Some random monologues

These come from various places, mostly things I thought might turn into something more but remained just what they are.  Still, I like them.  At least, I think I do.

 

MARK

So, before I met you, I would get to the crosswalk and I would push the button wait for the light.  And now, I just walk up to the corner and the light is green.  And you remember that night when you made me run across the street?  And you said, “It’s already green” or something like that.  And I remember I was running behind you and I felt like I was in one of those stupid romantic movies and nothing mattered except how you made me feel.  And that’s not stupid.  I mean I felt like that.  And I never thought that happened, but it did, that’s what I’m saying.  And you remember that.  Well, I never push the button anymore.  I just walk up to the light and it’s green.  Every time when I’m walking home it’s green.  Seriously, every time.  And I go to walk across the other way and it turns green right when I get to the corner.  But you know what the crazy things is?  I don’t even look.  I mean, I don’t even check anymore.  I just walk and I know it’s green.  And it was never like that before.  And that’s scary to me.  But it’s…good enough that I don’t care.  So if that’s weird or anything…I mean, it’s how I feel.  So…yeah.

 

TRAVIS

I wanted to tell her I didn’t have any opinion.  I told her before we went I just like to look.  That’s fine, she said.  And you can’t open your mouth and say you don’t have anything to say.  You’re already talking.  I don’t really remember what I said.  But a lot, I had to say a lot.  Every five seconds it was “What about this one?”  

One of them, she asked about these tree trunks, how they just climbed up and up and we didn’t see any leaves, just trunks, these tall trunks.  And it was cool, it was good.  I told her I liked the lines.  I like it when they’re simple.  And she started talking about God and if he’s really there.  And we just keep looking up, something like that.

And I love talking to her.  I really do.  But maybe I don’t think about God like that, maybe I don’t think about anything like that.  Or not when I see tree trunks.  Why couldn’t he just paint God?  What he thinks God looks like.  With a beard and everything, you know?  But she wants to look deeper at everything.  So we walked past that one and a couple other ones with trees, couple of deer I think.  And her hand brushed against my hand.  Only her fingers were spread out and she got caught for a second, on my knuckle on the ring finger, you know, and her hands were so cold.  And I thought she noticed for a minute, I mean how could you not?  And what was she gonna say or would be both just laugh and feel awkward, you know.  But then there was this other one, with a lake, that she saw.  And she gasped a little, this little gasp I didn’t know she had until we came here.  And she said the painter’s wife died and the sun was setting over the lake and it was just bright enough.  Something like that.  And I saw that there were these ripples in the water that went across the canvas in these horizontal lines, and they caught the light.  And I liked the lines.  But I didn’t say anything.

 

CAIN

(To his psychiatrist.)

No, it’s not…I mean I always knew my parents loved me.  It really wasn’t anything like that.  And Abel.  I mean, he was the sweetest guy.  Course he was.  Everyone was in love with him, the golden boy, perfect son.  And of course, Dad was a perfect son, you know?  And there’s Abel.  And his sheep.  I swear, you know, I would hate that guy if he weren’t such an angel.  So, I donno…I wasn’t unhappy.  Things were…fine.  You know, I don’t really know why I’m here.  I messed up, okay?  You don’t kill your brother, I know that, I know it was wrong.  Doesn’t that show you there’s nothing wrong with me?  I mean not…nothing, you know?  All I’m saying…What I’m saying is…Dammit!  Okay, I’m sorry.  If I tell everyone…I donno I’m sorry, can I be done here?  What, you think you can fix me?  I’m a dangerous guy, I kill people.  One person, but after that you never know, right?  Can’t you just write me off?  Don’t you just do that?  Hopeless case?  It’s not the kind of thing you like to talk about, you know?  You understand.

 

That last one was weird.  This next one is weirder.  I apologize to anyone it offends.  Really.  I’m weird.

