Gender Neutral Dramatic Monologues

I do work hard. Maybe not in the way you think, but I work hard. I work hard to be utterly ordinary. I work hard to get good grades, but to not be the top of my class. I work hard to be funny, but to not be known as “the funny friend.” I work hard to be sporty, but not too sporty, to be artsy but not too artsy, to be quirky but to make sure that my quirks are normal. For example, I like yellow, the least liked color. I know everything there is to know about The Lord of the Rings, but only because – your words, not mine – I “went through a phase in middle school.” I wear normal clothes. Do my hair in a normal way. Have a normal sleeping schedule, have normal reactions— laugh the appropriate amount at sit-coms. I cry the appropriate amount at dramas. I’m scared the appropriate amount at horrors, and I’m thrilled the appropriate amount at thrillers. I’ve calculated every move, gesture, emotion, facial expression, every minute detail to the “perfect normal” because all you ever wanted was a normal kid, but it’s just not enough. Because when we’re at the movies, and it’s too loud, I can’t leave because “it’s loud for everyone.” And I can’t buy candy with my own money because “it’s unfair” even though everyone else is eating popcorn that you bought for them, but I can’t stand the texture of popcorn. I’m sick of being normal for you. I am sick. At least, you think I’m sick. And maybe I am, but I’m not going to pretend I’m normal anymore. I’m tired of sacrificing my identity just to make your life a little more comfortable.

I don’t talk about it because no one understands. No one. Not even the people that were there. They saw, but they were blind. He was the most wonderful, the most beautiful person. But no one saw. They only saw what he had done as something wrong, something crazy, but he knew. He just knew too much. He’s… his ideas are beyond his years, beyond our time. Oh, of course I’m talking crazy. Go ahead, call me crazy too. Why not! If they’d called him crazy, go ahead and call me that, too. I consider it a compliment to be put in the same category as him. Yes, I know it seems like I’m in love with him. You’d like to meet him? I wish that could be arranged. But, who knows where he is right now. I mean, they practically threatened to kill him if he didn’t leave town. Oh Jeannie, you should have been there. It was awful. But exciting, too, for some strange reason. It was like the universe was on the brink of change. And Jeannie, there are an awful lot of people who don’t like change. No matter what it means to them in the end. He said they were frightened and that he understood. He said that the change agents in this world have to be courageous and buck up against the crowd. He said that he didn’t mind dedicating his whole life to change if it meant that people would be better off in the end. Oh, yes, Jeannie, he does sound wonderful. And he was. Wonderful. And I feel like I was blessed just to know him for a time. And you’re special too Jeannie, because you seem to understand. But I know that I can’t expect most people to. To understand, that is, and to appreciate him. That’s why I won’t tell anyone but you. Is that all right? Will you be my confidante? Whenever I’m thinking about him and I just want to burst? Whenever I’m sitting in school listening to some dry lecture and my eyes well up with tears? Can I come and confide in you again? Oh, thank you, Jeannie. I wish you could have been there. But being there for me is so kind of you. Oh Jeannie, if you had only known him. He was tall and strong. He was kind and gentle. And his ideas. Oh Jeannie, his ideas. They were so far beyond our time. He was a genius. Not like those kids you see with their nose in a book in the library, but a genius with his head in the stars. Yes, I met the most wonderful man that I’ll meet in my life. And his name was Tanner Lawrie. 

Four hands piano music, it is a beautiful thing. It is an intimate thing. You sit on the bench together. On this small bench made for one. Your eyes are forward; focused on the page, on the keys. But you know that there’s someone next to you. I remember. There was a heat. I’d get so nervous, afraid I’d mess up, and the whole time I could feel [her] arm brushing mine, moving in tempo with the music. Sometimes I wanted to look so bad, to look and see [her] face. Sometimes I would sneak a peek at [her] face. And I would see concentration and joy...but also a nervousness, a curiosity, a secret. And I wanted to know that secret. There is a moment, in Beethoven’s 6th, where the hands...cross. There’s no musical reason for it. The guy who arranged it just, I think he must have known about this intimacy, about playing four hands [piano music]. And so in that moment, my hand would sneak under [hers], and I could feel [her] fingertips brush my knuckles. This moment. This tiniest touch. I didn’t decide for that. It happened to me and I was changed. Marriage is a sacrament. God is in the touch. [You] would think that [I] would find God in [my] music. There is God in music— But it’s not— That’s not— It’s so hard to find God in concert halls. It’s so hard to find God in churches. God is Natalya and I sitting on a bench. Or one person smiling in the crowd, or dancing to a prelude, or plunking out wrong notes. God is in the practice room. God is in the kitchen. God is in the bedroom. Fingertips and knuckles. No one plays Beethoven four hands symphonies for an audience. It’s just for the players. God is in the very small. That is why we want to marry. [You may not] enjoy music. But [you] have been in love. 

