A monologue by marijke

One day, I sat down and stared at myself, thinking, just wondering what I would become. There are so many people out there I just can’t decide what I’d like to be. There are those who stroll freely in life, sometimes making some of those choices I wish to not make. But then there are the people who live constrained from others. I see them more often each day. Although they aren’t always wearing a tight suit, they look as though they are. Scared of what people will think of them. But in doing so, more judging happens and they judge others. It’s really just because they’re phonies. There is no help. It’s not like people don’t stare at me either. I sit on the side of the road in my chair of many woods with David, the semi-homeless man from across the street. He sees more than I do, but I think every day someone new sits down in a chair. And although some are made of all one wood, or others have many woods, we all have a chair and here, there is always a little piece of something that unites us together. I think it’s bronze that’s on everyone’s chair. Bronze can be taken in a good or bad way. Think about it. Someone can love that they came up in the top three or it could be a failure because they didn’t do the best.
But back to those people who I call phonies. I just don’t think that they realize what they’re doing in their lives. And how we’re only here for such a short time. And… their chairs reflect that. They focus so much on how little or how much bronze is on their chair. If we’re here, we all have a little. Why complain about how much. But they’re fake and wear masks and are unreal to the world around them. I don’t really understand them. The other people who wear masks, are like me. With a bronze plated chair. Under it, there are so many types of wood in various states, but on the outside, all you can see is the bronze. No one realizes what I’m really like. And I don’t think people realize what David is like. They’re too wrapped up in their own thoughts to realize that there’s more than bronze out there.
Sometimes I forget as well. And then, I see my chair in it’s true colors, it’s only half bronze, the parts where people see. But, I’m really half in and half out. From the inside, it looks like a comforting group of people standing around me. I can’t see their chairs because we all meld together as a society to form a large group of conformists. I think that’s another word for phonies. ‘Cuz that’s what teenagers are about, aren’t they? Non-conformity. But… people don’t really meld, because they see in colors, not chairs. Colors don’t tell us anything. They just tell us what color that person’s hair, skin, or eyes is. I see in chairs, how somewhere, there is someone like me. Someone who is just as lost as I am in this huge table with all these chairs.
I mean, this is a great expanse of never-ending chairs. Sometimes, you have to sit at the head of the table and you are REVEALED. Boom. Everyone can see you. Sometimes it is horrible. The fact that people realize who you really are. All your bad, undesirable traits come out. But other times, being put on the pedestal can be beautiful. Your inner-most qualities come out, and, when no one realizes it but yourself, you have become great. This, mind you, happens most rarely and experiences tend to be bad.
Take Mrs. Shop-Lady for instance. Just the other day we found out she killed someone. Imagine that, that nice little old lady down the street. How could she ever do something as horrible as that? Well…. she did. And, she was sitting at the head of the table. I felt so bad for her, I could see it. Her house falling to pieces and the person she killed walking out of it. A disaster in the storm. It rained very hard that night and I was scared. Scared for so many people I knew. What would come of all this?? She was awful nice to me sometimes, and to David, but she killed. Even after that house that SHE BUILT HERSELF fell down, I don’t think she ever felt sorry. That’s the human race for you. No one forgave her, they loved watching her on her chair. All the wood in her chair changed, and melded. Some places she went, that chunk of bronze got bigger, other places, it got smaller. But… she never really had any covering of the wood, unlike me, all bronze-plated and the likes.
Sometimes I feel even worse. Like, as a person, do people even really know who I am. Or because I’m the quiet woman sitting on the side of the street, does that make me vulnerable? You don’t see what I see. I see people who want dreams, who have dreams, who lost dreams, all because of their chair. Maybe their chunk o’ bronze wasn’t so big. What can I do? In the conformist circle, no one sees chairs. But, they see colors. Sometimes, they’re both the same. But, maybe it’s like thinking in apples, and spoons. You just gotta sometimes. I think in apples and spoons….. and chairs. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. Because then you see the whole picture. A chair isn’t just the color of your skin, it’s what you are. Now, who are you?