Women Monologues Previews
Wild Things ~ Grandma
What will she find when she gets to her daughter, Crystal’s house this time? That bastard left her and Angel, her granddaughter, took the boy, her grandson, Joey, with him. She can always tell when there’s trouble brewing in that house. Crystal was a wild thing and she married a wild thing and now look at where’s it’s got her. She’ll be passed out on the couch, sniffin’ again, drinkin’ again. Oh, what will Grandma find this time? Who’ll be in charge? Angel? She’s just a baby. Why, the precious girl’s just comin’ up on sixteen years.
Don’t Call me Girlie
Dixie is a country girl with big, hard arm muscles. She got them from swinging her baseball bat, like her daddy, a baseball player, taught her. He left Mama a long time ago, went up to Colorado, to the mountains. He sent her a postcard once with snow and big, green fur trees on it. He’ll send for her some day. In the meantime, she’ll keep on getting counseling from the preacher and try to overcome her problem. She keeps running Mama’s boyfriends off–in her own special way.
Wild Things ~ Angel
Angel, short for Angelina Margaret, is a teenager whose life has moved too fast, with a fisherman father who is gone, now — took her little brother with him. “You can’t have ‘em both,” was what he yelled when he took Joey and left. What’s the use of a girl? Angel thinks now. Her mother cannot cope, even with her drugs. “Get up, Mama, I’ll buy you a pretty pink dress with glass buttons all the way down the front if you’ll just get up.” …Gran’s coming tomorrow to see about Mama. She can smell trouble all the way up to Cleveland.
Thief At The Wake
Mona, the mistress, has come to view his body and to say goodbye to her dead lover at the funeral home chapel. His wife arrives to claim him. But Mona has his soul.
A Horse In My Attic
A Singaporean amah, Jora, a household servant, talks of her love for her Missy and her children and her Missy’s love for their island. Never mind the tropical rains and the heat, the smells of the island with its spices and stinking dried fish on the sidewalk, hawkers in the market place, the prayers from the mosques that wake her in the mornings and the summer and the winter monsoon rains, too…not to mention the ghost in the attic of that last house they moved away from. Yes. A ghost. As big as a horse.
