The Daughter – A Monologue
I am thinking about staying with you through my yoga certification. I know, Dad, you think I have too many interests. Not enough focus. But what did John Adams say? Something like, ‘I study politics and war so our sons can study mathematics and philosophy. Our sons should study mathematics and philosophy so their children can study tapestry and porcelain.’ It’s not like I’m studying porcelain. It’s yoga. It’s everywhere now. And we live in LA. Once I get a celebrity in my class, I’m set. I can tweet about it. I know, I know, you hate all that. But Dad, I can open my own studio, have something of my own. It’ll be like a year. Do you think I can maybe live in the guesthouse so it’s not like I’m actually living with you? We can set it up like a real apartment. (She continues to discuss her plans.)
The Father – A Reaction
His eyes, usually so blue and intense they were reprimanding, dulled to a rheumy gray. His moonpie face, given character only by his aquiline nose grown bulbous with age, remained neutral. Almost determinedly so. The only flicker of movement was the involuntary tic that forced his lips into a straight line. Each time it happened, two small dimples would appear to form an angry parenthesis around his mouth. As his daughter continued to speak, he looked more and more like a muppet, both animate and inanimate at the same time.