Wow. A lot of people here today. No pressure, right? (pause, deep breath) They say the worst things happen to the best people, but I disagree. My father was a great person, at least to most of you. He told stories and did impressions every chance he got. I hated them. They were never accurate anyway. His impression of Daniel Day Lewis doing Abraham Lincoln sounded more like Al Pacino. Those of you who were his students knew a caring, dedicated, and hilarious teacher. Sounds like a great guy. It’s too bad I never got to meet him. The man I knew was short-tempered, distant and narcissistic. The day I found out he was going to die, I was unfazed. That’s bad, I know. Sounds like a horrible thing to say, but he didn’t love me. He’d ignore me when I asked him questions or shared my opinion. I was his kid; he was supposed to care. His work occupied all his time. I didn’t see why it mattered so much, he was just a teacher and they were just students. I was the one who deserved his time. I was the one who deserved his care. I was his child. As I watched him fade away in a hospital bed I thought for once, just once, I would have his undivided attention. I didn’t. Even in the last days of his life all he could think about was you. His bloody students. He wrote some of you letters. They weren’t just any fair-well letters though. He wrote you to tell you what you meant to him. I never got any letter. It’s selfish really, I know, but I deserved one. I did. I thought it was okay, though. I thought he would surely change in the end. He was dying. Maybe things would be different. He was going to tell me that he loved me, and he would mean it. He never did. I read some of the letters he wrote, one was to a boy named Jacob. Maybe you are here today. My dad told Jacob that he had made him see the world in a different way. Opened up his eyes, he said. Shifted his perspective, he said. My dad was a phony and a liar and I hated him. As my father took his last breath I cried, but I wasn’t sad, I was angry. Where is my letter? I deserved it, didn’t I? I was his kid! But he was dead. You can all go on and mourn the loss of a “great” man, but I knew the real Albert Scott. He had you all fooled. 

You’ve been with me for so long, through everything, the ups, and downs, and during all of the struggles that come with growing up, you have been my best friend. What a childhood I’ve had, with a tiger by my side! You listened to the stories about the bullies, you rescued me when everyone else in the house was yelling out of hurt and anger. You stayed up late with me looking at the stars. You pushed me to be brave and to stand up for myself, and through it all, you were there. Like no one else in my life, you were always present. No late-night work, drunken moods, or angry fits could change you. You never changed, you were a patient listener, my courageous sidekick in every battle, and my trusted confidant. And now, there is something I need to say to you. I’m going off to college next week, and I can’t take you with me. I know you’re not real, I know that you are my imaginary friend. That was never a problem, because I didn’t want to go a single day without my Tiger by my side. But I’m growing up, heck I am grown up, and grown-ups can’t go around talking to a friend named Tiger. So, from now on I will call you Courage.

No—it happened to me. It didn't happen to you. You made up your mind and walked in, with the air of a god on a holiday. It was I who fell—headlong, dizzy, blind. I didn't want to love you. It was a force too strong for me. It swept me into your arms. I prayed against it. I had to give myself to you, even though I knew you hardly cared. I had to—for my heart was no longer in my own breast. It was in your hands, to do what you liked with. You could have thrown it in the dust. It pleased you not to. You put it in your pocket. But don't you realize what it is to feel that another person has absolute power over you? No, for you have never felt that way. You have never been utterly dependent on another person for happiness. I was utterly dependent on you. It humiliated me, angered me. I rebelled against it, but it was no use. You see, my dear, I was in love with you. And you were free, and your heart was your own, and nobody could hurt you.

