“The House on Delacroix Street”
Mara and her sister Deb are clearing out their mother’s house after the funeral. Mara did the caretaking through their mother’s final year, alone. She doesn’t want the good silver. She wants Deb to say one true thing.
You want the good silver. Fine. Take it. Take the silver, take the good chairs, take the painting you suddenly remember loving. I’ll box it all up and ship it to Portland and I will not say one word.
But don’t stand in Mom’s kitchen and tell me what she would have wanted. You lost the right to know what she wanted somewhere around the ninth month, Deb. Which is roughly when you stopped picking up the phone.
Do you know what she asked me? At the end? She asked if you were angry with her. She thought she’d done something. She lay in that bed and invented a reason her own daughter wasn’t coming, because the real reason was too big to hold.
I’m not doing this to hurt you. I promise you I’m not. I used to lie awake dreaming about this exact fight, and now I’m finally in it, and I just feel tired.
So take the silver. I don’t want it. I got the nine months. I got her hand. You take the chairs.
Just — before you go. Once. Say you weren’t here. Say it out loud, to me, so that one of us finally has. That’s all I want. That’s the whole inheritance I’m asking for.
How to Play It
Objective: get Deb to admit, out loud, that she wasn’t there. Not to win the house — to be seen. The property is the excuse; acknowledgment is the real want.
The turn: “I used to dream about this fight… and I just feel tired.” The anger she rehearsed collapses into something quieter and more honest, and the final ask gets smaller — and harder to refuse.
Resist the urge to shout. This is grief wearing the clothes of an argument. The most powerful moment is the last one, and it should be almost gentle — an exhausted person asking for the one small thing that would let her stop carrying it alone.
Who it suits: an actor drawn to restraint and specificity over big emotion. A strong contemporary dramatic piece for women that pairs well against a lighter comedic selection.
Want Will to Coach You Through It?
A monologue is a two-person scene where the other person never speaks. Working it 1-on-1 with a working actor is the fastest way to make it land.