The Monologues

I could not get myself to walk into the funeral parlor. I made it to the doorway and stopped. It felt as though I had a tomcat in my spine and he was using the back of my throat as a scratching post. I could feel all my guts twisting as the cat stretched and scratched threatening to send me into a panic. Every cell in my body became sick with the thought that Greg was really dead. Moving to the other side of the hall I sat in a chair that had been placed there for people just like me, or perhaps just for me. Greg and I both shared an alienation from the mainstream that is probably diagnosed and treated with drugs these days. Greg’s death seemed to add an ironic terminality to the alienation.

A Bible sat on the small table next to me and I laughed at the irony of having a Bible at Greg's funeral. We even covered the cross over the casket. Undersized flowers and a petite lamp accompanied the Bible on the small table. Why don't they have something a little more substantial sitting around for me to throw and break; something to ease this cat in my spine?

He looked really good actually, so silent and quiet. His hair was brushed back, and his eyes were closed gently. They dressed him in a clean white t-shirt. I thought that he should be in a sleeping bag instead of a casket. His lips were dry. I remember standing, trying to think of something to say, because I knew people were listening to me, wondering what I would say to him. What do you say to your twin? How do you speak to the dead body that looks just like you. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but the words seemed to be caught. Every time I would decide to speak the cat in my spine would raise his back and wine the way cats do when they are scared, or pissed, or talking to the dead, or whatever the fuck they are doing. I bent over thinking I might kiss him on the forehead and then I thought about makeup and wondered if I did, would I stand up with tan lips? And there on his forehead there would be a small kiss mark the color of, , . What color would it be, grey, red, purple, the cat inside me latched onto my spine with all four paws and sunk his teeth into my voice box. Instead I just whispered into his ear, "you need chap stick Greg." The final "g" dropping silently from me like a stone which disappears as soon as it hits the water and you wonder if it fell in at all. He knew what I meant.

Ten months after the funeral I received a phone call from an ex girlfriend of mine. Tammy and I were on speaking terms and managed to keep each other company once and a while. She informed me that she had bought us tickets to The Monologues and I had to go. I protested mostly because the thought of going out into a public place of entertainment made me tired. She said the tickets were too expensive and that booking a seat is "too involved." I agreed and didn't ask any more questions.

We decided to treat ourselves to a pre-funk at a small bar before the show started. And I remember sitting there listening to her talk thinking about her. She was a talker. I could have her back if I wanted. Right now, if I asked her, she would take me back. It could be so convenient. I thought about love in general. Did I love her? I thought for a moment. I could. Yes, sure I could. I mean isn't love just deciding to care and make small daily sacrifices for someone and enjoy the small sacrifices they make for you. I decided that I could easily love this woman who was all this time telling me some story that I nodded along with but didn't hear because I was thinking about loving her. Yes I could enjoy giving to this woman and we could be together and her happiness would make me happy and life would be so much simpler once I made this happen. I had decided to love this woman, just like that. In the relief of that decision I relaxed and listened to the end of her story. I will tell her my feelings as soon as she is done speaking. But before she finished I had changed my mind and the topic was never breached.

We found the theatre tucked behind a Chinese restaurant. The parking lot was dark and the theatre was only lit with a single green light. I was surprised to see a small line of people outside the door to the theatre standing in the dark waddling slowly toward the door. I noticed that we were underdressed and wondered if they were going to make a stink about it.

"Here's your ticket" Tammy said handing me a small square of red cloth. On it was printed some language I could not read. It reminded me of the small Tibetan flags you see in pictures of Everest base camp.

"What kind of theater is this anyway?" I asked folding the cloth square between my fingers.

"it's a surprise," came without eye contact. "You'll like it."

Instead of taking my ticket, the man at the door just said, "your seats are waiting." And he lead us through a curtain and into the strangest theatre I have ever seen. Once my eyes adjusted, the first thing I noticed other then the wet dust smell, were the isles. They weren't straight. They were impossibly, absurdly crooked. They zigzagged through the chairs more like a maze then an exit. Our guide led us through the turns of the isle silently and I followed, until finally he pointed to a couple chairs 5 rows back from the front along the left half of the theatre.

