Monologue for Young Adults 4: Thirty More (10/31)

 

[This is an installation in a series I began in 2017. Each stands alone as its own piece.]

Monologue 1: Housing --  Monologue 2: Green Thumb -- Monologue 3: Secession

30 years? Damn. No, like... okay, yeah, we know I'm bleak. But making it to 60? I can't imagine it. No honestly, I can't! Like, making it to 30 last year was a gift in itself. And you're talking about retiring at 60. Whew, those benefits must be amazing! I mean, yeah, they better be if you're putting your life on the li-- I just didn't know we could do that. Not the at 60 party, retiring in general. I thought it'd be all dried up by the time whomever among us survived that long. Or we'd be 74. Yikes, nah definitely don't want that. Listen, my knees are already locking up. I can't drop it low like a bitch used to. I can't club at 74. And make no mistake, knowing millennials and our liberal aversion to children, there will definitely be clubs for the elderly. And I have... mature friends, so don't call me ageist. I love them, respect them, honor and cherish them. If anything they've showed me that making it past 40 doesn't have to be boring, it can be fulfilling. But that's a strength I have not yet acquired, and I'm more than happy to bitch out.

[laughs] Me. Elderly. [laughs again] Bitch, I'm tired now! I can't do another 30 years of this. Like, the first time around, easy. Barely noticed. Wasn't truly conscious until I was four. Didn't get a job til I was eighteen cause I never left the house before then. Didn't really start paying bills til I was 21, 22. And yeah, I've realized this before, but you want me to survive 30 years paying bills!? Mmm, I'll give you 20 and then drop. Listen, get your time in with me now. I'm not taking care of this already defective body any longer than I have to. They start making cyborgs, then we can talk. But til then, I'mma keep drinking this drink and just see how long I make it before I crash and total this thing. 

Mm, so let's make a toast and a pact! Cause I see all your faces souring. We're friends; we're tight; we love each other more than we love our families. We keep each other alive, but as soon as one of slips and we're all gathered around your hole in the ground or your urn, we just let it go. Fuck it. Party til our worlds end. Last one left throws themselves in the grave or crematory too. You in?

Word

~~

If you like what you read, please consider tipping the author.

venmo.com/cgwacko
cash.app/$cgwacko

Charles and Jr., 4th Grade Drama Queens

A fragrant aroma filled the kitchen as Jr’s mother open the deep fryer. She grabbed her tongs and carefully removed each croquete, placing them on the paper toweled plate. Jr and his best friend Charles swung their legs under the kitchen table as they raced each other to finish their math homework.

“Done!” Charles slammed his pencil down.

“Ugh, I only have two problems left. How do you always beat me?” Jr asked, hiding how impressed he was with his friend’s division skills.

“It’s hard to explain, but I have a system. I dunno; it makes sense in my head.”

“Teach me.”

“ ‘member when I tried to teach you my adding trick in 2nd grade? It’s kinda the same thing.”

“Oh never mind, then.” Though they received nearly all the same grades, Jr knew Charles was smarter than him. Absorbing his knowledge was just one of the reasons he liked having him around.

Pleased that the boys had finished their homework, Jr’s mother placed the now cool plate of snacks in front of them, two put aside for herself and her daughter. “I’d be worried about you boys finishing so fast if it wasn’t usually right.” She had long stopped checking her children’s homework, believing they’d catch their own mistakes. “Now, tell me more about this play? Your class is putting on the Wizard of Oz?”

Charles laughed. “No, Mrs. Almeida. It’s the Wiz.”

“I’m not understanding; that’s what I said.” Her English was nearly perfect, but cultural references were still lost on her.

“The Wiz. It’s like the Wizard of Oz, but the black one. My mom says it’s a negro classic. The music is soooo good.”

“Yeah, I want to be the Scarecrow,” Jr shouted.

Charles frowned. “I wanted to be the Scarecrow.” Jr started to offer up the role to him, but Charles interrupted. “That’s ok. I can be the Tinman. I’ve been practicing the robot, so I think I’ll be good for it.” He pushed himself from the table and began doing a decent pop-and-lock routine. Jr’s mom clapped along as Jr improvised a beat. When he spun around and stuck his hands up signifying he was done, he was met with light applause. Charles took a bite from his croquete as a reward. “Mmm, Puerto Rican food is so good.”

“No, Charlie. I keep telling you, we’re Portuguese,” she corrected the child, trying not to scold him.

