MONOLOGUES -- Female

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?

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.
April from Stephen Sondheim and George Furth's COMPANY
Right after I became an airline stewardess, a friend of mine who had a garden apartment
gave me a cocoon for my bedroom. He collects things like that, insects and caterpillars
and all that ... It was attached to a twig and he said one morning I'd wake up to a beautiful
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butterfly in my bedroomwhen it hatched. He told me that when they come out they're
soaking wet and there is a drop of blood there, tooisn't that fascinatingbut within an
hour they dry off and then they begin to fly. Well, I told him I had a cat. I had a cat then,
but he said just put the cocoon somewhere where the cat couldn't get at it ... which is
impossible, but what can you do? So I put it up high on a ledge where the cat never went,
and the next morning it was still there, at least so it seemed safe to leave it. Well, anyway,
almost a week later very, very early this one morning the guy calls me, and he said,
'April, do you have a butterfly this morning?" I told him to hold on and managed to get
up and look and there on that ledge I saw this wet spot and a little speck of blood but no
butterfly, and I thought "Oh dear God in heaven, the cat got it." I picked up the phone to
tell this guy and just then suddenly I spotted it under the dressing table, it was moving
one wing. The cat had got at it, but it was still alive. So I told the guy and he got so upset
and he said "Oh nooh, God, nodon't you see that's a lifea living thing?" Well, I got
dressed and took it to the park and put it on a rose, it was summer then and it looked like
it was going to be all rightI think, anyway. But that manI really felt damaged by him
awfulthat was just cruel. I got home and I called him back and said, "Listen, I'm a
living thing too, you shithead!" (Pause) I never saw him again.
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
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
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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 ass,
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
. . . 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
Every time I get to sleep, I keep having the same dream. I'm walking through this long
hallway, and there's nobody else around. Except, I'm walking a little dog. It's really
friendly and it loves me. All of a sudden this door opensI didn't even see it. It's at the
end of the hall, right in front of me. There's a really bright light, and voices, and I start
feeling faint. The next thing I know, I wake up and the dog is gone. Just when I open my
eyes, I hear the door slam shut. As soon as I feel like I can get up, I turn the doorknob,
but it won't open. I try and try, but the door is locked tight. I start crying and screaming,
and then I see a window and I notice it's snowing out. So I go outside, and I start dancing
in the snow. I feel so free, I can almost forget about losing the dog. Off in the distance I
see a little building, and I start running toward it. When I get close enough, I see that it's
an animal shelter, and I realize what I really want is to get another dog. But the woman
in the shelter says I can't. Somehow she knows I felt happy when the dog disappeared,
and she tells me I don't deserve another one. I beg and beg her, and finally she agrees to
4

let me look at their dogs. But I can't find any like the one I lost, and that's the only one I
want. I start crying. Then I wake up, and I'm really crying.
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 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 paralyzedcan'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, Iraon Pluto, dancing with her pals.
Sal from Glen Altermans STREET TALK
He wanted home fried potatoes, thats all. I dont know, I remember, he came in here
lookin like anybody else. Short guy, sat at the counter. Right over there. I asked him,
Yeah, whatll it be? And he said, Home fried potatoes. Nothing unusual, no big
deal. So, I ordered up with Sam, my short order cook. And I turn back around and this
guys like smiling. Not unusual. Buttheres like this green glow comin offa him!
Yeah. Thats the best way I can put it. Right then and there I knew something strange
was happenin. Now listen, we get all kinds comin in here. Two, three in the morning,
we get truckers, drag queens, hookers, but none of em, none of em ever glows with
green rays comin out of em. So, I kept it together, said, Excuse meum, is there
somethin else I can get chabesides the potatoes? And he stopped smilin. He was
like starin. Intense. Like he was studying me or something. He looked at me like
like I was some kinda insect. Creepy. Very creepy! If I wasnt the only one behind the
counter, I woulda jumped and ran. But the boss woulda killed me for leaving the register.
And then, then his face starts contorting in these weird ways, like its made of rubber. Its
mouth opens wide, and out comes this long, pointy, yellow tongue. And this tongue starts
comin at me. Long and pointy and sharp. And the place is shakin like crazy. Finally, I
totally freaked! I said, Enough! Enough! Get that tongue back in your mouth and get
the hell out of here! Now! Who the hell do you think you are? At first, nothing
happened. But then the place stopped shakin and calmed down. My heart was racin
like crazy, but I stood there locked, with my fists like clenched. Then I pointed to the
door and said, very softly, Get out. And the green rays zapped back into his body. And
he pulled that tongue of his back in. His face stopped contortin, and he looked like
anybody else. But then he kinda slumped over in his seat, looked dejected or somethin.
He put a buck on the counter for the home fries, which he never got, and said, almost in a
whisper, Thank you. Thank you very much maam. And he started to leave. I stood
6

there, still shakin an said, Sure. Youre welcome. Youre welcome. An thenhe
left.
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 radioeven 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 Californiaabout 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!
Lorr from William Mastrosimones 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
shitfaced hotdog who's got no use for STOP signs takes Leo away from me. (Pause.) The
best.
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Meg from Sherry Kramer's THE WALL OF WATER

