A monologue from the play by Brandon Jacobs-Jenkins
TONI (late forties)
Okay, Frank. And where was this lunatic, bi-polar father these last ten years I was taking care of him? Or, better yet,
the ten years before that when I was taking care of both of you? You are the last person to accuse me of abandonment.
When I took you in every holiday—every Christmas, every Thanksgiving – when I was here every other month –
cooking your meals, doing your laundry, breaking up fights. But this isn’t about me. (beat) If Daddy was crazy it was because you drove him there.
This man wore himself down trying to save you. We all did. Do Bo and I have a childhood home to cry over?
No, because when our mother died and you started acting like a menace back in Washington, getting kicked out of every school,
drinking at the tender age of thirteen, our father uprooted our entire life, our entire family, for you—to bring you out here—
This house was sup-posed to save you—Because it was a chance to be good, Frank!—Which you were obviously incapable of, because guess what?
I don’t buy this. There is nothing new about you. Don’t you see? You are not different. You are the same thing you’ve always been— chaos—a selfish chaos!
You’re doing what you’ve always done even now—the only man we all shared is dead, we are in mourning, and after to-morrow we will be literally left with nothing—
and you thought this would be the perfect time to show up out of the blue—making this all about you and your healing with your walking rape fantasy over here—
And how exactly did you think this was going to end, Frank? You apologize and we all hug it out and tomorrow, after the sale, you’d get your share?
Or what? How stupid do you think we are?
