by Phoebe Kate Foster

Groucho glances around the room and shakes his head. "I've had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it."

"Does anyone have news of Shiloh?" President Lincoln inquires.

"The first thing I can record concerning myself is: I was born," Groucho remarks to no one in particular. "My mind loses itself in these depths."

Our minds do, too.

Soon it's time for Holly to go. "You can leave in a taxi. If you can't get a taxi, you can leave in a huff. If that's too soon, you can leave in a minute and a huff," Groucho quips.

President Lincoln solemnly reminds her, "A house divided against itself cannot stand."

As usual, Groucho closes with his favorite one-liner. "Marriage is a wonderful institution --" he begins.

The three of them shout in unison, "-- but who wants to live in an institution?"

As Holly waves goodbye, Lenny calls to her, "We're saving you a place, you fucking bitch!" and sinks back into his Thorazine haze.

The heavy door closes behind her with the dull thud of a failed joke. "It's good of you to come back each week and visit," the man with the rattling ring of keys and the med tray says. "It means so much to them -- to talk to you and see how well you're doing."

She smiles and nods, glad for the dark glasses that hide our eyes.

As we slowly walk back to the packing crate under the bridge that we call home, we repeat what we're almost certain is our real name, like a mantra, a plea, a prayer.

(With grateful acknowledgment to Mark Twain who wrote, "When we remember we are all mad, mysteries disappear and life stands explained.")