HOME | DD

Description
Flamingo Nowhere

A Monologue

Setting: A bus, around sunset, the light streaming in in bright orange slices as the bus bumps along the highway. Several people sit inside, each preoccupied with their own lives, which have temporarily gone on hold. An old man dozes, a middle aged woman reads a magazine, another flips boredly through a trashy book. A youngish man with a briefcase works on his laptop. In the middle of them sits Charlotte, in a long trenchcoat to protect against the autumn chill. She keeps her handbag under one arm, and her bus ticket in the other hand. Large black sunglasses make her standout, rather than keeping her inconspicuous. The bus bumps over a particularly jostling pothole, and quietly Charlotte begins to speak.

Charlotte:        Fred… Where were you last night? …I missed you. When the hot, bright pink lights buzzed on, I thought for sure you would be there. …but you weren't. You left me alone, in that big, unclean bed, and nothing I do can replace you.

        I checked in at three, I was that excited to get here, so eager to see you again, you with your thin, unkempt hair, and your grubby, worn old t-shirts. I knew I was early so I waited. I stretched and I breathed and I opened my eyes, filled up my soul, knowing that soon you would come and complete me. Nightfall didn't seem so very far away back then, and yet it felt like an eternity, a vast gulf keeping me from you. Little was I to know that if that one lonely night were a gulf, this time now when we are parted is a chasm. I am without you and I know not when next I can see you again.

        Again. It was six months the last time. Six months, Fred. Six months of waiting and not knowing, of pacing and polishing my toenails so that they would be ready for you. Six months when I thought my life would end, had ended, I was so cold without you. Last night I was warm again. The sheets on the ugly motel bed seemed to radiate your warmth, even before you ever got there, before you-- …never showed up. Before my soul died again and the sheets lost their heat.

        Where were you, Fred? You said you would meet me, you said it was time now, you said I was everything! You swore to me nothing could pull you away from me- and how foolish was I not to realize that you could not be pulled away if you never came.

        I'm alone again, now. And I'm cold. I gave up on the motel room. but not until after checkout, so I had to pay for another night. Another night of a too-empty room, devoid of me, devoid of you, devoid of us, and our love. I left you a note, Fred. It's on the bedstand, alone, without even the Bible for company. I kicked that under the bed this morning, when God and heaven and you betrayed me. Now I'm sorry that I did, because I suppose I might have found some comfort there.

        My eyes are bitter, now. All I see is you, and the lack of you that permeates my every living space. The nothingness is stifling.

        Where were you last night, Fred? I waited for you for so long, in the pink light from the fluorescent motel sign. I suppose that something more important came up.

        I wish I were the only one important to you. It isn't fair that I have to share you with a wife, a job, a pet cat. You have a whole other life that goes on undisturbed without me. But I suppose it's even less fair that you have to divide yourself between us. None of us gets a fair deal in this.

        I'm on the bus now, headed home, and the highway seems to just go on forever. At the same time that I miss you, I begin to doubt everything in my reality. I doubt the guy across the aisle from me, and the discreet suitcase under my seat. I doubt you, and your existence. I doubt that I ever knew you, doubt that we ever met. I doubt that any love ever occurred between us, that we were ever more than just a one-night stand of lonely people passing like ships in the misty night. I doubt the very ticket in my hand that is taking me away from you, or whatever’s left of you. You could be anywhere by now. I could even be heading toward you, barreling along at 55 miles per hours.

And I could pass you on the street just as easily, without ever know it was you.

       …Fred?

Description
Flamingo Nowhere

A Monologue

Setting: A bus, around sunset, the light streaming in in bright orange slices as the bus bumps along the highway. Several people sit inside, each preoccupied with their own lives, which have temporarily gone on hold. An old man dozes, a middle aged woman reads a magazine, another flips boredly through a trashy book. A youngish man with a briefcase works on his laptop. In the middle of them sits Charlotte, in a long trenchcoat to protect against the autumn chill. She keeps her handbag under one arm, and her bus ticket in the other hand. Large black sunglasses make her standout, rather than keeping her inconspicuous. The bus bumps over a particularly jostling pothole, and quietly Charlotte begins to speak.

Charlotte:        Fred… Where were you last night? …I missed you. When the hot, bright pink lights buzzed on, I thought for sure you would be there. …but you weren't. You left me alone, in that big, unclean bed, and nothing I do can replace you.

        I checked in at three, I was that excited to get here, so eager to see you again, you with your thin, unkempt hair, and your grubby, worn old t-shirts. I knew I was early so I waited. I stretched and I breathed and I opened my eyes, filled up my soul, knowing that soon you would come and complete me. Nightfall didn't seem so very far away back then, and yet it felt like an eternity, a vast gulf keeping me from you. Little was I to know that if that one lonely night were a gulf, this time now when we are parted is a chasm. I am without you and I know not when next I can see you again.

        Again. It was six months the last time. Six months, Fred. Six months of waiting and not knowing, of pacing and polishing my toenails so that they would be ready for you. Six months when I thought my life would end, had ended, I was so cold without you. Last night I was warm again. The sheets on the ugly motel bed seemed to radiate your warmth, even before you ever got there, before you-- …never showed up. Before my soul died again and the sheets lost their heat.

        Where were you, Fred? You said you would meet me, you said it was time now, you said I was everything! You swore to me nothing could pull you away from me- and how foolish was I not to realize that you could not be pulled away if you never came.

        I'm alone again, now. And I'm cold. I gave up on the motel room. but not until after checkout, so I had to pay for another night. Another night of a too-empty room, devoid of me, devoid of you, devoid of us, and our love. I left you a note, Fred. It's on the bedstand, alone, without even the Bible for company. I kicked that under the bed this morning, when God and heaven and you betrayed me. Now I'm sorry that I did, because I suppose I might have found some comfort there.

        My eyes are bitter, now. All I see is you, and the lack of you that permeates my every living space. The nothingness is stifling.

        Where were you last night, Fred? I waited for you for so long, in the pink light from the fluorescent motel sign. I suppose that something more important came up.

        I wish I were the only one important to you. It isn't fair that I have to share you with a wife, a job, a pet cat. You have a whole other life that goes on undisturbed without me. But I suppose it's even less fair that you have to divide yourself between us. None of us gets a fair deal in this.

        I'm on the bus now, headed home, and the highway seems to just go on forever. At the same time that I miss you, I begin to doubt everything in my reality. I doubt the guy across the aisle from me, and the discreet suitcase under my seat. I doubt you, and your existence. I doubt that I ever knew you, doubt that we ever met. I doubt that any love ever occurred between us, that we were ever more than just a one-night stand of lonely people passing like ships in the misty night. I doubt the very ticket in my hand that is taking me away from you, or whatever’s left of you. You could be anywhere by now. I could even be heading toward you, barreling along at 55 miles per hours.

And I could pass you on the street just as easily, without ever know it was you.

       …Fred?