Does it matter to you that I am going mad?  Not sure I can go away and reflect on it.  Not sure I can get through my own madness.  If I can go to the top of a mountain, like a Buddhist Monk, perhaps I may have a chance.  Life, my DNA, it has fit perfectly together, hasn’t it?  What is it for?  For my art?  Is it fair for a man to sacrifice his sanity for his craft?  Is that what God wants?  If that is so, then why must I be sacrificed?  Why does great beauty come from great pain? We are all mad, crazy, nuts, psycho.  It’s true.  Walk down the street and look into the eyes of the man or woman you walk past.  It’s hidden.  It’s hidden.  When you are someone like me, you connect with that dark place instantly and you identify with it.  I forget who said that we are all living lives of quiet desperation.  I believe we are.  The smiles, the charms, it’s all bullshit…all smokescreen.  We all suffer within, don’t we? Sometimes, I will stare into the mirror and wait for the madness to creep from my eyes and leave me once and for all.  But all it ever does is reach the surface and smile gently at me, with a wise gleam. Yeah, I am crazy.  I love that I am crazy but I also hate who I am.  I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.  They say genius and madness have a thin line between them.  I walk that fence everyday and lately it has been getting harder to stay balanced.  Haha, look where I am.  Haha. Chemical imbalance.  Sure.  Life experience.  Sure.  Being an artist.  Sure.  It all adds up to a pair of scissors embedded in someone’s neck, doesn’t it? You can ridicule me some more my friend, you can pity me, you can lead me to inspiring advice but the truth is, there is nothing you can do or say that can haunt me more than my own soul.  Do what you have to do, say what you have to say…it means nothing…nothing, my friend…nothing… I will be waiting for you….we will be waiting….I am happy to entertain you my friend…I look forward to your next word…You can speak now, say something…

Look, I know who she is. She told me, Rose told me. She’s my sister, she died when I was a baby, blah blah blah. And now she’s lonely and wants me to “cross over.” And maybe that’d be sad for you, but maybe it’d be great for me. She says all the adults over there wish they had died when they were little too, cuz it’s so much better over there than all this crap, and all this crap with getting old, and disease, and war, and being tortured, and butchered, and having to be alone with your stupid mind all the time? She says that over there they don’t have computers or any of that … and everyone’s mind is just fine. They just hang out in nature all the time, only it’s better ‘cause it’s perfect nature, with no bugs or humidity or anything. And no, Brent, it’s not so perfect it’s boring, they figured that out too, so there are grey days and rain and stuff, but it’s fine, ‘cause everyone likes to be a little sad some of the time, and watch the rain on the windowsills... ‘Cause they're all soul. They are all soul. Did you know Rose is a Starchild? That's right, she's a freaking Starchild! So I’m sorry if this is like, sad for you, but you're gonna be dead in like, 30 years, and even less if you two keep drinking like— (drinking motions) and when you meet me over there you’ll see, and you’ll think God, that 30 years of being all sad was just stupid, but who cares anymore, because now it's just an eternity of soul! And swimming! And fruit! So why don't you just shut up! Why don’t you, just have another drink, and shut up!

Shut up! Shut up! Just please stop talking! First of all, stop screwing up the curve of blinding energy. Secondly, why do you think your crappy explanation of nucleosynthesis is going to impress me? Why do you think you can use science I already know as a pick-up line? And even if that did impress me, which it doesn't, and even if you were cute, which you're not, you are not a good person. You're being really really, really mean. To my father. Not to some rando, but to my dad. And it wasn't even you're idea. You're weak. You're a follower, and you've got no freakin' empathy. And let me tell you something about Dr. Alien, okay? He might be crazy, but he's not a cynic. He's willing to believe in something bigger than himself. And it makes him closer to greatness than you. You will never be anything, Kenneth Jerome Urbanik. So why don't you run to your little friends and come up with more little schemes to make Peter Stockholm giggle. I have real work. 

Winning? Is that what you think it’s about? I’m not trying to win. I’m not doing this because I want to beat someone or because I hate someone or because I want to blame someone. It’s not because it’s fun. God knows it’s not because it’s easy. It’s not even because it works because it hardly ever does. I do what I do because it’s right! Because it’s decent! And above all it’s kind…it’s just that. Just kind. If I run away today, good people will die. If I stand and fight some of them might live. Maybe not many, maybe not for long.  Hey, you know, maybe there’s no point in any of this at all but it’s the best I can do. So I’m gonna do it. And I will stand here doing it until it kills me. You’re going to die too someday. How will that be? Have you thought about it? What would you die for? Who I am is where I stand. And where I stand is where I fall. Stand with me.

