Sebastian’s Monologue from “Two Ladies of Vermont” by Leanna Keyes

JULIA (they/he)
Are you there, God? It’s me, Julia.

So I tried. I have really, truly, tried. Trying to make this thing go away has lost me the people that I love. I’ve been low, God. And something’s gotta give.

I had a lot of time after Proteus left. I decided to go back to the book, back to your word, to see if I had missed something. Cover to cover. Maybe it’s a little silly to quote you to yourself, but, uh, here we go.

1 Samuel 16:7 – “God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.”

Okay so: If I feel something inside, then you’re looking at my heart. So if I’m feeling something so true that I can’t shut it down, maybe the problem isn’t that inside feeling. Maybe the problem is the outward appearance.

And here, in Isaiah 56:4-6: “To the eunuchs who keep My sabbaths, and choose what pleases Me, and hold fast My covenant, To Them I will give in My house and within My walls a memorial, And a name better than that of sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name which will not be cut off.”

That had me shook, God! Why’d you bury that one so deep in Isaiah? That seems like a bigger deal to me than the stuff about the shellfish. I like the idea of having an everlasting name better than that of son or daughter. I talked with my mom, to see what my name was going to be if I’d been born a boy.

Sebastian.
(shivering)

Oooh, I got chills just there, did you see that? Sebastian.

I’ve been trying to make this part of myself small for you. I thought that’s how I would hold fast to the covenant. But everything’s been going wrong the more I try to do it. Now to my understanding you have mixed feelings about sending signs, but uh. When I listen hard, I think I hear you. Trust the heart, not the outward appearance.

So I’m going to give Sebastian a try, God. I have some mistakes to atone for. I understand that you’re pretty big on atonement. Proteus… he was so patient with me. I owe him so much. It’s a miracle I’ve made it this far, and I think you might have been working through him to make that happen.

SEBASTIAN
We’ll talk again soon, God. Sebastian out.

Context: This play is a queer and trans adaptation of Shakespeare’s “Two Gentlemen of Verona” set in modern-day Boston. In this monologue, Sebastian discusses their gender with God; they were raised heavily religious and finally have come to realize that they are non-binary or transmasculine. Their former boyfriend, Proteus, broke up with them because Sebastian was so clearly uncomfortable trying to be Julia, the proper Christian girlfriend. For comparison, the original Shakespeare scene is Act 2 Scene 7 in “Two Gents.”

Website: www.leannakeyes.com

Jamie Q., from Silence, by E.L. McElroy

JAMIE Q. (they/them)

This is how I tell her.

We are alone at the kitchen table just into a bottle of merlot. Kids are asleep. I say I have to tell you something. 

OK, she says.

I don’t know how to say this.

Just say it.

I’m trying.

Just say it.

OK, I’m trying!

We go on like that for a while, back and forth, back and forth, until finally I do. I say it. After twelve and half years of marriage, I say it.

And this what I say:

I’m not a man.

Silence.

There is only silence. Almost like she was expecting it. But no tears. No yelling. No laughter. No anger. Just silence. It is the kind of silence that goes on too long.

You understand, right?

It is the kind of silence that, at first, is awkward. Then tense. Then louder than any scream.

It is the kind of silence that makes me doubt everything. That makes me think of what the priest told us about people like me. The sort of silence that makes me think about how I nodded my head up and down even though I knew better!

And this is how I tell her. This is how I tell her the person she married was someone other than the person she married, not a man, and yet still the same person, still me.

I expect her to explode, you know?

But, no, there is only silence.

Silence makes me nervous. So nervous. So I talk. That’s what I do when I am nervous. I talk. I talk to get rid of the silence.

I tell her I’m trans, OK? I’m trans. I’m trans. That is what I say.

I tell her this: I’m trans! I’m trans! I say it. Finally! I say I’m nonbinary. I say I didn’t ask to be, didn’t want to be.

If only I wasn’t, god, life would be so much easier. But, anyway, there it is, OK? I’m nonbinary. Do you even know what that means, I ask her.

I don’t wait for an answer. I tell her how it started a long time ago, before I can remember. I tell her I’ve always felt this way. I tell her I thought I was sick all those years ago. I tell her I thought that it would go away, and that maybe it did, kind of.