You know why Im 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 dont 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 thats not why Im
going to stop. I am going to stop because when Wendi steals my cigarettes, she doesnt
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 cant stop her. Bullets cant stop her. She threatens to leap from tall
buildings in a single bound. Medical science cant reach her. But the myth of the last
cigarette stops her. Dead, every time. If she would just take the last cigarette, maybe I
wouldnt 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 Garrisons WHEN A DIVA DREAMS
Well . . . Ive never belonged to anything, cause I get a little nervous in groups. No
clubs, or teams, or Girl Scouts, or sororities, or study groupsnothing. And when Ive
tried to force myself to be a part of a group, I just faint . . . but I mean, really faintout
coldeyes back, drool everywhere . . . You dont make many friends that way. I mean, I
was a novelty when I was a kidI got invited to everyones party just on the chance Id
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 methat I didnt WANT to be a part of ANYTHING. Then about three
months ago, I took a bus to New Orleansjust to get away from Shreveportand I
walked in here by accident. I stood right back there, because it was crowded and there
werent any seats. And yall were singing this big, group song that went something like
Friends will lift you heart up when life has let you down . . . Ill never forget how you
all looked. Music was soft, and Miss Red was singing something so full ofloveand I
looked at you . . . (To Penny.) . . . and thisfeelingwas 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 wasbeamingevery 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 others hands, and bowed . . . and held on to each other. You didnt let go.
And then you hugged each other. On stage, in front of this wholegroupof 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 . . . Ive looked everywhere for what you have
here every day of your lives. I dont know what it is, or what its called. But if I dont
get it, Im not going to make it. Its that real to me. Its that . . . necessary. ( Smiling.)
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You know, just standing here, I feel calmer than I have in my whole life. And I dont
want to move.
Southern Comfort from Terrence McNallys WHISKEY
So you want to know why they call me Southern Comfort, huh? Well, it isnt a very
pretty story. I grew up in Houston. I was pretty. I was the national champion baton
twirler and I only dated football players. The typical American girl. The first boy I made
out with was Bobby Barton in the back seat of his Daddys Ford Fairlane. Bobby was the
state champion high school quarterback. Then one day after school during football
practice somebody tackled Bobby and he just didnt get up. I mean he was dead. So then
I started dating Bobbys best friend, Terry Walsh, who played right guard and whod been
the one whod accidentally killed Bobby when he tackled him during practice that time.
He had this cute little MG so we had to spread blankets outside on the ground. Terry got
killed during the game with Lubbock for the state finals in Austin. Spontaneous
concussion. My senior year I started up with Tiny Walker who played left end and who
used to be Terry and Bobbys good friend. He had this chopped down Plymouth with
front seats you could make go flat down. Tiny was small but powerful but when Tiny
died after being tackled by this bruiser a whole lot bigger than him I stopped dating
football players. I felt like a jinx on em, you know. People were saying bad things
about me. I stopped twirling, started drinking, ran away and got into show business, and
now I only date musicians they dont die on you like football players.
Woman from Kate Sheins AMY 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!
Squeaky Fromme from Stephen Sondheim's ASSASSINS
I was like you once. Lost. Confused. A piece of crap. Then I met Charlie. . . I was
sitting on the beach in Venice. I'd just had a big fight with my daddy about, I don't know,
my eye make-up or the bombing of Cambodia. He said I was a drug addict and a whore
9

and I should get out of his house forever. I went down to the beach and sat down on the
sand and cried. I felt like I was disappearing. Like the whole world was dividing into
two parts. Me, and everybody else. And then this guy came down the beach, this dirtylooking little elf. He stopped in front of me and smiled this twinkly devil smile and said,
"Your daddy kicked you out." He knew! "Your daddy kicked you out!" How could he
know? My daddy didn't tell him, so who could've? God. God sent this dirty-looking
little elf to save a little girl lost on a beach. He smiled again and touched my hair and off
he went. And for a minute I just watched him go. Then I ran and caught his hand, and
till they arrested him for stabbing Sharon Tate, I never let it go.
Prudence from Christopher Durang's BEYOND THERAPY
Do I want to be married? I have no idea. It's so confusing. I know when I was a little
girl, Million Dollar Movie showed this film called "Every Girl Should Be Married" every
night for seven days. It was this dumb comedy about this infantile girl played by Betsy
Drake who wants to be married to this pediatrician played by Cary Grant who she sees in
a drugstore. She sees him for two minutes, and she wants to move in and have babies
with him. And he finds her totally obnoxious, but then at the end of the movie suddenly
says, "You're right, you're adorable," and then they get married. And what confused me
further was that the actress Betsy Drake did in fact marry Cary Grant in real life. Of
course, it didn't last, and he married several other people, and then later Dyan Cannon
said he was insane and took LSD and so maybe one wouldn't want to be married to him
at all. But if it's no good being married to Cary Grant, who is it good being married to?
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
disillusion anyone who doesnt 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. Its 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 casketmaker. 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 didnt know any better?
(slight beat) Or is that just womens work?
from Lynn Marie Macys 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 Im afraid Im gonna run
into some kook. Sickos just come right up to you. They do this insane stuff right in
10

public. Like, a few months back, we were on a shoot by the East River and saw a bunch
of Hells 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 Im next. That todays gonna be my turn to
lose my mind.
Georgeann from Alan Balls 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 its 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 bitch 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 Womens Health Center that day because it was so cold my car wouldnt
start. And later that awful, awful night I sat out in front of his apartment building staring
at Tracys burgundy Cutlass in the driveway, just wishing I was dead.
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'tthey
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, asshole!!!" And the person fell to the ground, and looked totally startled, and
11