“Por-te-guys. Got it. I’m sorry, Mrs Almeida. It won’t happen again.” She smiled, appreciative he was at least trying. Then the doorbell rang. “Mom!”

“I’ll get it. You stay in here and finish your snack. I don’t want crumbs on my carpet.” Jr’s mother answered the door and hugged Charles’ mother. “Deirdre, you’re early. I wasn’t expecting you for another half hour.”

“Traffic on the freeway was surprisingly light today. Did the boys finish their homework?” she asked.

“Yes!” Jr answered from the kitchen. “Charles and I are gonna be the Scarecrow.” The boys chuckled.

A worried look flashed across her face. “I see the school finally sent home the flyers for the school musical this year.”

“Are you ok? Charles told me you liked the Wizard.” Jr’s mom had a knack for noticing facial ticks.

“Huh?” Charles’ mother had to think for a moment. “Oh, the Wiz, yeah. I love it.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

Charles’ mom shifted her weight, unsure if now was the right time to bring it up, but there was no reason not too. So she whispered and leaned in. “Yolanda, don’t you ever feel like our boys should spend a little time apart? Pursue their own interests.” Jr’s mother stood still, her brow lowering a bit. “I just think Charles and Hector could benefit from finding themselves as individuals.”

“If you’re afraid my son is going to contaminant your son, then maybe you should enroll Charles in the AfterCare program and I’ll stop bringing him over here.” Jr’s mom began to walk away.

“That’s not wha--”

“No, it is. Listen to me, Deirdre.” She turned around to make sure the boys weren’t eavesdropping. “Let the boys be who they are. Society is changing. They’ll be accepted for who they are.”

“But it isn’t right!” Charles’ mother shouted. She covered her mouth, immediately ashamed of what she revealed about herself.

Jr’s mother sighed. “Charles, I think it’s time for you to go, buddy.” She turned back around to the adult in the room as Charles and Jr began to tiptoe into the room, holding hands. “He can keep coming the rest of the week, but I think you’ll be a lot more at ease if you looked into the after school program.”

Charles and Jr hugged goodbye, unaware that their friendship was soon to grow distant.

Pilot Season

INT. ERNIE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Ernie’s bedroom is moderately sized. Movie and sitcom posters cover the walls. On the stand next to his bed are multiple crushed empty bar cans, a half empty bottle of bourbon, and an oversized black dildo. Ernie lies on his bed face down with his laptop closed next to him.

There’s a knock at the door. Jeremy and Vernon crack open his door and stand in the doorway.

JEREMY

Hey budddddddy. How ya feeling? Doing better?

ERNIE

[muffled, into his pillow] I’m not hungover; I’m just sad.

JEREMY

We know, buddy. We know. It’s just that… well, it’s been like two months.

ERNIE

Seven weeks, two days, thirteen hours, and twenty-one minutes. It’s my new hobby.

JEREMY

Yeah, but don’t you have a better hobby that would actually take your mind of that?

VERNON

Motherfucker, write something for us already! Ya sad fuck!

JEREMY

What Vernon is trying to say is that your actor friends would like to get this Youtube thing off the ground. You know so we can get our names out there.

VERNON

Yeah, I’m tryna get my dick sucked and pulling up our bomb ass video with mad views on my phone is definitely gonna help.

JEREMY

Relax, you know he doesn’t like pressure.

VERNON

Jeremy, this lazy fuck should have had something for us even before Jason left!

JEREMY

Hey, he can’t help his depression. It comes in waves, and [whispers] thou who shall not be named [regular voice] abandoning us sure didn’t help. Although I’m sure all the drinking Ernie’s been doing isn’t helping.

ERNIE

[turning over] Stop talking about me like I’m not here. And we basically live in a frat house; how do you expect me to not be constantly drunk?

VERNON

Well if you were not drunk or depressed long enough to write us some good shit, we wouldn’t be harassing you.

ERNIE

Joke’s on you, I have been writing stuff. I just don’t like any of it. Also none of them are finished. I kind of just keep starting and stopping and moving on ‘cause it’s all shit. All shit. Just like me.

[Ernie turns onto his stomach again and pulls a pillow over his head. Jeremy sits on his bed while Vernon walks more into the room but hovers close to the door.]

JEREMY

Hey, hey. Ernie, I’m sure it’s good stuff. Your brain’s probably just playing tricks with you. What do you call that guy again?

