(Lights Up)
I tried to go to Rhetoric, but it was canceled. I read the Daily
Iowan, but they left out all the news. I looked in the Board Room and on ISCA for diversion, but
nothing was posted. It's like no one in Iowa City has anything to say.
Someone dropped white powder on the carpet in the hallway.
Someone scattered rose petals on the stairs. Someone left hair on the bathroom floor and beer
cans in the shower. No one stayed around to explain why. It's like there are stories everywhere,
and everyone agreed not to tell them.
I can't write this week. I'm not funny and there is no
inspiration. All of my ideas should be thrown away as soon as they come to me, but I still take the
time to roll them over and make sure of their worthlessness before giving up on them. I don't put
anything down on paper. It's like I'm a part of the silent conspiracy to remain silent.
I read your last e-mail, and I responded to it. It's the same
thing we've been writing for the last nine months. It's the same thing we started writing almost
two years ago, before either of us could admit what we were writing: This is what's going on.
These are the things that happen to me, these are the things I do to fill my time while we're apart.
It's not the same without you.
I wonder if I'm really a part of your life right now. You tell
me about your roommate going nuts, and I'm not there to watch. You volunteer to teach foreign
affairs to high school freshmen, and I'll never meet any of your students. You explore your new
city, laugh at tourists, find the best outdoor artwork, and I'll be lucky to catch a glimpse of any of
it in the week I'll spend with you next spring.
I wonder if you're really a part of my life right now. I can send
you my latest No Shame piece. If you laugh, I can't hear you. If I call you on the phone, I'll have
to look at a picture and try to imagine what you look like right now with your hair growing
out.
If I e-mail you the script, it'll be nothing more than letters on
your computer screen. You'll never know if I stuttered, or how I looked on stage, or how I
delivered the punch lines. The only way you'll know if it bombed or received a standing ovation is
if I tell you.
If I can make everyone in the room laugh out loud, or if I can
make everyone shut up and feel something because of what I've written and how I read it, but
you're not in the room to feel it with them, then what does any of this matter?
(Lights Down)
"I'M "MONKEY-HUGE" ON YOU" IS COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE
DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT THE
EXPRESS PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR
"I'm "Monkey-Huge" on You" debuted October 29, 1999, performed by Adam Hahn.
Library]
