The Suit And Tie Monologue

The suit and tie. The man who brings home the bacon. With a huff and a forceful push, the door flies open, letting the snow and draft rush in. The cold, harsh, unforgiving air allows tiny little bumps to emerge on my arms. I rub my hands vigorously, up and down my arms, in hopes that I can make the bumps disappear. I glance back up at him, avoiding eye contact at all costs and watch as he sets down a black briefcase. One stray paper is sticking out of the side. He forces it out of the briefcase, ripping it in two. The remaining half of the paper stuck inside the briefcase. Forgotten. “Damn.” he says. He clenches his fist and turns the other half of the paper into a ball. “Doesn’t matter anyway.” He says as he starts to stomp the mudded brown …show more content…

She too avoids his hard mean eyes that are dull of color and full of hatred. “Then clean it again you damn idiot.” He hisses. He eyes me with disgust and then glances back to his bottle which is now almost empty. “Come on.” I say. Right after the words roll off my tongue I bite it. As I watch his head jerk to face me, I hold onto my silver necklace and try to forget he’s there. “What?” He asks even though he knows exactly what I said. He starts to rise from his chair. “N-nothing sir.” I say. I stand straighter, a little taller. I am a soldier. He is my drill sergeant. “That’s what I thought,” he sits down in his chair again and swigs his beer. Once he’s finished, he stands, “Where’s dinner?” He marches into the kitchen and rips open the fridge. He grabs another beer bottle and stares at the table, as if he’s expecting food to appear before him. He begins to tap his foot as I start to walk into the kitchen. I stand there for a moment. The smell of the cheap paint ruins the aroma of the delicious dinner she’s been slaved into making. I look at her in disbelief how she can manage this ritual, night after night, day after day. Sure enough, she looks up and responds to …show more content…

Really Lydia. 10 damn minutes. When a man comes home he expects quiet. He expects food on the table not on the stove. But Lydia, what have you given me? Nothing. Nothing but an unwanted disgrace of a child and 10 DAMN minutes of waiting till I can eat.” He slams his beer bottle on the counter. The force he brings the bottle down with causes papers containing recipes to flutter to the floor and glass to go everywhere. I raise my arms to guard my face from the sharp glass. I take a step back as I watch him chuckle at her fear. I peer back at the ground and see one of the papers lands on the ground face up. It reads Chicken Noodle Soup. He stomps his foot on it, and thrashes it back and forth. Ripping it with a stray pebble that was stuck to the bottom of his brown work boots. I watch as she backs away from the steaming stove and begins to inch towards the corner of the kitchen. The same place I watch her always go. I allow myself to look closely at her even though it pains me to. I see that her smile-the smile that seems to find a way to bring a little bit of light into my dark life begins to fade. I see that her eyes that on a rare occasion will sparkle and dance are now dull and washed over by a storm of darkness. The world seems to spin as I become filled with nausea as he steps closer. Every step is a wasted second. I hear my wrist watch tick. The ticking grows louder and louder until it’s all I hear. I look up from my watch. He is right in front of her. The muscle in