The Existence of Others

Lavender thinks she must be in the Willoughby. If she is, someone should notice her soon.

The pebbles are agitated and discomposed.

Uh, uh, says Lavender in their general direction. Who's laughing now?

In a few minutes more, everyone is tipped out onto a table.

Lavender sees Irma's face looking down from above.

Is that you Lavender? says Irma. No, sorry, it's not.

Yes it is, says Lavender. Why is it not?

Because you look different, says Irma. Look at this, dad.

Irma's dad peers at Lavender.

I'm sorry? says Irma's dad. What am I looking at?

Oh, you didn't see her before, said Irma. Look at Lavender, Arthur. Look, Emma.

Emma and Arthur look at Lavender.

She is stained dirty red and her shell shape is filled with red mud.

You look really different, says Emma. But don't worry. We can give you a scrub.

I don't want a scrub, just let me get dry, says Lavender tearfully.

Stop crying then, says Arthur.

He sets Lavender down in the sun.

Her mud dries in minutes.

She feels crackly and tight.

Now, says Arthur, we'll get rid of that mud.

He holds Lavender upside down and taps her sharply on the table, until the dried mud drops out.

Oh look! says Emma. A dried mud shell shape.

She picks it up.

It crumbles to bits.

That was me, says Lavender.

Not really, says Arthur. It just looked like you.

It was me, says Lavender. It was more me than anything else, and it's broken.

Arthur, Irma, Emma and dad look at the broken dried bits of mud that once had been more Lavender than anything else.

They are all thinking the same thing.

Existence is complicated.