A monologue from the play by Walter Wykes
NOTE: This monologue is reprinted with the author’s permission. All inquiries should be directed to the author at: email@example.com
She left a note. Did you know that?
She left a note that she was doing it for me.
For me. Because she knew I didn’t want her anymore.
What’s horrible is it was true. I didn’t want her. I was ready to walk away and she knew it. I was gonna wash my hands of the whole f***ing thing—
find some sane girl and start over—someone who didn’t play mind games all the f***ing time—someone who didn’t question my every motive—
someone who didn’t scare the hell out of me. You know, there were times I was actually afraid she might kill me.
My own wife. I was afraid she might poison the milk or stick me with a steak knife in the middle of the night.
Honest to god. I was afraid to go to sleep.
Sometimes, I think the only reason she didn’t is she knew this would hurt more. This would stay with me.
If you want to go—
I know I’m kind of a head-case right now.
I just don’t want to think about it. I keep seeing her in that pool of blood … the way I found her … with her wrists and …
it was all over her nightgown … the one I’d bought her for Christmas … her eyes were all glassy … like you see in the movies …
like a dead fish … like a dead f***ing fish with its wrists slit, but it’s my wife, and it’s real, and I can’t get that picture out of my head.
I want it to go away. I want it to go away like a bad dream, but—
It hasn’t yet.