Day We Met

In this female dramatic monologue, MRS.LÉVÊQUE talks to a close friend’s daughter about the unhappy life she has had with her husband.  

MRS.LÉVÊQUE:  Oh I just can’t stand to look at him.  The mere thought of it gives me goosebumps.  To think I’ve been married to that man for thirty-five years makes me feel diseased.  I should have listened to my mother, years ago, when she warned me he was a pathetic skinny worm.  She was right!


There was never any love…well, once…perhaps…once, in the beginning.  The day we met.  (she sighs)  Yes, well, to be young and ignorant.  I first took notice of the bastard when he was coming off the boat.  He was dressed in all white, with his sleeves rolled up and a handsome tan.  Tall, I was struck by his presence, naturally.  Piercing blue eyes and thick golden hair..he sort of reminded me of Ernest Hemingway in a way…he had the quality of a man’s man.  First thing he uttered to me was a warm hello with a grin and his voice was just as magnetic as his presence.  I must admit.

I was young, naive.  I didn’t know any better in those days.  I truly was a clean slate.  Had no life experience, pure innocence.  Not like I am now.  Now, I give new meaning to the word, bitch.  What else do I have?  It’s what he made me become.  Yes, once the dream was shattered by his hand, real life cracked open and showed itself to me…I wasn’t a virgin any longer.

We haven’t spoke one single word to one another in three whole months.  Believe that?  Ninety days today.  It’s become a competition of sorts.  A pride of wills.  Like a staring contest you play as a child.  I do not intend to lose this battle.  I will not be the first to speak to him.  Not this time out, if it’s the last thing I do.  Bastard.  That horrible bastard.

Joseph Arnone


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