MONOLOGUES – Female, 2013
Jennifer from Tom Griffin's AMATEURS
Excited? I was ecstatic! I was already planning my wardrobe for the Emmys. And I read
one more time. My third callback. But I didn't get it. I went outside. It was one of those
hazy L.A. days, one of those days when everything felt so hot and... artificial. I could see
the Hollywood sign shimmering up in the hills. So I got in my rented Plymouth and drove
up to Lake Hollywood. Lake Hollywood, it's perfect! The damn thing is made of
concrete! I walked around it. And all I could think about was, "Are there fish in this
lake?" So I asked somebody. I actually went up to this guy, this worn-down, middle-aged
guy, and asked, "Are there fish in this lake?" You know what he said, "This is
Hollywood, lady. No fish except for the sharks. No bottom except for the slime. No
princes except for the frogs." And we both laughed. I left about two weeks later. I didn't
have the guts. It wasn't the talent. It was the guts.
Grace from Tina Howe's APPEARANCES
The one without the legs has these custom-made artificial legs that she hooks onto
herself. They're amazing, they're so life like, the exact same color and texture as her own
skin. The thing that really gets me about her, though, and I'm probably strange to notice
it . . . is every day she's got a fresh pair of socks. That's right, each night she discards the
pair she'd been wearing and selects a clean pair for the next day. If you stop and think
about it, you realize there's no way those socks ever get dirty since she doesn't have feet
that get them all sweated up. She's just a stickler for appearances and insists on fresh
socks every day because fresh socks look better than wilted ones! Well, when I look
down and see those spanking white socks hugging those little plastic ankles of hers, the
cuffs folded just so . . . it brings tears to my eyes! That little girl really takes pride in how
she looks! She knows she's been born with a handicap, but she doesn't let it get to her.
Pony from Tina Howe's APPROACHING ZANZIBAR
I get so scared thinking about it, I can't sleep. Every night I touch my bedside light fortyfour times and hold my breath for as long as I can and pray, "Please God, don't let me
die! I'll be good, I'll be good!" And then I start imagining what it will be like . . . You
know, being dead in a coffin, being underground all alone in the dark, with the mice, and
spiders, and worms crawling over me . . . and, and dead people moaning all around me . .
. and trying to call Mommy and Daddy but they can't hear me because I'm so far
underground. And, and then I start thinking about being there forever and ever and ever
and ever until my body's a skeleton . . . a clattery skeleton with grinning teeth and no
eyes, and I touch my night-light 144 times so it will go away and, then 244 times, and
444 times, and I get crying so hard Mommy has to come in and hold me. . . And, and . . .
Oh no, it's starting to happen now. . . Could I get in bed with you?
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Lynette from Richard Cameron's CAN'T STAND UP FOR FALLING DOWN
I tried to clean up after he'd pulled everything out of the kitchen cupboard and smashed it,
but I cut my hand quite bad on a piece of glass from a sauce bottle, I think it was, and I
had to leave it. I should have had stitches really. It's funny. I thought it was ketchup.
"Serves you right," he says. "Cleaning up. You're always cleaning up. Leave it.
Dammit -- LEAVE IT!" and something's exploded in my head and he must have hit my
ear. My hand's full of blood but it's my ear that hurts. "Don't you swear in this house!
You stop saying your foul language to me. I won't have it. Don't swear!" and I'm
hanging on to the edge of the sink to stop from falling over. I'm going dizzy. It makes
me ill to hear bad words said before God and he knows it and he says it all the more, over
and over, and my hand's under the tap and my head's swimming and ringing loud and the
water turns red. That night, I mend the door lock with one hand, while my other hand is
throbbing through the cloth, and I hear him hammering and sawing in the shed in the
yard, like it's been for days now into the night, but I don't care anymore about what he's
doing. I don't care, and I don't care if God doesn't want me to say it, I wish he were dead.
I wish he were dead.
