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A monologue from the play by Sharon Goldner
SIBOBAN ( twelve)
Siboban is a precocious pre-teen who is a gifted artist— but she’s more interested in the latest teen heartthrob. This used to be Jack Wild, but now he’s David Cassidy of The Partridge Family.
I’m in love. You probably don’t think anything of it because I’m just a kid and you wonder, just how real can it be, that I’ve got so much more living to do, but that just means you’re old and you’ve forgotten.
I will never forget what it’s like to be a kid when I grow up. That’s the problem with adults. The dementia doesn’t start when you’re ancient; it starts as soon as you’re not a kid anymore.
(Pause) At first I was in love with Jack Wild. He’s that English actor who was Academy Award-nominated for Oliver. I didn’t love him then; I didn’t even know him then. But after that he was on Pufnstuf.
He was this kid named Jimmy who had a golden flute and he lands in this place called Living Island where everything is alive the way humans are, like the trees even talk.
It’s all one great big trippy place, and the evil witch, Witchiepoo, wants that golden flute. In every episode, she concocts some crazy plan to get it and Jimmy and Pufnstuf, the dragon mayor of Living Island, foil her plans.
My friend Michelle and I were in love with Jack Wild. You can call it a crush, and maybe it looks that way to adults, but it shouldn’t be that easily dismissed. Our loves flatten us out just the same as yours do you.
So one day I’m grooving on Jack Wild and Michelle comes over and says, “We love him now,” and she smacks down a teen magazine folded to a picture of David Cassidy.
It was before The Partridge Family even aired their first episode. So, I look at him and he’s okay and all, but I say to Michelle, “What about Jack?” and she says, “We don’t like him anymore.”
Now, before you consider me a follower, I’ve got to say that Michelle comes with some pretty good credentials: she may be a whole year younger than me but she’s the youngest of four sisters, and she’s got b**bs already.
I’m not talking your beginning double A’s, mind you—I am talking down-the-alphabet cups, like a D. I’m not jealous. My day will come, I mean, everyone gets b**bs, don’t they?
There are even a few male teachers at school with what look like b**bs. So I’m just waiting for mine.
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