A monologue from the play by Tristine Skyler
Sal Sal
What do you know? Your mom’s with someone. She’s happy. My mom barely goes out. She says she’d rather stay home and clean the apartment.
I’m not even allowed to have friends over because they’ll interfere with her depression. And she doesn’t want to wash her hair.
Sometimes she goes a whole week. I tell her that if maybe we had people around she would start to feel better.
But she doesn’t listen. She’ll sit there watching ‘Jeopardy’ and bad-mouth my dad. The same speech I’ve been hearing since he left.
On and on and on and on. And then when he comes over to pick me up, she puts on lipstick!
She doesn’t wash her hair, and she has on the same outfit she’s worn for three days, but she puts on lipstick!
I swear one night I’m going to go out, and I’m just not going to come home. (They sit in silence for a few beats. Sal becomes embarrassed.)
I just don’t want to have to call her. (Pause.) You don’t realize how lucky you are. You do whatever you want.
You could come home tomorrow and it’s fine. I come home tomorrow and I’m on the back of a milk carton.