Walk Me To The Door

In this monologue, Samantha Jones stands erect in her mothers living room, bracing herself for what will soon be her mother’s passing.

(staring out window)

Samantha Jones:  We never got along; she was always bitter towards me; I was the apple of my father’s eye; she loathed his love for me…

So often I’ve tried, to, hold her hand, to, be her friend.  She always left me out to dry.  Despite the old prune she had become; well, I say become with the hope that she was something beautiful prior; something pure and vibrant—I blame myself…I used to blame myself, that is…

One time I saw a spark in her eye, it was the only time I have ever seen it.  We were out at Westminster Park—no, no…I’m going to refrain from speaking of it, I’m going to keep that one for myself. (beat)  The point of it, of what I’m saying is that I wish the light in her never went out—spent my life in search of it. I’ve never truly understood.

(beat – she turns away from window)

Well now, here we are…waiting

(she cries)

(gets herself together)

So, I would much rather prefer if I went in first, as I am sure my face would not be the last thing she wishes to see while she makes her exit.

(clears her throat)

I’ll go first Arthur.  I–will—only—take a minute and then…then…you can come in and see her off for good…she would like that…she would like you to be—she’s always liked your face–haha!–she has always talked about how gentle and friendly your face is, “So welcoming, warm and welcoming” she used to say. Ha!  You are–You DO!  Kind man.  You are a kind hearted man, Arthur.  Thank you for being here and for—you are appreciated, sir.

(clears throat)

Okay, okay, I’m ready now.  (like a question) Walk me to the door.  Thank you.

Joseph Arnone


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