Fences

'Fences' by August Wilson

Summary: Rose finally tells Troy how she feels

ROSE: I been standing with you! I been right here with you, Troy. I got a life too. I gave eighteen years of my life to stand in the same spot with you. Don’t you think I ever wanted other things? Don’t you think I had dreams and hopes? What about my life? What about me? Don’t you think it ever crossed my mind to want to know other men? That I wanted to lay up somewhere and forget about my responsibilities? That I wanted someone to make me laugh so I could feel good? You not the only one who’s got wants and needs. But I held on to you, Troy. I took all my feelings, my wants and needs, my dreams…and I buried them inside you. I planted a seed and watched and prayed over it. I planted myself inside you and waited to bloom. And it didn’t take me no eighteen years to find out the soil was hard and rocky and it wasn’t never gonna bloom.

But I held on to you, Troy. I held you tighter. You was my husband. I owed you everything I had. Every part of me I could find to give you. And upstairs in that room…with the darkness falling in on me…I gave everything I had to try and erase the doubt that you wasn’t the finest man in the world. And wherever you was going…I wanted to be there with you. Cause you was my husband. Cause that’s the only way I was gonna survive as your wife. You always talking about what you give…and what you don’t have to give. But you take, too. You take…and don’t even know nobody’s giving!

Reasons to be Pretty

'Reasons to be Pretty' by Neil LaBute

Summary: Greg, Kent and Carly work in a warehouse; Steph is a hairdresser all in their 30’s they are trying to come to terms with life in their dead-end jobs. There are hook-ups and breakups and struggles to keep friendship alive, but this play is mostly about the power of language and listening.

CARLY: I’m very attractive. I am. I’ve always been that way but it’s no great big deal to me—if anything, it’s worked against me for most of my life. (Beat.) It’s about this (Points.) My face. I was born with it, people. That’s all. I have been given this thing to wear around, my features, and I’m stuck with it. And yes, over the years it’s gotten me things, I won’t lie about that, dates and into clubs that I really wanted to get into or smiles from my father . . . but as I got older it suddenly became a kind of, I dunno what, but almost like a problem. A real bother that I don’t have any control over. (Beat.) Listen, I’m not stupid, I know I should be thankful, that I should pray to heaven and be happy that I’m not scarred or missing an ear—I know girls who hate, I mean, despise their noses and mouths or the fact that their eyes are too far out on their faces . . . I don’t have any of those problems and I’m happy about that. I look in the mirror and I see some beautiful woman looking back at me; my worst day, a line or two, a little pale or whatnot, but a really good face in there. Smiling. I’m not saying that I don’t understand how I got lucky in many ways, I do get that, I do, I just want folks to comprehend that beauty comes with a price, just like ugly does. A different one, of course, and I’ll take what I’ve got, but I’ve cried myself to sleep at night because of who I am as well, and you should know that . . . (Beat.) I hope my baby’s OK,—did I mention that we found out it was a little girl? But I really hope she’s no more than pretty, that’s my wish. That she’s not some beauty queen that people can’t stop staring at because I’d hate that for her . . . to be this object, some thing that people can’t help gawking at. ‘Cause if she is— born like I was, is what I’m saying—if she ends up with a face that is some sorta magnet for men, the way I’ve been . . . I’d almost rather it was a situation where she was oblivious to it—not blind or anything, I wouldn’t wish that on her, but close. Some sort of oblivion that gets pasted over her eyes so she can go about life and not be aware that people are cruel in many ways. . . not just with their words but with the ways they look at you and desire you and, and, and . . . almost hate you because of it. (Smiles.) I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get all heavy or anything, but I do think about it sometimes. My shift at work’s kinda long, you know? It is . . . so I’ve usually got some time on my hands to, you know. . . whatever. Think, I guess.

AN IDEAL HUSBAND

MABEL:

Well, Tommy has proposed to me again. Tommy really does nothing but propose to me. He proposed to me last night in the music room, when I was quite unprotected, as there was an elaborate trio going on. I didn’t dare to make the smallest repartee, I need hardly tell you. If I had, it would have stopped the music at once. Musical people are so absurdly unreasonable. They always want one to be perfectly dumb at the very moment when one is longing to be perfectly deaf. Then he proposed to me in broad daylight this morning, in front of that dreadful statue of Achilles. Really, the things that go on in front of that work of art are quite appalling. The police should interfere. At luncheon I saw by the glare in his eye that he was going to propose again, and I just managed to check him in tome by assuring him that I was a bimetallist. Fortunately, I don’t know what bimetallism means. And I don’t believe anybody else does either. But the observation crushed Tommy for ten minutes. He looked quite shocked. And then Tommy is so annoying in the way he proposes. If he proposed at the top of his voice, I should no mind so much. That might produce some effect on the public. But he does it in a horrid confidential way. When Tommy wants to be romantic he talks to one just like a doctor. I am very fond of Tommy, but his methods of proposing are quite out of date. I wish, Gertrude, you would speak to him, and tell him that once a week is quite often enough to propose to anyone, and that it should always be done in a manner that attracts some attention.