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 cryingI mean, it was
drawing too much attention to meand 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 Schisgals LUV
Youre always saying later. Thats a favorite play of yours. No, Milt. Not tonight.
These things must be said while they still can be said. Id like to continue if you dont
mind. Now. Youll 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 23 rd, the night of your sisters
wedding, and after that date the red horizontal line doesnt 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 cant 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 dont feel responsible
any more for my own behavior.
"Marks" from Jane Martin's TALKING WITH
Until I was 35 there was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing remarkable about my life.
My days were very like one of those baroque string quartets. Soothing. Placid.
Repetitive. Had I died at that time it would have been agreed, by all who knew me, that
my epitaph should read, She did as she was told. Or blander yet, She did as she
supposed she might be told. I met my husband, Arthur, at a festive tea held to honor the
retiring faculty advisor of the Christian Youth Center. We were, Im sure, the last of our
generation to save ourselves for marriage. We had two children. First a girl and then a
boy. We had two job transfers. Two homes. Two Subdivisions. And then on our 15 th
anniversary Arthur left me, saying I had nothing further to give. I was, he said, unmarked
by life. I became an acolyte to sangria, made brief, nervous forays into singles bars and
one evening was walked to my car by a musician who suggested that we make love there
in the parking lot, between two yellow lines, as he was, as he so delicately put it, between
sets. Well, I resisted and much annoyed, he cut me here. When the scar, this scar,
formed, I was astounded to find that for the first time people looked at me. Not unkindly
and with interest. These were not the kind of people I had known before. Oh, no. These
were interesting people, people who were not unmarked by life. And it occurred to me
then, or shortly thereafter, that perhaps it might be best to wear our lives upon our skin.
And so I do. May I advise you? Please. Let them mark you. Because you see that it is
likeembroidery. And these people, life-engraved, are drawn to each other and pass the
time interpreting their signs. And those moments of sharing are the best of life.
Sometimes the unmarked are attracted to me. They starebriefly. Fascinated and a little
frightened. And in the parking lots, I cut them. And it is then their lives begin. With a
12

little pain. That is, if there is any understanding in them. You understand me? Yes, I
think you do. Salud.
Jessie from Marsha Normans 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 didnt
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.
Thats who I started out and this is who is left. Thats what this is about. Its somebody I
lost, all right, its 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 doesnt
matter what else happens in the world or in this house, even. Im what was worth waiting
for and I didnt make it. Me . . . who might have made a difference to me . . . Im not
going to show up, so theres no reason to stay, except to keep you company, and thats . . .
not reason enough because Im not . . . very good company. Am I.
Alice from Heather McDonald's THE RIVERS AND RAVINES
Do you remember the day the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded? It was one of the most
remarkable days of my life. Everywhere you went that day, people had their TV's on.
Tens of thousands gathered around those boxes of light watching the Lord take those
seven in a twinkling. We kept watching those scenes of kids in school gymnasiums
watching Christa McAuliffe blow up. It must have been 50 times. The light from the
TV's reflected on our faces. I was shopping and this little boy held my hand and cried,
"Why didn't they have any parachutes?" And this woman turned to me and said, "I felt
very close to her. She was ordinary people. She was a mother, a working woman." And
it seemed right that I should hug this woman in a shopping mall. I know it was a disaster
but it was a great day for us.
Lucy from Ralph Papes 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.
13

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
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 newspapersometimes 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 futurelast night I joined them in
the TV room. They were watching this gruesome program about starving people, in
Indo-Asiaor somewhere! Well, I just shut that television off and said, "For crying out
14

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."
Olive from Neil Simon's THE ODD COUPLE
I'll tell you exactly what it is. Its the cooking, the cleaning and the crying. Its the
moose calls that open your ears at two oclock in the morning. I cant take it anymore,
Florence. Im cracking up. Everything you do irritates me. And when youre not here,
the things I know youre going to do when you come in irritate me . . . You leave me little
notes on my pillow. Were all out of corn flakes. F.U. . . . It took me three hours to
figure out that F.U. was Florence Unger . . . Its no ones fault, Florence. Were just a
rotten pair. And thats just the frame. The picture I havent even painted yet . . . Every
night in my diary I write down the things you did that day that aggravate me . . . This is
June and so far I filled up till January . . . And I havent even put down the Gaspacho
Brothers yet. For eight months Ive lived all alone in this apartment. I thought I was
miserable. I thought I was lonely. I took you in here because I thought we could help
each other . . . And after three weeks of close, personal contact, I have hives, shingles
and the heartbreak of psoriasis . . . I am growing old at twice the speed of sound. . . I have
seven new liver spots on my hand that look like the Big Dipper . . . I cant take any more,
Florence . . . Do me a favor and move into the kitchen. Live with your pots, your pans,
your ladle and your meat thermometer. . . Im going inside to lie down now . . . My teeth
are coming loose and Im afraid if I drop them in here, youll get out your vacuum
cleaner again.

15

THE ART OF DINING, by Tina Howe. Elizabeth Barrow Colt.

