Characters:
Theodore – Nondescript middle-aged man, thin.
Noise – Unseen character, offstage, triggering the sounds, the audience of Theodore's monologue.
Stage Directions:
The stage is to be obstructed by a matte-black wall, with all front-stage light bulbs removed, creating an unpierceable wall of darkness save for one 10x5 (width x depth) cut-out, which should contain: a claw-foot, curtainless, white bathtub with shower, preferably with seemingly antiquated features (head, faucet, etc.). 'Noise' should be positioned stage-left, behind the wall and eight feet from the cutout. All house lights must be killed and with the addition of no stage lights, should create a stifling darkness in the theater, all except one dimmed (a grease-covered dim) spotlight angled from the audience onto the bathtub.
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Act I
(Bring up the light on the bathtub. Theodore is sitting on his bent legs, naked, in warm water. He is facing stage-left, should be smoking a cigarette, hair damp but not too wet. Directly in front of him comes a soft creaking sound, not unlike a person walking on old, hardwood floors)
Theodore – (visibly shaken) Ah, here we are again: a bleak, black, evening – on a Tuesday, I suppose – and I haven't got a thing to wear. I can hear you out there, I know you're growing impatient, but that isn't my problem, now is it? (to still silence) You think I don't understand what you're doing? What kind of game you think you're playing? This is a fucking joke, and you know it.
I've been drinking for the past six days; I've been home for seven. There have been 240 ounces
of malt liquor, three bottles and a box of wine, six grams of marijuana, and starvation. (to self)
Who knew that after a few days of not eating I would start to look this good. (to the silence)
You know, it really isn't that hard to maintain: a cigarette when you're hungry, a glass of wine
when the thirst begins to set in. You start to shake after a day, but it isn't too bad.
(Theodore accidentally drops his cigarette in the water. As he thrashes the water, frustrated,
another creaking can be heard from the same location)
Theodore – (louder and annoyed) Will you calm down? (to self) Sonofafuckingbitch... (to the silence)
Yes, yes, yes, trust me, I am coming. It's just that I've dropped my...
(at this, Theodore begins to cough, which begins as a mild clearing-of-the-throat, and quickly leads a massive coughing fit. This should transpire over the course of about twenty seconds
and, upon conclusion, should climax with drying-heaving)
Theodore – (shaking) It's going to take more than that, you know. Yesterday, for instance, I vomited
nothing but wine and bile, it's no wonder I haven't needed to suck in my abdomen any longer
today. Now, you know that I am not exactly certain where this all came from originally; why every glass in my room is an ashtray and how striking it is with its musk of smoke and evaporated alcohol. You know what's truly funny about all of this, though? I've decided to be open about these moments, this time around; however, I've been using a great deal of discretion when deciding what details I should be obfuscating. See, don't you understand that you have to do that some of the time? That you must deny your dearest darlings the truth of your experience? It really is rather awful.
(Another, subtly louder, creak can be heard from offstage. Theodore grabs, and lights, another cigarette, smoking quite consistently)
Theodore – (all of a sudden very sullen) I can see how it is all being wasted now; I can see where the
structure is cracking and failing, where it has been decomposing for years. It starts off in that
tiniest sort of way, kind of in the sense of a tear in a pair of jeans. (abruptly stops, grabs a
tumbler from behind the tub, and sips whiskey deeply from the glass) It really is getting exciting
now, isn't it? Slow progressions, slow degradation, slow comfort, and slow collapse. It's all part
of the same game if you want my honest opinion.
(Theodore brandishes a straight-razor, but not one of cartoonish aesthetic, and starts to lather his
his face with cream from the side of the tub. He begins shaving. Another creak, audibly
identical, is heard)
Theodore – I can really start to feel the hunger setting in. Perhaps it is almost time to eat again. Maybe
that's what will stop the shaking, maybe if I can just stop the shaking. I think then that I might
be able to brush my teeth, which have become stained from the barrage of wine and smoke. I
think I may call my father when I get out of here and grab this meal. I hope that the shaking
might stop at that point.
I am curious how much a body can take, all-in-all? I can feel myself swaying and growing weak
in a matter-of-fact sort of way that I'm not to sure if I am supportive of. I suppose, at first, that
this was an attempt at the same sort of emaciation that I was feeling, but I am beginning to not
be able to rationalize it. Hypothesis doesn't also lead to success. And that is tonight's barren fact.
(To silence) I can tell that you are still out there, sulking, stalking, ruining. What is it with you
and your sullen attempts at rumination? Just regurgitating your same, tired opinions, over-and- over. I can feel them just sitting there... Telling me these lies, impossible facts, I don't even care
to understand anymore. There is chicken rotting in the refrigerator, you should probably check
that. I am not too sure if I care to take this any longer. It's getting rather difficult to breath in
unison and I just want some honest sleep. I can hear you creaking, (rhythmically) day-in-and- day-out, waiting for some kind of grand gesture. I gave it to you three nights ago, don't you even remember?
(Theodore cuts himself shaving. There is a thin slice and dripping blood in the water coming
from the left of his face. Instead of reacting, he just sits in silence. There is another creaking, this time louder, and a lighter thud soon follows)
Theodore – Why is the effect that water has on thicker, colored liquids so much more interesting than,
say, a moment of anybody else's time? I think that it is safe to say, let alone abundantly clear,
that I am growing tired of falling into your company. I appreciate how you try to scrub the filth
from under my nails, but it still doesn't exorcise what has really grown, festered, and when you
always come back, just like you do, and you always do, it always just hurts, tighter and harder.
There are blisters on these lips from cigarettes. This is a new one. I think I might be dying right
now. It is still really all up in the air.
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