An aging man recounts a car accident to his wife. 3-4 minute monologue, good for older man.
BAND-AID
INT: THE LIVING ROOM OF A HOUSE
MARY, an old woman, is trying to put a Band-Aid on her husband HERMAN's forehead. He has several stitches there, and they're starting to ooze blood. He's angry and irritable with her.
HERMAN
Mary Jean, I don't need a Band-Aid, would you lay off? I've been through enough tonight without you hovering over me like the damn nurses.
(She's fluttering around him, looking for an angle)
God, woman, will you listen to me? The police cleared me, the nurses cleared me, I've got six damn stitches, but no, you're right, you're going to fix this with a Band-Aid. Try and take that logic to the car—completely totaled, by the way.
(With a sort of undirected fury)
And that is exactly the problem with the world today! Thinking that anything can be fixed or—or—turned around or something, when it can't. Could've told that kid that, turning in front of me against the light. Probably texting on his iPod, I swear to you, Mary.
(She's dabbing at the blood and applying the Band-Aid and he's not resisting anymore. In fact, he's not really seeing her)
It was his fault. I know I hit him, but he turned against the light, he did. They asked me if my license was expired, Mary. They treated me…not even like a criminal. Like a child or something. Like because I'm the one that lived I have to be—to be senile or something. Just because I couldn't stop a kid from being too stupid to pay attention to his life right in front of him.
Idiot kid. Kids think they're invincible but they're not. Both our cars ruined and I walk away with barely a scratch and he's…
There's something not fair about it, Mary, or too fair, or I don't know. He turned right in front of me. But they still put me through those tests, with the lights on either side of your head? And I couldn't see the one on the right, or I just didn't this time. I don't know. There was a lot going on. They were trying to clean me up, but nothing happened to me. It was that kid. The grille of my truck went right through the driver's side door, Mary, you wouldn't believe it. It wasn't my fault. They wouldn't have let me come home if it was. He turned right in front of me. You shoulda seen him. Just a kid.
(Shakes her loose, gets up, staring into nothing. Tears the Band-Aid off.)
Just leave me alone. Did you really think something like this would help?