Wanda from Casey Kurtti CATHOLIC SCHOOLGIRLS
My father comes home from work every night and before he even takes off his hat, he
drops a bag of leaky, smelly meat on the table for my mother. She waits to see if she
should kiss him or not. If it is just hamburger, she grunts. If it is liver, she practically goes
to Mars. I hate liver. I hate all things sometimes, even things I like. My ballet lessons, my
dolls, and I hate my smartness. You know why? Because they were given to me. I am
working on something that's mine. I have been for along time. After school, I go home
and do all my homework right away so I can go down to my father's store. He's not really
a bad man. I just don't like him, or something. While he's in the back room, sawing those
bones out of the big legs of meat, I take some soda cans and crush them onto my shoes. I
move some sawdust into a little pile on the floor, and start to dance. Not like Nancy
Sinatra or Diana Ross - oh, I am so much better. As I'm dancing, my mind just lets go and
all these little movies come into my head. My favorite - I'm on the Ed Sullivan show. I'm
singing a song. Fake snow is falling all around me. I have on a sexy dress. It's sort of a
sad song and I look so incredibly beautiful that people in the audience are starting to cry.
Well, I break into a tap dance, just to cheer them up. Later on, Ed Sullivan brings me
backstage to the Beatle's dressing room, and Paul asks me to marry him. I say, maybe in a
couple of months, because I have my career to think about. I become an international
superstar and I go to live in a penthouse apartment right on top of Radio City Music Hall.
So for now, I don't mind rehearsing in my father's store. He stays out of my way. So, you
just get ready, because even if it is a sin, I don't care, I'm going to be famous.
Jane from Christopher Durang's 'DENTITY CRISIS
When I was eight years old, someone brought me to a theatre with lots of other children.
We had come to see a production of Peter Pan. And I remember something seemed
wrong with the whole production, odd things kept happening. Like when the children
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would fly, the ropes would keep breaking and the actors would come thumping to the
ground and they'd have to be carried off by the stage hands. There seemed to be an
unlimited supply of understudies to take the children's places, and then they'd fall to the
ground. And then the crocodile that chases Captain Hook seemed to be a real crocodile,
it wasn't an actor, and at one point it fell off the stage, crushing several children in the
front row. Several understudies came and took their places in the audience. And from
scene to scene Wendy seemed to get fatter and fatter until finally by the second act she
was immobile and had to be moved with a cart. You remember how in the second act
Tinkerbell drinks some poison that Peter's about to drink, in order to save him? And then
Peter turns to the audience and he says that Tinkerbell's going to die because not enough
people believe in fairies, but that if everybody in the audience claps real hard to show that
they do believe in fairies, then maybe Tinkerbell won't die. And so then all the children
started to clap. We clapped very hard and very long. My palms hurt and even started to
bleed I clapped so hard. Then suddenly the actress playing Peter Pan turned to the
audience and she said, "That wasn't enough. You didn't clap hard enough. Tinkerbell's
dead.
Darlene from Jim Leonard, Jr.'s THE DIVINERS
Don't you guys read the Bible? I gotta learn the whole thing. Like, say I'm sittin at the
table and I want seconds on dessert, Aunt Norma says, "Give me a verse first, Darlene."
If I didn't know the Bible I'd starve to death, see? But I been learnin who Adam and Eve
are. They're the first people, and they're livin in this great big old garden in Europe. And
the thing about Eve is she's walking around pickin berries and junk with no clothes on.
And this snake comes strollin up, see? And he tells her how she's sittin there jaybird
stark naked. So this business a bein naked really sets God off at the snake, see? Cause
Eve bein so dumb she didn't get in any trouble, but now it's like a whole nother ball
game. And God wasn't just mad at this one snake either -- he was mad at all a the snakes
and all a the worms in the world. So he tells em "From now on you guys're gonna crawl
around in the dirt!" God says, "From now on nobody likes you."
Fiona from Heidi Decker's EYE OF THE BEHOLDER
I'm pretty. There's no getting around it. I just am. Pretty. Pretty is more than just a state
of being, it's a way of life. My Mama always said, you're either pretty or you're not, and
there's no in between. She doesn't believe in bisexuals either. She doesn't like
indecisiveness in anyone. So I . . . am pretty. It's what I am. It's who I am. Now if
you're waitin' for me to get to the part where I wish things had been different, that I hate
the superficial world that we live in and beauty is only skin deep, you can forget it.
Those are just things that ugly girls tell each other to make themselves feel better. Now
you know it and I know it. There's no need to pretend for me. This face, and this body,
have gotten me everything I've ever wanted. No, I didn't get things with sex. I am far too
well bred to be that vulgar. Besides, I don't have to. "Pretty" is the promise of sex. Of
good things, better things. I am the trophy that's always juuuust beyond their fingertips
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. . . and people will do anything to get a glimpse, a taste, a touch. I'm the Holy Grail!
