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A monologue from the play by Alena Smith
CHARLOTTE (twenty two)
Charlotte has just come home from work at her boring, exhausting day job to find that her roommate, Lacy,
who lives off a trust fund and doesn’t have to work, has eaten a bowl of cherries that Charlotte was saving for herself as a special treat.
You always do this! You steal the food I buy and then you promise you’ll replace it but the fact is you haven’t gone grocery shopping once in the entire nine months we’ve lived in this apartment.
Do you even know how to go grocery shopping? So suddenly it’s up to me to stock the fridge for both of us.
No, Lacy, it doesn’t work that way. I’m not your mother. I’m your roommate. Roommates share responsibilities.
Maybe you should try buying some snacks yourself instead of stealing mine! I don’t understand what you do all day.
Whenever I come home the sink is full of dirty dishes, the floor is never swept and the bathroom is filthy.
Is there some kind of deal here I don’t know about? Am I supposed to be your babysitter? Your maid? I already have a job, and it’s killing me.
All day long I sit there, numb, with nothing to puncture the empty sac of time but Microsoft solitaire.
And when I win, those fifty-two digital cards go spilling and bouncing all over the screen, like fifty-two slices of my life that have bounced by the present and died, spilled into the past.
And then I Google myself, and all I find are swim-team statistics and date of death that refer to other Charlottes.
And then I think, I’m not even special.
There are other girls like me, other Charlottes, in boring offices all over the planet, Googling themselves and getting the same random array of tragic little factoids.
And then I hear the Xerox machine humping itself down the hall and I realize –
I am a copy. I am a copy in a world of copies, a Xerox world!
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