When I was young I never even saw my mother in the kitchen. The food just appeared at
mealtime as if by magic, all steaming and ready to eat. Lacey would carry it on these big
white serving platters that had a rim of raised china acorns. Our plates had the same rim.
Twenty-two acorns per plate, each one about the size of a lump of chewed gum. When I
was very young I used to try and pry them off with my knife. . . . We ate every night at
eight oclock sharp because my parents didnt start their cocktail hour until seven, but
since dinner time was meant for exchanging news of the day, the emphasis was always on
talking . . . . and not on eating. My father bolted his food, and my mother played with
hers: sculpting it up into hills and then mashing it back down through her fork. To make
things worse, before we sat down at the table shed always put on a fresh smear of
lipstick. I still remember the shade. It was called Fire and Ice . . . . a dark throbbing red
that rubbed off on her fork in waxy clumps that stained her food pink, so that by the end
of the first course shed have rended everything into a kind of . . . . rosy puree. As my
father wolfed down his meat and vegetables, Id watch my mother thread this puree
through the raised acorns on her plate, fanning it out into long runny pink ribbons . . . . I
could never eat a thing. . . . WAKE UP, AMERICA! shed trumpet to me. Youre not
being excused from that table until you clean up that plate! So, Id take several
mouthfuls and then when no one was looking, would spit them out into my napkin. Each
night I systematically transferred everything on my plate into that lifesaving napkin . . .
BETWEEN DAYLIGHT AND BOONVILLE, by Leonard Melfi. Velma.
This one time, before the kids were born, Big Jim was working construction before goin
to work for the company. And we were rentin a little furnished house. I worked all day
getting the house all cleaned up. Baked cookies. Did the wash. It was one of those days. I
use to do a lot more of that stuff than I do now. Anyway, I was beat. So, I sit down on the
couch and propped my feet up on the coffee table and started readin my magazines. Well,
Big Jim comes homes mad as hell at this young, cocky foreman hes workin for. So he
takes it out on me. He had stopped and had a few beers and picked up a six-pack on his
way home. And he walks in and wants to know why Ive got my feet propped up on the
good coffee table. I told him not to worry about it. It was rented. And he said, Dont talk
back. Take your feet down off the table. I said no. And he said you better. And I said you
take them down for me. And he said Like hell! And he yanked the table out from under
my feet, went to the front door and threw the coffee table right into the middle of the
front yard. I didnt say a word. I got up, grabbed his six-pack and walked over and threw
it right out in the front yard. Big Jim didnt say nothin. He walked over, unplugged the
floor lamp and tossed it out. So I grabbed the two wedding pictures off the wall and threw
them out. He threw out the chair and I threw out all the toss pillows off the couch. We
just kept throwin. Never said a word. More we threw out, the madder we got. Finally, we
got to the couch and it took both of us to throw it out. By the time we emptied the living
room, we were both so tired we just stood there on the front porch tryin to catch out
breath. Then we looked at one another and I laughed. And he laughed. We both started

16

laughin, said to hell with it. Left everything in the yard and went up to bed. And thats
the secret . . . Dont ever go to bed angry.
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 hes 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, Hes 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, Dont you ever come around here
again, or Ill 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 dont remember much too clearly; lets 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. Thats
right. I put it right inside my ear. Why, I was gonna shoot off my own head! Thats what
I was gonna do. Then I heard the back door slamming and suddenly, for some reason, I
thought about mama . . . how shed hung herself. And here I was about ready to shoot
myself. Then I realized thats right I realized how I didnt want to kill myself! And she
she probably didnt 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) Its funny that I really
did that.
THE HOUSE OF BLUE LEAVES, by John Guare. Bananas.
My troubles all began a year ago two years ago today two days ago today? Today.
We used to have a beautiful old green Buick. The Green Latrine! . . . Im not allowed to
drive it anymore. . . . But when I could drive it . . . the last time I drove it, I drove into
Manhattan. And I drive down Broadway to the Crossroads of the World. I see a scene
that you wouldnt see in your wildest dreams. Forty-second Street. Broadway. Four
corners. Four people. One on each corner. All waving for taxis. Cardinal Spellman.
Jackie Kennedy. Bob Hope. President Johnson. All carrying suitcases. Taxi! Taxi! I
stop in the middle of the street the middle of Broadway and I get out of my Green
Latrine and yell, Get in. Im a gypsy. A gypsy cab. Get in. Ill take you where you want
to go. Dont you all know each other? Get in! Get in! They keep waving for cabs. I run
over to President Johnson and grab him by the arm. Get in! And pull Jackie Kennedy
into my car and John-John who I didnt see starts crying and Jackie hits me and I hit her
and I grab Bob Hope and push Cardinal Spellman into the back seat, crying and laughing,
Ill take you where you want to. Get in! Give me your suitcases and the suitcases
17

spill open and Jackie Kennedys wigs blow down Forty-second Street and Cardinal
Spellman hits me and Johnson screams and I hit him. I hit them all. And then the Green
Latrine blows four flat tires and sinks and I run to protect the car and four cabs appear
and all my friends run into four different cabs. And cars are honking at me to move. I
push the car over the bridge back to Queens. Youre asleep. I turn on Johnny Carson to
get my mind off and theres Cardinal Spellman and Bob Hope whose nose is still
bleeding and they tell the story of what happened to them and everybody laughs. Thirty
million people watch Johnny Carson and they all laugh. At me. At me. Im nobody. I
knew all those people better than me. You. Ronnie. I know everything about them. Why
cant they love me?
RECKLESS, by Craig Lucas. Rachel.
I think Im more excited than they are. I really do. I think we just have kids so we can
tell them all about Santa Claus and have an excuse to believe it ourselves again. I really
do. They are so excited. I remember that feeling so clearly. I didnt think I could ever
sleep. And I remember pinching myself and pinching myself to stay awake so I could
hear the reindeers footsteps, you know? I wanted to believe it so badly. I think that was
the last year I did . . . . Oh god . . . is it still snowing? Why dont you turn the sound up?
Oh, its coming down like crazy. You can hear it, cant you? When it gets deep like this?
It just swallows up all the sound and you feel like youve been wrapped up in the hands
of a big, sweet, giant, white . . . monster. Hes going to carry us away into a dream. My
family always had champagne first thing before we opened our presents I mean in the
morning, you know: I always loved that. I felt like such an adult having champagne and I
remember saying to my mother the bubbles in the champagne looked like snow if you
turned your head upside down. I remember thinking that I wanted to live in Alaska
because it always snowed and Santa was up there, so it must always be Christmas if it
always snowed . . . Youre my Santa Claus. And our two elves. Im having one of my
euphoria attacks. I think Im going to be terminally happy, youd better watch out, its
catching. Highly contagious . . . . Whats the matter? Just sleepy?
RECKLESS, by Craig Lucas. Pooty.
If youve ever worked with needy people, it doesnt matter what their particular handicap,
they can be blind, they can be mentally ill, they can be disabled . . .
I used to work with the hearing impaired, teaching sign language. Almost immediately
you realize how easy it is to take their infirmity for granted in the sea of so much need.
Abnormality becomes normality. When I lost the use of my legs, a friend drove me up
here to Springfield to take a look at this place where you work with the handicapped. I
watched the various physical therapists work with the patients and there was one: I
remember her was working with a quadraplegic. I thought he was the most beautiful man
Id ever seen. A light shining out through his skin. And I thought if I couldnt be with him
Id die. But I knew I would be just one more crippled dame as far as he was concerned,