Hyperion City. It takes a lot of people to fill up a city like this, big and filthy and beautiful. Killer stars and runaway execs and starving kids and bad parents, old friends who made it, old friends who didn’t, smugglers, murderers, mercenaries and mad anthropologists... master thieves and Private Eyes. You meet enough of those people in my line of work, and you start to notice something: everyone thinks they’ve got the answer, that silver laser that promises they’ll be happy forever. But no one’s ever been happy forever. All those people chasing after all those promises, running full tilt towards a thousand paradises that never were and never are going to be, Steel, no matter how bad you want it - well, it makes a big mess.  And sometimes, when the whole feels like too much, it’s tempting to lie down and let all of the other runners trample you. But I can’t. So instead, I take my lumps. The world gets a little bigger, a little meaner. Maybe I did, too. From my office window, I get a good view of the city: the mansions floating over Uptown, the drunks drifting through the streets, the addicts who’ve turned their skin to pincushions, and the powerful people who profit off every pinprick. This is my city. I’m not proud of it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth saving

Perhaps you already know this, darling, but life is terribly difficult. I say “perhaps” only because I suppose it’s possible you’ve been asleep for the entirety of your life thus far; and if that’s the case, might I recommend you return to bed? You’ll surely find it more accommodating than... well, everything else. But there is some good news, for those of you as insomniac as I: in all my don’t-you-dare-ask-how-many years, every task has, slowly, become easier. Everything except one: An ending is always a terrible thing to witness — provided the production that preceded it was worth attending in the first place. And for all the mistakes I’ve made as a career criminal, I can say this much, at least: I have put on a hell of a show. And this final portion of it... well. I would be lying if I told you it wasn’t my favorite act of all. I make a point of living life well the first time through, and so I won’t relive every escapade here; but suffice it to say that in our pursuit of the device, procuring these tools was hardly the end of our preparation; no, no. We required much more than that. We needed money, and we needed training, and we needed to grow closer together. In all the ways a family must. Yes, it has been quite a show. But now we reach its final curtain. In more ways than one. An ending is a terrible thing to witness. And for some of us... it is an impossible thing to witness with grace. My name is Buddy Aurinko. For thirty-five years now, I have been one of the most esteemed criminals in our galaxy. And after this last job, today, I will be… Well, never mind. No sense in worrying about things that may never happen, hmm?

I had a bear of a time preparing these vows, Vespa. In retrospect I've made a rather serious strategic error leading up to this moment: by giving myself a reputation for always having the right thing to say, I've raised expectations quite high for the moments that matter most. Like now, when I must find just the right words to describe a feeling beyond comprehension, let alone description. And so, in an impressive fit of hubris, I have decided not to prepare my words for this vow. Vespa. I... If I'm being honest, my love, it's still difficult for me to believe you're here. You have to understand. I was in love with a Vespa I thought had died for a very long time. In my dreams, I regularly saw your ghost -- images of you, sounds, feelings, but always with the certainty that you yourself were too far for me to ever see again. It colors everything, that feeling. Every memory gains another layer of melancholy, or longing, or even... joy? Preciousness? What I mean to say is that I have known Vespa Ilkay the ghost much longer than I've known the woman. And... these days with you, they've been... everything to me. For a time I thought that this might be a dream, that one day I would wake up sick and rotting without you, without this family. It seems so much more likely than the truth. But now... well, this is the dream, isn't it? The only difference is that now I feel certain it's not the sort of dream you wake from. I love you, Vespa. I know what a galaxy without you in it feels like. The cold. And I want you to know that I will never take this life with you for granted, I can't possibly take it for granted, because having you by my side does not just improve me, love. In my eyes it makes this entire galaxy a place worth living. I want to thank you for that, and I will, today and every other day. I love you.

Then, in the corner of my eye, I see him. Looking at me as he plays. I feel the space between us so, so clearly -- and suddenly I understand. I don't know all the answers to my feelings about him. Probably never will. But for once it feels like I understand where I am. If I feel like I don't know Peter Nureyev... that's just because I want to know him. And I want him to know me. And if I feel vulnerable it's because I am vulnerable. Because knowing someone, all of them, means knowing their most painful places, the spots they've bandaged and padded and armored so nobody could ever touch them there again. That armor is so, so heavy, and when I look at him I see the promise of relief. And for the first time I can think of, love is not a thing that happened to me. It's a thing I made. Am making. With Peter Nureyev. I want to tell him this, all of it, and I don't care anymore about solving his "case" because I want to hear everything he has to say to me whenever he wants to say it.

Can you hear them? All these people who lived in terror of you and your judgement? All these people whose ancestors devoted themselves, sacrificed themselves to you. Can you hear them singing? Oh, you like to think you’re a god. But you’re not a god. You’re just a parasite eaten out with jealousy and envy and longing for the lives of others. You feed on them, on the memory of love and loss and birth and death and joy and sorrow. So…so…come on then. Take mine. Take my memories. I hope you’ve got a big appetite. Because I’ve lived a long life and I’ve seen a few things. I walked away from the Last Great Time War. I marked the passing of the Time Lords. I saw the birth of the universe and I watched as time ran out moment by moment until nothing remained. No time. No Space. Just me! I’ve walked in universes where the laws of physics were devised by the mind of a madman. I’ve watched universes freeze and creations burn. I have seen things you wouldn’t believe! I have lost things you will never understand. And I know things, secrets that must never be told, knowledge that must never be spoken, knowledge that will make parasite gods blaze. So, come on then, take it! Take it all, baby! Have it! You have it all!

