Monologues as a class assignment. We had to write at least one as a difficult character. I chose to work on characters that I’m writing a story about.
Difficult Character: Greg Butler **warning: language**
The worst part? It was Christmas. That magical day when you’re supposed to be oh so fucking jolly, and there I was - I - I didn’t mean to. It’s not like I planned it, you know? But when David got his present - the big present - I couldn’t help it. It was raw, you know? Primal, like. He started picking at the corner, slowly, in that annoying way that he does. Fucking kids got autism, so of course he can’t rip into his presents like any normal kid. Seven, he’s seven. Hell, at that age I’d have been through my entire pile of presents by the time he got through one. He, on the other hand, carefully peels the paper off, spiraling it round and round. In the end he’s left with one long strand of paper. Honestly, it made me dizzy, watching it slowly be unwrapped. And as each letter was revealed - E - A - S - I knew.
She promised. Promised. Isn’t that supposed to mean something? Isn’t that supposed to fucking mean something? I guess not. I used to trust her -really trust her. And then he came along. David. Took it all from me. All her time, all her energy, went to him. And I had to work. Wasn’t enough that I got a raise when he was born, wasn’t enough I was already working late. We had a kid with special fucking needs, and that costs money. I could handle the long hours. Shit, David didn’t like me anyway so it was easier to be away from home. But that wasn’t enough. We needed more, more, more. I gave up my weekends, my fucking weekends. That’s the only time I had to myself. That’s the only time I could paint. It made me feel free, you know? Not anymore, I had to work. Fuck. I hate work. Then Eva gave him my paint supplies. She knew what they meant to me, she fucking knew, and she gave them to him. Bitch. It wasn’t bad enough that he was using them, oh no. What’s worse - he’s good. Really good. Better than me.
So I made her promise. Talked her into letting him branch out, to find other things he was good at. I thought maybe I could go back to it, after he had lost interest. And she promised. But that bitch, that sneaky, fucking bitch didn’t keep that promise. I got him CD’s, classical music - hoping that might do something to his head, might make him better. She had talked about getting him some new educational gadget she saw on T.V. I thought it was all set, you know? I didn’t have a care in the world. Hell, I even poured myself some Christmas scotch - black label. I got all comfy like, on the couch, ready to watch David open presents. It was all fine and good, until he started unwrapping paint supplies. Small things at first, brushes, paint trays. My blood began to boil. But the easel, that was the last straw.
Second Character: Eva Butler
That was the worst Christmas ever. To this day I still couldn’t tell you what happened. One minute, we were happy. David was opening his presents so quietly, happily entertained for once. That year he started a new trend of peeling the paper off in a spiral. It took so long to open presents. But he was happy, and quiet for once, instead of screaming or rocking wildly in circles. Some days it’s impossible to keep him happy, but not this Christmas. It was God’s way of giving me a Christmas present, a few peaceful hours. Then Greg ruined it. Why did David have to take so long? Why did he have to set Greg off?
I don’t quite know what happened. David was unwrapping the easel. Every inch of paper peeled off brought an even bigger smile to his face. Greg was on the couch, drinking his yearly scotch, and as I watched him, his face grew red. I tried to hurry David up, really I did, but there is no rushing that kid. He’s going to do it at his own pace, or not at all. So I tried to tell Greg just to give him time, but he didn’t hear me. It’s like he wasn’t listening. His eyes were focused down on David, and I thought I saw…no father could hate their son, could they? But, that’s what I saw - hatred. And then I grabbed Greg’s arm. He pushed me, he actually pushed me, before lunging at David. He hit him, I saw it, mashed his face with the glass once. Twice. I started screaming, and I watched as Greg, a grown man, wrestled the easel from David’s hands, and throw it on the ground. He stomped on the box over and over. I heard it splinter into pieces. Then he stormed off.
And David, poor David. There was blood everywhere, from his nose, his lips. I thought I was going to have to take him to the hospital. How was I going to explain that to them? But as I cleaned him up, it wasn’t that bad. He had a gash across his forehead, and his nose was swollen, but it didn’t seem to be broken. It could have been worse. Greg could have actually hurt him, could have killed him. How would I explain that to everyone? He’s lucky he didn’t.
I don’t leave David alone with him anymore. I can’t. I just don’t trust him. The rare times we’re all together, I find I’m always situating myself between the two of them. Next time - god I hope there’s not a next time - next time, I’ll be there, between them. I’ve even started sleeping in David’s room, just in case. He’s not going to hit my child again.