Blue Girl Monologue

Mom orders for all of us and none of us get what we want. Dad gets some sort of spicy pasta. I get lamb. Tommy gets a plate of meatballs. We all order wine. Dad is mad because he wanted to eat at his favorite restaurant. Mom tells Dad that we have a reservation there for Friday night. This isn’t good enough for Dad. He pouts. Tommy and I order another glass of wine. I keep expecting to be scolded for drinking, but nobody says anything to me. Tommy and I are getting along again. A cute girl comes into the restaurant. She looks at Tommy. I look at her. Tommy looks at me. “Tommy, did you see that?” I ask. “That hot girl was checking you out!” Tommy looks at the girl. He says there is no way she was checking him out. He says she isn’t hot. I tell Tommy that he is crazy, that she could
I’ve hung back in one of the galleries; it is empty and I can hear myself breathe. Framed by a skylight, the wind is twisting clouds into grotesque faces that disappear and then reappear. I am looking at a William-Adolphe Bouguereau painting. A young girl is posing in the painting. There is a broken pitcher on the ground, but the longer I stare at the painting, the more the pitcher fades into the background. The painted girl has her hands clasped together and she is dressed in a simple, rough-looking shawl and skirt. I try to take in the entirety of the painting, but I keep being drawn back to the eyes of this girl. She looks furious at having been painted. She looks lonely. The more I look at this girl, the more I see myself in her. It’s her dark eyes. Tommy comes over to where I am. He says Dad sent him to tell me to hurry the hell up. “Look,” I say, pointing at the Bouguereau painting. “She’s me.” Tommy laughs. He tells me that I am prettier than the girl in the painting. “You mean she is prettier than me?” I ask. “Come on,” Tommy says, “Dad is about to lose