But, no, it did not go away, of course.

It never does, does it?

No, it doesn’t.

Believe me.

I know.

I tried.

I tell her I do not know why I am telling her this now, of all times, but that I can’t do this anymore.

I just can’t.

I can’t be someone else.

Silence.

I keep talking.

I tell her I dress up and put on makeup sometimes, like when I am away on business, when it is safe.

I tell her in these moments, finally, finally, finally, … Finally!

Finally, I am at peace!

I tell her the testosterone in me is as good as poison.

I tell her it is killing me.

Silence.

I tell her I don’t want to fully transition, that I am lost here, I am in the space in the in between.

But, I don’t tell her everything. Of course not.

No, I don’t tell her about the pain. No, I don’t tell her about the scars on my left arm. No, I don’t tell her about getting picked up by the cops on the railroad tracks.

No, I don’t tell her about the handcuffs pressed behind my back against the hard plastic seats in the back of a cop car.

No, I don’t tell her about the suicide attempt many years ago. And, no, I certainly do not tell her about my father.

Never that.

You understand, right?

I don’t tell her a lot of things.

Silence.

She stares at the wooden chest in the living room. The door is broken. I think she thinks one of the kids did it. Another secret.

But, no, it was me.

What happened was this: there was a jumble of paperwork — household clutter: Bills EZ Pass violations, misplaced, expired gift certificates. And it all spilled out onto the floor one day. So I shoved it back inside and shut the door. But the door popped open again. So I slammed it shut much harder this time. I don’t know why, but I was furious. The door splintered and broke. Everything tumbled out.

I tell her I’m sorry. I tell her I am sorry for everything. I tell her I am sorry. But then, I think to myself, no, I’m not sure I am sorry.

I tell myself maybe I wasn’t lying all those years. I tell myself to lie is to know the truth, and that, for the life of me, I have never been able to figure.

But maybe that is a lie, too.

I don’t know.

I just know one thing.

Here I am.

Finally.

Bio: E.L. is an aspiring writer living in Baltimore, Maryland. E.L. is on Twitter at @ELMcElRoy1.

On Your Island, from Tiny Beautiful Things, by Cheryl Strayed, adapted for the stage by Nia Vardalos

Letter Writer #3. Dear Sugar,

I’m thirty-four years old and I’m transgender.

I was born female, but I knew I was meant to be male for as long as I can remember. I had the usual painful childhood and adolescence in a smallish town because I was different-picked on by other kids, misunderstood by my family.

Seven years ago I told my mom and dad I intended to have gender confirmation surgery.** They were furious. They said the worst things you can imagine anyone saying to another human being, especially if that human being is your child. In response, I cut off ties with them, moved away, and made a new life living as a man. I have friends and romance in my life. I love my job. I’m happy with who I’ve become and the life I’ve made.

After years of no contact, I got an email from my parents that blew my mind. They apologized. They were sorry they never understood and now they do. They said they miss me and they love me. Sugar, they want me back.

I cried like crazy and that surprised me. I believed I didn’t love my parents anymore.

I have made it without them. I’ve created an island far away and safe from my past. I made it because I’m tough. Do I forgive them and get back in touch, or do I ignore their email and stay safe on my island? What do I do?

Signed,

Orphan

**The original letter read “a sex change.” The language has been updated in this post to reflect how the current vocabulary surrounding medical transition has evolved.**

Kay, from Deal Me Out, by MJ Halberstadt

KAY. (they/them, nonbinary, AFAB, early 20’s)

(buckets of irony)

It’s really all Elizabeth, she’s always set the schedule: we can go to Lewiston Mall on weekdays, but we can’t be seen there on weekends. Weekends we go to the Auburn Mall. And we can buy things on sale but not from a sale rack. Now that Josephine has her license back, we have to all go together in her car, or at the very least use the buddy system: two at a time. Now and then Elizabeth will go with one other person if Martin drops her off, but the whole point is that no one can ever arrive at the mall by themselves because if we have a hard time syncing up and finding one another we look
retarded—her words, not mine. There was a whole episode when Josephine, Elizabeth, and I were at the mall and then Olivia got dropped off and it was a total disaster. So, buddy system: never one, and never three unless one of us is out of town and it’s, like, a known indisputable fact that the fourth isn’t coming to the mall.