18

so my friend helped to get me registered as deaf and disabled. I thought if I were

somehow needier than the rest I would get special attention.
I realized soon enough everyone gets special attention where Lloyd is concerned, but
by then it was too late. He was in love with me, with my honesty. He learned to sign; he
told me how hed run away from a bad marriage and changed his name so he wouldnt
have to pay child support. He got me a job at Hands Across the Sea. I couldnt bring
myself to tell him I had another name and another life, that Id run away too, because I
owed the government so much money and wasnt able to pay after the accident. . . .
I believe in honesty. I believe in total honesty. And I need him and he needs me to be the
person he thinks I am and I am that person. I really am that person. Im a crippled deaf
girl Short and stout. Here is my wheelchair, here is my mouth. . . . . When he goes
out I scream and scream just to hear my voice. Noise. I recite poetry I remember from
grade school, I babble, I talk back to the television. I even call people on the phone and
say its a wrong number just to have a conversation. Im afraid Im going to open my
mouth to scream one day . . . (She does: no sound.)
SISTER MARY IGNATIUS EXPLAINS IT ALL FOR YOU, by Christopher Durang.
Diane.
When I was sixteen, my mother got breast cancer, which spread. I prayed to God to let
her suffering be small, but her suffering seemed to me quite extreme. She was in bad pain
for half a year, and then terrible pain for much of a full year. The ulcerations on her body
were horrifying to her and to me. Her last few weeks she slipped into a semi-conscious
state, which allowed her, unfortunately, to wake up for a few minutes at a time and to
have a full awareness of her pain and her fear of death. She was able to recognize me, and
she would try to cry, but she was unable to; and to speak, but she was unable to. I think
she wanted me to get her new doctors; she never really accepted that her disease was
going to kill her, and she thought in panic that her doctors must be incompetent and that
new ones could magically cure her.
Then, thank goodness, she went into a full coma. A nurse who I knew to be Catholic
assured me that everything would be done to keep her alive a dubious comfort. Happily,
the doctor was not Catholic, or if he was, not doctrinaire, and they didnt use
extraordinary means to keep her alive; and she finally died after several more weeks in
her coma. Now there are, I am sure, far worse deaths terrible burnings, tortures, plague,
pestilence, famine, Christ on the cross even, as Sister likes to say. But I thought my
mothers death was bad enough, and I got confused as to why I had been praying and to
whom. I mean, if prayer was really this sort of button you pressed admit you need the
Lord, then He stops your suffering then why didnt it always work? Or ever work? And
when it worked, so-called, and our prayers were supposedly answered, wasnt it as likely
to be chance as God?
God always answers our prayers, you said, He just sometimes says no. But why would he
say no to stopping my mothers suffering? I wasnt even asking that she live, just that He
end her suffering. And it cant be that He was letting her suffer because shed been bad,
because she hadnt been bad and besides suffering doesnt seem to work that way,

