BLUE SUIT

when i was young, i met a girl. (moving to respective chair and picking up his tie.) i was maybe eleven, or ten. (returning to place and putting his tie on.) she was the first person i really... paid attention to. the first person who i found interesting, who i genuinely looked at. she wasn't like anyone i'd met before, but she reminded me of something. something like a feeling, something... substantial, and important. something nice, something... favorite. like... a job promotion... no... (he frowns and waves with his hands in a motion of dismissing the idea.) no, like the color of grass and leaves right in between spring being too fresh and summer being too dry... or the gooey fudge part of ice cream cake on your birthday when you were a kid. but there's no chance for love anymore.

RED SKIRT

(moving to respective chair and picking up her necklace.) when i was a kid, i was so full of dreams. (moving back to place and putting her necklace on.) i guess that was the intent of my parents, to have a little girl who wanted to climb so high that no obstacle or standard could ever stop her. just being a wife or a mother was so far below me that whenever i think about that sort of life now, the idea just feels obscure and unnatural. i wanted to be a neurosurgeon. an aerospace engineer. a medical doctor. a lawyer. and so i developed, ahead of everyone else. i studied and pushed and got to those high, high heights. but then i looked down, and there was nothing below me. and above me, there was nothing more i wanted. i had achieved it all and burned the bridges i had crossed. and there's no chance for dreams anymore.

GREEN TIE

the first time i went to the ocean i was seven years old. the sand was grainy and dry and warm. (miming a flying aircraft with his hands.) the water hitting the land sounded like a jet engine searing the sky-- i thought that was a pretty pathetic comparison: it was sweeter than a few sheets of metal could ever be. my plastic sunglasses were smeared in my greasy sunscreen-covered fingers. (moving to respective chair, picking up his tie, and putting his tie on.) i pretended i was all by myself, my own companion and my own family. that was enough. (moving back to place.) more than enough. better than when i was with anyone else. and when the sun set, it was an orange brighter than any other orange, and a yellow calmer than any other yellow. and as the shapes of the boats floating out in the atlantic and the people down the beach shaded black with evening coming, i felt so light. like the pinpoint of a star in an eternity of dark. like something god would want to love. but there's no chance to go to the ocean anymore.

BLUE SUIT

(moving to chair and picking up jacket.) i cut my hair over my girlfriend's sink, with a pair of safety scissors. (moving back to position.) it had been a straggly, dirty mess, a little bit past my chin, all in my eyes and knotting itself up. (putting the jacket on.) i told her that this was it, this was what i knew how to do, this was what i meant to do. she told me that was bullshit. (he laughs.) she said i was doing something i didn't even need, didn't even care about. she gave me choices to pick from, about why i was doing it: money? personal development? hormones? i don't know. there's no chance for self-discovery anymore.

RED SKIRT

everything was slowed down. it became easy, play-by-play, with time to think, to double check. (moving to chair.) keeping me qualified, keeping me smart and cool and precise. (picking up jacket and moving back to position.) no challenge. enough time to catch lunch, the clash of silverware on conversation, women discussing what comes before what in the alphabet. enough time to adjust the stretch of fabric covering the place between my legs represented in lipstick and a struggle for equal wages. enough time to run to the bathroom, smooth my hair, re-powder my face. it was like growing down. being dumbed down. like the professionals in their perfume and their cologne were ripping at my arms, at my hair, digging their heels and leather shoes into the marble to halt my progress with the offer of a paycheck and a medical plan. well, i took it. there's no chance for excitement anymore.

GREEN TIE

(moving to chair and picking up jacket, then moving to position while putting the jacket on.) i printed out my resume on one hundred percent recycled paper, paper that had carried glossy photos of naked women and a full-color pamphlet proclaiming the love for god. and it used to be a thousand-year-old redwood, living breathing, older than any other organism in existence on the planet. harvard business, eight years. and thinking about that, and writing it down, i wanted to chop down the rest of them, the rest of the thousand-year-old redwood trees. i wanted to chop them down and turn their pulp into more pornographic magazines, and christian propaganda, and parking tickets and posters for terrible, popular culture films and death certificates. but there's no chance for expression anymore.