"I had wrapped the tire iron carefully in towels, good towels, so it wouldn't mark him in any way or draw blood. I picked it up off the floor now with my right hand and swung, like a tennis serve, really, and caught him at the back of his pewter hair. Perfect, a perfect hit. He went over into the front seat, and all I had to do was pull him in, turn him--not so easy; he was heavy--and shut the door behind him. I looked carefully; he was still clutching the attache--I knew he'd be awfully angry if we'd lost it--and gunned the car away from the curb. I don't think I even wondered if anyone noticed, and I guess nobody did. This was New York. ___________________________________ We were going to my house; I didn't think much beyond that. He would be so happy, so relieved to be there. "I want to be with you," he had said so many times. "But you know I can't." And he had always smiled as he said this: "Steal me." I had only done what he wanted me to do."

Drama

Characters: 2 female

Unit set.

Since her tragic death, Sylvia Plath continues to fascinate readers of her poetry and sole (autobiographical) novel The Bell Jar. Letters Home explores the enigma of the great poet's life, dramatizing correspondence between Plath and her mother Aurelia. Every line of this engrossing drama comes from these letters, evoking a gripping and powerful portrait of the woman, artist, daughter and mother. Originally produced in Off-Broadway by the Women's Project at The American Place Theatre.

"The life of Sylvia Plath has been dramatized sensitively and powerfully. Goldemberg has succeeded in sustaining dramatic tension in her editing and adaptation of the letters."-Hollywood Reporter

"I had wrapped the tire iron carefully in towels, good towels, so it wouldn't mark him in any way or draw blood. I picked it up off the floor now with my right hand and swung, like a tennis serve, really, and caught him at the back of his pewter hair. Perfect, a perfect hit. He went over into the front seat, and all I had to do was pull him in, turn him--not so easy; he was heavy--and shut the door behind him. I looked carefully; he was still clutching the attache--I knew he'd be awfully angry if we'd lost it--and gunned the car away from the curb. I don't think I even wondered if anyone noticed, and I guess nobody did. This was New York.___________________________________We were going to my house; I didn't think much beyond that. He would be so happy, so relieved to be there. "I want to be with you," he had said so many times. "But you know I can't." And he had always smiled as he said this: "Steal me."I had only done what he wanted me to do."