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman: 'O me, o life of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities filled with the foolish. What good amid these, o me, o life?' Answer: that you are here. That life exists, and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

I imagine — that being at a school dance must be so different from what you see in movies. I imagine that it’s really confusing, and there would be a lot going on, but it would be fun, maybe? It would be a good time, I think, with all the music and lights and all your friends there dancing. I imagine I’d want to get it right, I’d want to do everything right, but I have no idea what that would mean. I imagine driving at night through a familiar neighborhood. I imagine it must be comforting to see everyone’s individual houses and to see all the lights on. It must be like each one has its own personality, just like the people inside. I imagine being outside late at night must be special, I imagine it to be quiet and peaceful and freeing. Do you ever think of what the night sky must look like from Earth? I can picture the moon up there, bright and clean and close. I’m so used to seeing it there in movies, this big benign dot in the night sky. It’s comforting, in a way. I don’t know.

How much does your life weigh? Imagine for a second that you’re carrying a backpack. I want you to feel the straps on your shoulders… You feel them? I want you to pack it with all the stuff that you have in your life. You start with the little things. The shelves and the drawers. The knick-knacks. Collectables. Feel the weight as that adds up. Then you start adding larger stuff. Clothes, table top appliances, lamps, linens, your TV. That backpack should be getting pretty heavy now and you go bigger. Your couch, your bed, your kitchen table. Stuff it all in there. Your car, get it in there. Your home, whether it’s a studio apartment or a two bedroom house. I want you to stuff it all into that backpack. Now try to walk. It’s kind of hard, isn’t it? This is what we do to ourselves on a daily basis. We weigh ourselves down until we can’t even move. And make no mistake, moving is living. Now, I’m going to set that backpack on fire. What do you want to take out of it? Photos? Photos are for people who can’t remember. Drink some ginkgo and let the photos burn. In fact, let everything burn and imagine waking up tomorrow with nothing. (a beat of emphasis) It’s kind of exhilarating, isn’t it? That is how I approach every day.

I don’t see why I’m here. I’m not the one who needs a therapist. Yes, I’m stressed out, and maybe I’ve been a little emotional lately. You would be too, if you lived at my house. All they do is argue. Doesn’t matter if it’s a big thing or a small thing. I mean, the other day, they argued about how to cut the toast. Mom had cut it straight across and dad said it should go on the diagonal. Then my mom said that she wasn’t his mother and it was time to cut the apron strings. Whatever that means. When they realized I was in the kitchen, my mom flashed me her fake smile and passed me a plate of toast. I said I wasn’t hungry. Next thing, she’ll think I’m anorexic. So what if I stay in my room? It’s peaceful there with my earbuds in. Music makes me happy. I’ve been thinking about learning to play an instrument. I made the mistake of mentioning this to my parents. Right away, dad offered to get out his old trumpet. Mom said that he should shut up and let me decide. Then dad told mom that she didn’t have to be such a witch about it. I said I was finished with dinner and asked to be excused. And mom all of a sudden acted concerned and felt my forehead to see if I was sick. I went to my room and I could tell they were still arguing. They were doing that thing where they were trying to keep their voices down, but it’s totally obvious. They weren’t always like this. I mean, they used to be in love. If you ask me, they are the ones who need therapy. I mean, am I missing something here? (laughs) Thank you for saying that. I really mean it, I do. Most people don’t take teenagers seriously. (pause) Do you play an instrument? Oh, the cello is nice. But I was thinking more like drums. Drown out the noise.

