Written as a character study.
Character: Melissa Anne Crawley
Play: Standing Above Pajaro
MELISSA ANNE CRAWLEY is facing the audience behind a table where she’s being interviewed by the Watsonville Sheriff about the disappearance of her son, BOBBY JR.
MELISSA
Where do you want me to start? Okay. From the beginning. Okay. My name is Melissa Anne Crawley. I was born… truthfully, I don’t really know. My parents, well the ones that found me, think I’m 40. They picked my birthday on May 20th, 1890. Why are you looking at me like that? My eyes. Yes, they are really that blue. I know that everything else about me looks like I’m Mexican, but as far as I know I’m from here in Watsonville, not Mexico. The only time I left this city was when my late husband, Robert, returned from the war in the Philippines to the old Ord Barracks, down in Monterey. We stayed there until my parents passed, and that’s when we moved back to work in their store. The same one I run now with my son, Bobby Jr. Anyways, when Robert returned from war, he wasn’t the same person I married. He didn’t have such a bad temper before he left. I guess that’s what war does to a person. Let’s just say that I quickly learned how not to say anything back or question anything he said. Anyways, he passed on a few years back. Like father like son, Bobby got the same temper and quick-draw reflexes. We tried to make the best of it running the store. But Bobby was always out with his friends though. Teenagers. But that was good. I got to sing out loud. Something that I never got to do when Robert was alive, or when Bobby was around. They said I had a terrible voice and was tone-deaf. But in those moments alone, either singing to myself, or making up stories, I felt alive. I also got to read the old books that my parents had. I didn’t get to go to school so I could help out with the store, but they taught me how to read and write. They probably knew that I’d take over the store for them. But this was something I kept from my husband and son. That I knew how to read and write… well, I made them think that I just knew the basics. I needed to keep some things for me, I suppose. But I wasn’t stupid. No matter, how much they told me that. I wasn’t. I had a family and responsibilities. I didn’t have a need for fancy clothes or anything. And I would keep my hair in a bun, just like this. Robert thought that it was improper to let my hair down. Even when Robert had already passed, Bobby caught me with my hair down and he scolded me for it. He said that’s the way those girls at that Filipino Club down in Palm Beach had their hair when they danced with those Goo-goos, that’s what Bobby called them, those Filipino workers and they would drive them crazy. He said that it wasn’t enough that they were taking away the real American’s jobs, but they were taking their women too. I didn’t know what to believe, but he’s my son and I have to believe that he was right, right? I just wished that sometimes he would…. The night of the 30th? I was at home. Above the store. I heard a lot of commotion going on outside. I knew from the last couple of days that the whole town of Watsonville was after those Filipino field workers. Bobby would tell me some of the things they would do to them. I knew it was wrong, but… I just stayed home and let things play out. Can I ask you something? Is it true that a Filipino was killed at the Murphy Ranch? Oh. What was his name? Oh my. No. I didn’t know Fermin Tobera. Oh. Excuse me. I was just thinking about Bobby. No. No, I don’t know where he is. Do you think he had something to do with this killing? Of course. Still under investigation. Please let me know if you find my son. Can I go now?