M.I.A.

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Lizzie, a teen girl, speaks about a friend from school. Me, My Selfie and I is published by YouthPLAYS. Click here to purchase a copy.

(Warning: Using this monologue without permission is illegal, as is reproducing it on a website or in print in any way)

LIZZIE

So let’s say you have this friend. Dana. Yeah, let’s call her Dana. You’ve known her since you were in kindergarten, and maybe she’s not your very best friend, but she’s pretty high on the list.

Like if you’re in a play, she always comes. Well, except for that time she had tonsilitis—and you go to her Science Olympiad, which is pretty huge considering you’re sitting there for hours not understanding anything.

But then summer comes, and I’m away, and she’s away, and then…she’s gone.

(Beat.)

I text her and she doesn’t text back. I figure she’s still away, but I try again three days later—which takes incredible willpower—and still nothing. “R U OK?” Nothing. At all.

(As Dana’s voicemail:)

“Hi, this is Dana, you got me—don’t got me—leave a fat, juicy message.”

(As herself leaving a message:)

Hey, Dana—it’s me. Everything good?

(No longer leaving a message:)

And then I Facebook stalk, but we’re suddenly not friends. What?! And her Instagram [or social media platform of the moment] has selfies of her and her dog and some randoms and the last one is from yesterday, so what just happened here? It’s like we…stopped. Dana, I’m not sure what’s going on, but if I like did something—

(Beat.)

Nothing. And I know she’s out there…living… She’s got this whole series of dog selfies and I try liking and then even commenting. She likes all the other comments, but for some reason she’s just decided that I don’t exist. What did I do?

And I’m replaying everything over and over trying to come up with a clue, something…

(Beat.)

And fall comes, and she’s not back at school, but apparently she’s bought a cat, and some people are kind of in touch and it hurts that I’m not one of some people, but there’s nothing I can do about that. And I start to think, maybe it’s not about me.

I still don’t understand why somebody would do that, but maybe it’s time to stop trying to find out.