Scene Detail

"It's just -- words. Three words. They don't mean anything anymore."

From: Heaven and Home
Gender Age Character Name
Female 30s GABRIELLE (GABBY) HILLEGAS
 
Setup:
Cian has just asked Gabby if her boyfriend Vincent (Cian's older brother) has said "I love you" yet.

(This monologue was published by Smith and Kraus Publishers, Inc. in a collection of monologues for women in their 30s as part of their "Audition Arsenal - 101 Monologues By Type, 2 Minutes and Under" series in Spring 2005. Available online through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other web book sites. Smith and Kraus can be found at www.smithandkraus.com)

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Monologue

copyright 1996 by Matthew A. Everett


(Version of the monologue published by Smith and Kraus in 2005 Audition Arsenal series is below...)


GABBY

It's just -- words. "I love you." Three words. They don't mean anything anymore. No one believes them anymore. I'm not even sure I'd believe them if Vince did say them. I probably wouldn't. It's funny, but it's easier to believe God loves me. Because I can't see Him. He's not standing right in front of me. He's not sitting across the kitchen table waiting for His newspaper, wondering why I'm out of milk, waiting for me to leave for church so He can play basketball and not feel guilty. It's easy to believe God loves me. He doesn't have to say it. Someone else tells me and I take it on faith. I read it. I don't have to face Him. Look in His eyes and wonder.
I don't mean that things with Vince are all bad. They're not. He may not say it, but there are so many other things he does. Good things. He'll stay up all night just talking, holding me in bed. I can't remember the last person I felt comfortable enough to talk with in bed. Laugh with in bed. He shows me. I believe he loves me. Even though we both scrupulously avoid saying it.
Is it enough for me?

(pause)

It's more than I've had in a very long time.
And no. It's not enough.


(Version taken directly from the text of the playscript is below...)


GABBY

It's just -- words. Three words. They don't mean anything anymore. No one believes them anymore. I'm not even sure I'd believe them if he said them. I probably wouldn't.
It's funny, but it's easier to believe God loves me. Because I can't see Him. He's not standing right in front of me. He's not sitting across the kitchen table waiting for His newspaper, wondering why I'm out of milk, waiting for me to leave for church so He can play basketball and not feel guilty. It's easy to believe God loves me. He doesn't have to say it. Someone else tells me and I take it on faith. I read it. I don't have to face Him. Look in His eyes and wonder.
Vince -- it's things he does, things I do. He's an easy movie rental. He'll stay up all night just talking, holding me in bed. I can't remember the last person I felt comfortable enough to talk with in bed. Laugh with in bed.
He shows me. I believe he loves me. Even though we both scrupulously avoid saying it.
Is it enough for me?

(pause)

It's more than I've had in a very long time.
And no. It's not enough.




copyright 1996 by Matthew A. Everett

© Matthew A Everett
matthewaeverett.com