For Her Own Good

It’s 8:00pm on Tuesday July 21st. Mary pulls onto her street, and even before she turns into the driveway, she knows something's up.

Cars are lining the street – familiar cars. The gold Saturn belongs to her sister Claudine, the white van belongs to her cousin Marty. And is that – it is! The silver BMW belonging to her pastor, Father Mark. What the heck's going on?

Mary parks in the garage rushes into the living room - They’re all waiting. Staring. It’s not just Claudine, Marty and Father Mark – there are fifteen people in the living room, staring at her with sadness and concern.

“What the hell?” Mary blurts out. She turns to her husband, “David, what happened? Did something terrible…?”

“Oh Mary!” David takes her hand in both of his. “You’re sick. You have problems. But you also have a lot of people that care about you!”

“I care about you!” Pipes up Mrs. Mulcahey, Mary’s high school English teacher, who now appears to be in her 80’s. She jumps to her feet and scuttles over to grab Mary in a huge hug.

“We care about you!” The group chants in unison.

“What the – is this supposed to be an intervention?” Mary mumbles, backing away a step. She mentally scans her vices - she doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, doesn't gamble...

“Only if you open yourself up to it.” Says a voice behind her. Mary whirls to find her teenage daughter Megan standing there, tears running down her face.

“Mary, we all love you, and this book club – it’s doing terrible things to you!” David cries out, trying to hold back his own tears. “It’s tearing your life apart, and it’s got to stop.”

“What?” Mary blurts. “The book club? Seriously?”

“Women’s Lit is a scourge on our great nation, Mary.” Father Mark says, as if he’s giving a sermon. “Margaret Atwood? Elizabeth Berg? That terrible Candace Bushnell?! Where will all this 'freedom of thought take you?”

Mrs. Mulcahey gasps, whispering ‘Bushnell!’ under her breath like a curse. She mutters a prayer, her face raised to heaven as she crosses herself.

“What the f-” Mary begins, only to have David cover her mouth with a quick, gentle finger.

“This book club is stealing thirty minutes a week from you, Mary! From your family!” David is crying freely now. “You never eat Tuesday-Night-Pie with us! You miss Jeopardy!”

“Wow.” Mary is reeling. She staggers back, her daughter catching her.

“Come back to us, Mary! All these free-spirited ideas are evil! This smut is coming between us! What’s next, Laurel K. Hamilton?”

The group takes up the word as a dark chant, "Hamilton, Hamilton, Hamilton!" as if it rhymes with murder, with Bloody Mary.

“Say you’ll give it up, Mary! Say you love us, love yourself! Say you’ll come back into the flock! SAY YES, MARY!” Father Mark cheers.

“Yes!” Mary yells. “YES! YES! I choose you! All of you!” She falls to her knees.

Everyone applauds and collapses into joyful embraces.