WHAT’S SO FUNNY?

Transcript of Angela Williams’ Interview (for internal circulation, final copy to be edited and approved by SM before filing)

Video/Tape Recorded Interview

Angela Marie Williams/Detective Sergeant Stephen Marshall

6.16.23

Start: 0535 (AW escorted into room by Det. Melissa Blake)

End: 1148 (see medical addendum)

Note: AW appears to disassociate, stare off in a catatonic state, dance to music only she can hear, several times throughout the interview. (I thought she was going to take her clothes off at one point, Micky might want to play that bit back.)

SM:     I know you’ve been here a while. I appreciate you speaking to me. Det. Melissa Blake shared a timeline of events of the past 24 hours, so we won’t go into detail. I think we both know why you’re here. Angela, do you want to have a seat?

AW:    I’m fine.

SM:     You do know why we’re here?

AW:    He said it was normal.

SM:     Who did?

AW:    Father Michael.

SM:     Murder? Your priest said murder was normal.

AW:    Is that what this is?

SM:     We don’t know yet, but it doesn’t look. Angela, you tell me why we’re here.         

AW sits.

AW:    Where are my children?

SM:     Your sister.

AW:    Shit.

SM:     Would you like us to call someone else?

AW:    Anyone but her.

SM:     You’d rather I call a social worker?               

AW:    No. That’s fine. She’s fine.

AW stands, first sign of Awkward Movement (AM)

AW:    You think I’m crazy.

SM:     I don’t think you’re crazy. Can we start from the beginning?

AW:    No.

SM:     Can we start from the end?

AW:    Let’s just start from now. What’s going to happen to me?

SM:     That depends on what happened.

Lengthy Silence (LS)

AW:    He said it was normal.

SM:     Who?   Right. Father Michael.

AW sits.

AW:    I’m here now. Let’s just get this over with. Is it life imprisonment? Do we have the death penalty?

SM:     No death penalty. And it all depends on what happens. What happened.

AW:    From the beginning?

SM:     Yes. From the beginning.

LS                               

AW:    After Clara was born. I had PPD.

SM      PPD? Post-partum depression.

AW:    Yes. But it was bad, like really bad. I was in the hospital for five weeks. I had to stop breastfeeding. My boobs. They gave me a pump and Jessie picked the milk up every day. But he didn’t give it to her. Some days I refused to see him. His face. I wanted to peel it off his head, like an orange, Press my thumbs into his eyeballs and pull the skin back. Or like a pumpkin, I’d carve a hole in the top of his head and pull his face out from the inside, his smug smile and optimistic eyes turned inside out on newspaper at the kitchen table.

(Interruption at door. Det. Melissa Blake takes dinner order.)

SM:     How do you know he didn’t give her the milk?

AW attempts to reopen door exiting the interrogation room.

AW:    It was all there when I got out. When I got home. All of it. There’re still a few bags in the freezer.

SM:     Why didn’t you throw it out?

AW:    I. (Pause) This is going to sound. (Pause) I put it in their macaroni and cheese. (Pause) Crazy right?

SM:     Well.

AW:    I know. Not as crazy as all this.

SM:     Let’s stop using the word. Crazy.

AW:    Why?

SM:     I don’t think any of this should be classified that way.

AW:    Why?

SM:     You tell me.

AW:    What? Oh man, is it going to be like that? Are you going to do that to me too?

AW stands.

SM:     What? Calm down.

AW:    Oh, sweet Jesus. Calm down, huh? It’s going to be like that, eh? You’re going to do that, too?

SM:     Calm down.

AW:    Don’t tell me to calm down. I’ve been here for days.

SM:     Twelve hours.

AW:    Twelve hours. Sure. Can I just go to jail already? They have beds, right? Cots. A place I can lie down.

AW sits on floor. Empty table and chairs indicate suspect is beneath video recording device.

SM:     Are you ready to tell me what happened?

LS

AW:    You know. (Pause) What happened. (Pause) You saw him.

SM:     I did. How did he fall?

AW:    He didn’t.

SM:     He didn’t fall?

AW:    No. Don’t play games detective.

SM:     I’m not the one playing games.

AW:    I’m not playing games.

SM:     Then start from the beginning. You went out.

AW:    Date night.

SM:     You and your husband went out on a date.

AW returns to seat.

AW:    Yes. We went out every Saturday. We went to see a comedy show.

SM:     The Laugh Café?

LS

AW:    Yes. The uproariously unfunny Laugh Café.

SM:     Then you went for a walk down by the quay?

AW:    It wasn’t funny.