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considering the suffering of children whove obviously done nothing wrong. So why was
he letting her suffer?
STILL LIFE, by Emily Mann. Cheryl.
I hate to cook. Probably because he likes to cook. I hate to cook, I dont know how to
cook, and I hate it. Mark does this spaghetti dinner once a year. Has he ever told you
about that? Every day before Thanksgiving Mark does a spaghetti dinner, and this is a
traditional thing. This is the one traditional bone Mark has in his body, and Id like to
break it. He has twenty to forty-five people come to this thing. He makes ravioli,
lasagna, spaghetti, meatballs, three different kinds of spaghetti sauces: shrimp, plain,
meat sauce. Oh, he makes gnocci! He makes his own noodles! And its good. Hes a
damn good cook for Italian food. But you can imagine what I go through for three weeks
for that party to feed forty people. Sit down dinner. He insists its a sit-down dinner. So
here I am running around with no time to cook with him. Im trying to get enough shit in
my house to feed forty people sit-down dinner. We heated the porch last year because we
did not have enough room to seat forty people. And I run around serving all these slobs,
and this is the first year hes really charged anyone. And we lose on it every year. I mean,
we lose, first year we lost $300. This year is a $500 deal. Im having a baby this
November, and if he thinks hes having any kind of spaghetti dinner, he can get his butt
out of here. I cant take it . . . . Hes so selfish, hes so self-centered. And this is what I
tell him. Im just tired of it. Hes so selfish. Because this spaghetti dinner just ruins me.
Baby or no baby, it just completely ruins me. And hes showing off his, his wonderful
cooking that he does once a year. And I suppose this is why I hate cooking.
TALKING WITH . . . by Jane Martin. French Fries.
(She is an old woman in a straight-back chair holding a McDonalds cup. She is
surrounded by several bundles of newspapers.) If I had one wish in my life, why Id like
to live in McDonalds. Right there in the restaurant. Stead of in this old place. Ill come
up to the brow of the hill, bowed down with my troubles, hurtin under my load and Ill
see that yellow horseshoe, sort of like a rainbow, and it gives my old spirit a lift. Lord, I
can sit in a McDonalds all day. Ive done it too. Walked the seven miles with the sun
just on its way, and then sat on the curb until five minutes of seven. First one there and
the last to leave. Just like some ol French fry they forgot.
I like the young people workin there. Like a team of fine young horses when I was
growin up. All smilin. Tell you what I really like though is the plastic. God gave us
plastic so there wouldnt be no stains on his world. See, in the human world of the earth,
it all gets scratched, stained, tore up, faded down. Loses its shine. All of it does. In time.
Well, God he gave us the idea of plastic so wed know what the everlasting really was.
See if theres plastic then theres surely eternity. Its Gods hint.
You ever watch folks when they come on in the McDonalds? They always speed us,
almost run the last few steps. You see if they dont. Old Dobbin with the barn in sight.
They know its safe in there and it aint safe outside. Now it aint safe outside and you
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know it. You ever see anybody die in a McDonalds? No sir. No way. Nobody ever has
died in one. Shoot, they die in Burger Kings all the time. Kentucky Fried Chickens got
their own damn ambulances. Noooooooooo, you cant die in a McDonalds no matter
how hard you try. Its the spices. Seals you safe in this life like it seals in the flavor.
Yessssssssss, yes!
Sometimes I see it like the last of a movie. Im living in McDonalds and its real late at
night and you see me up close, smiling, and then you see the whole McDonalds from the
outside, lit up and friendly. And I get smaller and smaller, like they do, and then its just
a light in the darkness, like a star, and Im in it. Im part of that light, part of the whole
sky, and its all McDonalds, but part of something even bigger, something fixed and
shiny . . . like plastic.
I know. I know. Its just a dream. Just a beacon in the storm. But you got to have a
dream. Its our dreams make us what we are.
TALKING WITH . . . . by Jane Martin. Twirler.
Twirling is the physical parallel of revelation. You cant know that. Twirling is the
throwing of yourself up to God. Its a pure gift, hidden from Satan because it is wrapped
and disguised in the midst of football. It is God throwing, spirit fire, and very few come
to it. You have to grow eyes in your heart to understand its message, and when it opens to
you it becomes your path to suffer ridicule, to be crucified by misunderstanding, and to
be spit upon.
There is a twirling no one sees. At the winter solstice we go to a meadow God showed us
just outside of Green Bay. The God-throwers come there on December twenty-first.
Theres snow, sometimes deep snow, and our clothes fall away and we stand unprotected
while acolytes bring the tons. They are ebony tons with razors set all along the shaft.
They are three feet long. One by one the twirlers throw, two tons each, thirty feet up,
and as they fall back they cut your hands. The razors arch into the air and find God and
then fly down to take your blood in a crucifixion, and the red drops draw God on the
ground and if you are up with the batons you can look down and see him revealed. Red
on white. Red on white. You cant imagine. You cant imagine how wonderful that is.
I started twirling when I was six but I never really twirled until . . . . I saw Gods face
from thirty feet up in the air and I know him. Listen. I will leave my silver baton here for
you. Lying here as if I forgot it, and when the people file out, you can wait back and pick
it up, it can be yours; it can be your burden. It is the eye of the needle. I leave it for you.
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. Dont you think I ever
wanted other things? Dont you think I had dreams and hopes? What about my life? What
about me, Troy. Dont 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 whos got wants
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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 didnt take me no seventeen
years to find out the soil was hard and rocky and it wasnt 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
wasnt the finest man in the world. And wherever you was going . . . I wanted to be there
with you! Cause you was my husband. Cause thats the only way I was gonna survive
as your wife. You always talking about what you give and what you dont have to give.
But you take too, Troy. You take . . . and dont even know nobodys giving.
MA RAINEYS BLACK BOTTOM, by August Wilson. Ma Rainey.
I been doing this a long time. Ever since I was a little girl. I dont care what nobosy else
do. Thats what gets me so mad with Irvin. White folks try to be put out with you all the
time. Too cheap to buy me a Coca-Cola. I lets them know it, though. Ma dont stand for
no crap. Wanna take my voice and trap it in them fancy boxes with all them buttons and
dials . . . and then too cheap to buy me a Coca-Cola. And it dont cost but a nickel a
bottle.
They dont care nothing about me. All they want is my voice. Well, I done learned that,
and they gonna treat me like I want to be treated no matter how much it hurt them. They
back there now calling me all kinds of names . . . calling me everything but a child of
God. But they cant do nothing else. They aint got what they wanted yet. As soon as they
get my voice down on them recording machines, then its just like if Id be some whore
and they roll over and put their pants on. Aint got no use for me then. I know what Im
talking about. You watch. Irvin right there with the rest of them. He dont care nothing
about me either. Hes been my manager for six years, always talking about sticking
together, and the only time he had me in his house was to sing for some of his friends.
If you colored and can make them some money, then you alright with them. Otherwise,
you just a dog in the alley. I done made this company more money from my records than
all the other recording artists they got put together. And they wanna balk about how much
this session is costing them.
DONT BREATHE ON THE JOB, by Allen Davis, III. Woman.
This is what happened. I am recommended for a secretary job at this big corporation. The
man who hires greets me and gives me coffee. He is about to order a pizza which he
offers me no, first he asks, Do you prefer rice or beans? and I joke with him that I do
not need rice or beans three times a day, but he does not laugh. So he sends out for pizza,
extra pepperoni in my honor.
I do not feel comfortable, but this is a good-paying job and I need it. He tells me they
have no Spanish employees in the front office, and the big, liberal boss thinks this is a
terrible oversight. I tell him, yes it is, and he says, I thought Puerto Ricans were Puerto
22