Don't talk to me about being objectified. Yes, I am able to use four-syllable words. Bein'
a woman never kept me from getting a thing. Now it's not that I don't empathize. I do.
I've read plenty about the feminist movement . . . and I feel sorry for them, I do. But I
dont' see what any of it has to do with me. I mean, c'mon, let's be honest here . . . we all
know that those people are just women who were never quite pretty enough. Now that's
not my fault. The truth is the truth, and if it hurts, I can't help it.
Catherine from Rachel Rubin Ladutke's GRACE NOTES
I don't remember much about giving birth, but I remember I heard her cry. I didn't get to
look at her, or hold her. The nurse even said I didn't deserve to see her, because I was
giving her away. They did let me feed her once. I had to refuse to sign the papers before
they'd even let me do that. She had blue eyes. I think most babies have blue eyes, but
hers weren't at all pale. They were really deep, deep blue. Like the ocean. One hour,
that's all we had together. Then they took her away again. You know what I really don't
get, Emmy? When I talked to the other girls at the agency, they all kept saying they
couldn't wait to give birth so they could get back to normal. But I didn't want to have the
baby, because then I was going to lose her. I tried to keep her with me as long as I could.
I started having pains in the middle of the night, but I didn't wake Mom up until I couldn't
stand it any more. I didn't want to go to the hospital, 'cause I knew I'd be coming home
alone and empty. That's the worst part, I think. I feel so empty. I'm cold all the time.
And now everyone expects me to just go on like nothing happened. They lied to me.
Nobody told me it would be like this. I'm not even twenty years old, Emily, and I feel
like my life is over. Or a part of my life, anyway. And I just keep waiting for it to stop
hurting. But it doesn't. It just gets worse. You don't know how much it hurts. Emmy.
Hold me?
Lucy from Alan Ayckbourn's INVISIBLE FRIENDS
This is my room. No one is allowed in here except for me. I'm a very tidy sort of
person. Which is a bit extraordinary in this house. I think I must be a freak. I actually
like to know where I have put my things. This is my bed. And this is my desk. And up
there on the shelf are my special, most favorite books. Actually one of the reasons that I
keep it tidy is because my very, very special friend, Zara, also like things tidy. Oh yeah, I
should explain to you about Zara shouldn't I? You may have heard my mom talking
about my invisible friend? Well, this is Zara. Zara, say hello to my friends. And won't
you say hello to Zara, she did say hello to you. I invented Zara when I was seven or
eight. Just for fun. I think I was ill at the time and wasn't allowed to play with any of my
real friends, so I made up Zara. She's my special friend that no one else can see, except
me. Of course, I can't really see her either. Not really. Although sometimes I--it's
almost as if I could see her, sometimes. If I concentrate very hard it's like I can just
glimpse her out of the corner of my eye. Still...Anyway...I've kept Zara for years and
years, it's been almost ten years now actually. Until they all started saying I was much
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too old for that sort of thing and got worried and started talking about sending for a
doctor. So then I didn't take her round with me quite so much after that. But she's still
here. And when I feel really sad and depressed, I sit and talk to Zara. Zara always
understands. Zara always listens.
Rebeka from Aaron Levy's ONE MAN'S DANCE
My father used to tell me this Dot The Astronaut story. It's about this girl, who was
always the same age as me no matter how old I got. She was born paralyzed—can't walk,
can't reach out, can't dance. At night she and her father would sit on their balcony and
look up at the stars, just like we are. One night, Dot asked her dad where Pluto was, that
of all the stars she wanted to go to Pluto. Her father asked why Pluto? "'Cause I could
dance on Pluto," she said. "I could dance with Mickey Mouse, and Goofy, and Donald
Duck, and me." Her father pointed to the sky and said, all you gotta do is push those
stars out of your way, and you can get there. That's all you gotta do. And if you get
there, if you actually get there, Ira, it's not dark anymore. It's bright. "Then I can't get
there," Dot said, "'cause I can't move, I can't reach." And Dot's dad held her up to the sky
and said, "You can reach, if you just look up, get real mad at them stars, and push them
out of your way. See? Look, there's Pluto, Dot. Don't be afraid, LOOK AT IT."
(Pause.) And she looked, and her father raised her higher, and … he let go … (Beat.)
And that's where she is, Ira—on Pluto, dancing with her pals.