SM:     What wasn’t funny?

AW:    The show. (Pause) He laughed his ass off at almost every joke. Everyone did.

SM:     It was a comedy show.

AW:    But it wasn’t funny. Like not at all.

SM:     Why wasn’t it funny?

AW stands, spins, mimes holding a microphone, smoking a cigar?

AW:    My wife. Ha, let me tell you about my wife. Every night she asks me to massage her feet. And I gotta say yes, fellas, amiright, we have to say yes. I just wanna watch the game, but she’s got her feet on my lap and I rub those feet for hours and when I ask if I can massage her pussy with my dick for five minutes, maybe two minutes if she closes her eyes, she gets up and leaves like it’s my dick with bunyons and cracked heels.

            (Pause) It’s not funny. Why are you laughing?

SM:     You’re right. It’s not funny.

AW:    It’s stupid. But Jessie’s laughing. Hysterically. Not just tittering because it’s stupid, but knee-slapping laughing. And I’m thinking, who the hell is this guy? Like, why’s he laughing. We have sex all the time and he never massages my feet. I mean I couldn’t stand it.

AW sits, folds in half, head pressed between knees.

SM:     The laughing?

AW:    Yes. And. I can’t stand him touching me.                  

SM:     You tried to kill him because he laughed at a comedy show?

AW:    It wasn’t funny.

SM:     Again. You pushed him because he laughed at unfunny comedy.

AW:    It was less than funny. It insulted funny. Like if George Carlin was in the audience, he’d have walked out.

SM:     Why didn’t you leave?

AW:    He wanted to see the headliner. Some guy he went to school with. And if you want to underline anything on that notepad of yours. He was the unfunniest guy I have ever heard in my life. It was fifteen minutes poking fun at the guys who played D and D in school. He played Dungeons and Dragons. My husband played it too. He stood up there for fifteen minutes making fun of himself.

SM:     That’s good comedy, isn’t it? Self-effacing.

AW:    No. He never mentioned that he played D and D. He just made fun of dudes who did without actually saying he was one of them. And Jessie was.

SM:     Hysterical?

AW:    He said his gut hurt so bad. When we were walking across the bridge. I mean, how is that possible? I wasn’t even smiling on the inside.

AW dances, jumping jacks, burpees, stretches.

SM:     How did you get him over the railing?

AW:    What?

SM:     How d’you get him over the railing? And on to the highway?

AW:    I don’t know.

SM:     Why do you think you did it?

AW:    I saw a movie about a woman who dreamed about killing her husband and after watching it, I felt, less alone. The husband knew she was going to kill him, but he didn’t know how. I wanted that for Jessie. I didn’t want Jessie to figure it out. I wanted it to be a surprise.

SM:     You’ve been thinking about this for a while.

AW:    Not like that. It’s Clara.

SM:     What about Clara?

AW:    Siobhan too.

SM:     What about the girls? You wanted to kill them?

AW:    No! Don’t say that! Who told you that? I’d never harm them.

SM:     Who said you would?

AW:    The doctor.

SM:     He thought you might kill them?

AW:    Clara. He thought I might hurt her. That’s why. The hospital.

SM:     Right. Well, did you?

AW:    No. Stop it.

SM:     You said.        

AW:    No, I didn’t.

SM:     Tell me what the doctor thought.

LS

AW returns to the corner under the camera. Silence.

AW:    I mostly dreamed about the funeral.

SM:     What does that mean?

AW:    I dreamed of the funerals. I didn’t want them to die. I just wanted them dead.

SM:     You wanted a funeral?

AW:    How many people would come? Would people feel sorry for me? I couldn’t possibly get through the speeches and prayers without someone holding me up, supporting me?

SM:     Taking care of you? You dreamed of a funeral so people could see you crying? See how much you hurt? And hug you? Care for you?

AM starts twirling.

AW:    I don’t think anyone would show up in real life, but in my dreams, it’s like a celebrity died. A packed church, and if they all got killed by a drunk driver, or worse, there is media there taking pictures of me and my face is splashed all over town and people come from all over to the church to pay their respects. To me. Standing room only to hear me tell everyone how incredible my little Clara and Siobhan were. I’m never going to see them married. Never will be a grandmother. My dreams are shattered. In the blink of an eye. Their lives destroyed. Extinguished.

SM:     Does that upset you now?

AW:    Of course. (Pause) Do you like lasagne?

SM:     It upsets you, that you thought those terrible things?

AW:    I said yes. Do you have a tissue?

SM:     Are you crying?

AW:    It’s upsetting to think of them dying.