ERNIE

Clarence.

JEREMY

Right, Clarence is just making you see the wackness when you need to be seeing the dopeness.

VERNON

Yeah, fuck Clarence!

ERNIE

Don’t use one of my favorite movies on me. [pause] Fine. You’re probably right.

JEREMY

I know I am. Now…

[Jeremy eyes Ernie’s laptop and reaches for it.]

...if me and Vernon could just take a peek at a few of them.

[Ernie snatches his laptop and tucks it under his chest.]

ERNIE

Hell no.

VERNON

Oh, come on! Just let us look at ‘em so we can tell you which one we like so you can work on it more and we can make you the next Donald Glover or whatever.

ERNIE

[poking his head up] Oh. Well, when you put it that way.

[Ernie sits up and hands his laptop over to Jeremy. He then reaches for the bottle of bourbon, taking sips from it intermittently.]

JEREMY

Thank you. What’s your password again?

[Ernie leans to whisper in Jeremy’s ear.]

VERNON

Oh, fuck you too, Ernie.

JEREMY

Alright, I’m assuming they’re all in this folder labeled “You Worthless Fuck”?

ERNIE

No, that’s basically my Burnbook, I mean journal folder. You want “What Is This Shit?”

JEREMY

Ah, true. Makes sense. Alright we’ve got three scripts in here. Not bad, man. Ok, first one up: Earnestly Ernest.

VERNON

That title sucks.

JEREMY

You’re not helping.

[Jeremy skims the document.]

Um… ok, it’s only one scene and it’s basically what I’m assuming is a word-for-word retelling of the last conversation you had with Ja-- I mean, some guy we used to know. You sure this one shouldn’t be in the “Fuck” folder?

ERNIE

It has some worth, I think. Also, it’s not word for word. I cleaned up the language a lot.

JEREMY

Mm, well, still, I feel like this might be a little too fresh for us to work on now.

ERNIE

You are correct, sir.

JEREMY

Alright, next one: Feels.

VERNON

You’re really in touch with your emotions, huh there, buddy? What’s this one, a bunch of people sitting around in a circle bitching about their problems with Ernie’s usual snark through in?

JEREMY

Actually, this one’s about a pink monster that runs around demanding hugs from everyone. Imagine a Barney-sized Ditto that doesn’t have boundaries. It’d be kind of sweet if it didn’t come off a little rape-y.

ERNIE

It’s not rape-y, it’s needy. It has a huge yearning for the human touch.

JEREMY

Yeah, but he just goes up to everyone and doesn’t ask their consent.

ERNIE

He’s a bad communicator!

JEREMY

Well, he’d have to be more of a villain than a sympathetic character.

ERNIE

Mmm, agree to disagree.

[Ernie takes a large swig of bourbon. Vernon reaches out for the bottle. Ernie hesitantly hands it over. Vernon takes a swig and hands the bottle back.]

JEREMY

Oh shit. Ernie, I like this Kept Man one though. Do you think you can break it up?

ERNIE

No, that’s definitely more of an one-man piece. I kind of wrote it with you in mind, Jeremy.

JEREMY

Really? Oh buddy, you shouldn’t have. This is brilliant. Honestly.

VERNON

Whoa whoa whoa. No way am I gonna let Jeremy be the breakout star; if anyone deserves a one man show, it’s me.

JEREMY

Vernon, relax. We obviously can’t open our channel with just me. It’s gonna be something ensembly. Besides, this would set the bar waaaay too high for us.

[Jeremy smirks at Ernie who smirks back.]

VERNON

Ugh, you two are gross. Just bang already.

[Ernie takes another swig from the bottle and looks away from Jeremy.]

So what are we gonna do? We still don’t have shit.

JEREMY

Ernie, do you think you could work on a couple more scripts? I think I have an idea or two to toss your way.

ERNIE

I don’t know. I was hoping to wallow in my own filth a little more, but I guess I can clean up my act a bit.

JEREMY

Perfect. Vernon, makes us some breakfast! Ernie and I are gonna workshop some.

VERNON

It’s basically brunch at this point.

ERNIE

Yes, I’ll take a mimosa, please.

[Vernon rolls his eyes as he snatches the bottle from Ernie and takes another sip. He throws the bottle back on the bed and leaves the room while Ernie and Jeremy begin to hatch out a plan of action.]