Kelsey from Lauren McConnell's THE NORTHERN LIGHTS
I want to go home. I want to catch a bus tomorrow and go home. To California! I can't
go back to the cabin and the goat and the smell! Not after California! I can't take it
anymore! I'm sorry! I've just begun to realize that, I don't know, I just want a normal
life. I didn't think I did, but I do. Zephyr, everything about our life is strange! You've
just lived up here so long you don't see it anymore. Even I didn't really see it until we
went to visit my parents! We live in a house with no electricity! That is strange. The
only time I get to hear music is in the car! Sometimes I sneak out to the car just to listen
to the radio—even if it is nothing but this country western crap! And our bathtub is
outside the house! That is strange. How many people have to put on snow boots every
time they want to take a bath? How many people have to milk a stupid goat every time
they need a little cream for their coffee? We live a strange life! But the strangest thing
of all is we don't have to live this way! We have options! We could move and get real
jobs and have a normal life. Our parents are even willing to help us! But instead we
choose to live like the Beverly Hillbillies before they struck oil. Normal people don't live
like that! Normal people don't want to live like that. I'm growing up fast. I remember
how we used to sit around complaining about California—about the building, the growth,
the polluted, modern rat-race. We knew a better way. We were better than all of them.
We would live in harmony with nature. We were so self-righteous! I'll tell you this
much: I enjoyed being in California. I liked the weather. I liked the malls! I liked the
freeways! I liked it!
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Lorr from William Mastrosimone’s THE UNDOING
Don't believe one thing she tells you about Leo. He was the best. The best. She didn't
deserve him. He only stayed with her because of me. The day I turned fourteen Leo
towed an old Chevy on the lawn. For a year he stripped that car down and built it back up
from nothin'. Everyday with sandpaper. And when I was fifteen he said, You like fresh
air, Baby? And I said, yeah, and he hacksawed the roof off and put on a convertible top.
And when I was sixteen he said, What color, Baby? And I said, Red! And that year he
made that car the most kickass candyapple red you ever saw. And he souped it up: four
on the floor, V-8 fuel-injected engine, mirrors, mags and double-chrome exhaust, plush
bucket seats, C.B., and dolby ghetto blasters front and back. And he took me out and
taught me to shift and people used to stop and take pictures of my car and ask him how
much he wanted and he said, you ain't got enough, and he put a sign out front: CAR NOT
FOR SALE. And when I turned seventeen, he gave me the keys and a map of the U.S.A.
with five one-hundred dollar bills stuck in it, and he traced the roads I should take with
Magic marker, coast to coast, and he said, Get lost, Kid. And Lorraine said, Over my
dead body! And Leo said, Any way you want it. And two days before me and my
girlfriend are leaving, he takes the car out one night, to get away from her, and some
s***faced hotdog who's got no use for STOP signs takes Leo away from me. (Pause.)
The best.
Meg from Sherry Kramer's THE WALL OF WATER
You know why I’m angry? You really want to know? My roommate Wendi steals my
cigarettes. She steals my cigarettes and it creates a rage in me greater and more terrifying
than the rage created in me by the thought of early death caused by many forms of
cancer, even though I don’t have any of them and even if I did they could be diagnosed in
time and I could probably be saved. Unless it was head cancer. Or throat cancer. Or
lung cancer. Which I do not stand a good chance of getting, if I stop. But that’s not why
I’m going to stop. I am going to stop because when Wendi steals my cigarettes, she
doesn’t steal all of them. She steals all of them but one. I take it as a sign of the
influence of a civilization on even the criminally insane that Wendi never takes my last
one. It has nothing to do with consideration. Compassion. Courtesy. Wendi has left all
those things far behind. Trains can’t stop her. Bullets can’t stop her. She threatens to
leap from tall buildings in a single bound. Medical science can’t reach her. But the
myth of the last cigarette stops her. Dead, every time. If she would just take the last
cigarette, maybe I wouldn’t be so angry. But no, she takes nineteen and stops. She opens
a fresh pack, empties them all out, and replaces one.