Ricans, and I say, oh no, Puerto Ricans are definitely Hispanic. So he thinks for a second
and says, Maybe thats even better. I mean, youre almost an American, right? He says
the big, liberal boss insists on a real Spanish secretary, so I simply say I am real and
Spanish, and he replies, You may be too real. We want someone Spanish, but not too
Spanish.
I dont understand, but I need this job badly. My husbands pay is not enough, so I say I
will be as Spanish as he wants and that I type ninety words a minute, take shorthand, and
am experienced on _________. I remark I know I am a little darker than some Hispanics,
and he jumps in: We have no discrimination because of race, religion, or color. We only
have discrimination because of oversights. In fact, we prefer the person we hire not to be
too light because then she would look and sound like an American, and that wouldnt be
fair to the Spanish. I assure him I can improve on my accent, and he says, Oh no, your
accent is perfect. Very believable.
I do not understand any of this. They want a Latino, but they dont want a Latino, and
they dont want an American either. He tells me, Of course, I will need to see your
citizenship papers. I remind him I am Puerto Rican. My father was drafted into the
Marines. He becomes agitated because he is not sure the big, liberal boss will be
convinced a Puerto Rican is a real Spanish-type person without a piece of paper telling
him so. I promise him a piece of paper showing that my parents were born in Santurce,
Puerto Rico. He asks if it is near San Juan, and I reply it is on the same island. Now he
says, I must have your birth certificate and a list of all the places you and your parents
lived. I must make double-sure of this. I am getting as nervous as this man but I say fine,
fine I will get a list together. Does this mean I have the job? He says there should be no
problem, but first he must explain to me,In the front office we dont allow low-cut
dresses, stiletto heels, and no long red fingernails. And there I sit in my only Laura
Ashley, but he does not see me, so I begin to get angry. He warns me some more: You
must be extra careful not to agitate the men in the office no long eyelashes, no beauty
marks on the bosom. My blood is enraged. I tell him I am here to work, only to work, to
do a good job. That is all. Good, he said, just watch how you breathe on the job no
heaving chests . . .
Right then the pizza arrives, and before I can think, I lift it off the tray and am about to
heave it in his face when I see the sticky cheese and pepperoni dripping on his computer
keys. He is frightened, he is angry, he cringes, he cries, Oh my God a spitfire. I do
not get the job.
CHOCOLATE CAKE, by Mary Gallagher. Annmarie.
Well . . . II put on a lot of weight . . . after I married Robbie. But I never can seem to
stay on a diet more than a day or two. I mean, theres Robbie all the time . . . and when I
have to cook pork chops and hash browns and biscuits and applesauce for him, it seems
so dumb to just there watching him eat hearing him chew while I am playing with
carrot sticks . . . especially when he keeps telling me how tasty everything is and what a
great little cook I am. Most of the time, he never says a word about my cooking. Just
when Im on a diet. At least it seems like that . . . So then, even if I make it through

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dinner and TV, which is real hard, with Robbie drinking beer and eating snacks . . . when
we get in bed, every time, here comes Robbie in his pjs with a big root beer float.
So I say, Robbie, youre just mean. And Robbie says, Come on, Annie, you know you
hate this diet stuff. And you dont need it. You look good, you look like a woman.
Youre always beautiful to me. I say, Well, you sure dont act like it. Then he says,
Come on, Annie. And he eats his root beer float. And then he goes to sleep.
And then . . . I lie there, as long as I can stand it and then I get up and put my bathrobe
on the old one with the holes. And I go in the kitchen, and I make myself a great big
root beer float. Its twice as big as Robbies. I make it in the orange juice pitcher. And I
eat the whole thing standing up right there at the counter. And then I work my way back
through the day. I eat whatever Robbie left at dinner, and whatever I didnt have for lunch
because it was too fattening, and whatever I skipped at breakfast . . . and then I work my
way through the refrigerator and the cupboards, I eat every single thing I can get my
hands on that I shouldnt eat, peanut butter and banana sandwiches! And taco chips and
sour cream dip! And fried potato sticks! And pop tarts! And Frosted Flakes right out of
the box! And Oreos that I dip in Cool Whip! And sticky buns! And Girl Scout cookies
that are still half frozen from the freezer! And then I realize that I am eating things I dont
even like! Things that taste terrible! Stale Cheese Doodles and hard marshmallows, and
moldy coffee cake! And baking chocolate! And old nasty Easter candy thats all stuck
together! And those little flower decorations that you put on birthday cakes! I mean, I
dont care! I just eat everything! Everything thats bad.
LANDSCAPE OF THE BODY, by John Guare. Betty.
It bothered me at first not knowing who killed Bert. But then I thought of all the things
we dont know. All the secrets in the world got put in a bottle and thrown in the sea, and
maybe someday Ill be walking along a beach and the bottle containing the message for
me will wash up. If I dont know the answer, its there and one day maybe an incredible
coincidence will occur and Ill know all Ill need to know. Or the murderer will come
forward. Or Ill even forget once I had a secret. Ill remember I had a boy like Ill
remember I once had a mother and once had a father, and Ill try to keep piling the weight
on the present, so Ill stay alive and wont slide back. If I dont know, somebody knows.
My life is a triumph of all the things I dont know. I dont have to know everything. I read
Agatha Christies and throw them away when the detective says, And the murderer is . . .
The mysterys always greater than the solution. I was terrified to have a kid. I said
before I got pregnant, Ill have a kid and the eyes will end up on one side of the face and
all the fingers on one hand and all the toes on one foot and both ears on one side of the
head. And Bert was born and he was perfect. And this is the only thing I know. Theres
got to be some order in there. Im moving to this new place and it has big houses with
classical columns and maybe Ill find a job in one of them in a house owned by an old
man who has an art collection and Ill read up on classical painters and maybe hell ask
me to marry him or maybe Ill kill him and get him to sign the collection over to me or
maybe Ill love him and marry him. Or maybe Ill discover a secret inside me that will
make the whole world better. Im not discounting nothing. Maybe Ill be transplanted into

