PEARL
Photo from Unsplash.
I wrote this little monologue for a festival of themed monologues in mid-December 2011. The theme was 2012, about which there was lots of bemusement regarding misunderstandings of Mayan calendars that suggested the end of the world was nigh. The bemusement, though, was really just an excuse to lay bare some (at-the-time) low-level apocalyptic anxiety which, in a place like New York, always has low-level apocalyptic anxiety lurking somewhere in the background…but in the decade since September 11, that anxiety was more persistent, less pleased to remain lurking in the background. So I wrote a monologue for my friend Susan (who’s an amazing actor) to perform about one person’s particular approach to the end.
A note on punctuation, as it can appear a little odd. Periods aren’t meant to be read as full-stops but as more or less demarcating the sense units of a thought as the thought takes shape. They shouldn’t dictate the pace of the monologue, but should have something to say about tone or emphasis. For the most part, a question mark will indicate an upward inflection, a period will not indicate an upward inflection.
SUSAN
I quit smoking. Last year.
Actually a little less than a year ago. It was February. Maybe March. I say it was last year? It wasn’t really. I guess. It just feels longer ago. Than it was.
I didn’t actually want to quit smoking. Originally. I felt. Maybe. You know. There was a lot of peer pressure. A lot of concerned friends. A lot of people. Doctors. Saying: We’re concerned. About your health. Or whatever. And that was nice of them. And I guess I believed them. Which is why I stopped. Gradually. But. Stopped.
So. The great thing about. The end of the world. Happening. Supposedly happening. Is: I feel totally justified. In smoking. Again. I smoke a lot. Now. Actually. I’m on my third pack. It’s not even noon. I’m on my third pack. So. You know. I do what I want. Now. For the next couple weeks. At any rate. It’s liberating. I might quit again tomorrow. Who knows.
And it’s like that. Right? For a lot of people. A lot of things. My boyfriend? Finally came out? Of the closet? You know I suspected. For a while. I always thought it was more of a.
A bisexual. Sort of. Vibe. That I got. From him. But. Clearly. No.
So anyway he came out. And that was a long time coming. Apparently. And he feels so. Good. Right? About coming out. Because. He said. Um: I’d like to just have. A few weeks of. Real life. (Right?) Real living. Real sex. Real. Happiness.
I thought he had that. With me. I was wrong. Apparently. But that’s fine. That’s okay. It’s the end of the world. So: what can you do.
Everything. Has suddenly become. A lot more real. Now.
And that’s better. A little more painful. In this instance. But. Probably. Better.
And he seems happier. At any rate. I’m happy too. For him. And we’ve both had. A lot of. Really. Great. Sex. With a lot of people. Recently. And that’s really helpful. That takes the edge off. And to be honest. I’d been wanting. To have a lot more sex. Preferably with strangers. So it all works out. I mean. Nothing makes meaningless sex more meaningful. Than the prospect. That it could very well be. The last sex. You ever have. Before the end of the world comes. And wipes you out. Everyone’s a lot more passionate these days.
Also I’m reading War and Peace. I wish I learned to speed-read. I wish I took speed-reading. Like when I was 11? Or something? But I didn’t. So. I’m trying. So hard. To get through War and Peace. But it’s really long. And. I don’t know. I just wish I could speed-read. Because there’s a lot I wanna read right now. And. You know. No time. And there’s a whole lot more. Reality. Right now. But. Just. No time.
And not just. More. Smoking. And. Casual sex. And. Reading. And. Drinking. With people. You barely know. I mean everyone’s everyone’s friend these days. It’s very. Kind of. Great. And. Uncomfortable. All at the same time. But. You know I have a friend? Like a real friend? Right? From a while ago? Who’s like: I just went to the top of the Empire State Building.
Right? I mean. Who does that. If you’re not a tourist. But she said it was really beautiful. Seeing the world. Like that. Before it all. Ends.
I’ve lived in New York. For so long. I have never. Once. Been. To the top. Of the Empire State Building. So. Clearly. I need to do that.
And there’s a lot of things. Like that. Actually. Little things. Big things too. But. You know. How do you decide: what to do. Everyone says--when you’re little--everyone says: The world is your oyster. But what does that mean, really: The world is your oyster. One day. You’ll find the pearl.
But now? These days? For the next couple weeks? What isn’t the pearl? I mean. There are so many pearls. And it’s hard. At this point. In your life. Just before the end of everything. To realize that. To finally realize. The world isn’t one big ugly oyster. It’s actually one big bright beautiful pearl.
And you wish every day could have been the day before the end of the world. You start wishing the end of the world could’ve been just a day just a week away just a little bit sooner. And that it could stay. Just a day away. For as long as possible. Forever maybe. If that meant. Staying in this bright place. This. Incredibly. Real. Place. For just a few minutes more. Because there is more real here. Now. Than I know what to do with.
Some people say: Well. The end. Is just. A metaphor. Right? For a new phase. Of life. The end. Is just a beginning. But that’s just their way of saying: Everything’ll be fine. Everything’ll be like it was. We’ll live through this.
But who wants fine? Who wants everything to be like it was: with your gay boyfriend and all your bad habits safely kicked to the curb? Who wants the end of the world to come only to still have to pay your credit card bills when it’s over?
Speaking of which. You know. I bought a vase. I don’t know if you can. See it from here. It was really expensive. I totally. Totally. Maxed out. One of my cards. Okay. Three of them. I mean: maybe four. One of them. On the vase. But the others on just. Like. You know. Other stuff. But I’m happiest with the vase. Because. I saw it. And it was beautiful. And empty. And beautiful. And it looked like it needed a home. And I said. I can fill you. There are so many. Beautiful things. I can put inside you. Flowers. Things like that. So I bought it. To fill it. And I put it out there. In the hall. I don’t think you can see it. But. Maybe you saw it? When you came in? I don’t know. It’s nice. It’s pretty.
I haven’t filled it up yet. I really need. To fill it up. Fast.