Everyone was so quiet it kept me from speaking much. I made a comment about wanting a snack and I got some dirty looks from the couple in front of us. There was a steady din that seemed to make the hairs on my arms stand up. I then realized that there was a gal two rows back who was not talking. She was crying. I was about to mention it to Tammy when I noticed another person crying, then another off to my right. I turned to Tammy and as I was about to ask her what the fuck this was all about, the few dim lights went out.

The crying seemed to increase. Are these people terrified? Should I be terrified? There was a wave of whimpers and sobs that moved through the crowd and through me like a school of ghostly eels and my muscles tensed with their electricity. I looked at Tammy and she was staring at the stage, her eyes wide and her hands seemed to be choking each other. I looked to the stage.

It was completely dark. I could just make out the basic shape of the curtain moving like a whisper across the dusty wooden stage floor. But beyond it was complete emptiness. Everyone in the theatre was straining to see something on the stage along with me. I could feel their collective desire straining to see something and I became caught up in it like a gust of wind pushing me into the stage. My mind leaned into the wind and I stared into the black empty stage. Someone gasped and before I could wonder what it was about, I saw the man.

He seemed to rush onto the stage from the darkness so fast I didn't see the movement. Though to be honest I didn't know what to expect, so anything was going to be a surprise. Then I noticed that the man wasn't moving. He seemed perfectly still, though after watching him a minute I would see that, while I didn't notice a movement, he was in a different pose. He was a cloud that changes and moves though your eye cannot discern; the change is so subtle. He wore a brown suit and a blue tie. He had a beard and seemed to be mumbling something to himself. I wanted to listen to his words, but there was a fresh tumult of sobs and whimpers from a very congested group in the theatre straight to my right.

I glanced at Tammy and she seemed to relax, her hands now resting in her lap. I stared at the man. We are not meant to hear him? I cannot even understand the language he is speaking. His mouth and eyes seemed blurry and again I saw that he now had his hand in the air though I could not remember if he raised it or if he appeared with it up and it was raised to begin with.

I suddenly felt very foolish. I am a child here and I do not like it. What does everyone else know that I do not? Is this some new Gothic magical show that I am not invited to share in on the joke. Why don't I like this old man on the stage.

The cat inside me began to wake up and I took a deep breath. I need to just calm down. Just a man talking on the stage, some modern theatrical art that I am not appreciating. I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. But why were people crying? What the fuck was...I opened my eyes and the man disappeared just as he had appeared, without me really noticing. I couldn't tell if the room had deflated or if everyone was holding their breath. It was silent now. I honestly wondered if the show was over. I watched the stage, my eyes burning to see something. I wanted to see the entrance of the actor this time. I didn't want my eyes to be fooled. I don't want to be the tourist in the crowd.

A girl was on the stage. She seemed to appear like something rising up out of dark muddy water. I didn't even hear her walk on the planks of the stage. Again she spoke and again I could not understand her words anymore then I could see her movements. Though as I listened I realized that she was speaking English, though it must have been a deep southern accent that she spoke so quickly I could only get a couple words from her, "Last March" and "shame about the wedding." She was beautiful. She had bright blond hair that was tied up in braids on each side. As she spoke there were mumblings in the crowd.

I am going to ignore the crowd, I thought. I am going to figure this out. I leaned forward trying to hear everything she said. She wasn't looking at the crowd. I don't even think she is in any way connected to the old man talking before. Again the cat inside me seemed to stretch and paw, as though he was going to fluff a pillow on my guts. My nerves felt like a cement mixer.

Then, before I knew that she had moved, I realized that we were staring at each other. I sat back and looked around. Had I ruined it? Had I upset something? I felt as though I had just pushed over the cake at someone’s wedding. I had messed something up. Was I trying too hard? What the fuck was going on? I looked back at her and I knew. I knew what it was that was moving through the audience like a cold draft sickness infecting me before I could name it. I knew as I looked into the vacant eyes of the girl on the stage, and as those eyes seemed to look right at me. Though she wasn't talking to me nor for me. I don't even think she knew I was staring at her. She was dead. She was a dead girl standing on the stage. How or to what extent she even knew I could not tell. Somehow there she was, the strings of her soul pulled and pranced her upon this natural stage for the living to watch. My eyes burned.

She disappeared.

