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From
No One Talks
To
The Mailman
Published in Best Men's Monologues 1999 Smith and Kraus
1. (Will has fallen in love with Terra, who is pregnant with his child. Here, he shares his memory of meeting Terra for the first time.)
So I walk into the restaurant. Sea Coast Tavern. Order the lunch special. And ask the waitress, Terra, to leave with me. And she does. She’s in the parking lot five minutes after she got off. I couldn’t believe it. You should’ve seen me strutting around. Like some kind of Romeo. (Pause.) She didn’t mention that her bags were already packed. That she’d crashed in this apartment three years, everything balled up in a suitcase, and had to get away. But it didn’t matter if she told me or not. Cause what came after was real. And wonderful. Even the dumb stuff. Driving the back roads. My arm around her. Head on my shoulder. Right — Right here.
(He touches his shoulder for a moment, lost in thought.)
I had her body. Next to mine. Her hair on my neck. In the god damned truck. That’s real. That doesn’t go away. The rest of this is stories we tell each other. To pass the time. (Beat.) You can’t hold a story. |
2. (His father's abuse drove Will into his mother's arms, resulting in an affair. Here, Will, now 30, recalls the moment after which there was no turning back.)
I don’t remember the stairs. The first step into the basement. Or how we ended up. In a corner. Between the boxes. Ma looked at me. A halo of dust. Tangled hair. As if to say something. Then turned and picked up a box. Moved it, left to right. No words. A sigh. Clenched teeth. Left to right. She struggled. Something heavy. My hands went out. And we stood there. Between everything. Holding a stupid piece of cardboard. That was my chance. I see that now.
There were a million ways out. I could drop it. (He mimes dropping a box.) Kick it. (He kicks it.) Scream. (He screams.) Tell a joke. God, the possibilities! But I took it from her, instead. Started a pile. She lifted another. We fell in together. An assembly line. Left to right. (Pause.) In between the activity, I peered over my shoulder for this taller, more together woman. — Hoping to catch, in the corner of my eye — And she turned, looking for this scrawny kid who never screwed up. I turned. She turned. I turned. And thought — Christ. Here we are in the basement, looking for ghosts. Things that passed out of the world. (He laughs.) She would’ve liked that. If I’d told her.
I always end up here. In between. I see things that shouldn’t exist. People who never met. Moments a decade apart. Faces swirling around. I used to be able to keep them apart. It was easy. I could leave. Close my eyes. (He closes his eyes.) Pretend not to hear. Keep the past past. The present present. Everything in its place. But somewhere. In between. It all stopped working. You are welcome to usethese monologues for auditions.
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