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11 Monologues for Women
(free for students & auditions)
"B. J. Learns About Normal-cy"
From Intercourse, Ohio
By G. L. Horton
copyright © 2000
Geralyn Horton
B.J. (Belinda Jean) Northrup, 18; a coed from Gray
Center, Ohio, matriculates at State Normal c. 1959 under the impression
that it is an Ivory Tower where she will contemplate and emulate
the Great Minds. Mrs. Cartwright, 50ish, Taft
Dorm Mother at State Normal, tries to set B.J. straight: as do
Rachel Levine, 26, a professor's wife; and Dr. Clara
Ohloff, 50ish, the school psychiatrist.
B.J. (Belinda Jean) Northrup, 18,
a coed-- circa 1959
I'm packing up to go off to State Normal, and my family and their
friends keep cracking the same stupid joke: "So, you're off to
college to get your MRS.! Nobody around here good enough for you?"
How could they say that? To a bookworm like me? It's 1959,
more than halfway through the 20th century. Sure, I know that
GrayCenter is a backwater: social life is organized around drag
racing and the Future Farmers of America. But out of a populationtion
of 1304, shouldn't there be one or two who understand that a girl
can be a serious person? I want an education for its own sake.
I want to broaden my mind and deepen my spirit. Nothing to do
with "snagging a meal ticket", or "catching the gold ring"! The
only marriage that appeals to me is the "marriage of true minds".
Where minds tell each other the truth. Sure, I'd like to be intimate
with a somebody brilliant: a Shelley or an Einstein. But courtship?
Dating? -- to me, they're poisonous. Boys out to impress and manipulate,
girls faking it with padded bras and pin curls. Why can't we be
naked to each other, body and soul? Why can't a flesh and blood
human male share his thoughts with me, the way my friend Madge
does? Or the authors of my favorite books? Of course, first
he'd have to HAVE thoughts. That lets out everybody around here.
Gray Center, Ohio. Where there's not a soul worth talking to except
Madge.
B.J. (Belinda Jean) Northrup, 18,
a coed-- circa 1959
Dr. Traversson actually spoke to me! Being to being!
Of course, most of what he said was prof to student stuff, good
advice, blah blah: but underneath the curlicues of irony-- I think
he respects me. And thanks to him, I'm invited. To Professor
Levine's--what? Salon? Salon conjures up harpsichords and snuff.
Not likely in 1959 Ohio. What, then? "Brilliant young men" "Bohemian
faculty-" and -- "chicks". Certainly Traversson's not a beatnik!
If he writes, I bet it's scholarship or criticism. God. This may
be the most important two hours of my entire life, and I don't
know what to wear. In Britain they all have academic gowns, I
hear. Long black gowns. Good idea, what? No marks of class or
fashion to distract; simply mind to mind. Well, I look sort of
like a photo I saw once of intellectuals on the Left Bank. At
least no one will take me for Betty Coed.
B.J. (Belinda Jean) Northrup, 18, a
coed-- circa 1959
This is so wonderful: as if being hidden and naked together
means we can tell each other the truth -- Truth that will set
me free. Not stuck in 1959, or Ohio, or a girl's body, or a white
skin. Free from the inside out. The closest I've come to this
before is poetry, or Shakespeare. Inside another mind, looking
out at the world: I felt I was Othello, or Shylock. I played Shylock,
in eighth grade. But the most intense is with Hamlet: I
mean, Hamlet is more real to me than my own experience. Come to
think of it, some of Shakespeare's women are pretty convincing.
I wonder if Shakespeare ever played women's parts? Cleopatra,
Beatrice, -- I recognize them. They're me, or Madge. But
all around me, even in books, I'm surrounded by girls who are
always saying what they think they're supposed to say. Trying
to believe in it. Even in Shakespeare! Miranda, Perdita: who ARE
these girls? These innocents? Our First Parents, they say, lived
in Paradise, without knowledge. For Adam, his disobedience is
a Fortunate Fall, a fall into freedom. But Eve's is sin and degradation.
Painful pregnancies, a partner who is her master. Well, "they"
can say it all they want: I just refuse to accept it.
B.J. (Belinda Jean) Northrup, 18, a
coed-- circa 1959
Remember what I told Madge about giving up art? How painful that
was? Every Saturday from second grade on I took the bus
to the Museum School. After classes, I just stayed the whole day,
scooting around the galleries on my little stool. When I was sure
the guards were out of sight, the Museum was my playground.
