Category Archives: death

ROUGH TRANSLATION

[A U.S. born Latina wearing nurse’s scrubs and a name tag that reads, “Rosa Hernandez.”)

“People think being a nurse is pretty straight-forward… you just help whoever needs help.

But sometimes is not that simple.

Like once, when I had this patient, an old Mexican widower who seemed very distinguished despite being in the final stages of dementia… There wasn’t much we could do for him, just make him feel comfortable while he was with us.

When his condition worsened and he became violent, the only solution was to keep him sedated…

From that point on, he seemed to forget English and only spoke in Spanish. This was a big problem for his children because none of them spoke a lick of it…

So when one of them saw my name, they grabbed me and asked me to translate.

But despite all appearances, I barely speak Spanish and only half understand it.

They seemed so desperate though… I couldn’t refuse.

So I listened to the old man, caught a word here and there, like “agua” or “frío” and then I made up the rest.

When his time came, we reduced the sedatives so he could say goodbye to his children… Oh, and did he ever!

Again, I’m not that confident about my Spanish, but I could swear he was saying how angry he was at them, how lonely he had felt the last years of his life, how ignored…

He had especially harsh words for his older son, whom I’m pretty positive he called the disappointment of his life.

To be fair, it was hard to tell if he really meant what he was saying, or if it was the drugs and dementia talking.

He rambled on for a while until he passed.

His children immediately asked me what his last words meant… So I told them: “He wanted you to know he loved you very much.”

They were all very thankful… especially his older son.

And that’s why I say my job’s not that simple…

I’m not sure who I helped that day.”


Are you an actor or director interested in using this monologue? Contact us in ABOUT MONOLOGY!

 Copyright Abel Gonzalez 2016

THE BARRICADE

EXTENDED VERSION

[A man in his mid-forties. He wears a suit unbuttoned at the collar, without a tie. He appears stressed, even tormented. There are big bags under his eyes]

“My wife and I were trying to conceive for years.

When all the other options failed we resorted to adoption.

After months of waiting, we were assigned to a young couple not able to care for their unborn baby… a boy.

The adoption agency said we could take him home right after the delivery, that the parents preferred it that way.

And so the baby was born on a Sunday night… and we were driving him home from the hospital by Monday at dawn.

We were so excited… especially my wife.

I was happy too, of course… but I was still getting used to it… you know, to the idea that from one moment to the next I was a father, that I was supposed to have a connection with this baby….

I didn’t have it yet, but I was confident I’d get there…

Then, just a few weeks later, we found the baby unconscious in his crib; he was very weak, pale… we rushed him to the hospital and waited while they ran tests… they were the longest hours of my life, I swear…

Long story short… he had leukemia.

He had a fifty-fifty chance of making it… and, of course, we swore to fight along with him, to do everything we could to keep him alive…

But on the inside, I was grappling with this horrible dilemma…

Should I let my love for that baby grow inside me, even if he could very possibly die at any moment?  Or should I keep a safe distance, guarding myself against whatever might happen?
It was not really a dilemma… the truth is I knew I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t love that sick baby… I didn’t know how.

My wife, unlike me, put up no barriers; she just loved the baby with all her heart… And that made it even harder for me to pretend, to conceal the fact that I didn’t feel anything for him.

But no one noticed it… I was by his side at the hospital every single night, I insisted on a second mortgage to pay for his treatment… I cried whenever he was in pain… although it was probably more for myself…

At the end the baby, my son, made it… the illness receded, like a miracle, and he started to grow as a normal child

He’s now four. His name is Eric, after me.

I still can’t get myself to love him.”


Are you an actor or director interested in using this monologue? Contact us in ABOUT MONOLOGY!

 Copyright Abel Gonzalez 2016

AROUND THE NECK

[A thirty-seven-year-old woman with a serious demeanor, unconcerned with her appearance. She holds a rustic necklace made of colored beads.]

“I visited the Amazon jungle about ten years ago as part of an anthropological expedition.

After zigzagging up the river for a week, we crossed paths with a small nomadic tribe.

At first, we thought they were Tupinambás, but we soon concluded they were an unclassified community… so we decided to stay with them and document their culture.

It took two or three days before we started gaining their trust. Finally, one night, we were allowed to join them around the fire and witness a peculiar rite of passage.

At the beginning of the ceremony, the tribe’s shaman presented necklaces, like this one, to a group of teenagers.

Each necklace had several white beads, as many as the years that teenager had been alive.

Then the shaman gave them bags with a hundred color beads inside. He instructed them to blindly pick beads from the bags and then string them on their necklaces in that same order.

From what I was able to grasp, red beads represented prosperous years; blue, disastrous ones; green, marriage and progeny; yellow, sickness. And out of the hundred beads in the bag only one was black. It signified death and would be the last bead on the necklace.

So, for example, if a boy picked a green bead for his twentieth year… that’s when he’d presumably get married or have a child… or if he picked a black bead for his fortieth year, that’s when he’d die.

Later, the shaman told us that the necklaces were not meant to be a method of divination or as a way to predetermine the youngsters’ futures. It was just a guide, an inexact map to remind them of some milestones to come.

Still, only a few tribe’s members understood the purpose of their necklace as a symbol. Most of them believed so blindly in its power that they would end up getting married, or having kids, even dying on the year corresponding to the order of the beads.

It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?

That’s what I thought too.

Before the ceremony was over, the shaman invited me to make a necklace.

I picked the black bead for my thirty-second birthday.

I’m thirty-seven now… sometimes I feel like I’m living on borrowed time.”


Are you an actor or director interested in using this monologue? Contact us in ABOUT MONOLOGY!

 Copyright Abel Gonzalez 2016