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A monologue from the play by Donald Margulies
GABE
You don’t get it: I cling to Karen; I cling to her. Imagining a life without her doesn’t excite me, it just makes me anxious. It all goes by so fast, Tom, I know. The hair goes, and the waist.
And the stamina; the capacity for staying up late, to read or watch a movie, never mind sex. Want to hear a shocker? Karen is premenopausal. That’s right: my sweetheart, my lover, that sweet girl I lolled around with on endless Sundays, is getting hot flashes.
It doesn’t seem possible. We spend our youth unconscious, feeling immortal, then we marry and have kids and awaken with a shock to mortality, theirs, ours, that’s all we see.
We worry about them, their safety, our own , air bags, plane crashes, pederasts, and spend our middle years wanting back the dreamy, carefree part, the part we f***ed and pissed away;
now we want that back, ’cause we know how fleeting it all is, now we know, and it just doesn’t seem fair that so much is gone when there’s really so little left.
So, some of us try to regain unconsciousness. Some of us blow up our homes . . . And others of us . . . take up piano; I’m taking piano.
