A monologue from the play by Sharyn Rothstein
EMILY (thirty)
Here, Emily is sharing coffee cake with her mother and her mother’s best friend Mary, who has just asked Emily
how she’s doing in the wake of her recent divorce.
Actually, I’m enjoying being alone for a while. I am. It’s peaceful. Clean. You never get home to find somebody left the dishes in the sink
or finished watching Game of Thrones without you then deleted them all or ate the whole tub of hummus
then put the empty container back in the fridge as if they didn’t notice they’d finished it.
They ate a whole thing of hummus without once even looking down into the container and seeing that it was empty?
And then they just put it back so that you’d think there was still some left if you were counting on that for oh I don’t know,
maybe a little much-needed, much deserved post-work snack? Not to mention, who even eats a whole tub of hummus?
That’s a ridiculous amount of hummus. But now? If I purchase a tub of hummus, there’s my hummus!
Sitting there when I open the fridge, exactly as I left it. Completely full and waiting for me to enjoy.
And I can have as much as I want because there is no else there. I am alone. I am utterly and completely alone.
Except for my hummus. Just me and my hummus.
