Fill Me Whole

I wanted to be a paleontologist when I was around eight or nine. I would go out in the backyard and dig up holes with my yellow shovel and a little red bucket. 

Can you imagine? 

Me, uncovering the remains of a rare creature? 

A dinosaur even? 

But not your run-of-the-mill one, it’d be a hidden gem in the paleontologist realm. Like a Nobel Prize-worthy discovery. Nevermind the fact that I am terrified of dirt and the heat….

oh God, the heat! And all the insects? ….maybe paleontology really wasn’t for me. 

But what can I do with all these excavation skills I’ve got under my belt? After ripping apart every inch of me, digging out the parts that didn’t fit, there’s nothing left. 

…

You don’t believe me. 

Look, (reaches inside where guts should be and sand comes out from hands) Do you see the problem now? I am a hollow playground sandbox! 

Everyone loves to see you give yourself away. It’s like the perfect party trick and I’m a master at it. 

But when it comes down to it, no one tells you how to fill the holes back up.

 And don’t even get me started on how dry my throat has been ever since. Have you ever been to the beach and overestimated your balance only to fall and swallow so much sea salt? That’s what I feel every time I open my mouth. Every time I breathe. 

I read that you could fix this! (reaches into her heart and pulls out more sand) That you could heal me! 

So forgive me for not being more courteous, but I’ve traveled a really long way, I’m starving, I haven’t slept in days and I had to do things that I never thought I could...and...and I don’t know, but for the O Great Seer, you don’t seem that great to me. 

…

...

I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. 

…

…

I mean, your place looks nice. 

And I love the...um...the smell.

Is that…

Lavender? 

— original monologue written in a workshop February 2021