SM:     This is all I have.

AW:    A handkerchief? Do people still use these?

SM:     I still use them.

AW:    Is it used?

SM:     No. It’s not. Yet.

AW:    It’s hot in here.

SM:     We can go for a walk outside after you tell me what happened.

AW examines her hands, her fingers. She cracks her knuckles.                   

AW:    You know what happened.

SM:     You have to say it.

AW:    Have you ever tasted breast milk?
SM:     I’m not going to talk about that.

AW:    It’s delicious.

SM:     Look at me, Angela.

AW:    I can’t.

SM:     Pardon.

AW:    I can’t.

SM:     Lift your head and speak a bit louder.

AW:    I can’t.

(Pause)

SM:     Lift your head.

AW:    Whoa, why so angry?

SM:     Listen. This is getting tiring. I’ve got kids myself and I’d like to get home.

AW:    That’s rude.

SM:     What’s rude?

AW:    Rubbing it in like that?

SM:     That I have kids?

AW:    That you’ll get to go home and see them.                              

AW stands, dances around the room.

AW:    Don’t look at me like that.

SM:     Start from the beginning.

AW:    We went for dinner.

SM:     After that.

AW:    We went to the Laugh Café.

SM:     After that.

AW:    We went for a walk down on the quay.

SM:     After that.

AW:    The bridge.

SM:     The bridge?

AW:    I don’t remember any of that.

SM:     Yes, you do.

AW:    No. I don’t. Are you allowed to talk to me like that? (Pause) One minute he was here and the next minute he was. Where is he by the way?

SM:     The hospital.

AW:    Oh, thank god.

SM:     Intensive care.

AW:    What happened? Will he die?

SM:     His family is with him.

AW:    What? Who?

SM:     His parents I believe. His brother.

AW:    Jonathan?

SM:     Yes.

AW:    Will he die?

SM:     You asked me that.

AW:    Did you answer me?

SM:     Yes. He’s being taken care of, but he may die.

AW:    Will there be a funeral?

SM:     I have no idea.

AW:    Can I go to the funeral?

SM:     He’s not dead. And. No.

AW:    Why?

SM:     If he dies. You killed him.

AW:    I did?

SM:     Yes.

AW:    The girls. Where are the girls?

SM:     With your sister.

AW:    Shit.

SM:     Do you want us to call anyone else?

AW:    Father Michael.

SM:     We tried. He’s busy with your husband.

AW:    Persona non grata.

SM:     What did you say?

AW:    Persona non grata.

SM:     I heard you, but.

AW:    Father Michael told me it was perfectly normal. That people dream of killing their loved ones. That it never amounts to anything more than a passing fancy. A moment in time when we’re adjusting to life the way it is, the way it will always be and that it would only take time for me to come to terms with the death of my own dreams.

SM:     Your dreams?

AW nods.

SM:     What dreams?

AW:    Pardon?

SM:     What dreams? The death of your dreams?

AW:    I don’t know what you mean.

SM:     You just said Father Michael…

AW:    Is he coming?

SM:     He’s not coming.

AW:    Where is Clara?

SM:     Clara and Siobhan are with your sister.

AW:    She’s a bitch.

SM:     You said that.

(Pause)

AW:    You know she wanted her dead before I did?

SM:     Who?

AW:    Siobhan.

SM:     Your sister wanted to kill Siobhan?

AW:    Siobhan tried to kill Clara. She was crying in her crib. And I was. Busy.

SM:     Siobhan tried to kill Clara?

AW:    I was in the bath. She was crying. When I got out of the bath, Clara was screaming still, but it sounded like she was drowning.

SM:     Where was Siobhan?

AW:    Watching television. She’s always watching television.

SM:     And Clara?

AW:    She was in her crib, but her mouth and eyes were covered in cellophane tape. Criss-cross, apple sauce, her nose, there were cotton balls in her nose. I called Jessie laughing. I said can you believe it? We’ve got a little sociopath on our hands.

SM:     What did he do?

AW:    He said it wasn’t funny.

SM:     And?

AW:    He called our family doctor.

SM:     What did he do?

AW:    He took me away. Can you believe it? She’s the one who wanted to kill her.

SM:     You did too. You told the doctors.

AW:    I said I didn’t blame her for wanting her dead. Things would have been better.

SM:     And?

AW:    I didn’t want to kill her. I just wanted.

SM:     You wanted her dead.

(Pause)

AW:    Where’s Jessie? Will there be a funeral? A big one? At St. Chris’s?

SM:     Sure. Whatever you want.

