Monologues for Women:

1. Gruesome Playground Injuries by Rajiv Joseph

KAYLEEN: SCENE 4

Hospital. Doug is in a coma. He wears an eyepatch over his left eye.

Kayleen enters. She hasn’t seen him like this.

(To herself): Goddamn it.

She goes to Doug. Only beeping and other artificial sounds. She looks at him for a long time.

Hey again.

Kayleen covers her face with her hands and then she exits. She re-enters quickly.

So I’m trying to get more healthy. Mostly. Most of the time. I thought, you should know. So,
you know, don’t worry about me or anything. (A long moment) Come on, Doug. Wake up
now. Just wake up. I’m here. I’m here to wake you up, okay? It’s been a long time, I know,
and I just want to…

Kayleen shakes her head, realizing she’s basically talking to herself.

Jesus. What the fuck am I doing here?

She goes into her bag and gets some pills. She takes them. She sits down in a chair that’s not
close to the bed.

I’m so sick of your shit.

Kayleen massages her temples. She gets up and walks to him quickly.

WHO GETS STRUCK BY FUCKING LIGHTNING?

She goes back to her seat and collapses in it.

ON THEIR FUCKING ROOF! (Beat) I hate to tell you this, you stupid fucking genius, but
getting up on the roof in the middle of a fucking electrical storm isn’t a brilliant fucking
move!

Kayleen calms herself. She takes out a bottle of lotion and takes some in her hands.

I’m trying not to swear so much. And I’m moisturizing. So that’s what’s going on with me
these days.
She rubs lotion into her hands.

So congratulations on almost being married. I mean, I heard about it. I heard about her.
Elaine. Elaine. She sounds lovely. Poor girl.

You probably made the right decision, though. I don’t think you’re gonna be ready to settle
down till you stop climbing up on the roof, you know? I mean, I’m no model citizen, but I do
know basic fucking things about personal safety, you dumb piece of shit.

Kayleen puts her lotion back in her bag. She gets up and walks over to Doug again.

I mean, you’re not the first groom to get cold feet.

Kayleen shakes her head and wanders around the room.

I feel like an idiot here. I was pretty sure I’d get here, say two words to you and you’d snap
out of this shit. Because it’s ME! It’s KAYLEEN, DOUGIE! I’m BACK! Last time I saw you
you’d just blown out your stupid eye. It was this same hospital.

She goes back to her chair.

Twice in 10 years. Not stellar for a couple of kids supposed to be best friends. Twice! Well, I
guess this is three times. Does this count? Does it count if one of us might be brain dead? Of
course you’ve always been brain dead, haven’t you Dougie? Ha ha ha.

Kayleen rubs her face.

What else what else what else what else…?

Kayleen gets up and looks at Doug. She slowly walks to him and touches his hand. She takes
his hand in hers. This is the first time in this scene she’s really let herself look at him.
She gingerly holds out her hands over him, as if she had the power to raise the dead but knows
she looks ridiculous. She touches his chest and then lifts her hands up as if she might have just
woken him. Nothing.

I am retarded.

She walks in a circle, and then comes back to him. She stares at him for a long moment.
She holds his hand, rubs it. She goes to her bag, gets out the lotion, comes back to him.

Your hand is all dry.

She moisturizes his hand.

You can’t marry that girl, Doug. You can’t. Because what about me? What about me, huh?
When my dad died, when you… when you came to the funeral home that night… That stuff
you said to me… You’ re always doing that, you know? The top 10 best things anyone’s ever
done for me have all been done by you. That’s pretty good, right? And I know. I know I
know I know… I’m so stupid. I’m always. ..I’m just fucked up, you know that. And so I need
you to stick it out, Dougie. I’m gonna need you to come looking for me again. I’m sorry. But
you have to wake up now. You have to wake up for me. Because I’m not great, you know?
I’m not great. And I really need you right now. I really need you to come over and show me
some stupid shit again, tell me some stupid joke like you always do. I’m sorry I’ve been
gone. I’m back now. You know? I’m back now. So wake up. Wake up now, buddy. Just, you
know…rise and shine. It’s Tuesday. That was always your favorite day.