Elizabeth’s new thing is controlling our social media presence. She makes us send pictures to her before we post them, and we have to post at least one picture of all four of us together every week, and we can’t repeat outfits in those; she’s working on a collage or something. And I like started running out of things I wear and she was finally like “This is why we go to the mall. You have every opportunity to buy more tops.”

She lost her shit last month when I cut my hair, because usually she wants approval first and I didn’t ask. And then I told her what it’s really about and her eyes got really big and she was like “You know what, this is totally okay. We’re living in different times, and a little diversity isn’t a bad thing.” She actually wanted Marina in the group instead of Olivia so that we’d have racial diversity but not too-much because Marina’s half-whatever.

And so I was surprised that she was cool about it. But then she started changing some of the schedule and stuff, and talking about branching out. She started hanging out with Klara one-on-one which felt like an interview, especially because her name starts with K too and she’s custom-ordered so much J-O-K-E stuff for her room.

She told me we could still hang out at the mall and stuff, but that she didn’t want to keep me in the weekly group picture but we could still hang out at the Lewiston Mall and at her house, but I should hang back on weekends when they went to the Auburn Mall, and she asked me to stop visiting her at the salon because people kept asking questions and, well she said, it was “for my own good.” She “didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable.”

I said, “Elizabeth, that’s all really sweet of you to look out for me like that, but I have another new rule I was thinking of initiating,” and she was like “What’s that?” and I said, “How about I hang out with you zero days of the week, and we can talk to each other never and nowhere, for pictures, I’ll wear whatever I want and you can say nothing about it because you are not my friend. I like that schedule better.”

Context: The play concerns a board game group who meet to kick out a longstanding member. In this flashback scene, Kay (nonbinary, AFAB, early 20’s) is their high school self, catches a new friend-group up to speed about why they left their old friend group.

More info: MJHalberstadt (at) gmail (dot) com

Ash, from Poltergeist, by Alika Magas

ASH: Shift supervisor at a gay bar; an awesome kick-ass non-binary individual who knows a solid thing or two about the way the world really works. Very mature while somehow utterly inarticulate. They/Them/Theirs.

ASH. Hey Kitt, it’s me. Obviously. Hey, I, uh, well I just wanted to call and see how the

(HEAVY air quotes on this one, even if it’s not with their fingers.)

“hang out” is going. I still think you’re an idiot for doing this, so I don’t know if silence is a good thing or a bad thing and I’m not trying to like be a total queer dad-mom-parent-whatever about this or anything, I’m really not, you’re a big boy, you got this and shit like that. But. You’re always texting updates when you’re like this– Jeez. Sorry. Look at me, getting over involved in my friends again. Wow. Okay. Well, call me or text me or something? Just don’t do anything I’d tell you not to or regret or– goddamn it there I go again. I’m gonna hang up before it gets worse or the voicemail lady cuts me off. Okay. Call me back or something. Bye.

ASH. I’m so so sorry, Henry–

(A long beat. Relive the warning, the attempt, the long night in the hospital afterwards.)

–you were my regular for almost longer than Kitt’s worked there, and I– I should have known. Fuck, I was pouring that beer and… something was up, you’re always jittery but not like that and I didn’t do anything I just let you walk out of that fucking bar while I told my story and all I wanted was to get to the end. How messed up is that? You were sitting there, red flags might as well been on fire, and all I can think to myself is: damn, I hope he doesn’t make some dry joke or interrupts, he really needs to hear the end. I really need him to hear the end. But does it matter?

(Another beat.)

What matters is I was thinking that and you were…

(Beat.)

Can we talk about something else?

ASH. Hey Kitt, it’s me. Obviously. Y’all are probably still in the air. Lucky fuckers. Still love you though, any way, I just wanted to know if y’all had a safe flight so call me when you land or something and jesus I’m doing the queer dad mom parent thing again and I still really need to learn to stop with that don’t I? I guess, guess we both do actually. Don’t tell Henry I said this, he’d probably get all defensive and stuff, kid couldn’t take a compliment even if I wrote it into a screamo song, jesus christ, but I’m proud of you two. Like a lot. My two little babies are growing up. Okay that one was intentional, I’m not that bad. I’d like to think I’m not. But… uh… yeah. So remember to do some fun things while you’re out there, kay? I’ve heard Casa Bonita is actually a real place so maybe track that shit down and send me a few pictures or something. We could video chat on the Face time maybe? Okay that is like the single most old-person parent thing that’s ever come out of my mouth so I’m just gonna hang up now before I say anything else or the stupid voicemail lady cuts me off. But, really. Have a good break, smoke a joint, don’t let Henry get too angsty and–

(The voicemail lady cuts them off)

Goddamnit.

