Fear
A Monologue
INTERIOR. LIVING ROOM. DAY.
Tommy, a 20-something male, is pacing around his living room, thinking out loud. No one else is home.
Tommy
(Tommy, pacing)
You all want me to write about fear? That’s the word prompt for Writer’s Group this week? F**k that! I don’t want to think about fear. I don’t want to be another Neil Moss dying alive in the depths of a cave during a daring expedition and cemented in for posterity. Who thought of this stupid prompt anyway?
(Tommy gazes out the window)
Listen to that bird over there. It’s practically screaming. Little helpless baby birds tucked away behind the air conditioning unit. And, the parent on the electric wire singing its lungs out. That is a protective parent. But, what is a protective parent if not a scared parent anyway? Aren’t all parents scared? That is fear.
(Tommy resumes pacing)
I’d rather laugh than write about fear. What do they say? Smile in the face of fear or some nonsense like that? Was Neil Moss smiling as the oxygen slowly vanished and his consciousness was lost? Does anyone else ever get so scared they grin and know it’s wrong? Or, worse, someone is angry, and you can’t stop smiling? It happens to me all the time. And, boy does it piss people off.
So fear. What I’m scared of? I’m scared of falling in love. If I manage to never fall in love, I will never need open-heart surgery. Because heartbreak is inevitable. Leave the happy endings to the Rom-Com writers. Happy endings are a farce and they know it.
(Tommy, smiling with a sudden realization)
I will never be asked, “So Tommy, when are you and Margaret, Lila, Becky…, going to make us grandparents?” Yeah, I guess you could say I’m scared of falling in love. I’m scared of being a parent. So, no long-term relationships. I mean, I’m upfront about it with the women I date at least.
And, children scare me. They’re the only ones allowed to drool, throw tantrums and shit their pants in public. They’re grimy and when they’re old enough, they have opinions, so many opinions. And, you can’t argue with them or you look like a jerk. Yeah, children are pretty scary.
(Tommy, pauses in his pacing, looks up and rolls his eyes)
I mean, the group is probably expecting me to equate fear with horror movies or a serial killer attacking me in the middle of the night. Maybe a stabbing at a gas station. I mean — yeah that’s scary.
(Tommy sits on his couch and sighs)
But, if you really want me to dig deep into what I fear…It’s giving myself over to love. And, boy, does that piss me off.
(Tommy speaks as he exits stage left)
I think I’ll go heat up a hot dog and skip writing group this week.
END
