Alex's Grave [A Monologue]
Dec 7, 2010 12:55:29 GMT -8
Post by Eww Cults (KS) on Dec 7, 2010 12:55:29 GMT -8
This is a monologue that I wrote for a theatre workshop that I will be performing in January. I'm in the final stages of editing and I just want to be sure it's good enough to be performed and that I won't be laughed off the stage. It's my first time writing straight drama/angst, so I'm particularly worried about whether or not it's becoming melodrama. This is a monologue, so it's meant to be spoken like a conversation - just one straight piece of one-sided dialogue.
Oh, and FYI - the IB program is basically a harder version of AP. It's more collegeish, and more about comprehensive learning than straight memorization of facts. The monologue workshop I'm in is a school club, and my school has the IB program, so clarifying what it is isn't an issue.
Oh, and FYI - the IB program is basically a harder version of AP. It's more collegeish, and more about comprehensive learning than straight memorization of facts. The monologue workshop I'm in is a school club, and my school has the IB program, so clarifying what it is isn't an issue.
The stage lights come up and there is a sole tombstone place in center stage, down stage. A girl, SUSAN WEISS, walks onto the stage and sits down next to the grave.
Hey, Alex . . .
I brought you some gum. I know it's customary to bring a flower or something, but I couldn't find any on my way over here, plus I know you never really liked the whole "killing something to show your love for another" thing.
I almost wasn’t allowed in the store again because of that time you stole something from there and the owner told us we were Banned For Life, but then I told him you were six feet under and he got all sympathetic, I suppose. You know, he was all, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
I wish I could tell you how our friends are, but . . . Marlee, Alison, Dayna, they don’t even look at me anymore, and besides, I came here to tell you something. Mainly because I can’t really tell anyone else, I guess.
(a beat)
I’ve been taking Xanax. Like, a lot of it. And it’s not a necessarily good amount, or even a healthy one, but I can’t really take the recommended dosage because it doesn’t do anything for me.
I know it’s stupid, okay? I know. I know it could kill me or I could overdose or become an addict . . . I just know how big this could get, okay? But you know what? If we wanna talk about bad decisions, you crossed Brown freaking Avenue without even looking, and look what happened! So I don't really think you have a say in telling me not to do dumb things.
I’ve just been, like, super stressed out lately, considering you, you know, left me right before the beginning of our senior year and excuse me if the Xanax makes me feel a little calm right before a test or something. And I’m pretty sure it started with you, if we look back far enough.
And I’ve been doing a lot of that. The looking back, the remembering. Because, I mean, it’s not like the two of us have anything to look forward to, or experience together anymore. Our time together is just . . . done. So I’ve been remembering you a whole lot, and now I think this whole . . . Xanax "problem" . . . it started with you.
I mean, I’ve always had so much stuff in school to worry about – like, remember how much I was flipping out over having to take Theory of Knowledge this year? You know, because IB Diploma candidates kind of have to take it? And how it’s pretty much the hardest class in the school? I thought I would die, like I literally thought I would die . . . no offense. But, then, I’d hang out with you, and . . . I could just relax. It was kind of like . . . coming up for air? That sounds really cheesy and romantic, but it’s true. When I’m with, say, Peggy, or anyone else, really, all we do is talk about school. But when I came over to your house, we’d just watch cable and eat microwave pizza!
And then you died. And that was it. It was that sudden. There was no coma in a hospital or teary moment when you could say your last words to someone. Like, how weird is that? I don’t know what your last words were. I know Mallard Fillmore’s last words were “The nourishment is palatable,” but I don’t know yours. They told me that the car hit you, and that was that. Instant death, no pain. Which I guess is good. For you.
But then I was missing my best friend. And that hurts, there's pain in that. A lot more than I expected, actually.
And not only a best friend, but . . . "a member of the family." You know how if a friend dies, it's like, "Oh, okay," but once it's A Member Of The Family, it just becomes super-traumatic all of a sudden. Which is weird since you were never really “Alex, my cousin” to me. You were like, “Alex, the guy I watch Dr. Who with.”
But you were there at every family Christmas party, at every Thanksgiving dinner . . . you were just this big presence in my life, and then you were gone.
And you’re still gone . . . and I miss you, and it’s not getting better. All these things just keep happening that remind me of how not-there you are – like, what am I supposed to do now during the holidays, Alex?
And what am I supposed to do when the next Harry Potter movie comes out? I mean, we saw all of them together, remember? And now, the last one is coming out soon and I don’t know what I’m going to do when it does!
And whose house am I going to go to when I’m completely failing some IB English project?
I need you to help me! I can’t do this by myself! You weren’t supposed to just leave me all by myself!
(Silence as she stares at his grave)
Jesus Christ. What am I going to do without you?
Take some more drugs; apparently I’ve decided that’s the right solution.
