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Note: A few words about 'free' - all these monologues are protected under copyright law and are free to read, free to perform and video as long as no money is charged. Once you charge admission or a donation, or include my work in an anthology, you need to contact me for royalty info.
If you just started this blog and want to read the earlier monologues, please
scroll down for the previous days or go to http://www.monologuestore.com/ -click on the Monologue Mania button please scroll down.
To start at the beginning - Feb. 13, - click here.
For a list of the blurbs from each day, click here
Help a playwright and get more great award-winning monologues - MonologueZone.com
Thank you for your comments - and for liking and sharing this site
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Monologue
Mania Day # 221 by Janet S. Tiger Washing My Hands Of It Sept. 21,
2014
Washing My Hands Of It ( see Day # 219,
220)
A monologue by Janet S. Tiger ©
all rights reserved
tigerteam1@gmail.com
(Lights up on the Crime Scene Investigator from Day #219, 220)
Dead ends. You think you
figured it all out, and, no. You hit the blank wall again. Everyone here
in this audience understands. The only people who don't understand are
the family and friends of the deceased. What can you tell them? You
have a photo of the killer, excuse me, (says it with a touch of derision) the
alleged killer, and it is of about the same value as a photo of a ghost.
What could I do? I had no
time to go through that barn full of Bertha's life...again.
My flight was the next day. I
couldn't put it off anymore, there was no more money, and no more
time.
(She walks around the stage as if looking at a room)
I had grown to know Bertha
Johnson's home, especially her kitchen, because that's where I spent a lot of
time. I think she had, too. My last night.....packed, ready to
go....my job finished.... yet not completed, a very unsatisfying feeling......
I was exhausted and irritated and
tired.....and yet, all I could think of for some reason was...a nice cup of tea
and a warm piece of pie. Funny how food can affect your life! There
was only a little milk and a donut left in the refrigerator because I was
leaving, so I went to sleep ......and had a dream that Bertha was in the
kitchen....
(She will do both people - in the final play, Bertha may have her own
character)
She offered me something to
eat......
(As Bertha) How about a nice
piece of apple pie? And some tea.....so you can wind down after all the
work you've done.....
(as herself) I've seen photos
of you, so this is just my mind....making you into a real person.....
(As Bertha) I am a real
person....and this is real pie......and it's real good. My pies are
always good....
(as herself) Was a real
person.....
(As Bertha) No, honey, I'm
still real. And I'm not going away until you have some of my pie...
(as herself) All
right....
(As Bertha) Good girl, now
you go wash your hands before you eat......
(As herself, laughing) Wash
my hands? In a dream? So I won't get sick in the dream? That
is funny! Wait a minute, it’s a
metaphor, right? In a dream, everything
means something else……I have to learn how to wash my hands of this whole
thing. Get over that I haven’t helped
solve it. Like a hundred others where my
work didn’t have any value in catching a criminal…….
(She looks at her hands)
Out, out, damned case!
(As Bertha) Honey, I really
don’t like cussing in my kitchen.
Outside, when someone gets kicked by a horse, or a full pail of slop
falls on your toes, maybe. So please,
watch your language….
(as herself) Sorry, Bertha. I won’t do it again. I love your kitchen.
(As Bertha) So do I.
I always liked feeding people when they were hungry. They get this happy look on their face, like
you handed them a plate of gold. It
makes all the work and washing up…worthwhile.
(Very serious) But everyone has to wash their hands before
they eat. That was the first thing my momma taught me, and I had to teach
a lotta those boys that came through here. Some a them had no training at
all, so I guess that's what I was here for.....to help them learn.....
some of them learned, but some of them didn't, and I had to keep reminding
them...wash your hands.....
(As herself, laughing)
Amazing what the brain does! Wash your hands. Wash your hands.....
(She stops laughing and looks at her hands.)
That pie in the dream was
delicious.......but is was really only there for one reason......to get me to
see what I hadn't thought about.....a man who didn’t follow directions, a man
with dirty hands.....
(She lifts up an enlarged photo)
We had tried to get a better look
at the killer's face, so we had blown up the video.....enough so we could see
the man's hands, too, to see that he had no scars, no tatoos.....but his hands were dirty.....how dirty?
(She goes to the pile and picks up the receipt)
The Sheriff had dusted this place
for fingerprints, but over the years, there had been dozens, maybe hundreds of
people through here. It was not possible to figure out who was
who.....but when a person's hands are dirty, sometimes......
(She takes a magnifying glass and examines the receipt)
The dirt can make for a
fingerprint......
(She lowers the receipt, disappointed)
But not here.
(She turns to shout out the door.)
I’ll be ready in a minute,
Sheriff!.......Then I thought of what he had paid with....she hadn't sent cash,
she may have been trusting, but she wasn't stupid like that....Bertha always
wrote a check.....
(She goes to another box and removes an envelope.)
Her returned checks from the last
statement......
(Takes out a check that is in a plastic bag)
The final check to pay her last
water bill.......she had used ink that was thicker, older people often like
that, it reminds them of ink wells, and sometimes just like in the old days....it smudges.....and there might be fingerprints left
behind on the back.....
(She turns over the check and smiles)
All you need is one......and this
one was the one.......the Sheriff sent it through CODIS, and as I got on the
plane, he told me....we're going to find him.....and when I landed at home, I
got the call....
(She is
very affected by this)
The same fingerprint had turned up
in no less than five different locations.....involving five murders.........the most recent, in a town four states away.......
(She shudders)
If I had figured it out sooner,
would that last person still be alive?
(She looks at the audience, singling
out faces)
Would one of your family members
still be with you? One of your friends……I
guess I can't be too hard on myself, because of some small things I did, he was
caught....finally.....
(She
turns to leave, then looks back and reaches out her arm to the man sitting on
the side)
And that was definitely not the
end.....but the beginning of another story.....which I will leave to my friend.
Detective, would you please let
them know what happened next?
(Lights down on her, up on the Detective. End of scene, not the end of the story)
--------------------------------------
Janet
S. Tiger 858-736-6315
Member
Dramatists Guild since 1983
Playwright-in-Residence
Swedenborg
Hall 2006-8
----------------------------------------------
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