Oh, why did I even sign up for this class? I didn’t know we’d have to practice auditioning. It’s not fair. Everybody will be looking at me, judging me. If I do one thing wrong everybody is going to notice, and laugh at me, and I’m going to be so embarrassed. The lights will be beaming in my eyes and my hands will start shaking like crazy. My throat will get really dry and I’ll stutter like there’s no tomorrow. I’ll fidget and play with my hair. I’m so nervous, what if I suck? What if I’m horrible? What if people start throwing things; or worse, tell everybody about my performance, and how much I sucked. I’ll be embarrassed everywhere I go. I’ll have no escape. People are always going to remember me as the person who couldn’t perform, the person who can’t ever talk in front of a crowd. I don’t want to do this, I hate performing. If I was confident I could just stand on that stage and nail it, but I’m not. I’m terrified, in fact I’m petrified. I would use any excuse in the book to not have to perform. I know what you guys are all thinking, just pretend to be sick. Well, unfortunately I’ve tried that already and they didn’t buy it. Use a doctor note, well I tried that one too, and as it turns out I’m not very good at forging signatures. They didn’t even buy the dead pet excuse. You know what; actually maybe I can do this. I’ve practiced for hours. I know all my words. All I’ve got to do is go up there and perform it the way I know I can, the way I’ve rehearsed it dozens of times in the mirror, and if I do that I’ll be fine. In fact, I’d be better than fine, I’ll be amazing. I just have to stay calm and relaxed. And the point is just to have fun, right? I don’t have to be the best, I just need to do the best I can. Alright, I can do this. I’m ready. Hey, I’m… I… I… I can’t do this.

How do l feel about it? You seriously just asked me how I feel about it? Classic. Ya know, this whole psychologist thing in general is kind of corrupt. You sit down, listen to my problems—supposedly—and ask me how I feel? Look, I know my parents gave you the rundown of my whole life story or whatever. I heard you from the waiting room. You know I was bullied. You know I have bipolar. You know my grandma died. How does that make me feel? Not great. But I don’t let that stuff define me. I’ve moved on. I’ve dealt with that stuff on my own. To be honest, you guys are just reopening those wounds. Last night I googled stuff about psychologists. All I have to say is wow. Y’all get paid a pretty hefty salary considering you just sit down and listen to people go on, and on about their problems. But I mean, let’s be honest here. You don’t actually listen. You’re just thinking about going home, watching tv, what you’re going to make for dinner. Look, I’m not stupid. You guys are still regular people. You have your own problems. If you ask me, I don’t think you want to spend your time engulfing yourself in some rando’s life. So, I’m just saying maybe asking me how I feel isn’t the best approach. Cause, I’m pretty sure I just told you how I feel. Let’s just cut this short okay. You can have that power bar you’ve been eyeing on your desk, and I can go ride my skateboard for the next hour. That’ll make us both feel better. 

I keep things in.  Things.  Emotions.  My emotions…I know that that’s probably not a good thing.  Life has made me that way I guess.  I have a tendency to show no emotion when I am feeling emotion. I just have a hard time opening up to someone.  I get closed off.  I feel that by being emotional in front of someone, kind of makes me very vulnerable and weak and I have a hard time with that.  You know, being in that state of vulnerability, it’s not a place where I like to be because I feel like I’m not in control.  When I’m not in control, I get anxiety. Whenever I truly loved anybody and opened myself up to them, they have always stabbed me in the back.  I have a hard time with that; trusting people.  It can be anyone…friends, family, boyfriend.  I’m not sure if I truly trust anyone in my life.  It’s sort of a protective shield I’ve put up and it only gets stronger with time. I do desire to be more vulnerable but at the same time I desire to stay protected.  I feel torn.  Every time I do take a risk, I get hurt.  Not sure if I should keep taking those risks.

When it rains I like to play a game. It’s this game where I take these five characters, these five girls I made up in my head, and I imagine what they are doing. Unlike me, who is sitting on the couch, looking out the window with nothing to do, no one to talk to but the cat, my characters lead exciting lives on rainy days. For instance, Emma. Emma is a beautiful brunette with long silky hair and dark eyes. When it rains, Emma’s boyfriend Rodrigo comes over in his little red Corvette and takes her for a drive. They love the rain because it reminds them of the first day they met. She went out for a walk in the beautiful English countryside where she lives and suddenly a storm came out of the blue. Within moments she was drenched. Having gone quite far from home, she didn’t know what to do. Seek shelter under a tree and wait out the storm or try to head back toward her family’s lovely English manor? Suddenly, Rodrigo pulled up on a big black horse. It reminded her of something from a storybook. Like he was a knight in shining armor. He jumped off his horse, took off his cloak and covered her, then asked if he could give her a ride. Of course she said yes. They galloped home through the rain and the rest is history. Then there’s Amelia. Amelia loves the rain because she used to be a mermaid. Used to be because she fell in love with a human and made a wish to be able to marry him and live on land. But, even though Amelia is happy with her new life, she loves the rain because she can go out in it and feel like she used to feel as she swam through the ocean and played with the fish. Yes, so that’s Amelia, out walking somewhere right now, playing in puddles and getting drenched and loving every second. She’ll probably run into Delila, as a matter of fact. Delila loves the rain because she is always looking for frogs to kiss so that she can find her prince. You see, Delila had her fortune told when she was very young and she knows without a shadow of a doubt that one day she will marry a prince and live happily ever after. So, she is always on the lookout for that prince who she is most certainly sure has disguised himself as a frog. And what better way to find frogs than out in the rain? Now Kansas is a different story. She’s a farmer whose crops are always thirsty and can’t ever seem to get enough to drink. When it rains she is so filled with joy that she goes out and dances in the storm as she sings her praises to the sky. And then there’s number five. The fifth girl is Cody. The kindest soul that ever lived. When it rains, Cody gets busy and collects every single drop that she can so that she can bring it to people in parts of the world that have no water. Hmmmm. Don’t you love a rainy day?