2. Mauritius by Theresa Rebeck

JACKIE:

Fuck you. You come in here, “This is so precious to me. These are my stamps. Me and my
fucking holy fucking grandfather. Oh, jewelry, you can have that Jackie!” The only problem
is they’re not worth a fucking dime! Calm down? That’s not exactly what I was thinking of
doing. More what I’ve been thinking about is finding some sort of plastic bag, you know?
Some sort of clear, strong plastic and finding a way to fasten that around your head with
some duct tape. Cause what I have is two tiny, tiny slips of paper. So small, they barely
exist. And I’m going to take them and I’m going to stab myself in the chest with a pair of
really sharp scissors and I’m going to take them and I’m going to put them inside my body
where my heart is supposed to be. And then I’m going to lay in the sun and have a
margarita ‘cause you know what I read on the internet today? Something called the Three
Skilling Banco got sold about ten years ago for two and a half million dollars. The One Cent
Magenta, some stamp from British Guiana, sitting in some zillionaire’s bank vault
somewhere, they think that’s worth maybe ten million dollars. And guess what else? Seven
years ago a pair of One and Two Penny Post Office Stamps went for six million dollars. At
auction. Can you believe that? Six Million dollars! And you come in here and you act like
you know something, like you have rights. You don’t know anything and you have no
rights. You left. The fucking apocalypse fell on this family and you left. And as a
consequence I have earned these fucking stamps and I’m going to sell them and if you think
you’re going to stop me, you’ll lose.

3. Blackbird by David Harrower (this is extremely long and quite a bit older but I
figure you could find some segments that could work)

UNA:

You said you wanted cigarettes.