I'd fondle the white buttocks of a Greek athlete, or dance the
Seven Veils under his marble gaze. The empty galleries were perfect,
cool and quiet; but there were whispers from the walls, where
color and form called to me. Not just to me, of course -- the
Greats were hanging there for anybody. But I knew that to most
of the odd tourists who trotted reverently from frame to frame,
those images were dead. Nothing but relics. It was my eyes, my
potency, eyes of a ten year old drunk with godlike power, that
answered the painters' prayers and made them live again. I thought
then that one day I, too, would make images that called across
the ages. When I realized I couldn't, the magic disappeared.
That thousand-year artistic conversation, that intercourse that
once drew me in, took on an edge of mockery. I wasn't at home
there any more. Only an eavesdropper. Coincidentally, this happened
at the same time that one of my Instructors noticed I wasn't a
butter ball kid, and invited me to join his adult class. As a
subject, a model. I was tempted. If that's the only way to be
in on it--
B.J. (Belinda Jean) Northrup, 18, a
coed-- circa 1959
A poem. About me. Me, immortalized as Stefan's Coy
Mistress, or La Belle Dame Sans Merci. How does that feel? To
be one of the "bitches" Dylan Thomas is "dying of"? A poet invites
his reader into his mind: but what he sees his woman as, is far
more a description of what he is than of what she is. How could
I walk up to Old Possum Eliot, chatting with Dr. Taversson and
sipping tea in Taft Lounge, without offending Prufrock, or tempting
Sweeney to do me in? As for Stefan--? Stefan is not a good
idea. If he really can write, he could turn me into whatever
he wants. And if Betty discovered us, or Philip -- . I'm
afraid Philip is watching me. Hanging around the coffee shop and
the library to catch me coming in. Philip doesn't make demands,
not in words, but he feels me drawing back, and the unhappiness
is rolling off of him in waves.
B.J. (Belinda Jean) Northrup, 18,
a coed-- circa 1959
So I'm going to be a mother, about the time I turn nineteen.
Ironic, isn't it? I used to say that by the time a girl's mature
enough to raise a baby, she'll have better sense than to want
one! But -- to tell the truth, I love pregnancy. I
haven't been sick, just peaceful and sleepy.
Yesterday a painter stopped me on my way across campus and asked
if I'd pose for him. He said I looked like a Madonna.
Imagine! Not Mary Magdalene, but a Madonna. Well, why not?
I'm expanding to fill the Universe! For once my appetites
seem appropriate. I mean, I have these cravings, for pickles or
ice cream or hugs. But they are for the baby. I believe that she's
asking me to get her what she needs to grow strong.
Yes, I'm sure it's a "she". I call her "my darling girl"
when I say poems to her, and I can't wait to tell her everything.
About Intercourse, for instance. And the long, intergenerational
conversation. And about the woman she may have the courage to
grow up to be, the woman who finds her own life, and is something
quite new.
MRS. CARTWRIGHT: 50ish,
Taft Dorm Mother at State Normal.
Now girls, your Alma Mater stands here "in loco parentis", which
means, in the place of your parents. Your copy of the parietals
and the dress code should be like your Bible. Any girl accumulating
10 demerits will be grounded: confined to the dorm. Nopasses,
no dates, not even a trip to the library! Male visitors are restricted
to the front lobby, and must all be out of the building by nine
p.m. Fathers and brothers may visit briefly,with your door
left open. Sign them in and announce it good and loud by shouting
"Man on the floor"! -- you don't want to catch a girl in her curlers!
Be considerate of your roomies at all times. Those girls are your
best friends. Your roomies have been selected carefully, so that
you will have a lot in common.
MRS. CARTWRIGHT: 50ish, Taft
Dorm Mother at State Normal.
Belinda Jean, your roommates are like sisters, trying to help
you get along in our dorm family. Now, I hear that you are sleeping
through Psychology-- and telling your roommate, who is naturally
concerned, to mind her own business because you'll get an A anyway
because you "know the material". Setting aside the issue of disrespect
to your professor, do you really think it is wise to read psychology
on your own? Young people are attracted to psychology, oftentimes,
when they realize they don't fit in. But rather than seeking
help, what they are really doing is theory mongering, looking
to rationalize their behavior. Especially sexual behavior.
