Category Archives: love

A GLORIOUS FAILURE

[A man in his twenties, he has a preppy look. Very eloquent and passionate, he talks with his hands]

Julian Pedrales was a Spanish architect, back in the eighteenth century.

The son of a peasant, he was destined to follow his father’s destiny… if it weren’t because his drawing skills convinced some local officials to patron him.

After finishing his studies at the Academy, he became an apprentice, then an assistant to a famous architect… whose work Julian would finish without getting credited for it.

Judging by his meager accomplishments, you’d think he wasn’t very ambitious. But that’s not true. He was… to a fault.

He was obsessed with building a massive cathedral, one with the biggest nave and the tallest steeple in Europe.

For over thirty years, he used his own money to travel to every court, to hustle for the favor of nobles and churchmen…
Unfortunately, the enormity of his project –so expensive, so technically challenging– discouraged anyone but Julian to attempt it.

Toward the end of his life, he retired to a small patch of land near his hometown. He built himself a house there, nothing too fancy…
He also built a small chapel on a hill nearby. It barely took him three months to complete it.

I visited the chapel years ago. It was already getting dark when I reached it. The façade was unassuming but beautiful in its simplicity.

To my surprise, there were some lit candles inside, the light reflecting on the stone walls, making it look like a shiny womb, warm and inviting.

I walked inside… sat on a bench. The place was tiny; the walls, bared…

I felt closer to god. And I’m not religious…

There, I realized that, occasionally, people triumph despite their own ambitions.


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 Copyright Abel Gonzalez 2017

GOODBYE/HELLO

[A young black man, skinny and short. He has a calmed stare and a soothing speaking voice.]

“I’ve worked at the airport cafeteria for over ten years now, but my dream was to go to college, become a teacher. And I would have if my very religious father wouldn’t have kicked me out of the house the day I told him I’m gay.

I was barely eighteen; I had to hustle to survive. But I don’t hold any grudges against my father… even though he had nothing to do with me for years.

Well, maybe I do have one grudge against him for not letting me visit my grandmother on her deathbed. He didn’t even allow me to attend her funeral mass.

She had been a very important part of my childhood, of my emotional upbringing, and it hurt so much to know I’d never see her again. I thought I’d missed my last opportunity to say goodbye to her, to let her know how much I loved her.

Although I tried not to think too much about it, I got obsessed… so much so, that every night after my shift at the cafeteria was over, I would walk up to the departures terminal of the airport. There, snuggled up in a corner, I would watch the travelers saying good-bye to their families, their partners, their friends, with hugs, tears, kisses… and I’d imagine those strangers were me and my grandma, saying our good-byes to each other.

It was like therapy; I thought it’d help me close the wound of not getting my chance.

Until one night, right when I was about to leave the airport, I saw a couple hugging in the middle of the terminal. There was something special in the way they were embracing, with desperation, with anxiety. I couldn’t stop staring. I knew that’s how I’d have said goodbye to my grandma, with that intensity and sincerity.

I felt so sad, my eyes started watering.

But then the couple held hands and walked toward the airport exit while the woman insisted on helping the man, who had only just arrived, with his luggage.

That’s when I started crying… out of joy, when I realized that saying hello and saying goodbye were very similar, mirror images of the same experience; two extremes whose mutual attraction keep the cycle of existence spinning.

Anyway…

I now sit in the arrivals terminal each night after work. There, I watch people greeting and welcoming each other, just like grandma and I will do whenever we reunite again.”


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

 Copyright Abel Gonzalez 2016

ZOMBIE HATE

[A seventy-year-old drunk, skeletal and haggard.]

I sometimes wish zombies existed.

And no, I’m not crazy…I just miss my dead daughter.

I don’t want her to come back as a zombie either. That’d be awful, worse than missing her. She didn’t just up and die anyway… she was murdered. There’s a big difference.

Although I didn’t give her much thought when she was alive. I couldn’t.  I was brimming with hate and anger; always shit-faced drunk or just sober enough to make some money for more booze. I was also an asshole to her and to her mother.

But on the day she got murdered, when the police caught the sonofabitch and they told me how he had made my little girl suffer, just out of pleasure… well, I stopped drinking right then and there. It was easy. I didn’t want to drown my pain anymore. I needed it so I could focus it on the murderer, with all its intensity, all its venom.

During the trial, I wished they would let him go free… so I could kill him myself. But they sent him to jail. Many years.

And me? Well, I remained sober, got a job, cleaned up my act. I even started exercising. I just wanted to be alive when that sonofabitch got out. I was tempted by religion too but, again, I didn’t want anything  interfering with my hate.

Thirty years went by. I lived a normal life. Uneventful. I didn’t suffer. Didn’t feel pleasure. I just did the time with him…waiting for mine to come.

And it did.

The day he got out, I followed him into an alley and shot him six times. Then went straight to the first bar I saw and got drunk.

I’ve been drunk since… because as soon as killed that sonofabitch, I knew my hate  wouldn’t die along with him. And indeed, it’s still inside me, more painful than ever.

That’s why I said I wish zombies existed… because if that sonofabitch was one of them, I could spend the rest of my life killing him time and time again.

But I’m afraid this hate of mine is the only possible zombie.

It must be because I don’t see a way to get rid of it.


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

 Copyright Abel Gonzalez 2016