I don’t want to miss you, Alex . . . I’d rather just not feel anything.
Why can’t I remember you without hurting? It’s not like we did much. Went to see a movie, copied each other’s homework – that’s a friendship to write home about. I’m not supposed to be crying over you.
I mean . . . they say you’re supposed to, like, cherish your family, and tell them your worries; well you were never like family! You were just my friend! And so what am I doing here? You’re dead. And I’m confiding in you about my drug addiction?
I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be talking to your freaking grave! This isn’t what’s supposed to happen!
I don’t think I can come to visit anymore, Alex. I have to go.
SUSAN
Hey, Alex . . .
I brought you some gum. I know it's customary to bring a flower or something, but I couldn't find any on my way over here, plus I know you never really liked the whole "killing something to show your love for another" thing.
I almost wasn’t allowed in the store again because of that time you stole something from there and the owner told us we were Banned For Life, but then I told him you were six feet under and he got all sympathetic, I suppose. You know, he was all, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
I wish I could tell you how our friends are, but . . . Marlee, Alison, Dayna, they don’t even look at me anymore, and besides, I came here to tell you something. Mainly because I can’t really tell anyone else, I guess.
(a beat)
I’ve been taking Xanax. Like, a lot of it. And it’s not a necessarily good amount, or even a healthy one, but I can’t really take the recommended dosage because it doesn’t do anything for me.
I know it’s stupid, okay? I know. I know it could kill me or I could overdose or become an addict . . . I just know how big this could get, okay? But you know what? If we wanna talk about bad decisions, you crossed Brown freaking Avenue without even looking, and look what happened! So I don't really think you have a say in telling me not to do dumb things.
I’ve just been, like, super stressed out lately, considering you, you know, left me right before the beginning of our senior year and excuse me if the Xanax makes me feel a little calm right before a test or something. And I’m pretty sure it started with you, if we look back far enough.
And I’ve been doing a lot of that. The looking back, the remembering. Because, I mean, it’s not like the two of us have anything to look forward to, or experience together anymore. Our time together is just . . . done. So I’ve been remembering you a whole lot, and now I think this whole . . . Xanax "problem" . . . it started with you.
I mean, I’ve always had so much stuff in school to worry about – like, remember how much I was flipping out over having to take Theory of Knowledge this year? You know, because IB Diploma candidates kind of have to take it? And how it’s pretty much the hardest class in the school? I thought I would die, like I literally thought I would die . . . no offense. But, then, I’d hang out with you, and . . . I could just relax. It was kind of like . . . coming up for air? That sounds really cheesy and romantic, but it’s true. When I’m with, say, Peggy, or anyone else, really, all we do is talk about school. But when I came over to your house, we’d just watch cable and eat microwave pizza!
And then you died. And that was it. It was that sudden. There was no coma in a hospital or teary moment when you could say your last words to someone. Like, how weird is that? I don’t know what your last words were. I know Mallard Fillmore’s last words were “The nourishment is palatable,” but I don’t know yours. They told me that the car hit you, and that was that. Instant death, no pain. Which I guess is good. For you.
But then I was missing my best friend. And that hurts, there's pain in that. A lot more than I expected, actually.
And not only a best friend, but . . . "a member of the family." You know how if a friend dies, it's like, "Oh, okay," but once it's A Member Of The Family, it just becomes super-traumatic all of a sudden. Which is weird since you were never really “Alex, my cousin” to me. You were like, “Alex, the guy I watch Dr. Who with.”
But you were there at every family Christmas party, at every Thanksgiving dinner . . . you were just this big presence in my life, and then you were gone.
And you’re still gone . . . and I miss you, and it’s not getting better. All these things just keep happening that remind me of how not-there you are – like, what am I supposed to do now during the holidays, Alex?
And what am I supposed to do when the next Harry Potter movie comes out? I mean, we saw all of them together, remember? And now, the last one is coming out soon and I don’t know what I’m going to do when it does!
And whose house am I going to go to when I’m completely failing some IB English project?
I need you to help me! I can’t do this by myself! You weren’t supposed to just leave me all by myself!
(Silence as she stares at his grave)
Jesus Christ. What am I going to do without you?
Take some more drugs; apparently I’ve decided that’s the right solution.
I don’t want to miss you, Alex . . . I’d rather just not feel anything.
Why can’t I remember you without hurting? It’s not like we did much. Went to see a movie, copied each other’s homework – that’s a friendship to write home about. I’m not supposed to be crying over you.
I mean . . . they say you’re supposed to, like, cherish your family, and tell them your worries; well you were never like family! You were just my friend! And so what am I doing here? You’re dead. And I’m confiding in you about my drug addiction?
I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be talking to your freaking grave! This isn’t what’s supposed to happen!
I don’t think I can come to visit anymore, Alex. I have to go.