*This was written the other day, as a short piece for a 'TenFour Theatre' competition, entitled 'A Night of New Stories.' No specification, other than the fact it had to include, or make reference to, the date of April 14th. Here's my slant on it.*
A 5-minute ‘love story’ between the speaker and the audience; a mentally ‘interactive’ monologue set on ‘A Night of New Stories’, April 14th 2011. The speaker is a mid 30s male; he carries an air of mystery about him yet speaks genuinely, from the heart. Think of a human ‘David Tennant as Doctor Who’ type of character. No props; only eye contact with the audience and varying emotion in his voice.
You and I
A monologue by Dan Thomas
(Striding, enthusiastic) Yes, I remember it well. April 14th 2011. I was stood here. No; no, right... here (Moves to a different part of stage with microphone; scans audience). Yes. And you were just sat there... waiting. Looking at me. Searching for somethi– ... it’s all coming back. I remember this...
(Thoughtful, finger in the air) I was stood here talking, working out what was going on and slowly - slowly - it was beginning to dawn on you too. I could almost see that change in your face; the furrow of your brow, the slight uncomfortable shift in your seat. Yes – exactly that. Even that slight smile; that cringe of cold comprehension. ‘Here he goes.’
And then just when it seemed to be going well... I don’t know why, but I paused (pauses for ten seconds, scans audience, voiceless). (Slower, more emotion) And you didn’t know what to do. I mean, what could you do? You probably felt abandoned; awkward; voiceless. For a moment, anyway. But so did I. (Thoughtful) You see - we’re more alike than you might think; you and I.
Yes. I told you a little of my life – the strange twists and turns that had led me here today, and although part of you thought it mawkish sentiment, a small part of you was glad I’d opened myself up and revealed a little more. Human instinct.
And as I looked at you, I understood how hard it must have been for you, too. Emotional tar. The gnawing stress of it all. The carnage of Yesterday. You wanted escapism: pretty and perfect. And here was me telling you about my problems. Selfish, really.
But you see, you still didn’t understand. Not fully. Why was I here? Was I reaching out to you, or were you reaching out to me in some way? Mind games. (Spiteful, almost) Mind games. Madness! (Thoughtful) But part of you liked it; you secretly understood what I was doing and you couldn’t help but be drawn in, ever so slightly. And I liked that, too.
I knew, instinctively, that you wanted to speak up. (Shouting) Talk to me. (Measured) But you couldn’t. Something – some reason – stopped you. And I’m glad it did. I knew, then, that I could speak to you in a way I could never have done otherwise. And you knew it too.
*Sigh. So I carried on. I told you of my fear of rejection. The hidden tears of a bullied Child. The growing awkwardness as a Youth. The reluctant acceptance of an Adult. I told you about how I’d loved and swore I’d never love again; old clichés peppered with new garnish. But it was all true, I swear, it was all true. And for a moment I saw that glint in your eyes again; I knew you’d felt the same way too, at times.
That guilt at never being quite enough. Not enough for the one person that mattered, anyway. The continual critical contempt; the fear of rejection; the lonely worry that, ‘what if what I do, doesn’t count?’
(Slow) What if what I do, doesn’t count? (pause for five seconds). And then I was afraid I’d gone too far... pushed and pushed it too much and why oh why on the 14th of April 2011 did I have to bring it up for God’s sakes?
And I sat down and looked at you (sits down on stage, glances at audience).
And I saw in your eyes that part of you wanted to reach out and shake me out of it. And part of you forgave me because you understood a little more now. You saw in me what I saw in you. And then I remembered why I was here in the first place, and I leapt up (leaps to feet, re-energised) and said, ‘Forget about it. None of that matters!’ (Laughs)
And I reached my hand out towards you (reaches out hand) and told you to smile. Smile. Stop being afraid and smile at me. And you did. Almost.
And I told you that we should forget what was and what may be and just to concentrate on today. This hour, this minute, this very second of today. Now (maintains eye-contact with audience; pause).
And on April the 14th, 2011, for just one tiny second of one little; exceptional day, we shared something.
(Begins to walk away) And as I began to walk away, I told you something that up until that moment I hadn’t considered: (Stops) I’ll miss you. (Walks back to stand; places microphone back in holster) And although you didn’t say it; and I’ll not really know whether you thought it or not, I looked at you one last time and said,
‘Don’t worry; until the next April 14th, 2011.’
I guess I’ll see you - then.
