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Mack, Beth and Shakey Spear

by Alan R. Wolcott

Class is about to begin and students are filing in. Beth wanders in, obviously agitated, and begins vigorously scrubbing her fingers.

Beth:

(Muttering to herself out loud) Out spot! Why won’t you go away? How did I happen to get you? I thought I was so careful, wearing gloves and everything...Out spot! I swear...

Mack:

(Coming in) Hi Beth! What’s up? It looked like you were talking to somebody over here, so I came over to check it out.

Beth:

(Exasperated) It’s this spot! (Shows him her hand) I’ve tried everything but I just can’t get this Martius Yellow off. Dratted chem. lab anyway!

Mack:

Martian, who? I can see there’s a yellow blotch on your hand. But I don’t believe that’s Martian anything. I’ve always heard they were little green men, except in the War of the Worlds. I suppose it could be cheese, as long as they stopped by the moon on the way here—but I think that’s supposed to be green, too. Hmmm, about the only thing I know that’s always yellow...

Beth:

Enough already, Nimrod. It’s Martius yellow—from the organic chemistry lab. Apparently I must have spilled a drop on my hands. Anyway it’s stained and there’s nothing I can seem to do to get it off.

Mack:

Have you tried paint?

Beth:

Huh? I’ve tried Lux, Soft Scrub, tide, Ivory, Gunk, Goop, mineral spirits, linseed oil. But no, I’ve not tried paint. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt, if I could get some to match my skin...

Mack:

It’s what I have to use on my football helmet when nothin’ else will get the grit out.

Beth:

Sounds like you ran into one too many defensive ends to me. (Resumes scrubbing) Out spot!

Shakey comes over to the pair.

Shakey:

(With English tones) Salutations Mack, Beth. What engrosses your attention, so? From afar I descried an intensity in conversation, compelling an investigation.

Beth:

Get a grip, Limey! What’s with you today?

Shakey:

Forsooth! I’m rehearsing my thespian aspirations.

Mack:

I’m not sure I like the sound of that...but if you do, you’ll clean it up, Bub. Are you new around here? How did you know my name was Mack?

Shakey:

Can’t say that I did, Mack, but my name’s Spear, William Spear. You can call me, Bill, though most, including Elizabeth here, call me Shakey—though I’m not sure why.

Beth:

Because of your loose grip on reality...it’s a bit shakey, even for a Brit.

Shakey:

So what were you two so vigorously debating?

Beth:

This spot on my hand that will not disappear.

Mack:

She says it’s Martian yellow, or something like that. Anyway, it kind of reminds me of the spot I’ve been trying to get off my conscience. It’s sort of yellow, too. I noticed it after a game last fall...

Beth:

Football players have consciences? Next you’ll be saying they have needlepoint klatches, too (shakes her head disbelievingly).

Shakey:

Forsooth! But he said, a “yellow” spot—perhaps he speaks of an act of cowardice—indeed a “spot” on a sportsman’s conscience!

Mack:

Hunnh? All I know is that I should have caught that punt—at least Coach and all the guys say I should have. But when I looked up and saw all those guys headed toward me and the ball coming down...well, it just seemed smarter to get out of the way. Let it bounce. My scholarship’s just not big enough for that!

Beth:

So that’s why they were calling you “Old Yeller” in the games. But that’s not something to feel guilty about.

Shakey:

Alas, I too, have a confession to make. Last week I heard myself telling an inquirer that the person she sought was in the “dooryard.” Egad! Next I’ll be parking my motor car in the “gararge.” It’s almost as bad as when I left an infinitive to dangle in grammar school, or the time I smiled at you Americans’ love for incomplete assonance. I fear my expensively cultured soul has been stained (said with dramatic flair)!

Beth:

Sheesh! Get a hold of yourself Billy boy! Next thing you’ll be declaiming in iambic pentameter.

Shakey:

That’s not a bad suggestion, Beth (in iambs). Perhaps it’s worth a spin...

Mack:

(Breaking in) I tried the best spot remover I could think of to get mine out...a few cold six packs. But the hangover didn’t make the voices go away and I was sick all weekend.

Beth:

Yuck! I used to try that kind of stuff, too. In fact, I tried therapy, and getting as busy as possible, and going on a personal retreat, and Zen, and art, and motorcycle maintenance, and you name it, I tried it. But only one thing could ever touch the spots on my conscience.

Mack:

You’ve got gunk on that, too? (She nods). That organic chemistry sounds dangerous! (She shakes her head.)

Shakey:

Do tell, my lady! Do tell!

Beth:

Well... last year I was in a relationship with a guy...Anyway, I found out that I was going to have a baby. But it was the wrong time—what would I do about college? And my boyfriend didn’t want a child. I decided I should stop the pregnancy...and I probably would have, but I miscarried...

Mack:

I’m sorry, Beth.

Beth:

Thanks. But what hurt most was that I couldn’t forget what I had planned to do. We broke up when I got depressed. I just couldn’t forgive myself.

Shakey:

You don’t seem melancholic now.

Beth:

No. Eventually I went to a crisis pregnancy place. A woman there helped me understand my loss. Then she explained that part of the reason I felt so bad was that I felt guilty. She was right. But she surprised me by what she said next.

Mack:

What’s that?

Beth:

She said I couldn’t forgive myself, but God could. She insisted only he can clear a guilty conscience. Then she urged me to receive the forgiveness that he offered by acknowledging my guilt, and asking him to forgive me in the name of his Son, Jesus.

Shakey:

Sounds like a classic case of religious coercion to me, taking advantage of you while you were vulnerable.

Beth:

Get a grip, Shakey! She helped me. She was right! I did feel guilty. I thought about what she said a long time. Finally, I figured I had nothing to lose, so I prayed what she had taught me to say.

Mack:

Did it work? Did the spots go away? Think there’s hope for “Old Yeller”?

Beth:

The truth is it wasn’t magic, Mack. But I went back to the lady at the crisis pregnancy center. She has taught me a lot. Now I know how and why God can forgive the guilty. The Bible says it’s because he took the penalty on himself, by his Son. With time the guilt has left, all that’s left is a bit of a scar...

Shakey:

Now that’s a tale worthy even of the Bard!

Mack:

The Who?

Beth:

Shakespeare, Mack! The old Bard and Beth have this thing about spots...wonder what he’d recommend for this? (Holds up her hand and begins scrubbing again).