LOVE, LOSS AND WHAT I WORE

HEATHER: I look gorgeous in high heels. Everyone looks gorgeous in high heels. But my feet hurt. My little toe was always crushed. I had a bunion. I was in so much pain, I couldn’t think. I had to choose- heels or think. I chose think. So I bought some chic flat shoes. I made a lot of mistakes. I bought these turquoise blue Marc Jacobs flats that the salesman talked me into because he said they had “toe cleavage”. I’d never heard of toe cleavage. Anyway, I realized that chic flat shoes are almost as uncomfortable as heels, and don’t do that amazing thing for your legs. Fortunately, at just about that time, I met an unbelievably stylish woman who was wearing Birkenstocks. When I was in High School, I was a Doc Martens girl, and Birkenstocks symbolized everything I didn’t want to be. They were incredibly uncool and the girls who wore them had big dirty toes that stuck out the ends. You absolutely could not be friends with a person who wore Birkenstocks. But this stylish woman wore her Birks with baggy cords and a Comme de Garcons sleeveless shirt. It was a revelation. The next day I went out and got a pedicure and a pair- dark brown, standard style. I realized that Birkenstocks were actually the coolest, punk-est shoes a girl could wear. They were a statement: “Look, these are my feet, we all have them. Okay?” My husband had a slightly different opinion. He hated my Birkenstocks. He said they made me look like a troll from Middle Earth. And once, when the Yankees were in the playoffs, he made me take them off before coming into the same room as the TV so I wouldn’t hex the team. After we split up, you’d think I’d have stuck with my Birkenstocks, but no. I started wearing heels again. Oh the pain, I can’t think. But I look gorgeous. I had to choose- heels or think. I chose heels.

Goodbye Charles

Comedic female monologue from the play Goodbye Charles
By Gabriel Davis

(Monologist stands in front of her soon to be ex-husband)

I ate them. That’s right. I ate the divorce papers, Charles. I ate them with ketchup. And they were good...goooood. You probably want me to get serious about our divorce. The thing is you always called our marriage a joke. So let’s use logic here: If A we never had a serious marriage then B we can’t have a serious divorce. No. We can’t. The whole thing’s a farce, Charles – a farce that tastes good with ketchup.

I mean, wasn’t it last week, your dad asked you the reason you walked down that aisle with me, and you said “for the exercise.” Ha, ha. That’s funny. You’re a funny guy, Charles. I’m laughing, not a crying. Ha, ha. I’m laughing because you’re about to give up on a woman who is infinitely lovable.

For instance: Paul. He has loved me since the eighth grade. Sure, he’s a little creepy, but he reeeeally loves me. He’s made one hundred twenty seven passes at me, proposed forty seven times, and sent me over two hundred original love sonnets. He sees something in me, Charles. And he writes it down, in metered verse!

And that’s not something you just find everyday. Someone who really loves everything about who you are as a person. Paul may be insane, but I value his feelings for me.

I would never ask him to sign his name to a piece of paper promising to just turn off his feelings for me forever. But that’s what you’re asking me to do, for you. To sign away my right to...to that sweet voice Charles, those baby brown eyes, the way your hands feel through my hair before bed...

Those aren’t things I want to lose. In fact, I won’t lose them. I won’t lose you. I’ll woo you. I’ve written you a sonnet. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day. Thou art more lovely and more temperate, rough winds do shake the darling buds of may and...”  I’m not crying. I’m laughing. It’s all a big joke. It’s very funny, Charles. I keep waiting for you to say “April Fools.” Then I’ll rush into your arms and... But you’re not going to, are you? No. Of course not. It’s not April.

I, I didn’t really write that sonnet, you know. Paul did. I think it’s good.

You see, the truth...the truth is, Charles, I ate the divorce papers, I ate them, because I can’t stomach the thought of losing you.

Brighton Beach Memoirs

'Brighton Beach Memoirs' by Neil Simon

Summary: Nora Morton is a beautiful and ambitious 16-year-old girl with dreams of Broadway. She's often resentful of her younger sister and angry at her father for dying

NORA: How would you feel if your entire life depended on what your Uncle Jack decided?…Oh, God, I wish Daddy were alive.

Oh, God, he was so handsome. Always dressed so dapper, his shoes always shined. I always thought he should have been a movie star…like Gary Cooper…only very short. Mostly I remember his pockets.

When I was six or seven he always brought me home a little surprise. Like a Hershey or a top. He’d tell me to go get it in his coat pocket. So I’d run to the closet and put my hand in and it felt as big as a tent. I wanted to crawl in there and go to sleep. And there were all these terrific things in there, like Juicy Fruit gum or Spearmint Life Savers and bits of cellophane and crumbled pieces of tobacco and movie stubs and nickels and pennies and rubber bands and paper clips and his grey suede gloves that he wore in the winter time.

Then I found his coat in Mom’s closet and I put my hand in the pocket. And everything was gone. It was emptied and dry-cleaned and it felt cold…And that’s when I knew he was really dead.

Oh God, I wish we had our own place to live. I hate being a boarder. Listen, let’s make a pact…The first one who makes enough money promises not to spend any on herself, but saves it all to get a house for you and me and Mom. That means every penny we get from now on, we save for the house…We can’t buy anything. No lipstick or magazines or nail polish or bubble gum. Nothing…Is it a pact?

Brighton Beach Memoirs

Brighton Beach Memoirs

Summary: Nora Morton is a beautiful and ambitious 16-year-old girl with dreams of Broadway. She's often resentful of her younger sister and angry at her father for dying

NORA: I can’t believe it. You mean it’s alright for you to leave us but it wasn’t alright for me to leave you?

It was my future. Why couldn’t I have something to say about it? I need to be independent.

So I have to give up the one chance I may never get again, is that it? I’m the one who has to pay for what you couldn’t do with your own life. I’m not judging you. I can’t even talk to you. I don’t exist to you. I have tried so hard to get close to you, but there was never any room. Whatever you had to give went to Daddy, and when he died, whatever was left you gave to Laurie…

….I have been jealous my whole life of Laurie because she was lucky enough to be born sick. I could never turn a light on in my room at night or read in bed because Laurie always needed her precious sleep. I could never have a friend over on the weekends because Laurie was always resting. I used to pray I’d get some terrible disease or get hit by a car so I’d have a leg all twisted and crippled and then once, maybe just once, I’d get to crawl into bed next to you on a cold rainy night and talk to you and hold you until I fell asleep in your arms…just once…