“GUEST WRITER SERIES” - Nina Capone

Learn about our GUEST WRITER - NINA CAPONE

Monologue Description: Happy Holidays is a dramatic monologue about Christmas memories from an alcoholic upbringing.

Character Description: In this monologue, the woman answers the question “what made you decide to go to Mexico this Christmas?”

WOMAN:

It’s December. At night. I’m walking down Broadway and I’m in my head about what’s going on in my life and what needs to change. I’m feeling a little, well ok, a lot sad. The holidays are looming. I start to feel overwhelmed when suddenly I come upon this island of Christmas life. Right there in the middle of all this chaos that is New York City. It’s Macy’s. I hear Sleigh Ride playing overhead, the Christmas song (giddy yap giddy yap giddy yap it’s grand) and the Salvation Army bell is ringing. There’s just this hum of people and I make my way past them to see the windows. Next to these windows I’m small. I’m drawn completely into the fantasy of them. They are bright and colorful. They sparkle with tinsel and blinking lights. Santa Claus is flying against a midnight sky. Rudolph’s red nose is flashing. And Mrs. Claus has baked some cookies. I feel warm and cozy. I feel three years old. It’s magical. And for a moment I get what everyone else gets about Christmas. I mean it’s 70 degrees out here in winter 2006 but I swear it’s snowing, a white Christmas, just here on Herald Square.

I feel silly and I look around to see if anyone else has noticed me before continuing on downtown. That “magical moment” is what my therapist used to call ‘hope’. He’d tell me somewhere deep down I still had hope…for what? Something wonderful? I don’t know because I’m soon back in my head. What Christmas means to me.

I’m 6, I’m 10, I’m 17. It doesn’t matter. You see holidays in my house had a schedule. Family arrives. Not a smile in the bunch. No one wants to be there. Not even us. In fact later I find out that the rest of the family has another visit without us. Anyway, we eat and drink. Open presents. And drink. My father would drink. Then my parents argue. I mean really fight. My father would threaten to put my mother’s head through the fucking wall or punch her right in the fucking face. Fuck was a popular word in our house, and not in the good way. But I’d wonder, is today the day that I get to see my mother’s head go through the wall or his fist at her face? For the rest of the family, this was the cue for “wow! Look at the time!”, Coat!, Leave. And they just left us there. I don’t understand. How could you just leave us here?

I’m 11. I’m frightened. My father’s anger is explosive. He’s been drinking and he’s gone off like a powder keg. Towering over me and my little 6 year old sister. He’s seething and I feel my skin lift in anticipation. When he hits my sister…I feel sick and afraid. There’s no one to protect us. Nothing stops his hurricane…the thunder that roars from deep inside…his gesturing… and that vein that was always popping out of his neck. He doesn’t break. It’s continuous as he moves backwards toward the living room to get his coat. Now see, we have this gate between the hall and the living room that keeps the dog out of there. My father tries to put his leg over but he doesn’t quite make it. He loses his balance. And, he falls right into the middle of the Christmas tree. It’s shocking! He and the tree just go down! Oh my god. We don’t dare laugh, ‘cause he’s wild! But it’s funny. I wished we laughed more.

I’m 25. Christmas Eve. I’m sitting in my mother’s living room, waiting. I haven’t seen my father in 3 years. My sister isn’t coming. My mother’s been working. I’m just waiting for her to get home so we can at least eat dinner together. I hear her pull up in the driveway. It’s 8 o’clock. She comes in and I know her look. She’s been poured a shot of the Mean Reds. She lays down on the couch and says ‘just a few minutes’ before she falls asleep, a deep sleep. So, I set my dinner up next to her on the coffee table in front of the couch. And I sit with her while I eat. I feel weird, like I’m eating at the casket of a wake. You said your youth and beauty were wasted… on kids and marriage. I wish I could tell you I’m sorry Mommy. I’m sorry.

So, here I am walking through Herald Square. And this year I figured out how to outsmart the holidays. I’m going to Mexico. I’m gettin’ on a plane Christmas eve and it won’t be January until I get back. I hear another Salvation Army bell. I pass a man with no pants. And the police check my bag at the subway. Fucking 9/11. Why do I indulge old thoughts?

So my mind returns to Mrs. Claus in the Macy’s window. I think… that’s a predictable way of advertising housewares. And it gives me the idea to write a comedy sketch where Mrs. Claus, with her silver bun and warm smile, is really this slutty little whore who is always trying to fuck the elves. And I let my mind go there. Because if I don’t…

This monologue is one of a trilogy that will be performed through:

Matthew Corozine Studio
Times Square Arts Center
Suite 502
June 23 and 25 at 7pm