A monologue from the play by Daniel Guyton
RAIN (mid-twenties)
Rain’s fiancé Jeremy has told her a horrible story about his childhood, which involved the ancient stone marker they are standing in front of.
Rain tries to comfort him as best as she can.
If I could blast that stone into a million pieces, I would. If I could reverse the mortar and the flow of time, I would return that stone to dust.
And water. From whence it came. For you to have to look at something so unmoving, so . . . cold . . . But if I did that, Jeremy,
if . . . I destroyed that stone . . . What if I lost you in the process? What if I never met you? What if…? When my mother died I . . .
She was holding me just like this. Her arms across my chest. The tornado flattened everything. Our house, our…
neighbors . . . She held me many hours before I realized she was gone. I couldn’t talk because . . . she was holding me so tightly.
I couldn’t move because . . . she was holding me so tightly. For sixteen hours, I couldn’t move. I . . . was pinned in this position.
From the time the twister hit until . . . I thought that she was mad at me. I thought that she was . . . She wouldn’t let me go.
It took twenty men to get us out of there. Twenty men to lift a house from off of my mother’s back. The refrigerator …
Stove . . . Even after she was gone, she . . . protected me. She shielded me. She kept my body warm. Your mother loved you, Jeremy.
She never left you. She couldn’t stop the storm from coming, but . . . she never left your side. The daffodils were protecting you, shielding you.
Keeping your body warm. I’ll never let you go, Jeremy. I’ll never let you go.