Marty from Gary Garrison’s WHEN A DIVA DREAMS
Well . . . I’ve never belonged to anything, ‘cause I get a little nervous in groups. No
clubs, or teams, or Girl Scouts, or sororities, or study groups—nothing. And when I’ve
tried to force myself to be a part of a group, I just faint . . . but I mean, really faint—out
cold—eyes back, drool everywhere . . . You don’t make many friends that way. I mean, I
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was a novelty when I was a kid—I got invited to everyone’s party just on the chance I’d
faint for them and hopefully droop into the cake or punch or hamburger meat. But then
my novelty wore off and I realized I was spending more time getting propped up by
broom handles in a corner somewhere than actually annoying the party. I always thought
that it was just me—that I didn’t WANT to be a part of ANYTHING. Then about three
months ago, I took a bus to New Orleans—just to get away from Shreveport—and I
walked in here by accident. I stood right back there, because it was crowded and there
weren’t any seats. And ya’ll were singing this big, group song that went something like
“Friends will lift you heart up when life has let you down . . .” I’ll never forget how you
all looked. Music was soft, and Miss Red was singing something so full of—love—and I
looked at you . . . (To Penny.) . . . and this—feeling—was all over your face . . . (To
Crystal.) . . . and you had tears in your eyes . . . (To Dee-Dee.) . . . and I saw you in the
audience, and your face was—beaming—every word meant something to you. And
when the song was over, the audience clapped and whistled and cheered for you. (Softly.)
And you took each other’s hands, and bowed . . . and held on to each other. You didn’t
let go. And then you hugged each other. On stage, in front of this whole—group—of
people. And everyone was smiling and cheering. And I thought, well . . . I thought,
something happened here, and it had something to do with why people want to be with
other people . . . and I want to know what that is . . . I’ve looked everywhere for what you
have here every day of your lives. I don’t know what it is, or what it’s called. But if I
don’t get it, I’m not going to make it. It’s that real to me. It’s that . . . necessary.
(Smiling.) You know, just standing here, I feel calmer than I have in my whole life. And
I don’t want to move.
Woman from Kate Shein’s A…MY NAME IS STILL ALICE
Excuse me, are you the registry consultant? Well, I'm here to register! For gifts. I'm
very excited. When is the happy event? There isn't one. I'm not getting married. I'll
probably never get married. Yes, I know that you only register brides. Frankly, I find
that a little discriminatory. I'm here to register and I really don't want any hassle. No,
no—don't get the manager. It's just that yesterday while I was attaching tiny silver bells
to a spice rack for my friends, this voice inside my head started screaming at me. It said,
"Schmuck! Why do you keep buying presents for people who have found everything
they want?" Isn't it enough that they fell in love? They've already won the sweepstakes,
why do they need door prizes? Now then, I need things. I need matching luggage.
Candlesticks! Put me down for two pairs! Come on, just do it! I know I'm single. I
confront that fact every day of my life. You want to know when the special event is? A
week from Saturday. I'm throwing a shower to announce a life of singlehood, and the
beauty is I won't have to return anything if it doesn't work out!
Adelaide from Michael Redhill's BUILDING JERUSALEM
Dr. Pearson, I have sat around for over ninety minutes this evening and listened to you
denigrate anything that is unfamiliar or unappealing to you, as if it is your main calling to
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disillusion anyone who doesn’t see things the way you do. Do you know that it is, in
fact, dangerous to feed our infants milk? Plain milk, Dr. Pearson. While you are
measuring the attributes of your race of perfect men and women, there are babies who are
dead because no one taught their mothers how to heat milk. It’s simple: having reached
a temperature of thirty-two degrees centigrade, milk will cease to pose any kind of a
threat to an infant. It is sweet and nourishing. At thirty-one degrees, however, it is
potentially poison, full of lethal germs. One degree, Dr. Pearson. Can you measure that
for us? Thirty-two and you wake up a family. Thirty-one and you have to call the
casket-maker. Have you ever held one of your own children in your arms, watching the
very life drain from its face? Because you were feeding it poison and you didn’t know
any better? (slight beat) Or is that just women’s work? …
from Lynn Marie Macy’s CRUNCHING NUMBERS
Look, I have to step over homeless people and drug addicts in the street just to get into
my office building. People are crazy here. Every time I go out I’m afraid I’m gonna run
into some kook. Sickos just come right up to you. They do this insane stuff right in
public. Like, a few months back, we were on a shoot by the East River and saw a bunch
of Hell’s Angels try to drown this loud-mouth, red-haired guy. They stripped him naked
and tossed him into the ice cold water. We had to call the police. His wife or someone
dove in to rescue him. Unbelievable. And just last night – really late, I was coming
home in a cab and I saw this crazy guy with a gun. He was forcing these two other
people to carry a lamppost down the street. My god, I thought someone was shooting a
film ‘cause he was dressed up like a gangster from an old movie. But there were no
cameras! Everyday I walk out terrified that I’m next. That today’s gonna be my turn to
lose my mind.
