Example of monologues

Answer 1

Bald is Beautiful

By Peg Kehret

Did you ever think about how important hair is? It's the first thing mentioned when anyone describes another person. She's blond, they'll say; or, he's a redhead.

Shampoo ads make it seem like a person's hair is the onlyimportant thing about them. As long as your hair is shiny, bouncy and free of dandruff, you have no problems.

With so much emphasis on hair, it's small wonder that I came unglued when I found out I was going to lose mine.

I didn't cry when I had the CAT scan. I didn't cry when the doctor told me about the brain tumour. But after I found out I had to have my head shaved, I cried.

My mom said my hair would grow back and my dad said I could buy a wig and my little brother, Syd, said think how much time I would save in the bathroom every morning.

My sister, Janie, was the only one who understood. She said it was terrible that I had to be bald and she didn't blame me one bit for crying.

The surgery went even better than expected. The tumour was small and it was not malignant. When I woke up, I was weak and woozy, but for the first time in months, I didn't have a headache.

But when I looked in the mirror, I almost threw up. I looked like one of those mannequin heads that beauty shops display wigs on. I was smooth and white and round. And ugly. I never saw anything so ugly as me with no hair.

At my second checkup, the doctor removed the stitches and said I could go back to school half days. I was scheduled to start the next Monday afternoon.

I didn't want to go. I looked like a freak. How could I go back to school, looking like a freak? Even if I wore a wig, everyone would know it was a wig and stare at me. What if the wig fell off? What if some creepy boy pulled it off? I said I would rather dance barefoot in a barrel of thistles than go back to school without any hair on my head.

I told my parents that if I had to go back to school bald, I would run away and sleep in a cave and eat wild berries. They said I couldn't sit around and feel sorry for myself and do nothing but wait for my hair to grow out. My mother said if I didn't want to wear a wig to school, I could wear a turban. I said a turban would be even worse than a wig and I refused to get either one. My father said I should be thankful I was alive and to quit complaining about my lack of hair.

Syd asked me to go to his homeroom on my first day back, because he'd bet some kid fifty sense that his sister was bald and he wanted to collect his money.

Janie didn't say anything.

I said I would be a freak for the next six months and I would never be happy again until I got my hair back.

My dad said to quit calling myself a freak and I said one bald girl in the whole school was most definitely a freak.

When Janie and Syd left for school on Monday morning, Syd started to remind me about his fifty-cent bet, until Janie poked him and told him to be quiet.

The minutes dragged by that morning. I dreaded walking into the school and having everyone stare at me. I dreaded being different from all the other kids. I never felt more alone than I did that morning while I waited until it was time to go. I was miserable and I knew when I got to school, I'd be even more miserable.

I couldn't eat any lunch. I sat at the table, staring at my cheese sandwich and waiting for Janie. I had asked her to come home at noon and go back with me, so I wouldn't have to walk into the school that first time alone. Maybe she wouldn't come. She probably decided she didn't want to be seen with a freak. Who could blame her?

I tried not to cry. It was bad enough to be bald; I didn't want my eyes to be all red and swollen, too.

I heard the front door open.

Behind me, I heard Janie say, "Are you ready to go?"

I swallowed hard, trying to get up my courage.

"The way I figure it," she went on, "Syd's friend owes him a dollar."

I started to say there was no way I was going to parade my bald head around in front of Syd's friends, and then I turned and saw her.

Janie had skipped class that morning. Instead of going to school, she went downtown and got her head shaved. She was smooth, and white, and round, just like me.

I sat still as a stone, while the full impact of what she had done sank in.

"One bald girl might be a freak," she told me. "Two bald girls could start a new fashion."

Although the words were joking, her lip quivered as she spoke.

When we got to school, everybody stared, just like I knew they would. But I wasn't miserable. I wasn't miserable at all. I was happy! As I marched down the hall with my head held high, and my beautiful sister beside me, I knew that some things are way more important than hair.