by Ava Lindt
427 words (3 minutes)
(Sasha used to be good friends with Miss Popularity at her school. There is probably a bit of jealousy going on here, but also a clear headed and mature sense of reality. This monologue was definitely based on my junior high and high school experience, so I would imagine that others can definately relate and find something to express through this monologue.)
I don't think I could ever know you again. Just looking at you across the quad makes me nauseous. You smile like everyone is looking, in that way that people smile when they take a school picture. I know that you've practiced it in the mirror since you were able to hold on to one. You could be Junior Miss Andersen High School. Your gelled up hair and drawn on face, I know it's all bullshit. I remember you from elementary school, when we used to be in the same class. I remember the way you shocked us all by being the first one in the class to pierce your ears. I guess that was a sign.
Still there was more to you then, I think I can still remember: You were amazing at running, we used to play soccer together, you had a cat named Penelope. Our lives ran parallel at that time. Now how is it possible now that you and I don't exist on the same planet anymore, that we have no means of communication other than my glance and your smile across the quad. What is holding us apart? I am watching you now. You move so carefully, you are trying not to break your little heels, but even the heels are more solid than your truths. You are trying not to topple over like a clutz because your shoes are so high up. I don't know who taught you that this was beauty, that fragility was strength in this world of ours.
My friend Renee said you like looking pretty because that's the only thing you've got. She told me that you have nothing to say at all. That sometimes, when she hears you, you sound like a whiny feral cat. I always laugh at that, but I don't believe that's all there is to you. Why don't you let yourself out? I think that you'd find there is more to the world, more to this school than this lame popularity contest. When some guy says something lame to you, don't act passive. Smack him. If I were really talking to you, if I had any guts at all to tell you this, I'd guess I would try to end my lecture on a high note. I'd ask you over to bake cookies, go to a show. I'd introduce you to better people. And then I'd ask you what it was really like to be at the top of the social scheme and if you'd please help me unravel it.