DEAR GOD

(A Monologue for a Male or Female)

By

D. M. Larson

Copyright (c) 2002

All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

(BILLY is an adult who exhibits child-like behavior. He gathers a notepad and goes to get a pencil and sharpens it with a small hand sharpener)

 

BILLY

A pencil has to be just right. Never too sharp, never too dull. If it's too sharp it might poke me and I'll get lead poisoning and die! I saw a show about that once. People dying of lead... oh, yes and going nuts. I seem to remember Van Gogh got so much lead poisoning he cut off his ear! Ouch! That's like out of Shakespeare... friends, Romans, countrymen! Lend me your ears! Ha!

(Checking the pencil. Pokes him)

Ouch! Too sharp...

(Tosses the pencil. Starts on another)

Now let's try to be a bit dull... dullness has it's merits. You can't get hurt. People don't expect as much from you. You do the job, but never for too long.

(Checks pencil. Smiles)

Dull it is.

(Sits with pad and paper)

Now, we're ready.

(Pauses as if listening to someone)

I know, I know... I will address it to Mr. God. You've nagged me a million times about this. I know! Just, just give me time okay. This is an important letter so I don't want to rush it, okay.

(Starts to write)

Dear God, I seem to have found something that is yours. A few nights ago, I was sitting in bed, sleeping I think, and then she was there. She was at my bedside, all white and glowing, rocking in my grannie's old chair. I couldn't really look at her though. She was all bright like the sun, giving me those spots on my eyes, those ones you have to blink away until their gone. I must say I was a bit scared and threw the covers over my head. When I looked again, she was still there! I couldn't believe. I said, "You're hurting my eyes." Kind of a silly thing to say. Why didn't I say, "Are you a ghost?" or something a bit smarter. She said she was sorry and vanished. I was worried I'd licked a few too many pencils and was going to cut off my ear, but then I heard her voice. She told me how she had fallen and couldn't get back home. Her wings were broken and she couldn't fly. "Are you an angel?" I asked her. She said she was. I told her she could stay. See, I don't have many people here, just Mom. I thought she could hang out with me. She said yes, but now Mom wants her to go away. She said it's not good for me to be talking to her. I thought mom liked angels but I guess not. Anyway... can you send a car around or a winged chariot or something to pick her up? She wants to come home now. Sincerely, Billy Graham.

(Giggles)

I wonder if God will know which Billy Graham is writing him? I bet it will get his attention that's for sure.

(Looks at letter)

Now how do I send this? Does God have a P.O. box? Is it like Santa Clause... you know, Santa, North Pole... God, Heaven...

(Listens to voice)

What? Burn the letter? Why? Will that work? If you say so.

(Goes to a cabinet)

Mom hides the matches from me. They're over here.

(Pulls out box of matches)

I think there's a reason she does.

(Gets out an ashtray)

I got this from Motel 6. Nice huh? I collect these things. Every time Grampa used to take me somewhere I'd get one. No, they're free. They have all kinds of free stuff in motel rooms: pens, notepads, and towels. Grampa liked it all. He said he always wanted to get his money's worth.

 

THE END