Monologues 2: Between Enough And Too Much.

I sail smoothly over the sea of your affections, your laughter the calm waves that gently rock my boat providing rhythm for this journey. I am the boatman and all I know is the general direction we both want to sail in- forward. I do not know what nautical miles are, nor do I know North- east by east.

The feeling I get is of not wanting to dock, of sailing until night covers day. And since I want to be here until that time, since I love this rush of blood to my head, since I cannot think of an end to this ethereal laughter, I tell you how I like to lie when night falls. I tell you how much I love your sea, but that because of the insects in the air, I like to lie, face-down, alone, with you in the sea all around me.

You pause. I must have taken the wind out of your sails. It doesn’t kick in immediately that I might be sinking my own boat. The waters are receding and the waves disappearing.

The old man asked if you met a boatman. You shook your head and added, ‘I know no boatman’. Suddenly my eyes are grainy and my throat is dry. I look at my hands, callused from rowing, a chill running down my spine. It is not that I expect you to claim me as your boatman, but these past few weeks at sea have been so perfect, so real.

You say you were sad when I spoke about nightfall and how I like to lie. You think it was too soon, you are not ready to know how I like to lie- it’s too far off, you say. You do not like to speak of the night or of distances beyond what you can see. I have sinned, for dragging your consciousness into uncharted waters, for speaking of tomorrow. And for my punishment I shall not expect to inhabit the sea alone. There shall be other boatmen, you declare.

I do not know what to make of this now, that I feel your gentle waves splash against the sides of my boat. Do I keep on sailing as you have asked me too, feel your waves, close my eyes and let you show me heaven? I want to. I take hold of the paddle, and shut my eyes. I do not see heaven. All I can think of is, another boatman taking my place.

Monologues 1. Waiting to Exhale

This city blows an enervating breeze. I am neither cold nor hot. I want to breath, but not this air. I want to walk, but not these impersonal streets; not with my detached neighbour who cannot tell my moods. I want to lie, but not by myself; not in this massive mess that is my room.

Our connections made in that small rectangular room, cross through capitals, and blow you as you stand. You need your feet to think, all is spinning around you. But you laugh, sweetly. Still you laugh, and I close my eyes and imagine that NYC apartment or maybe you in front of your dance class, holding the phone, waving at your fellow dancers who pass by, saying to me, I miss you.

I too, want you to stand. But I cannot stop the world from spinning around you. I am spinning too; everything is blurry, everything but you in front of me- the smile, the long brown locks, the bridge of your nose... And as you wonder how fast is too fast, or if we will crash, I think only, thank goodness my nose is not as long and pointed as yours, for then it would be hard to kiss you. I am silly I know- I am worried about dust on my shoes in a time of war.

I will put you down, so you can catch your breath, so we both can. I will be here while you find your feet. And if when you stand you are still dizzy, I will carry you home. I will not ask for another dance, for whether we dance again or just sit and watch the stars, I will be happy just being under the same sky as you.