A Love Song for Bobby Long Monologues

A headstrong young woman returns to New Orleans after the death of her estranged mother.

Some people reach a place in time where they've gone as far as they can. A place where wives and jobs collide with desire. That which is unknowable and those who remain out of sight. See what it is invisible and you will see what to write. That's how Bobby used to put it. It was the invisible people he wanted to live with. The ones that we walk past everday, the ones we sometimes become. The ones in books who live only in someones mind's eye. He was a man who was destined to go through life and not around it. A man who was sure the shortest path to Heaven was straight through Hell. But the truth of his handicap lay only in a mind both exalted and crippled by too many stories and the path he chose to become one. Bobby Long's tragic flaw was his romance with all that he saw. And I guess if people want to believe in some form of justice, then Bobby Long got his for a song.

Autumn comes slowly in New Orleans. The grass remains a stubborn green, but the heat gives way to a gentle warmth. Pursy did begin to catch on in school. She was surprised. We weren't. Winter arrived before we realized the sunlit hours of summer had waned. So now the wine began to outlast the day and that was more than anyone could've asked for.

Time was never a friend to Bobby Long. It would conspire against him, allowing him to believe in a generous nature and then rob him blind everytime. We'd lost Lorraine. All of us. But long before she died.

New Orleans is a siren of a city. A place of fables and illusion. A place Lorraine had to escape from and Bobby and I had to escape to. Away from Alabama, away from lives that no longer belong to us.

A New Orleans summer drowns in thick, dank stillness. Lorraine's house shrank with each passing day, straining uneasy walls closer.

Bravo, man. Now why dont you come out and fucking say what you really mean. Does every word out of your mouth have to be in character? Or is that the idea? Just to be anyone but who you really are. You want to tell me that your disappointed in me? Cause maybe im disappointed in you. You know I never asked to write your damn book. Your redemption and my penance, right? Havent I paid? Nine fucking years. I'm sorry. I am sorry all right. I am so fucking sorry.

It was our home that night. All of ours. We both knew we should tell her the truth, but every day felt like the wrong day. And Christmas is as good a day as any to believe in fairy tales. That night reminded Bobby and me of a time in our lives we'd both chosen to forget until she'd arrived. It felt good to remember, if just for a little while.

Winter never feels truly at home in New Orleans. An unwelcomed visitor that shows up long enough to remind us of what we're missing, then leaves us just in time for us to forget again.

That girl looks so much like Lorraine. Remember the first time you took me to see her sing was my first time in New Orleans.