AW:    I need a dress. My black one with the white pixie collar. Jessie likes that.

SM:     You won’t be going to the funeral.

AW:    Why not?

SM:     Holy crap. This is getting tiresome.

Detective SM opens door, takes white plastic bag with food from MB, dropping it on to the table.

SM and AW eat. AW picks burger patty out of bun and breaks off little pieces.

SM:     Tell me what happened on the bridge?

AW:    What bridge?

SM:     Over the expressway.

AW:    He said I lost my sense of humour. He said I would have laughed at shit like that when we were younger, but now I only laugh at. Listen. I laughed at crappy comedy back in the day because I didn’t know what was funny then…really…about life.

SM:     And what is funny about life?

AW:    This is funny. No?

SM:     Not really.

AW:    You’ll laugh about it one day.

SM:     I don’t think so.

(Pause)

AW:    Anyway, I said, you know what’s funny? And I told him I made lasagne with my breast milk and his mother said it was delicious. I said when she put the fork to her mouth I imagined sticking my nipple in there. I thought about squirting her in the eye. And I told him about the mac and cheese. He said it wasn’t funny, but crazy. I said, you know what’s crazy? I said, you locked me up for six weeks with swollen boobs and a pump for my milk and then you never gave her any of it. He never gave her any of me. For six weeks I made these connections in my head. Like rivers of milk that flowed from the hospital, down Smith Street, across Bolder, through the park and into our house. Into her mouth. I dreamed I was floating on that milk and when she sucked it out of the bottle, I was going inside of her. That when I returned, she’d know me. But he filled her with poison and stocked the freezer with my milk. I asked him why he kept it, if he never planned on using it and he said he couldn’t bring himself to throw it out. I said that’s crazy.

AW moves erratically around the room.

SM:     Sit down please.

AW:    I don’t want to sit down.

SM:     If you don’t sit, I’ll have to put the cuffs back on.

AW:    Where is he?

SM:     Who?

AW:    Jessie? Where is that asshole? I’ll show him crazy.

SM:     Calm down.

AW:    I’m fine.

SM:     Do you want some more water?

AW:    No. I’m fine.

SM:     I can’t have you passing out again.

AW:    I’m fine. Where are the girls?

SM:     They’re with your sister.

AW:    Shit. And Jessie? Is he dead?

SM:     Not yet.

AW:    Will there be a funeral?

SM:     If he dies. If there is a funeral. You won’t be going.

AW:    Persona non grata.

SM:     Yes.

AW:    I’m not crazy.

SM:     No. You’re not.

AW:    He said I was crazy.

SM:     Jessie?

AW:    Yes.

SM:     That’s why you pushed him off the bridge.

AW:    Did I?

SM:     Yes. Tell me why.

AW:    He fell.

SM:     How?

AW:    I don’t remember. One minute he was there and the next, he was gone.

SM:     Sit down.

AW:    Can I see the girls?

SM:     No.

AW:    Jessie?

SM:     Sit down.

AW:    Why am I here?

SM:     You tried to kill your husband.

AW:    I did. Will there be a funeral?

SM:     Fuck sakes. If he dies, you won’t be going to the funeral.

AW:    I know.

SM:     Sit the fuck down.                               Calm down.

AW:    Don’t tell me to calm down.

SM:     What’s so funny?        Why are you laughing?

AW:    Did you know Jessie?

SM:     No.

AW:    Did you know his mother?

SM:     No.

AW:    When I got out of the hospital, she told me she didn’t feel sorry for me.

She told me she felt sorry for my girls. My girls. She felt sorry for my girls.

SM:     And that’s funny?

AW:    I made the lasagne. I mixed two-year-old breast milk in with the ricotta cheese.

SM:     Yes. Just like the children’s macaroni and cheese.

AW:    Exactly. Lasagne is so messy. You can put almost anything in it and nobody will ever know. It looked like lasagne, and she’ll never know. I gave her containers of leftovers. She’s probably eating some right now. Joke’s on her.

SM:     Doesn’t sound like a joke to me.

AW:    You lose your sense of humour?

SM:     Maybe.

AW:    You don’t find this funny?

SM:     No.

AW:    I do.

AW falls forward, resting cheek on table, eyes closed.

AW: Anyway, he won’t die. He never does.

####

–END–

Alison Gadsby earned her MFA in creative writing from the
University of British Columbia. Her stories have been published in various literary magazines including Ex-Puritan, antilang, Blue Lake Review, Coastal Shelf, Dreamers and more. She hosts Junction Reads, a prose reading series, in Tkaronto, where she lives with her family.