You were going to look for a store, a bar.
I wanted to go with you but you said no I had to wit here, wait for you.
You’d be five minutes.
And then you touched me you
Kissed me between my legs
Your tongue
Both of my breasts.
You’d be back in no time.
I lay on the bed.
I listened to your footsteps going downstairs.
I wrapped the sheet around me and went over to the window.
I wanted chocolate
I tried to open it.
Whatever I ate then.
Candy.
Shout to you.
Chocolate.
But the window wouldn’t open.
I saw you down below, opening the front gate.
I knocked on the window but you
You were already walking along the street, the middle of the street.
You didn’t hear me.
I fell asleep and when I woke up I didn’t know the time.
I was sore between my legs but I felt wonderful.
You hadn’t come back yet but I was so happy.
My man would be back soon and he would have chocolate for me.
I didn’t need to tell him what I wanted.
You knew and you’d bring it to me.
But you still didn’t come.
The room was cold.
I got dressed, looked out the window.
Your car as still there across the road.
I could hear talking downstairs, not clearly.
But voices.
I walked down the stairs.
The front door was closed.
The only sound was a TV coming from a room.
The voices were from the TV.
The door was open a bit.
I knocked on the door.
Nothing happened.
No one was there.
I opened the front door and went out.
There was a shout as I was closing the door.
The woman.
I opened
Saw her
What are you or
Saw her walking towards me
And I, I shut the door and
Ran to the gate and out into the street and ran.
I walked into the center of town.
It was late.
Ten on the church clock.
The ferry left at midnight.
There wasn’t long.
You were nowhere.
A store was open, lights.
I asked inside if a man had bought some cigarettes.
He told me to get out.
He thought I was buying cigarettes.
I tried to describe you but he didn’t listen.
Then a bar.
You’d be inside having a drink and a smoke.
But I couldn’t go in.
I had to
All my courage
Wait till two men walked in
Follow behind them
And look for you
Walking around the bar.
Men making jokes, laughing.
What was a looking for?
You lost, honey?
I said my dad.
The man behind the bar asked me
We said I’d
In trouble
You were my dad.
Told him what you were wearing, what you looked like.
He’d seen you.
You’d been in.
Smoked a cigarette, had a drink, then left.
He was concerned, the man.
He asked me my name and I told him.
He wanted to walk with me, help me look.
I said no, no, no, I’m fine, I’m fine.
I kept walking.
Along the main street
A few people passed me.
I wanted to ask them if they’d seen you but I didn’t know what to say.
I went into another bar.
Everyone’s face turning to look at me, shouting, laughing.
I walked on and on.
I walked past houses
Getting further from the water.
I walked ten steps, ran ten.
You’d be at the next corner, the next.
Any moment.
And every car was you.
The houses stopped.
I was at the end of the town.
I looked out into the darkness.
I’d gone too far.
I’d walked too far.
I was at the end.
You
I’d missed you.
You were back at the guest house.
Looking for me, wondering where I was.
I’d
I ran.
I ran back.
I thought I was lost and then I wasn’t.
I could see the clock above the roofs.
I walked towards it.
It was eleven thirty.
We could still make the ferry.
I ran and ran.
I could see the guest house.
But your car had gone.
I checked
Walked up and down looking into all the cars but
And my bag was inside your car
With all my clothes
With everything.
And you were gone.
The clothes I’d brought.
But
And
The room
But it was dark, the window.
I didn’t know what to do.
Waited.
I sat on a bench.
I was freezing, hungry.
I wanted to know why you’d gone.
What I had done.
I was crying.
You’d left me.
You’d
Or something terrible had happened.
You’d been killed or drowned or
I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t go anywhere.
We wouldn’t be on the ferry.
We wouldn’t be leaving.
I didn’t know what to do.
Something had happened.
You wouldn’t have left me.
You wouldn’t have done that.
I heard midnight.
You weren’t coming.
I was alone.
A woman talked to me.
They saw me and crossed the road.
A man and a woman walking their dog.
They asked me what I was doing there.
Where did I live?
Who was looking after me?
I went back to their house.
They gave me blankets and called my parents.
I lay on their sofa and listened to her talk to my mother.
The police were there with her.
I felt sick.
I wanted to die.
I was never going to see you again.
I’d have to face all of them
Everyone
All of them
Alone.
I protected you.
Defended you.
Stayed
Stayed true.
I told the police you hadn’t touched me.
You’d done nothing.
I was a
I was a runaway.
I wanted to escape my parents, my house, my school.
You’d given me a lift in your car.
You’d helped me escape.
I’d asked you, begged you.
You’d driven me there and left.
You won’t know any of this.
They wanted to do tests.
Take samples out of me.
Doctors, police.
I refused.
No one was going to touch me.
I shouted, screamed
You’d done nothing.
You’d
I wanted you to
I wanted you back.
I
They drugged me.
Held me down and injected me.
Opened my legs and took
Took out your come.
Evidence.
They asked me what you’d done to me.
Then told me what you’d done to me when I wouldn’t.
You were only after one thing.
That’s why you’d disappeared.
You’d gotten what you’d wanted.
My my mother screaming at me.
She
The police, the
A woman psychiatrist who spoke
Always spoke so quietly.
Adults lie.
They want things from people and they lie to get them and, and don’t
They don’t even know they’re lying.
They do not know themselves.
I couldn’t hear her sometimes.
Had to ask
Repeat
Repeat what she’d said.
Did I know what I’d done?
Did I know that I’d hurt people?
People who loved me.
Did I want to hurt them?
And
For days.
What had you said?
What had you promised me?
What words
What words did you use?
And in court I sat in that other room and I spoke.
I cried.
You must have heard me.
I cried more than I spoke.
And then I
I said too much, I
The lawyers were furious with me.
It wasn’t what they wanted.
I couldn’t help it.
It was you.
You were in the courtroom and I couldn’t see you so I shouted.
I had to let you know.
You left me alone.
Bleeding.
You left me
You left me in love.
When they came home at the end
Into the house
My parents.
Not home.
The relatives house.
I was in the bedroom, waiting.
They were silent.
They didn’t move.
I sat and waited.
They didn’t come into the room.
I thought maybe you’d gotten off.
You’d been let go.
You’d be coming back to live beside us.
Until my dad
Later
Told me six years.
And in the night I woke up ad my mother was there.
Leaning over me.
Shouting that they’d been tried.
She’d been on the stand.
And my dad had to take her out of the room.
Pull her out of the room.
And
The judge.
What he said about me.
You’ll remember.
I had
Suspicious
Suspiciously adult yearnings.
When my mother told me that I didn’t know what it meant.
I hate the life I’ve had.
You wouldn’t know that.
I wanted you to know that.
I knew you’d forget about me.

4. Punk Rock by Simon Stephens

LILLY:
We all get scared William.

Sometimes the world is a bit unnerving. Some people do awful things but, and you need to
listen to this William, seriously, most of the time the world is all right. You need to get that
into your head and stop moping about.

Most people are all right.

They’re funny. They chat a bit. They tell jokes. They’re kind. They’re all right.

You know, ninety nine per cent of the people in the school are perfectly good people. Ninety
nine per cent of the young people in this country, William, and nobody ever says this,
ninety nine percent of the young people in this country do a really good job at the actual
work of being alive. They’ll survive. Happily. They’ll grow up. They’ll end up doing jobs.
Being married. Living lives which are perfectly good and reasonable and all right and happy
ones. That’s not a bad thing William. You know? What makes you think you’re any
different? What makes you think you’re so special?

