Blanche, call the police! I just saw a big, ugly man with a limp walk past my bedroom window. He was wearing Dorothy's coat! [she sees Dorothy sitting on the bed] But then again it was dark and I tend to overdramatize.
Rose, what I didn't tell you was... when I was five, Mamma enrolled me in a tap-dancing class. For six months we practiced. One hour a day, two days a week. And I was good. I was cute, and I was good. Real good. Then finally, it came time for the night of the recital. And there were thirteen little girls up there with our little Shirley Temple curls, and our little starched white pinafores, and our little Mary Jane shoes. Then they opened the curtain and the music started and twelve little girls started to dance. And one little girl wet her pants. That girl in the puddle was me. [laughs] I have never told that to another living soul, Rose. You see, I thought I had overcome my fear, honey, but I just haven't and performing is a nightmare for me.
[sternly] Hey, we've all got our sad stories. Look, Blanche, we've practiced for six weeks, we've paid for our costumes, we told everybody we'd be there, now you're not going to wimp out on me. You're going to go to that recital. And if you end up in a puddle tonight, well, you'd just better break in to Singin' in the Rain!
I'm petrified. Nobody's that brave, except on TV and in the movies. I remember crying when they first told me, and I don't think I stopped until they wheeled me into surgery. Then afterward, I cried because I thought the pain would never go away. But it did. And it will again. You get through it. You move on. It could have been a lot worse, I could have missed these past three years....(after she goes quiet) Dorothy? Are you all right? How do you feel?