Georgeann from Alan Ball’s FIVE WOMEN WEARING THE SAME DRESS
I was walking down the aisle, first thing I saw was the back of his head. It just jumped
right out at me. I recognized that little hair pattern on the back of his neck, where his
hair starts? You know where it comes to those two little points, and it’s darker than the
rest? I always thought that was so sexy. Then I looked at him during the ceremony, and
something about the way the light hit his face . . . I swear, it just broke my heart. And
then outside, I saw him talking to this total skank in a navy blue linen dress with
absolutely no back, I mean you could almost see her butt. And he was smiling at her with
that smile, that same smile that used to make me feel like I really meant something to
him. And then it all came back, just bang, all those times I sat waiting for his phone call,
me going out of my way to make things convenient for him. Having to take a fricking
taxi cab to the Women’s Health Center that day because it was so cold my car wouldn’t
start. And later that awful, awful night I sat out in front of his apartment building staring
at Tracy’s burgundy Cutlass in the driveway, just wishing I was dead.
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Woman from Christopher Durang's LAUGHING WILD
I want to talk to you about life. It's just too difficult to be alive, isn't it, and try to
function? There are all these people to deal with. I tried to buy a can of tuna fish in the
supermarket, and there was this person standing right in front of where I wanted to reach
out to get the tuna fish, and I waited a while, to see if they'd move, and they didn't—they
were looking at tuna fish too, but they were taking a real long time on it, reading the
ingredients on each can like they were a book, a pretty boring book, if you ask me, but
nobody has; so I waited a long while, and they didn't move, and I couldn't get to the tuna
fish cans; and I thought about asking them to move, but then they seemed so stupid not to
have sensed that I needed to get by them that I had this awful fear that it would do no
good, no good at all, to ask them, they'd probably say something like, "We'll move when
we're friggin' ready, you nagging bitch," and then what would I do? And so then I started
to cry out of frustration, quietly, so as not to disturb anyone, and still, even though I was
softly sobbing, this stupid person didn't grasp that I needed to get by them to reach the
damn tuna fish, people are so insensitive, I just hate them, and so I reached over with my
fist, and I brought it down real hard on his head and I screamed: "Would you kindly
move, you jerk!!!" And the person fell to the ground, and looked totally startled, and
some child nearby started to cry, and I was still crying, and I couldn't imagine making use
of the tune fish now anyway, and so I shouted at the child to stop crying—I mean, it was
drawing too much attention to me—and I ran out of the supermarket, and I thought, I'll
take a tax to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I need to be surrounded with culture right
now, not tuna fish.
Ellen from Murray Schisgal’s LUV
You’re always saying later. That’s a favorite play of yours. No, Milt. Not tonight.
These things must be said while they still can be said. I’d like to continue if you don’t
mind. Now. You’ll notice on this graph how at the beginning of our marriage the red
horizontal line touches the blue vertical line at a point of . . . 14, 15 times a week, and
how, gradually, the number of contacts become less and less until 18 months ago, when
we have an abrupt break-off, the last time being july 23rd, the night of your sister’s
wedding, and after that date the red horizontal line doesn’t touch the blue vertical line
once, not once! I have nothing further to say, Milt. When something like this is allowed
to happen to a marriage, you can’t go on pretending. You want to pretend. Oh, the
temptation is great to overlook, to find excuses, to rationalize. But here, Milt, here are
the facts. Our relationship has deteriorated to such an extent that I don’t feel responsible
any more for my own behavior.
Jessie from Marsha Norman’s ‘NIGHT, MOTHER
I am 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 got sick or lonely,
somebody who cried a lot and got fed, and reached up and got held and kicked but didn’t
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hurt anybody, and slept whenever she wanted to, just by closing her eyes. Somebody
who mainly just laid there and laughed at the colors waving around over her head and
chewed on a polka-dot whale and woke up knowing some new trick nearly every day,
and rolled over and drooled on the sheet and felt your hand pulling my quilt back up over
me. That’s who I started out and this is who is left. That’s what this is about. It’s
somebody I lost, all right, it’s my own self. Who I never was. Or who I tried to be and
never got there. Somebody I waited for who never came. And never will. So, see, it
doesn’t matter what else happens in the world or in this house, even. I’m what was worth
waiting for and I didn’t make it. Me . . . who might have made a difference to me . . . I’m
not going to show up, so there’s no reason to stay, except to keep you company, and
that’s . . . not reason enough because I’m not . . . very good company. Am I.