When I was ten I used to get headaches.

They were properly fierce. It used to feel as though the front of my head was being carved
in two. They could really bring tears to my eyes. I didn’t tell my Mum about them for weeks.
But after about two weeks I did. I told her. She took me to the doctor and the doctor gave
me some aspirin and told me to drink more water and get some more fresh air and to eat
less sugar and so I did and the headaches went away.

Maybe you should tell somebody.

5. Close Up Space by Molly Smith Metzler (I don’t actually know if this one is
published but I can send you the play if necessary).

HARPER:

Now, can you hear me okay from over there? Can you see me okay from over there? I’m
going to tell you something, dad, and I’m only going to say it one time, so I want to make
sure you’re in a good place to hear it. I had to read Feather of a Dove in English class this
fall.

I will not be interrupted, tyrant! I am not afraid of you!

As I was saying, I had to read Feather of a Dove in English class this fall. Most people think
of it as her best work. Do you? Do you remember when she was writing Feather of a Dove,
dad? I do. It was right around that time that she came and signed me out of school that one
Friday. Remember that? She showed up at the junior high wearing a negligee and combat
boots with blue eye shadow up to her eyebrows and a court jester hat and said I had to
come help her create a Jackson Pollack kitchen? When I got home, she had flung bright
orange and red and yellow paint all over everything in the kitchen. All over the mugs and
the fruit and the sink. You don’t remember that? You painted the whole thing beige again
by morning. And then you came into my room and told me not to worry. She was just
having trouble getting through the draft and wasn’t’ working to her full potential. And I
said maybe she just needs a break dad. She seemed so happy with those paintbrushes…
laughing and dancing and splattering the kitchen—If you remember it differently, then
correct me, dad, correct me! Have you read feather of a dove? Have you read it? Have you
even read it dad? Because I had to. Feather of a dove was assigned to me. By a stranger.
At a school 3,000 miles away. And I read it alone in my dorm room. I had to face my entire
English class the next day and listen while they talked about narrative arcs and
protagonists and subtext and the teacher, Mr. Brennen, he actually called on me because I
think he forgot for a second who I was. And everyone turned around and stared at me. Did
Harper Hayes know what Gloria Hayes’ allegory was? There’s no allegory dad! There’s no
allegory because there’s no book. You see a dove in a book and I see Mom covered in paint
wearing combat boots scaring the shit out of everyone at my school when she came to sign
me out. She needed your help—she needed your help and you were like a drill sergeant,
draft after draft after draft--- What was wrong with her dad? She was the most vivid, huge,
unstoppable, funny, colorful, amazing woman and you didn’t do anything for her—you just
made her write! And then you stuck her stuff in storage and went back to work. And then
you exiled me so that you wouldn’t have to listen to me but “Each day, my sadness rages in
a daze, dad. It fumes, desiring a grand donation. I used to answer it while covering my face.
But I have no more tears or explanations.”

6. Lovers by Brian Friel

MAG #1:

Everything's so still. That's what I love. At a time like this, if I close my eyes and scarcely
breathe, I sometimes have very important philosophic thoughts--about existence and life
and etcetera. That's what people mean when they talk of a woman's intuitions. Every
woman has intuitions, but I think that pregnant women have more important intuitions
than non-pregnant women. And another thing, too: a woman's intuitions are more
important while she's pregnant than after she's had her baby. So when you see a pregnant
woman sitting at the fire, knitting, not talking, you can be sure she's having very important
philosophic thoughts about things. I wish to God I could knit. Years and years ago in
primary school I began a pair of gloves; but the fingers scootrified me and I turned them
into ankle socks . . . I think your father's a highly intellectual man, really, a born naturalist.
And your mother--she's so practical and so unassuming. That's what I want to be. One of
these days I'm going to stop talking altogether--for good--and people will say: Didn't Mrs.
Joseph Brennan become dignified all of a sudden? Since the baby arrived, I suppose. I think
now, Joe, it's going to be nineteen days overdue. And in desperation they'll bring me into
the hospital and put me on the treadmill--that's a new yoke they have to bring on labor.
Joan told me about it. An aunt of a second cousin of hers was on it non-stop for thirteen
hours. They keep you climbing up this big wheel that keeps giving away under you. Just like
the slaves in olden times. And after the baby's born they'll keep it in an oxygen tent for a
fortnight. And when we get it home it'll have to be fed with an eye-dropper every forty-nine
minutes and we'll get no sleep at all and—

(Sudden alarming thought)

--my God, you won't get asthma like your father when you get old, will you? Even if you do
I'll rub your chest with menthol and give you the kiss of life.