More info: alikamagas (at) gmail (dot) com

Teddy, from Riot Brrrain, by Caitlin M Caplinger

TEDDY (they/them)
It’s not a swing and maybe that’s how the world has portrayed it like this very lateral process you’re up then down then up down then up down up down and those are your only two modes

                            Deep breath and reveal

bipolar two
literally the name that you’re only occupying these two spaces you’re stripped of that middle the regular the calm
to say nothing of the void that is co-existing pouring in and out of the cracks filling you out making you into one whole lotta
into one whole stunning rich worthy helluva person

                          TEDDY enters into the revolving door (hypomania), moving slowly

it’s more a revolving door where at different times you’re burrowed in a pocket that’s allowing you to conquer the fucking world you are up at dawn who needs food I will accomplish everything in the universe who needs sleep who needs health who needs fucking money spend it all on shit that temporarily grounds me or takes me to the next goddamn level I am above those things I’m the one to take you to the hospital at 3am because I can’t get to sleep because what if someone dies my phone needs to be on I will murder someone most likely me

                 Ducks out and into another door section (baseline), the revolving speeds up

the next pocket is chill cool as a manic pixie cucumber the parts you like the acceptable mode the kind of calm you only feel after a Michelin star orgasm

                Ducks out and into another door section (depression), the revolving speeds up

fuck this pocket

                     The revolving speeds up

but the comforting aspect is that because its spinning there’s this gravity keeping you in one of these 3 pockets so you know what to expect

                    The revolving stops, TEDDY drifts out

it’s the days when gravity stops working when there’s no force pushing me into the center of the door when I could very well float out when the color leaves my cheeks and talking is useless because who would I communicate with it’s the days where you find me unapproachable intimidating because I don’t have an expression on my face or I don’t immediately kiss your ass or I just seem above it all but I suspect actually deep down you can sense there is nothing and that scares the shit outta you

Context: Teddy definitely, 100% has neurosyphilis — oops! To track down the dipshit who passed the pox, they embark on an epic punk-filled journey through their sexual (ok, sometimes romantic) past. Riot Brrrain features an original soundtrack, canonically non-binary and bisexual characters, and loads of biting humor.

This monologue ends the play. After acting some kind of fucked up for 90 minutes, Teddy finally confronts their own challenges and shame: they do not actually have neurosyphilis, its Bipolar 2.

More info: caitlincaplinger.com | caitlincaplinger@gmail.com for inquiries and performance permission

Liv, from Great Big Sky, by Claire Gilbert Haider

LIV. (They/Them)

I’d already been living in the Bay Area for a year maybe when he died. And I was loving it there, I mean, I am queer as fuck and I look better in a suit and tie than any cis man I know. I’d been wearing blazers and button ups for about a year by then — my genderqueer calling card, as it were. I never added my dad on Facebook. He couldn’t even know I was queer, let alone genderqueer, that would have killed him faster.

I remember when I was in high school I had hair down to my waist. I was already wearing boxers by that time, but my hair screamed femme to most people so that’s the role I played. When I finally cut it short, after I got out of my secret queer relationship — my dad hated it. He said long hair was so attractive to men. Men liked it, and didn’t I want to be appealing to men? First of all, yuck. Saying that to your own kid — yuck. But secondly — and this I never got to tell him — why the fuck did he assume I wanted to be attractive to men? Who said my hair or my anything was a signal to cis men that I was looking to be their white picket fence, their vacuuming in pearls, their subservient flesh sleeve for the rest of my life? So Jane and I broke up, and I cut it all off, I went hard into the David Bowie look while in Oakland. I mean, three piece suits, pocket watches, the whole nine. I killed it.

