I wanted a Tennessee Williams style narration, and I wanted to investigate the nature of memory itself. Sadly, I couldn’t figure out how to weave more narration into the show and had to get rid of it. Hopefully it’s going back in at some point- I don’t think the memory-play/unreliable narrator structure works quite as well without it, and it really is beautiful (if I do say so myself).
If anyone wants to use this monologue for auditioning purposes, etc. please leave a note in the comments section before you do.
This is spoken as Charlie re-sets the room at the top of Scene 1. There is an overturned mirror in the room among the general disarray (please refer to Dog part 1 on youtube)
When I left this room for the last time, I promised myself I would remember everything the way it was. I knew so little truth then, I wanted to hold on to what little I noticed while I was here. Stupid, I know. I forget more everyday. It’s natural- time passes and slowly you forget what things were like. The color of the walls, the smell of the motel soap, what you were wearing when she kissed you. So you invent new things, fill in the gaps. But some of it remains, clear as water. I remember the bathroom smelled like piss, the walls were dirty and the desk had one wobbly leg. I remember sitting side-by-side on the bed, touching her shoulder. I remember that stupid wind-up radio, the first snow, the fight, the other fight, the sound of the door slamming, the steady, confident red of the coke-can, how she shone when I looked at her.
And my memory strings it all together, the false and the true, and I worry them like a rosary.
He places the mirror in its place on the wall. A woman’s laughter is heard, faintly.
I remember the laugh.