 

JANET

I think it’s sick, adopting all those babies.  Seriously!  Because it’s such a great thing, right?  Ha, yeah.  Just wait a few years.  That’s right.  Who says they want to come over here anyway?  They can’t speak for themselves yet.  It’s like circumcision.  Let them grow up, let them decide.  You can’t collect children, you can’t just branch out because, I donno, brown goes better with your shoes.  Or do you not adopt white after Labor Day?  Is that a thing?  Have your own baby, we’re made that way!  Don’t you ever think that?  That they could just go get knocked up like the rest of the human race?  God knows they’re not too good for sex with white men.  Right?  So have their babies.  Doesn’t that piss you off?  You know?  Because, newsflash, no matter how much you fight for rights for women, making a better world for our daughters, they still come with uteruses!  Uteri?  So get over yourself and use it.  Am I right?

 

This next one came from…well, I’ll let you figure that out.

 

ROSALINE

(Looks up from reading a letter from Romeo.)

Doesn’t it just kill you?  

(Puts down the poem.)

Of course I could tell you he saw me in the food court in line for Sbarro, waited by the Coke machine, and told me he couldn’t help but notice me notice him and if I wanted a salad why didn’t I just stand in the shorter line at the vegan place.  To which I responded, obviously, that I wanted garlic bread with my salad and I don’t mind the little packets of Italian dressing and how is it any of your business where I eat.  Then he gets this knowing little smile like we’re sharing a secret or something and asks aren’t I glad they finally switched to the short fat breadsticks instead of the long skinny ones to which, of course, I have no response.  And, “You know,” he says, “Like at the downtown mall.  They’ve had the good breadsticks for, what, a year?  We finally get ‘em here, I bet downtown’ll lose a lot of business.”  Something like that.  So here I am with this Sbarro gourmand and this family of about a hundred Ukranian kids waiting for me to get my Dr. Pepper and out of their way.  And Mr. Chivalrous finally notices all this, offers to hold my tray while I get my drink, I’m so worked up I don’t even wait for the fizz to go down, you know the head on the top of the soda.  Don’t even grab a lid, just a straw I think, just leave it half empty, or full.  And all the while it’s, “I love that you order a salad and still get a soda.  Not even diet, good for you.”  It’s the kind of good-for-you-for-trying-so-hard garbage that mollifies you just enough to let a “yes” slip out after the next question.  And all of a sudden it’s “Lemme get your number then.”  And, you know, you rewind and retrace your steps.  And you realize that cloaked in one of those folksy little jabs was a dinner invitation, somewhere in there an offer to show you, quote, “a real salad.”  And you know it had less to do with some pathological need of his to be superior in every way and infinitely more to do with his always being two steps ahead of you trying to figure out what in the world this banal small talk means.  And soon the phone is in the pocket and you’re wondering how the cornered-at-the-Coke-machine-between-an-unruly-Slavic-mob-and-Ferris-Beuller-twenty-years-too-late-for-his-day-off scheme of his could have possibly worked.  But there he is with a wink and a smile and an “I won’t even wait two days, how does that sound?”  And you’re at your table alone, worried you’re taking up too much space but secretly thinking “Well, screw them all anyway,” which really doesn’t make lunch pleasant, especially since you wish you’d gotten one of those vegan salads after all.  And you could never have imagined that morning it would be so difficult to find a pair of pumps to wear with the dress you knew would be a mistake all along.

(Beat.)

Anyway, I could tell you that story, but it’s so much prettier this way.

(Reads.)

“There are no ears that wait in patience, still,

To hear the trickling laughter flow anew…”

(Laughs.)

I’m Rosaline.  He loved me in the first act.  Story of my life, right?  Of your life too, maybe.  I’m why he went to the ball.  It was to see me, remember?  The Capulets’ ball, I mean, our love was forbidden too, you know?  And I’m sorry if my story hits a little closer to home, but it’s what I know.  Like I said, though, it’s prettier this way.