Lucy from Ralph Pape’s SOAP OPERA
I can have just about any man I want these days. It's great. But for a long time, I used to
think of myself as being unattractive and couldn't get many men at all. I hated that period
in my life, and I hated myself too. Until I met this guy, Johnny. Johnny really dug me.
He told me he used to think of himself as being unattractive to women, or something like
that, and for a long time went around hating himself also. But he was so attracted to me
that he just threw all his inhibitions right out the window. He pursued me constantly until
I agreed to go out with him - he worshipped me - he adored me. I couldn't believe that a
man was paying this much attention to me. You have to understand: I was, like,
incredibly shy. But Johnny changed all that. He would say things to me, things that an
intelligent person would consider sentimental or corny, about my eyes, my lips, my hair.
And at first I thought: oh come on, Jesus. But I'll tell you something: when someone
really believes what he's saying, you believe it, too. When someone tells you, over and
over, that he loves you, that you're the most precious thing in his whole life, you lay
awake at night beside him, crying, trying to find within yourself the qualities that he
seems able to see so clearly, and at last you see them, too. And it's like: well, of course.
Miss Smith from Benn W. Levy's SPRINGTIME FOR HENRY
I don't happen to have a husband. . . . I ceased to have one over a year ago. . . . I shot him.
. . . I shot him in the Touraine. . . . He was a Frenchman, and we used to live in the
Touraine. I was really very fond of Aristide—. . . . I found out after a year that he had a
mistress. That I could have put up with, for after all you must expect Frenchmen to be a
little bit French. But he began bringing her home to tea. I used to say, "Please, Aristide,
dear, don't bring that woman home to tea. Send her some tea, if you like, but it's not right
to bring her here for it." He was very sweet to me in his own way and promised he would
try not to. But he was rather weak, poor darling, and this was one of the temptations he
really couldn't resist. It seemed to him innocent enough. A few months later I found out
he had another mistress also; and the climax came when, after fighting against it for some
time, he surrendered to an impulse, and invited them both to tea. I argued with him very
nicely, and pointed out that it would be so bad for little Pierre to grow up thinking that
mistresses for tea was in the natural course of things. So I bought a second-hand revolver
and said that I was terribly sorry but, if he did it again, I really would have to take the law
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into my own hands. Well, poor darling, he did it again. . . . It's not unusual in France.
The judge was most charming, and the jury were perfectly sweet. They said they wouldn't
dream of convicting me. Everybody was extremely sorry for me. The judge declared that
in a way I had performed a public service. If husbands began thinking they might bring
their mistresses home to tea, he didn't know what would happen.
Wife from James Lapine's TABLE SETTINGS
I've always been happy. Always. Oh, sure, there was a time when even I gave into
depression. But really, there's no question about it. I'm just a happy person by nature.
Now that can threaten some people. (She looks around the space to indicate the "some
people" as her family.) Sometimes when I have a smile on my face they ask me, "What's
the matter?" Like if I'm just in a merry mood, there has to be a reason. I'm just
simpleminded! Now there's a lot to be said for simplicity. I don't claim to feel less than
anyone else. Sure, I have my bad days, but I let go. I get angry, and that's that. I don't
make things complex when they can be simple and easy. I feel pain, but I don't dwell on
it. I think of things that make me happy. Unlike some people I know, I count my
blessings and not my problems. Take my mother-in-law, for instance. All that woman
seems to talk about is this one's stomach cancer, and that one's cataract operation and
who's divorcing who. And my husband is forever glued to his newspaper—sometimes I
think that man would rather read about political unrest and crime than be with his own
family. And the kids. Children, our one hope for the future—last night I joined them in
the TV room. They were watching this gruesome program about starving people, in
Indo-Asia—or somewhere! Well, I just shut that television off and said, "For crying out
loud can't you kids watch something a little cheerier? Whatever happened to 'Ozzie and
Harriet?'" Well, those kids looked at me like I was nuts. Listen, I just try to smile and
bring a little happiness into this family. I mean we're all going to end up with six feet of
ground on top of us, let's have a few laughs. But you know, some people see the cup of
life as half empty. I see it as half full. And if those half empties won't let us half fulls be
happy. SCREW'EM.
