Two of these dramatic monologues have been published in the anthology: Millennium Monologs, 95 contemporary characterizations for young actors,
Edited by Gerald Lee Ratlif, 262 pages, $15.95, Colorado Springs: Meriwether Publishing Limited, 2002.
I rode for two hours in the snow to see you. An old
friend from Carson Mills gave me a ride. You know, I wrote weeks
ago I'd be there this weekend. But you didn't show.
I've really had it with you, I have.
For twenty years I've spent each afternoon, following
your devious ways. Like the time you tricked Cynthia into mar-
riage, then abandoned her, after she lost her memory, in some
town out west. Now, I'm not forgetting you tried to redeem
yourself. You did rescue the young girl from that mob of
terrorists, but only because Jessie asked. We all knew, of
course, that Jessica was your one true love.
Oh yes, I can see through you: handsome and dashing, able
to charm them all, even those who don't want to trust you.
But this time I'm finished.
I've written you for years, let you know every detail of
my life. And even though you never answered, I felt a bond had
grown between us. So when I read you'd be this close, that the
entire cast of "All My Tomorrows" would be in Providence, I made
sure I'd meet you. I waited an hour in the freezing cold.
Chester Maddox what am I going to do about you?
I'm here at my window watching my ducks across the water
near the point. Tears of anger are filling my eyes at what you've
done to me. But I'm not the first. And I suppose I won't be the
last. I'm lying on the couch in my "jelly" house, it used to sit
on the highway where they sold jams and such to the tourists
before it was moved. In spite of today I feel so lucky. I have
this cozy little place I can afford, because, you know, there are
all those expensive mansions across the way. And I've got my cats
and my beloved ducks on my pond.
I retired here, I'm sure I wrote you about it, from the
mill where I'd worked my way, over the years, to floor manager,
2nd shift. My friends were certain I'd be lonely, away from the
clacking looms.
But you know, Chester, I really don't miss it.
I feed the wild mallards and know each of their ducklings
by sight. My cats with bells around their throats run free in the
grave yard. I watch the seasons change through my picture window,
from white to brown to green and back; the sun glances through
the plate glass differently each month. In winter the TV's good,
in summer it's all reruns.
Except yours, Chester.
Each afternoon I see your life progressing with mine, as
we grow old together. You've lasted so long you're almost treated
with respect, achieved a certain status by surviving.
Odd for such a scoundrel as you.
Oh dear, it's getting dark. Where are my cats? I guess
I'm going to have to call them, stand on the porch, bang my spoon
and sauce pan. They're such devils staying out so late.
And after I finally coax them home, I'll feed them and
brush their fur. Then I'll open a can of soup, and settle back
onto this couch to watch those sitcoms I don't like nearly as
much as my soaps. But that's life and I have to accept it, in the
evening that's about all there is.
And on Monday we'll see about you, Mr. Maddox.
When two o'clock, rolls around, I might not watch "All My
Tomorrows," just to get even. Except knowing you, I won't be able
to resist.
Non-profit, educational groups,
and students may perform these works without paying a fee
as long as they obtain written permission. Contact me at the e-mail address
below. No work may be performed or reproduced in any form without my
written permission.
