The Final Monologue

Memorizing lines has always come naturally to me. All that I require is a night behind closed doors and a script with my character’s lines. One study of their traits and words sends me into the island of their mind and I become them, the words written by the playwright become my own and I am a newly born persona conceived from a writer’s mind. That is how simple and natural acting is to me. In the most literal sense, I become someone new. Please, do forgive me if I sound too haughty or prideful, I do not mean to boast. But you must understand that my life is devoted to the art of drama, and it is something that is as much a part of me as my gray, diminished hair or the wrinkles and folds in my skin. I could act humble and even embarrassed of my abilities, and perhaps on a regular night I would. But tonight is different. Tonight I am leaving the acting skills in the chest at the bottom of my closet, along with my used scripts and old costumes. Tonight I am completely and utterly bare of any illusion, in front of you all.

Perhaps you are asking within yourself why. Why would I stop my performance and remove the mask to the audience and reveal my face? Is that not breaking the fourth wall? Revealing to myself and to others that I am aware that this is nothing but a false story, a ruse of sorts, created to entertain only for a short moment? Does that not defeat the purpose of theatre as a whole? Does that not make me the worst of actors? To speak frankly and honestly, none of that concerns or worries me anymore. For too long have I been acting, being this character, and entertaining you. An intermission has been long overdue. Or perhaps what is needed is an overall conclusion to this program. Time to remove the costume and leave the stage. But I am afraid I am trapped here. There is no wing to the left to be out of sight, nor right wing to hide in darkness, away from the stage light. There is no backstage covered by the leg curtain. No green room to check my appearance or fix my clothing. There is only the Stage, and you, the ever-watchful audience. So I stand before you on these boards, finally accepting that no matter how much I circle this stage, I cannot escape the spotlight.

One would think that I, with so many decades of experience in my past, someone who has played a greater variety of characters than actual people you know, would be credited for my work. Sadly, I never have been. I am not a household name, nor do I have any awards on my shelf. But nonetheless, you do not leave the audience. You stay and watch me perform my work, and I suppose I should thank you for that. Would a bow be sufficient? Traditionally, that is saved for after the conclusion, but in my view, there is no planned ending in sight. Which is why I am closing this program myself. I am doing something I have never dreamed of doing: breaking character and addressing you, the viewer. Because there is something even you do not know. It wasn’t included in the narration, nor was it written in the program. It is a secret only I know, and I have kept it to myself until this moment. Perhaps I enjoy the fact that you are unaware. Although I cannot see you, I sense your ignorance and that somehow brings me comfort. A sense of control. But that is no longer necessary.

The truth is I do not act for a living. I make my money in a different way, sitting at a desk, selling unnecessary luxuries to ungrateful strangers. And I have not walked on a stage for years. I can remember the thrill of an opening night, the tension of a performance, the heat from the light directed at me to be visible to a full auditorium filled with an enjoyable audience. But those days are in the past. But here is the real secret: I am still acting. I am putting on a show, and you, the audience, have no idea that I am but merely acting every second of my now long life. You may see me leave my apartment, or catch a glance of me driving my car to my office. You may see me conversing with acquaintances, and you may observe what appears to be a normal, content man, in his elderly years. But I am not content. I have never truly been content. Because I am afraid of who I truly am. I am afraid of what I think, and what I feel. So I hide behind my mask. I put on a show. And you are satisfied with my lie. You are entertained. And is that not an actor’s main objective, to leave the viewer content with the performance? But I am weary of this show, I am tired of acting. For too long, seventy nine years to be exact, have I done all I can to keep my false appearance. And being happy with myself has never been a goal in my mind.

But the show is nearly over, and I cannot allow it to end like this. So tonight is the last night I stand before you in this character. Tonight I will begin starring as myself. Many will not be content with my resolution, but believe me, I no longer hold myself accountable for your entertainment. No matter where I am, I have an audience. The demons in my sleep, directing the interesting parts of my life. The angels in the streets, observing my every step as a flawed being made up of matter they cannot fathom. The ghosts in my wall, longing for even the aching feeling of my existing and feeling the sharp jab of life. And sometimes my fellow man, walking alongside me in this path of confusion. No matter what form of audience you make up, I am telling you with all sincerity, it has been a pleasure entertaining you, but I am finished.

I need to leave this room. I need to begin my life, my real life, for no one to entertain but myself. My true self, who I hope I begin to discover starting tonight. There is no time to grab a coat, I do not mind the chill outside, no matter how frail my bones have become. I do not grab an umbrella; no amount of precipitation destined to fall will deter my journey. I open the door of my apartment and look towards the stairway. Down a couple steps, out the door, and I will be free of this stage. The shackles will be broken and I will be no one but myself. I begin descending, no need to grab the railing, I have been trapped in the same home for over two decades, I know my footing. But what I do not recognize is the sharp, agonizing shock suddenly emerging within my chest. As I keep descending, I inhale sharply and grab at my chest with both hands, trying to get a hold of the pain and pull it away from my body. But the sharpness and stinging cannot escape, it is trapped inside and it is burning my core. My feet cease to move, but my body continues to descend. My knees hit the steps first, then my right hip, my side, and finally my shoulder. Now going down headfirst, my face seems to smash into the steps, like an overripe tomato being thrown against the edge of a counter. I close my eyes, but I still see flashes of white and red accompanied by each blow my body takes as I tumble to the bottom of the steps.

I finally stop at the bottom of the stairway, and after a few seconds I open my eyes. I am on my back, and my eyes point directly towards the light fixture on the ceiling of the first floor, illuminating the entrance of the building. Everything is blurry and my brain feels detached and flat inside my head. I try to lift my arm to assess the damage caused to my head, but every movement of my limbs sends more pain to my bruised body. This cannot be it. I have to leave this building. I have to get out. I groan and cough dryly as I roll onto my stomach, and I slowly lift myself using my elbows and knees until I can crawl towards the door. Every inch of movement causes me to groan and sometimes yell out in pain. But I am at the bottom floor, it is nearly midnight, and no one can hear me. Using all the energy I can muster, I push the door open. I am finally outside, still crawling, but now on the sidewalk. I feel a large stone in my chest, and my throat burns. My limbs have gone numb and I can no longer move at all. It cannot end this way. This cannot be it.

I have to get up. I have to leave. I have to be myself and live my life the way I choose, without the worry of pleasing everyone. I have to be happy. But I am immobile. I am dying. I can no longer move my neck, so I am directly facing the ground, my nose and mouth pressing on the sidewalk. I try to breathe, but my chest has been filled with stone, no air can enter or exit. Tears of pain and utter fear leave my eyes and instantly hit the ground, flowing down and drowning my nostrils and lips. I begin to feel drops of rain hitting the back of my head and body. Minutes pass and the rain intensifies. It is the final curtain to conclude this program. This is my curtain call. But I cannot bow. I hear no audience standing and clapping. No demon, angel, ghost, or fellow man is demanding an encore. Tomorrow someone will see the remains of what I left behind. A false thespian lying to his audience, and to himself, finally ends his performance. I stop trying to breathe. I don’t open my eyes and I let go. The show is over.