Amanda from Nicky Silver's THE FOOD CHAIN
I was reading my paper when the waiter came over and asked if I was alone. Well! It
was obvious that I was alone. I was sitting there, in a booth, by myself - did he think I
thought I had an imaginary friend with me? I was alone! Did he have to rub it in? Was he
trying to be funny? Did he think he was, in some way better than me? It was in his tone.
"Are you alone?" But what he meant to say was "You're alone aren't you!?" And I can't
imagine that he's not alone every single day of his miserable, pathetic life! He has
terrible skin. Not the way bad skin is attractive on some people. On some men! It's never
attractive on women - have you noticed that? Just one more example of the injustices we
are forced to suffer! If we have bad skin, we're grotesque! Let a man have bad skin and
he can be Richard Burton for God sake! I hate being a woman! I've strayed. The point is
the waiter with terrible skin and greasy hair asks if I'm alone. I want to pick up my butter
knife and stab it in his sunken caved in chest! But I simply respond "No, I'm married,
thank you."
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CRIMES OF THE HEART, by Beth Henley. Babe.
Willie Jay was over. We were just standing around on the back porch playing with Dog.
Well, suddenly Zackery comes from around the side of the house. And he startled me
‘cause he’s supposed to be away at the office, and there he is coming from ‘round the
side of the house. Anyway, he says to Willie Jay, “Hey, boy, what are you doing back
here?” And I said, “He’s not doing anything. You just go on home, Willie Jay! You just
run right on home.” Well, before he can move, Zackery comes up and knocks him once
right across the face and then shoves him down the porch steps, causing him to skin up
his elbow real bad on that hard concrete. Then he says, “Don’t you ever come around
here again, or I’ll have them cut out your gizzard!” Well, Willie Jay starts crying, these
tears come streaming down his face, then he gets up real quick and runs away with Dog
following off after him. After that, I don’t remember much too clearly; let’s see . . . . I
went on into the living room, and I went right up to the davenport and opened the drawer
where we keep the burglar gun . . . I took it out. Then I – I brought it up to my ear.
That’s right. I put it right inside my ear. Why, I was gonna shoot off my own head!
That’s what I was gonna do. Then I heard the back door slamming and suddenly, for
some reason, I thought about mama . . . how she’d hung herself. And here I was about
ready to shoot myself. Then I realized – that’s right I realized how I didn’t want to kill
myself! And she – she probably didn’t want to kill herself. She wanted to kill him, and I
wanted to kill him, too. I wanted to kill Zackery, not myself. ‘Cause I – I wanted to live!
So I waited for him to come on into the living room. Then I held out the gun, and I pulled
the trigger, aiming for his heart, but getting him in the stomach. (after a pause) It’s funny
that I really did that.
FENCES, by August Wilson. Rose.
I been standing with you! I been right here with you, Troy. I got a life too. I gave
seventeen years of my life to stand in the same spot with you. Don’t you think I ever
wanted other things? Don’t you think I had dreams and hopes? What about my life? What
about me, Troy. Don’t you think it ever crossed my mind to want to know other men?
That I wanted to lay up somewhere and forget about my responsibilities? That I wanted
someone to make me laugh so I could feel good. You not the only person who’s got
wants and needs. But I held onto you, Troy. I took all my feelings, my wants and needs,
my dreams . . . and I buried them inside you. I planted a seed and watched and prayed
over it. I planted myself inside you and waited to bloom. And it didn’t take me no
seventeen years to find out the soil was hard and rocky and it wasn’t never gonna bloom.
But I held onto you, Troy. I held you tighter. You was my husband. I owed you
everything I had. Every part of me I could find to give you. And upstairs in that room . . .
with the darkness falling in on me . . . I gave everything I had to try and erase the doubt
that you wasn’t the finest man in the world. And wherever you was going . . . I wanted to
be there with you! ‘Cause you was my husband. ‘Cause that’s the only way I was gonna
survive as your wife. You always talking about what you give and what you don’t have to
give. But you take too, Troy. You take . . . and don’t even know nobody’s giving.
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