Wouldn't you agree that to be mature is to be responsible for
the effect we have on others? Now, Belinda, from all your reading
of psychology, you must be aware that men of college age are subject
to the animal urge. The rules may sound silly-- I know the girls
laugh at the one about keeping both feet on the floor--, but it's
all too easy to get carried away.
Now, we know that adolescent males are so constructed that once
aroused, their desire becomes a source of actual physical pain.
Their school work suffers. They may begin to drink, or become
prey to depression and even to disease. We're talking about moral
responsibility, here.
A clever young woman with all your so-called intelligence may
try to argue that it's perfectly all right to tease and flaunt
herself, as long as she manages, just barely, to draw the line.
But if one of these young men snaps, I can tell you it won't be
his fault!
Your behavior is inappropriate! French kissing in front of the
dorm, goodnight embraces that are bound to give all the men ideas.
And announcing in English class that you approve of premarital
sex! Scandal gets around, Belinda Northrup, so you needn't curse
ME for it! Now I suggest to you very strongly, and I'll put it
in writing to the dean, that if you don't want to become a matter
for the dorm council, you take yourself over to Dr. Ohloff at
the campus psychiatric service, and get yourself straightened
out.
DR. OHLOFF: 50, college psychiatrist.
Come in, sit down. I have here the results of your tests.
As I expect,they show that you are normal. No, let me rephrase.
Of sound mind.At the lower end of the scale on femininity, but
in my opinion that is to be considered an asset. So, to answer
your questions: no, you aren't crazy; and yes, many of the people
who make the rules are probably what you would call full of bull
crap.
I suppose you will consider this good news.
Although another way of looking is regret, as it is much easier
to change one person than to change the world. Nevertheless, the
conclusion is that our conversation is at an end.
No, do not protest.
Do not confuse mental illness with ordinary unhappiness.
Pushing against limits hurts. It is to be expected.
But dealing with such hurts, ordinary or extraordinary, is not
my job. To earn my salary here, I must devote myself to the clinically
depressed and the suicidal. You are not suicidal?
Good. Go out and have a good life.
From time to time you will be getting in trouble.
But that is good! Trouble is a sign of life. Stir them up, the
foolish and the small minded. But try to do it with some tact,
no?
You look amazed. Why is that? Because I am Authority? With degrees?
So, then, perhaps even as you learn, but not precisely what it
is "they" want you to learn, perhaps I also advise with a difference.
I tell you to choose your battles carefully. You live strongly,
you will make enemies. The Bible says, "fear is the beginning
of wisdom." But only the beginning: after that, courage.
So-- we are running out of time.
You feel a little bit rejected, yes? I could take you on
as a private patient. We could spend years-- analyzing your dreams,
your lover's nightmares, talking philosophy. Would your
parents be willing to pay for that? No?
Then take with you my oracle: all I can give you without "shrinking".
You see, I do know you. Maybe I have even been you. You have it
in you to be someone extraordinary. I don't say that you
should-- extraordinary people are ruthless, those who care for
them get hurt. But if you do, and then some man says you are the
cause of his problems: beware. Most likely that is melodrama.
Old stuff. A woman who finds her own life is something quite new.
RACHEL: late 20's- 30, faculty
wife.
Don't worry, B.J., I'll take care of it. (RACHEL dials phone)
Rank has its privileges. Listen to this.
Hello? Is this the proctor? I'm Rachel Levine--
Prof. Levine's wife, from the English Department. I have one
of your residents, B. J. Northrup, baby sitting for me. --
B. J. Belinda? -- Uh, yes. Yes, well, I'd like to keep her for
a little past curfew, if I may. One of the twins is showing flu
symptoms, and I want Belinda to stay here with the children while
I run down to the all night drugstore and refill my prescription--
Oh, no more than half an hour.
Thank you so much, Mrs.--? -- Cartwright. I'll be sure to send
along a note with her. Goodbye. (hangs up)
Applause, please.
Don't look at me as if I'm totally without scruples.
I have scruples. Never lie to a friend, never give a tyrant the
truth. Next week you can sign out for an overnight, B.J.
I'm respectable. Married to an Ass. Prof.
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