MAG #2:

There's something I want to tell you, Joe, and there's something I want to ask you as well.
And I think I'll ask you the thing I want to ask you before I tell you the thing I want to tell
you.

(Pause)

Joe.

My parents sleep in separate rooms. Do yours?

And do they--have they a single bed or a double bed?

I knew that was a real marriage. What I want. Like your parents. Joe, there's something I
want to try to explain to you, too.

I look at Papa and Mother, and Mr. and Mrs. O'Hara, and all the other parents and I think--I
think--none of them knows what being in love really is. And that's why I think we're
different. God, doesn't that sound stupid when you say it! But that's the way I feel, Joe. At
this moment--here--now--I'm crazy about you--and mad and reckless, so that I want to
shout to the whole town: I love Joe Brennan! I'm mad about him! I'd do anything for him!
D'you hear me, Mother Dolores? I love him so much--so much--that I want to--to become
him! Isn't that stupid? And when I look around me--at Papa and Mother and the O'Haras--I
think: my God we'll never become like that because--don't laugh at me, Joe--because I think
we're unique! Is that how you feel, too?

7. Appropriate by Brandon Jacob-Jenkins (In the published version of the play,

this character’s name is changed to River, I believe, and the text may be different.
This following is from an early draft).

TRISHA:

No, actually it’s the best. Franz is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know that he
has made some mistakes - who hasn’t - but life is long and I don’t think anyone should have
to waste the rest of theirs feeling like less than a person because of things they did when
they were under the influence –
Alcohol. Trust me, I’m familiar with it. It’s how we met - in recovery. But I had a strong
support system - I was just blessed enough to be born into the kind of stability I needed to
recover - the right environment. Frank wasn’t so lucky - This place... your father... your
mother’s dying when he was so young. I think Franz never got to mourn her properly, you
know? I think that’s probably why he was such a problem child in New Jersey - I know you
know that - I think that’s why you all tried to bring him out here. I get it. You wanted to give
him and his father a project - give them something to do, a chance to start over - but
sometimes you can’t force people to change. I mean, people can change. Yes, sometimes
people try and fail, but those people fail because they don’t understand where they are -
they can’t see that they need to change. And it takes time and distance and love. And I’m not
saying your father didn’t love Franz, because I think he did, but I think that your father was
also in mourning and its hard to be aware of others when you’re consumed with your own
grief. Franz really needed you and Bo, too, and I know you two were in a hard place -
starting your own lives, but Franz really needed your love and support, because where else
was he going to find it? Why can’t you give Franz a chance?

We’re having a baby. I’m pregnant. Franz doesn’t know yet. (Off Toni’s reaction) After the
house gets sold tomorrow, we're supposed to go camping in the woods out back.
It's this whole... cleansing... journey I planned for him. Reconnect with the Earth, with the
land the house is built on. Build a fire, make S'mores. Do all those stupid teenagery things
Frank never got to do here - feel joy here - and when we were climbing into our sleeping
bags to sleep under the stars, that was when I was going to tell him his life was about to
really change. (Beat) Anyway. I've told you, because I want you to know how serious I am.
And I want you and everyone else to be apart of this child’s life, okay? You and Bo are both
parents. He’s going to need your guidance and advice and support - and I also want this
child to be loved by a father who knows how to love it, because he knows what love is. Will
you help me?

8. Pocatello by Samuel D. Hunter

BECKY:

Excuse me? (Pause. BECKY closes her book) Do you know how many times a day people tell
me I don’t mean the thing I am very clearly saying? And do you know how many times a
day people try to tell me they know me better than I know myself because they were once
my age? (Pause) Do you know why I got suspended this morning? I was in history class.
We were talking about World War Two, and I tried to tell everyone about Nan King. Do you
know what that is? Of course you don’t. It’s a city in China, it was invaded by Japan in 1937
and 300,000 people were killed in six weeks. And I pulled out my phone and I typed “Nan
King” into google, and I started showing people pictures. Real pictures, stuff that actually
happened. And the principal said it was “graphic”, and I got suspended. For that. (Pause.) I
go to a school where I get suspended for showing people true things from history in a
history class.