24

somebody great who knows the secret, my secret, or maybe Ill never know and a tornado
or a water spout will whisk me up and Ill turn into rain and end up in the sea.
NIGHT LUSTER, by Laura Harrington. Roma.
I dont think people see me. I get this feeling sometimes like Im invisible or something.
I can be standing there in a room and Im talking and everything, and its like my words
arent getting anywhere and I look down at myself and jesus, sometimes my body isnt
getting anywhere either. Its like Im standing behind a one-way mirror and I can see the
guys and I can hear the guys, but they cant see me and they cant hear me. And I start to
wonder if maybe Im ugly or something, like maybe Im some alien species from another
planet and I dont speak the language and I look totally weird. But I dont know this, you
see, because on this other planet I had this really nice mother who told me I was beautiful
and that I had a voice to die for because she loved me so much, not because it was true.
And I arrive here on earth and Im so filled with her love and her belief in me that I walk
around like Im beautiful and I sing like I have a voice to die for. And because Im so
convinced and so strange and so deluded, people pretend to listen to me . . . because
theyre being polite or something or maybe theyre afraid of me. And at first I dont
notice because I sing with my eyes closed. But then one day I open my eyes and I find
out Im living in this world where nobody sees me and nobody hears me.
Im just lookin for that one guy whos gonna hear me, see me . . . really take a chance. I
mean, I hear them. Im listening so hard I hear promises when somebodys just sayin
hello. Jesus, if anybody ever heard what Ive got locked up inside of me . . . Id be a star.
COME BACK LITTLE SHEBA, by William Inge. Lola.
I think its good for a man to be outside and get a lot of exercise. Keeps him strong and
healthy. My husband, hes a doctor, a chiropractor; he has to stay inside his office all day
long. The only exercise he gets is rubbin peoples backbones. It makes his hands strong.
Hes got the strongest hands you ever did see. But hes got poor digestion. I keep tellin
he oughta get some fresh air once in a while and some exercise.
You know what? My husbands in Alcoholics Anonymous. He doesnt care if I tell you
that cause hes proud of it. He hasnt touched a drop in almost a year. All that time weve
had a quart of whiskey in the pantry for company, and he hasnt even gone near it.
Doesnt even want to. You know, alcoholics cant drink like ordinary people; theyre
allergic to it. It affects them different. They get started drinking and cant stop. Liquor
transforms them. Sometimes they get mean and violent and want a fight but if they let
liquor alone, theyre perfectly all right, just like you and me.
You should have seen the Doc before he gave it up. He lost all his patients, wouldnt even
go to the office; just wanted to stay drunk all day long and hed come home at night
and . . . You just wouldnt believe it if you saw him now. Hes got his patients all back.
And hes just doing fine . . . You dont ever drink, do you?

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MOVING, by Lee Kalcheim. Diana.

I went to a Quaker school. Absolutely uncompetitive. We used to have an awards
ceremony at the end of the year. Everybody got an award! Then it dawned on me that if
everybody got an award, it didnt mean anything . . . So I went to the headmaster and I
told him, Why dont you give up the awards altogether. I mean, if everybody gets an
award, it doesnt mean anything. He looked at me and said, Diana, not everyone
realizes that. There are boys and girls here who have never ever gotten an award in their
life. It means something to them. So for that reason, we do it. And I said, But dont
you realize how condescending that is to them? Its ultimately going to make them feel
worse. He just glared at me and said, Miss Schmidt. Someday, somebodys going to
prick your bubble. I just . . . I couldnt help it. I burst out laughing. So he called my
mother.
She came into school. Came in looking like a million dollars. Camels hair coat. Blonde
hair. Looked like a Smith College undergrad. Came in smelling like an ocean breeze. I
looked at her and said to myself, Im gonna get it. Mr. Dumwalt, the headmaster, told
her what I said . . . and Mom took me aside. She sat me down . . . and said, Dont worry
about Mr. Dumwalt. He was born with a pole up his ass! I couldnt believe it. I think
thats one of the reasons I never abandoned hope for Mom.

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