In her place another surfaced moving without moving, changing before me. This one was a man, another old man with dark hair and a long face. He was so skinny under his grey suit coat with his vest and pleated pants. Did he know that he was being pushed out on stage, like some undead Pinocchio dancing ignorantly for our entertainment? Comfort? I recognized the man on the stage. I turned to Tammy and saw that she was leaning forward in her chair. This was the man she came to see. I knew it right away; I had seen his picture on her fridge. I was finally meeting her father. The cat in my guts yanked down on my tongue and I thought I was going to throw up right there in the theatre. I curled up and starred at my feet. Oh Fucking hell what the fuck was going on here!? I stared at my feet for some time. I don't think Tammy noticed because she didn't do so much as touch my back, though I don't know if she would notice, it was so dark. Slowly the voice of her father was replaced by the voice of a young Mexican boy. The voice of the boy was replaced by the sound of an elderly woman. I closed my eyes and listened.

Slowly I sat up and looked around. My eyes were burning and my nerves were going off like a fireworks display. My arms and feet were welded in place. The people around me were calm and vacant. How much longer can this take? I want to be out of here right now! The cat inside of me was whining in anger and I felt panic dancing just outside the door. Like a prowler walking around your house at night glancing in your windows. Do you lie still hoping they will leave or do you turn on every light and try to scare them away? I sat there with my heart going off like a machine gun earthquake, and I watched the old woman sink away under the darkness.

My eyes knew what was coming before I saw the next apparition. Tears streamed out of my eyes. God my eyes were burning. Even before he surfaced completely I moaned and pushed myself back into the dusty dry seat. There stood Greg, tall and proud. He seemed to just stand and stare for some time. He looked just like me. There on the stage, was my twin. Myself. My head came back against the seat as I sank down. The cat inside me was scratching and clawing at my spine, sending electric needles throughout my skin like a thousand baby spiders. I thought I might pass out. I sat forward on the edge of my seat trying to figure out how I was going to get out of here. Greg's head had moved, and his eyes were getting narrow. My right arm began to shake against the armrest and I sat on my hand to try and stop it. Greg's eyes continued to narrow; he was getting angry. I knew then that he was going to speak. He was going to speak, I didn't know what he was going to say, whether it was some recording of a moment in his life or his spirit's reaction to this obvious intrusion, but he was going to speak and I didn't want to hear what he was going to say. It would be too much. I was doomed to never sleep now, I was sure I would die if I heard him speak. What if he spoke and I passed out. What could happen to me if I passed out in this place where spirits are forced to replay a part they had long ago been relieved of? My own spirit, so thin and vulnerable and naked during that time while I lay unconscious. Greg looked so angry. I imagined that he was going to yell and the sound alone could pull my spirit free. Oh Greg, why can't I sit and enjoy the sight of you, I loved you so much, but now, not this. I am so sorry. The cat was in a frenzy inside me, and I stood to leave.

I tried to move slowly as though I was only going to visit the men's room. However compared to the rapid fire lightening strikes occurring inside me, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Tammy reached up and tried to pull me back down and some other hand reached out to me, and I pushed them both away. Tammy said something to me and I glanced up at Greg. Please, don't speak yet, oh God don't look at me. I turned away. The cat was screaming in my ear and I could hear nothing else. I ran as fast as I could. In two steps I ran into a pair of seats in the middle of the isle. Remembering the crazy maze of the isle I tried to turn to the left. I didn't know which way to go. I ran, collided with people who I'm sure I would have heard except for the screaming in my mind. Hands tried to right me or suppress me. My arms I threw around trying to move everyone out of the way. I fell on the floor and began to scamper as fast as I could through a maze of arms and legs. I didn't even know where I was anymore. I had lost all sense of direction and for a moment feared that I might stand out of the crowd and find myself standing at the foot of the stage. Frozen in fear at this supernatural theatre of the deceased. Looking up at my long dead friend, my brother, myself as he tried to figure out what was being done to him.

I crawled out of the angry crowd and saw the exit before me. I bolted just as Greg's voice began his protests behind me. Through the curtain covering the exit, and through the lobby I flew. I was controlled by my own panic at this point. The doors slammed open and I stumbled out into the gutter screaming. I fell down dry-heaving in the rain.

Michael J Munro