(The following can possibly be added to the above?)

(Under her breath)...jesus...

My mom sends me to this psychiatrist, Dr. Kendall. The first time I saw him, he just sat
there clicking a pen over and over and after like five minutes he tells me I have bulimia.
And I’m like, no, I do not have bulimia, I don’t give a shit if I’m skinny or not. It’s just when I
eat stuff, all I can think about is where it came from. Like, how the animal was slaughtered,
or what third world country produced the lettuce, how many antibiotics and chemicals
have been pumped into it and I just—can’t fucking keep it down. So this idiot doctor tells
me I’m bulimic, so I need to take antidepressants.

9. Stage Kiss by Sarah Ruhl

ANGELA:

Nice to meet you, asshole. You sucked in the play.

I don’t mean to be rude, I just didn’t think you were very good. And I think my mom is
pretty good and I’ve never understood how good actors could have sex with bad actors, like
how could they not know. Actors must be dumb or something because they mismatch all
the time. But like I’m a painter and I think it’s pretty objective, it’s like, can you copy a
Renaissance portrait or can’t you? You can, great, so you’re decent at least, but with acting
it’s like, you’re just doing human behavior so who’s to say who’s better, but with painters, if
they sucked I’d be like, no you can’t get with me, don’t even try it. You don’t see good
painters fucking bad painters as much as you see good actors fucking bad actors, and you
are fucking right?

When did you start sleeping with the leading man?

(To He) So this is your place? It’s kind of dumpy. It’s kind of dumpy, Mom. I walked up like
ten flights of stairs. Do you have any food? I’m starving. Dad forgets to buy groceries when
you’re gone. And you can’t really eat leftover kung pao chicken on an empty stomach unless
you’re like totally hung over which I’m not.

You’re all such assholes. Marriage should be like a tattoo. You leave it on. That’s the point of
marriage and tattoos. There’s this new removable tattoo ink it’s such bullshit like why get
one if you want a removable one that’s like the definition of a tattoo, it’s forever. If you’re
that much of a fucking coward don’t get a fucking tattoo and don’t get married. Why’d you
even have me, you assholes. I hate you. You can’t even figure out if you have souls, Jesus, am
I just some fucking flesh in baggy clothes to you? Where are the grown-ups?

I’m out of here. I’ll just take my sandwich and go.

10. Really Really by Paul Downs Collaizo

GRACE:
An American Flag. A projection screen. Bizarre, tacky lighting. The sounds of a convention.
Almost a carnival. This is a meeting for the Future Leaders of America.

Hello future leaders! It is my great honor to welcome you to the 36th Semi-Annual Future
Leaders of America Conference. I am Grace Byrnes, your elected President, and I am going
to say a couple of words before we begin our retreat. First of all, you’ll have to excuse my
hand. In an effort to be well- rounded, I mis-stepped and am now dealing with the
consequences. I won’t fully believe in equal rights until I see a man in a business skirt and
heels. That said, I want to congratulate everybody here tonight and tomorrow for
participating in these events. The people in this room represent a new generation. We are
the beginning of a generation being dubbed by its predecessors as Generation Me. Growing
up we were told, “Don’t worry about what others think of you.” Boy do they regret teaching
us that one. The tragic flaw of our generation is obvious. The central concern for each
individual is on the me. Me. Me. I. I. I. My turn. Me first. A line? I don’t have to wait. A price?
I don’t have to pay. A test? I don’t have to study. A generation of self awareness and self
concern – where they make what we want and what we want is more me. What’s the
greatest invention of our generation? Personally, and probably for you too, I think it’s the
iPhone. The me phone. Somehow the ultimate device, for communication with others, no
less, is named in the long line of “I” products. The foundation of the marketing ploy
revolves around and relies on pure self-involvement because we are the target audience.
And it’s working. It’s a pandemic: this selfishness. But as I stand here, in front of my peers,
in front of the best and brightest and the most promising minds, I am forced to find the
good in us. The good in me. The good in you. And at the end of my search, I have found our
redeeming quality. The gem of this generation, and the upside to our selfishness, is the
invincibility we espouse. Sure, we may consider that the rules do not apply to us, but for
those at the top, our redeeming quality is that we look at obstacles in the same way. How
do we do this? The successful members of Generation Me, the iGeneration, have a secret
weapon. This weapon is composed of defiance and denial and greed, and yet is more
precious than gold. The weapon, our weapon, is the desire and tendency to answer a simple
question: What can I do to make this work? In any situation, what can I do to get what I
want? Some people, after college, will move back home and sit in their parents’ basements,
blaming the poor economy and the unfair job market. That’s how they will make this world
work for them. But what about us? Those of us left. The America this generation has been
given is not the America that this generation was told we would get. Is this the land of
opportunity? No. Now we’re dealing with the land of strategy. We can look at the hand that
we were dealt, realize that we have nothing, and rather than sulking, we can make up a
game where a 2 of clubs, a 4 of diamonds, a 9 and a 10 of hearts and the jack of spades is a
pretty darn good hand. Obstacles? We see none. Dilemmas? All the more fun. We will rise
to the top. We just have to find a way. And my advice? Find any way. So after the festivities
of tomorrow end, and after we adjourn for another half of a year, I will be proud to be a
representative of not only the Future Leaders of America, but more importantly of
Generation Me. Like me or not, this is what we’ve got. Who knew Hell and high water
could be so exciting? Thank you. And let’s have fun tonight!

