Tuesday, January 29, 2008

In Lieu of Actual Content

My Creative Writing assignment for next week is a one page monologue. I'm supposed to get into my character's voice, and stay there.

I decided, being me, to do an internal monologue, because, well, I actually have those all the time. And it's hard for me to write an actual monologue because I keep thinking about whoever the character is talking to, and the things that the other person would say. My monologues always get interrupted.

So, and I'm not really sure why I chose this particular subject, I banged out the first draft of an internal monologue of a woman waiting for an ex boyfriend that she never really got over. Don't ask me, it's what popped into my head when we got the assignment, so I ran with it. Give input, both good and bad, folks, because I know it needs some more work, but what I think it needs and what you think it needs may be two very different things... and you might be more right than I am. So, I give you... um... Girl with Issues.


He’s coming. I know he’s coming. He’d better be coming, here I am sitting at this bar, waiting for him, I was always waiting for him. He’s the one who called me, he’s passing through, he wants to get a drink and catch up.

Five years since we were together, I thought he was the love of my life, and then he says he needs to find himself, runs off to Texas. What the hell is in Texas? I didn’t hear from him for a year, wondered if he was dead. There’s a long list of things I want to say, to ask. Why did he leave, who was he with, did he think about me at all or was he just as much of a selfish prick as it seemed all those nights lying alone in bed cold and crying.

He broke my heart and he comes waltzing back into my life not a care in the world doing great he says, everything’s changed. He misses me he says, me and our late night discussions on everything in the world and nothing at all.

He sounded like it never mattered to him, like there’s nothing left unsaid.

He’s coming. He’s just a little late, he said he might be. He’d better hurry up or I won’t wait for him. He told me not to wait for him, then. He said he couldn’t let me wait for him, that I should move on.

Well, I have, and I’ll show him, I’m over him. I have a good life and I’m happy.

Twenty minutes after he said he would be here, maybe he’s not coming, maybe I should leave. Maybe my watch is broken. But here I am in a bar in a dress, this dress looks damn good on me, show him what he missed out on, while we have drinks and talk about old times, and maybe a dance or two. Not too much dancing, these heels will kill me if I dance too much, but they make my legs look like they go on for miles.

Maybe he’s caught in traffic, I’ll wait a little longer. I’ve been sitting here sipping a drink and watching the door, I’ve got a good view of the door when he walks in I should see him first. Smile at the bartender, so I can check my reflection in the mirror over the bar, do I have lipstick on my teeth?

There he is it’s him he looks just like he used to, nothing’s changed except for the suit and tie. He’s still got his hair and he still works out and he’s still got that smile that made me melt, good thing I’m immune. Here he comes, chin up, give him a bright smile, and let him know that I don’t miss him. Let him know that I don’t miss him at all.

Oh, god, I’ve missed him so much.