing you know, little Marky Anderson could be the shooter next door, the way his temper is… (Cynthia starts to cry softly, then scream. She is faking it, like a horror movie.) Ah,
Marc, don’t don’t don’t, don’t hurt me….I’m sooooo sorry.(She continues to make yelping noises like she is being hurt, watching Marc. Marc, angry and confused, brings his fist back to punch her mouth and make her be quiet. When Cynthia sees his hand, she stops as if on cue.)
MARC: When is this going to stop? WHEN YA’ GONNA STOP?
CYNTHIA: (Cynthia grabs his neck.) Don’t be mad at me. I’m trying really hard to be good to you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
MARC: I’m so confused.
CYNTHIA: So am I.
MARC: You don’t have to be like this.
CYNTHIA: I can’t stop.
MARC: You have to stop.
CYNTHIA: It isn’t normal. But I’ve known you so long. (Pause) You’re 18 now.
MARC: What does that mean?
CYNTHIA: You’re an adult.