GRACE 2:
Future Leaders of America Conference.

What are you about? In life. In your goals.

Grace searches her pockets one last time.

I had a speech written for this and I just... we all had a lot of fun at the mixer last night,
didn’t we? Too much fun, maybe.

She laughs and then gives up the search.

Ok. I know it. I’ll just – I’m going to talk to you all directly. Just sort of wing it. We’re all
friends here, right?

No response.

Ok.

Future leaders: we have all proven ourselves in some way or another to get here today.
Everybody here strives for success. For greatness. But as we conclude our conference, I
want each of you to put some thought into this question: What are you about? What is the
one thing that you want? We all want to be great, right? Well while a great part of the
formula for success is the ability to roll with the punches and say yes to what you are given,
a great part of the formula for excellence is knowing when to say no. When to examine an
opportunity, no matter how enticing it may be, and have the ability to weigh it next to what
you are about. A balloon is not a Crockpot. Who wouldn’t want to slow cook a delicious
dinner with the push of a button? It doesn’t get much better than that. But a balloon
cannot be a balloon and a Crockpot.

She starts looking again.

I swear I have this speech somewhere. It just – it gets a little complicated so I just want to
make sure ---

She takes a cue from someone offstage.

I know I know – we’re running out of time. Ok – what I was saying. A balloon is not a
crockpot. It can’t cook a meal.

Back on track.

And even if it could, even if a balloon could say yes to this ridiculous idea, making food in
itself, it would never fly quite so high if it was also cooking a turkey dinner at the same
time.
It’s not registering but she moves on anyway.

And what about that Crockpot? Say it got balloon envy and floated away. Even if it was the
best Crockpot ever made, what good is it now? You have to believe me that this was a very
great speech. But I hope you get the point. You have to be a balloon or be a Crockpot. You
have to do what you can do best. Your first priority is you, always. That’s what we’ve been
taught by those who came before us, and we have learned from the best.

Beat

Ok. That’s it. The conference has ended. The time has come to return from whence you
came. It was an honor to be your president this year. I will be speaking at next years
conference in an effort to pass on whatever I can to the generation after us. We have got the
world at our fingertips my fellow balloons. Or crock pots. Or staplers or wallpaper or
tambourines. Anyway. You are young. You are promising. You are you. And we... we are
the Future Leaders of America.

beat.
She walks off totally disgraced.

11. Landscape of the Body by John Guare

JOANNE:

You read in the papers today about the lady in Forest Hills who died and they couldn’t
figure out how she died? She was healthy. Well, you know how she died? She had this
beautiful beehive hairdo that she wore. Really intricate. Curls. Upswept. Spit curls. And she
didn’t want to damage it because her hairdo was really a work of art. Hairdo Magazine
hairdo wouldn’t get hurt when she went to sleep at night and you know what happened? In
Forest Hills, Queens, they traced that black widow spiders escaped and hid in her hair.
Somehow they ended up in her hair because they like dark places and the hair spray made
this shield like Gardol on the toothpaste commercial where the decay can’t get through the
toothpaste. And the black widow spiders got trapped within her hairdo in this wall of hair
spray and got panicked and couldn’t get out and at their way through her skull. Bit her in
the skull to get out and that’s how she died.