I have the perfect life. Loving parents, a supportive sister, the cutest dog in the world. I go to an amazing school and have the most caring friends I could ever ask for. But out of 1000 positives, why do I let the 2 negatives take over? At 6:00 A.M my alarm starts screaming at me, and by 6:01 I have 100 anxious thoughts. While I drive to school, I worry that I’m going to get in a car accident or that I will get the unimaginable call that my parents have died. So, I turn up the music even louder to drive out these thoughts. But once I’m at school it continues. I’m a good student but I sit in math class and my brain shuts off. “I can’t do this,” I say to my teacher. “Yes, you can, just take a deep breath,” she says. I turn in a blank test and walk to the counselor’s office overwhelmed, panicked, defeated. Sitting in the blue-flowered chair I try to hold back tears, but I break down under the smell of orange essential oils and I cry for an hour feeling hopeless. My head spins with all thoughts about where I should go to college, am I smart enough to get into nursing school, and how much I will miss my friends and teachers. My life is starting to change and I’m not ready. Sometimes I feel guilty that I feel this way because I truly do have a blessed life and lots of people have it way worse. But sometimes life is hard. Sometimes I’m afraid. I’m gonna just try to focus on the present and remember that I don’t need to have all the answers today.

You know that party Russel had last week? The one I wasn’t invited to…I walked over to his house because I was curious, I wanted to see it with my own two eyes, what it was like to be in with the crowd. I snuck into the side of the house, past the bushes. And through the fence I saw all of you having the best time…music, barbecue, diving in the pool, drinkin’, laughin’…it was like watching another world and yet I knew all of your faces. I saw your face and even though we’re friends it was like I was seeing you for the first time. You didn’t seem like you at all. You seemed, I don’t know, in your natural element, where you belong…you were accepted and I realized on my walk back home that I wasn’t and that sooner or later you and I, this friendship we supposedly have, is gonna thin out and end. You know why? Cause there’s no sound I can ever make that’s loud enough for any of you to take notice of…what I do, who I am, doesn’t matter…never will because that’s just the way things go when you’re on the other side of the chasm.

I wrote it when I was 19. I—I have no idea how I did it. I was in a practice room at school and I was just playing around in C# minor. C# minor is kind of the coolest key. It just feels really…dark and silken under the fingers. Like midnight… but a really sophisticated midnight… sleek… and super ancient. Like, sci-fi ancient. And sneaky. And sensual. And rich… Anyway, the chords just came, I mean they're pretty obvious. Just C# up to E and back down… Then A to G# and back down… And, I just wanted it to be loud. Just [really] loud and epic. I wanted to write something that would shake the walls, and upset my teachers. There's so much restraint, so much that is precious—I just wanted to really…  play the piano, you know? And then… It got published. And it was a hit. And people loved it, and they loved me, and for a while, it was amazing. I was 19. And people were stopping me in the street, and asking me to sign things, and fawning over me, and—and—I mean people would be inarticulate around me. When they found out I wrote the Prelude, "The Prelude! Oh, oh wow!" And I would play it everywhere I went—At concerts, at bars, at people's houses… And they would gush, and they would freak out, and they would ask me to play it again… and again… and again… And it got to be that now whenever I go to a party, and see a piano in the room, I tense up… Just waiting for it—And then—and then sometimes instead they ask me to listen! To listen to them play it! And—and I'll walk down the street, in a town I've never been to, and hear it coming from apartment windows. And it's—it's four sharps, which is a lot for some people, so there'd be… so many wrong notes. And— and I know they're trying, but UGH, the wrong notes are just—And once I was on tour, and they put me in this [really] great apartment, and this guy next door was practicing it. All day long. And I'd pound on the wall and yell "Stop! Stop! Stop!" And I'm sure he thought I was some [idiot] who doesn't like music… Oh, and then it got published in the States! Which I still don't see any money from, because the international copyright laws are so [messed] up, so now even when I go there, they're playing it, and ask me to play it, and I just—I just… I wrote it when I was 19. And I've written a lot of other things since… And—it's just—what if… what if… That was the one. What if that was the one, best thing that I'll ever do, and I spend the rest of my life, just getting worse and worse and drying up, uninspired, and I never become great. I never fulfill—All because of one afternoon in a freezing little practice room that I don't even—I don't even know how that happened! [And I know that] most people don't even do that, other people don't ever make anything like that. Other people invent X-rays, and Tesla coils! And figure out relativity—Or they cure polio, or they figure out how to stop the ozone, or—And other people take out the garbage. They get up at 4am so our streets don't stink… And people help people, and people give money… and time… And they work in soup kitchens, or hospice, or triage! They do so much more—They—They—I—I’m sorry, I have to go.

