'night, Mother1986

Thelma:
But you are my child!

Jessie:
I'm what became of your child. I found an old baby picture of me... and it was somebody else - not me. It was somebody pink and fat. Who never heard of sick or lonely. Somebody who cried and got fed. And reached up and got held. Slept whenever she wanted to just by closing her eyes. Somebody who mainly just laid there and laughed at the colors waving over, round her head. And chewed on a polka-dot whale. And woke up knowing some new trick nearly every day. Rolled over and drooled on a sheet. Felt your hand pull the quilt back up over me. That's who I started out. And this is who's left. So that's what this is about. Somebody I lost all right: my own self. Who I never was. Or who I tried to be and never got there. Somebody I waited for and never came - and never will. So see, it doesn't matter much what else goes on in the world or in this house even. I'm who I was waiting for. I didn't make it. Me! Who might have made a difference to me. I'm not gonna show up - so there's no reason to stay... except to keep you company. And that's not reason enough... cause I'm not very good company. Am I?

Thelma:
No. And neither am I.