MARGIE:

Can I talk with you? I don’t want to go home yet, My mother’s watching television. My
father’s kicking ass in the living room. I went to the Waverly. My girlfriend held open the
exit door. They had this movie there. A French picture. Reading the bottom lines in English
while they’re all above talking French. This picture was all about children. And a little
French baby in the picture falls out of the nine-story window and lands nine stories on the
ground and all the grownups scared shitless and the baby - God, I screamed – lands on a
bush and jumps up and says “Baby falls boom boom”. The audience cheered. And later on
this French growup says “That’s childhood. They’re protected forever. In a magic circle. Bad
things happen to grownups but children are magic.” I think that’s what it said. I had to read
fast and I was crying. I don’t ever want to grow up. I’m afraid of getting out of school. I hate
what’s happening to my body. It’s like it’s a sin. I keep going to confession and confessing
that things are happening to my body and the priest says “But that’s growing up” and I say I
don’t want to grow up. I mean, I want to grow up so I can leave home and get a job and
make some money and get a record player and get married, but I want my body to stop
doing what it’s doing.

12. On the Shore of the Wide World by Simon Stephens

SARAH:

No. (She removes a contact lens and washes it as she speaks.) Everybody always thinks I
have because of our sisters. Kirsty used to take boys to the cinema and wank them off for a
fiver. And Lucy did it too for a bit. When I was in Year Seven they used to do that. I did it
once. This lad asked me if I would. I think he thought it must have run in the family. It was
fucking dead funny. He kept telling me I was doing it wrong. Couldn’t get it up. And then
did. And came on me. Should have seen his eyes. Like a dead person. It was just
ridiculous. He gave us a tenner. But I’ve never had sex. Not properly. So you don’t need to
panic. Or be nervous. We don’t eve need to do anything. Tonight. We don’t need to.

13. Harper Regan by Simon Stephens

SARAH:

Dad, don’t.

Beat.

College was fine. It is fine. I like it. It’s full of people. It’s so completely full of people that
sometimes it’s actually rather difficult to move in there. The overwhelming majority of
them are complete strangers to me. I’ve very glad about this because I have to say that I
find most of them odious and most of the rest ridiculous. There are about three people
who I like. But I like them enormously. The teachers nearly all look like they’re on the cusp
of some kind of a nervous breakdown. I think they thought sixth form would be easy. They
didn’t bank on sixth formers being like third years but much, much bigger and with better
weapons and more chaotic hormones. There are about two teachers who are fucking magic
but that’s not that bad a ratio all things considered.

The coffee machines are terrible.

They sell really good chicken nuggets in the canteen and I’ve already discovered that if you
stuff them with skittles you get a really fantastic buzz.

SARAH:
The day after you left, Dad fell off a ladder. He was changing a light bulb at the top of the
stairs and he fell off it and fell downstairs. I ran down to check he was all right. He’d got
up. He said he sprained his ankle. He could barely walk. He could barely speak. It was
nothing at all to do with the fall. It was completely your fault. You’re a selfish, thoughtless,
cruel woman and I never thought I’d say that about you but it’s true.

We had no idea where you were.

Dad was beside himself. I’d hear him at night. He kind of muttered, all night. Muttering
away to himself. In the morning he’d be up and about really early. Smiling. He’d make my
breakfast. Pack by bag. He gave me a fiver every day. I asked him if he was all right. He
kept going on about how fine he was. ‘I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.’ It was like a
drill. DDDDDrrrrrrr. He thinks it’s his fault that you left.

14. reasons to be pretty by Neil LaBute

STEPH:

Don’t speak for me. (Beat). You always wanna say shit for me, vouch for me or sign shit
that we should both have our names on and I’m not gonna have it anymore… you are not
me so you don’t know. (Sits forward). Listen to me very carefully, OK, ‘cause I’m oinly
gonna say this the one time. Fuck off…that’s what I want you to do, Greg, get the fuck out of
my life and leave me alone, let me start over in a serious fashion, maybe in a relationship or
not, I dunno, but if it is in something like that may it please, please be with someone who
can keep from being an asshole and thinking they know everything because you don’t. You
do not know a goddamn thing to do with me is what I’ve discovered in my four years with
you. Four years that are now gone… so totally lost and gone that it makes me cry when I
see any little bit from out time together. A key ring or, or your name light up on my phone
or…shit. (She starts crying). Fuck , fuck, fuck. (Greg tries to scoot closer and comfort her but
she pulls away like he’s holding a branding iron). STOP. Why would you…? God. Idiot.