Anyway, when he died I got his ties. I got his tie clips. I got his antique pocket watch that has to be wound, that has his dad’s name and his name engraved in the back. It’s all mine now. And when I wear it? I know he wouldn’t understand it. Wouldn’t approve. I’m carrying on the things I miss most about him and he’d think there was something wrong with me for it. Anyway, I still look better in a suit than he ever did. Take that, Dad.

More info: This monologue is from a play in progress called Great Big Sky by Claire Gilbert Haider. Liv and their friend Ziggy are hiking through the Yosemite Valley spreading Liv’s father’s ashes around the park. This monologue takes place in Tuolumne Meadows. For further information please contact clairehaider (at) gmail (dot) com.

 

Trans And Relative Dimensions In Space, by Ayla Sullivan

I’ve been telling myself for a long time there’s gotta be an easier way to come out to my family. An accessible way. No academic jargon. No easy to google slang, because I know for a fact y’all are too lazy to ever do work you can just push onto a Black person to explain for you.

My grandfather raised me on visual media, charted years of golden era kinda love. His favourite Doctor is Tom Baker and his undying, fanboy passion is a Galifrayian typa magic he has passed onto me. I’d redo my coming out with him in simpler terms. Tell him my gender is the TARDIS because it’s bigger on the inside. My queerness is powered by a tesseract. I am expansive in all dimensions, in every time, and fluid. This a queerness and a transness that cannot, ever die. A typa queer that never has to fear death, only trust in my own regeneration promise. Of course, though, what is gayer than fearing your friends’ death? Constantly trying to find joy in the danger of navigating your life, traveling so often because home is its own transformative property, and knowing, always knowing, solidarity is a threat and your companions endanger themselves because of their proximity to you. Of course it’s easy to feel like the last of your kind in a genocide.

Still, this why every queer out there is equipped with two hearts. We don’t let our heart break no more. We cuddle double the love, double the wound, and can repurpose any household item, especially a screwdriver, into a weapon, a saviour, a map, all purpose tool.

This queerness knows every language, speaks to every wave, trusts in the universe despite knowing we could easily be Gods of it as this point, know how to hide by whatever identification people need to see to believe us, always embrace the loneliness. Even if it is the only thing to stay.

I am not new, but an ancient force, still hopeful, still surviving. I’m the motherfucking Doctor and don’t you fucking forget it. Bitch.

More information: aylaxc.sullivan (at) gmail (dot) com

Crissy, from Trans/Actions by K. Woodzick and Ayla Sullivan

CRISSY. I feel more comfortable choreographing for the girls now. (Beat.) I went to the hardware store the other day, to get an extra set of keys made and the clerk gave them to me and said, “Here you go, sir.” (Beat.) And I corrected her and said “My pronouns are she, her and hers and I actually go by miss.” And she said “Well, good for you,” and walked away. (Beat.) I told the management of the store and they kept asking me to give them more information. And I eventually got to the point where I was done. I choose to be an advocate, but I don’t have to put myself in a position to educate others all the time. (Beat.) Just once, I would like someone to ask, you know? To go into a store and have a clerk ask “What are your pronouns?” That would be…that would be….

(There are no words. The Song of the Roasted Swan from Carmina Burana starts to play. CRISSY begins to dance.) 

Playwrights: K. Woodzick and Ayla Sullivan

Context: This monologue happens in the last scene of the play. Crissy, a ballet dancer, is reflecting on the ways in which she moves through the world.

Website: www.woodzick.com

Contact: nonbinarymonologues (at) gmail (dot) com

!

Writer, from paper backs, by Tristan B Willis

WRITER

I had a dream.
I might’ve been awake.
You stood on a dock
overlooking the ocean.
I could see you
weighing the water
and I was terrified you would step
into the waves and let the seaweed
embrace you until your lungs forgot
the taste of air, until your skin matched
the lapping tide and your eyes and my fear.

I tried to drag you back
but my fingers passed
through and I knew
I should find help
but I didn’t want
to leave you
to jump alone.

PLAYWRIGHT: Tristan B Willis

CONTEXT: From the play paper backs. A scholar and artist navigate their passion for their art and each other while stuck in a relationship that continuously cycles back to the beginning. Both characters are race and gender neutral.

WEBSITE: https://www.tristanbwillis.com

NPX:  https://newplayexchange.org/users/8583/tristan-b-willis