I’m underwhelmed. Nothing impresses me or excites me. I am amazed by nothing. Numb…I’m numb to this world and everything that’s in it. I go through life with one face that doesn’t move. I never smile, cry, laugh, frown. I’m a hollow vessel and my thoughts are empty. Yeah. My friend tells me I should seek adventure. I tell my friend that there is nothing adventurous to seek. I work in the mail department. I do the mail. Meet all kinds of personalities and I’m immune to the happy people, stressed people and idiot people. An invisible shield has enveloped my being and my eyes are clogged with fog. Nothing reaches me and I reach nothing. Existence is only breathing…silently.

You know…I can’t believe you, Dad.  All of you.  …Mom.  This is my family?  Why does it matter if he’s gay?  So what?!  I mean, what’s the big deal?  You all need to stop worrying about what other people think.  That’s what it is, isn’t it?  You’re afraid of what other people think?  What other people in town are going to say?  All those sneaky whisperers that have nothing but negative things to speak about.  The kind of people that talk poorly of others in order to make their own miserable lives feel worthy of living.  Yeah!  Is that what we are in this family?  I thought you raised me to be bigger than that.  What a load… I love Tommy, he’s become one of my best friends and just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he’s not going to be an important part of my life.  He’s an incredible man, with depth, heart and passion, intelligence—I can go on and on.  His friends have become my friends and they are just as cool as anyone else I ever met. Why does this family make such a problem?  Why can’t you accept a person for who they are?  He’s never disrespected or hurt any of you!  All he’s ever tried to be was your friend.  Tommy is a human being just like you and me!  I can’t believe how unwelcome you just made him feel.  It took you all long enough—here I am thinking all this time, how wonderful and amazing my family really is—just lies and phoniness all along.  Can’t believe it! The way all of you acted over dinner was disgusting.  You should all be ashamed of yourselves!  You embarrass me in front of him and you humiliate yourselves without realizing it.  This is just disgraceful. 

Do you ever think about how being alive, and actually living, are two completely different things? Well, they may sound like the same thing to you. But trust me, what you’re doing now Ray, it’s not living. Yes, you are alive, but sitting around in your house all day, staring at a tv, you’re not experiencing anything except for “what’s next on Fuller House!” You need to wake up from your fantasy world Ray. You know, I miss her too. I miss her SO much. It’s the good times that hurt to think about. Like when our families used to go to the beach together. And you, Lila and I would have sandcastle competitions. Or feed the seagulls, even though we knew we weren’t supposed to, we didn’t care. When the lifeguards yelled, we would just nod and laugh it off. It’s okay to have memories, Ray, but you can’t live inside of them. Sometimes you have to move on. And this is one of those times. Lila had her turn to live, and then she had her turn to melt. Everyone melts eventually. We will too. And when we do, we will see Lila again. But right now, it’s our time to live, and not our time to melt yet. But that’s what you’re doing Ray. You're melting. And you can’t melt because…because I need you. You can’t live a life, if you’re not willing to live it. You can’t just sit around all day and wait for things to get better. Nothing is ever going to chance unless you change it. And you need to try. I promise you…the moment you decide to get up out of your chair and take a walk or go to lunch with your friends that you haven’t seen in ages, then you will feel better. I’m not asking you to forget about Lila, because that’s not possible. All I’m asking is that you try to live a life without her. And accept that she’s gone, and that she’s not coming back. You just need to live in your current reality and in the moment. Because these moments are all that you have.