A Teenager Monologue by Benjamín Gavarre

A Teenager

Monologue by Benjamín Gavarre

(Living room and dining area in a middle-class space. Dude stomps in, pissed, and starts pacing in circles. Mocking his dad)

Dude. — (Imitating his dad’s voice) “And you can’t go out, and that’s that! That’s that, that’s that.” Always with your old-school sayings... (Mimicking again) “Well, it might be the moon, but you can’t go out, and that’s that.” (Dude, fuming, storms into the living room and circles around) ...That’s that, it might be the moon, might be, might be… This is a freakin’ joke.

I’m grounded, duh. Why? ‘Cause I always take my mom’s side. My dad and her had another fight, and I, well, I came back… or they sent me back. All ‘cause I liked a girl, a woman of color, a Black woman.

My dad’s always arguing with my mom. She ain’t here right now; he kicked her out. He punched her in the face, and we both bolted: me and my mom. Like, two months ago, to my aunt’s place… who ain’t really my aunt, but whatever.

They’re always hitting each other, making up, hitting each other, making up. My parents, when they’re together. They ain’t together now. He kicked her out, or she left – says she’s for real this time. But they sent my ass back, and I’m grounded. That’s the messed-up part. Two weeks I’ve been stuck inside. Two freakin’ weeks! Holy crap, my life sucks!

The walls here are paper-thin. You can hear everything. Hear ‘em fighting, hear ‘em making up. I almost prefer when my dad would nearly crack my mom’s skull with bottles. At least something happened then. At least he’d bail. But he says this is his house, so he always comes back. My mom and I were, and still are, the ones who take off to my aunt’s place, the one who’s not really my aunt.

When they’re together, all I can do is listen to them almost kill each other and then hear them gettin’ it on. I yell at ‘em: “I’m tryin’ to sleep! Don’t you know the walls are drywall? That they’re like paper, like tissue paper? Don’t you know you got a sensitive almost-teenager who hates the yelling? And especially this cool and sexy teenager doesn’t wanna hear your little noises when you’re makin’ up?!” (Yelling again) “Can you hear me, can you heaaaar me, loud and clear? ‘Cause if not, I’ll scream louder, see if you hear me now!”

(Switches to imitating his dad’s voice)

…Shut up, kid, or I’ll smack you upside the head!

(Back to being Dude)

That’s how he yells. That’s how he talks. Right now the poor dude’s all alone. My mom ain’t here. If my dad don’t say “smack you upside the head,” he ain’t happy. I sure as hell don’t want another one of those. The last one he “gave” me, like he says, almost killed me. Sent me to my aunt’s, the non-aunt, with four busted ribs and a messed-up eye. My “aunt” and “uncle” should get a medal by now, ‘cause their place is a hospital, a shelter for battered women, and used to be a foster home, an orphanage. Not for us, I mean not for me and my mom, but they gave asylum to some Venezuelans or Dominicans. They were kinda dark-skinned, with curly hair, even their eyelashes were curly, and I guess everything else was too. I like their daughter, who’s around my age, and I tried to spy on her. She’s still a refugee there, I think, and I was there, a refugee from my dad’s family violence. She’s Black as coal, and I just wanted to see if her butt looked as good as it did in clothes. I tried to peek to at least see her in her undies, hopin’ to God she’d take ‘em off, but my aunt caught me. And yeah, all hell broke loose with my real mom ‘cause she told me to leave, and I had to ask my dad for asylum. Even though he’d beat me, and my mom too, bad, with his fist, the damn bastard… And that’s why I’m back here, and despite everything, he let me stay… in my house, grounded. That was two weeks ago. Still can’t leave.

(Sound of a plane passing overhead)

Dude. — (Talking almost yelling, used to the noise, doesn’t acknowledge the many planes) And whatever, I wish I was cool with being stuck here, but my dad has straight-up forbidden me from even going to the corner. That’s what he says, while I’m going nuts, totally losing it, pacing in circles, and I check myself out in that mirror on the wall, and slowly, I find myself in the mirror on that oooother wall, and I keep going in circles, and now I’m gonna go the other way. I wish I at least had a freakin’ cell to not go so crazy, but my dear old man took my phone ‘cause those kinds of “contraptions were spawned by the devil.”

(Sound of a plane passing overhead again)

Dude. — (Sits on a couch, yells, and covers his face) Chaise, chaise, chaiseeee… I don’t know why I like saying chaise. I like saying chaise more than “whatever”… And I ain’t even German… Chaise… Chaise… Whatever… Nah, doesn’t feel right. Dang it… Holy crap… my life sucks. Man, chaise, my life stinks.

And no, it ain’t like my dad’s some super old-school dude against everything modern. Nah, he ain’t one of those who locks their kids up from birth and keeps ‘em in a state of total purity. No, it ain’t like my dad feels like some psycho vampire who bangs his kids and then when they’re older, impales ‘em and sweetly watches ‘em die slowly while he eats a schnitzel. No. My dad… My dad… he totally had a reason to ground me for checkin’ out my girl’s butt, or for trying to see my gorgeous, Black, awesome girl in her undies, who’s also my age. What more could I want? Well, I wanna bang her, but they won’t let me.

(Sound of a plane, less intense. Dude looks off into the distance)

Dude. — My dad ain’t an ogre, ain’t Vlad the Impaler… and he ain’t a Jehovah’s Witness… Crap. That would be messed up. He tells me I just want my phone to jerk off. He doesn’t say it like that. How was it? Oh yeah: (Imitates his dad) “I pay the bills, you should understand that… and I won’t allow you to use that demonic device to satisfy your base desires.” Hahahaha… And yeah, that’s how he says it with his Jehovah’s Witness face, but no, he ain’t a Jehovah’s Witness. Thank God. And yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, hell yeah, yeeees, I do spend all day wanking it. All day and all night wanking it… in the living room, in the kitchen, all day and all night I’m jerkin’ off, and well, sometimes in the morning I do it in the bathroom, like any normal dude. And that bugs my dad too. (Imitates his dad) “You take too long, kid, I don’t know what terrible and perverted habits you have, ‘cause it’s not normal to take that long. What are we gonna do to make you stop with your base desires once and for all?” (Back to being Dude) Well, one thing, Dad, would be… to let me bang whoever I want. But no… I think even if they let me bang in peace, I’d still jerk off. It’s more convenient. And I don’t have to wait for anyone to tell me if I’m doing it right, or faster, or if it hurts ‘em, or if I have a condom. And I also like baths in the tub. Even if I didn’t jerk off in the tub, I like taking baths. Is that a problem? Am I affecting all of humanity if I take baths? Is the planet gonna get destroyed if I take baths and also have a good old wank? Yeah? No? Does anyone have a problem, anyone have a problem, anyone, anyone…? Anyone? Ahem.

(A plane passes)

My dad tells me he won’t give me my phone ‘cause I watch too much porn. And honestly, I don’t even need porn. I play my own movies in my head. I got a lot of imagination, and I can totally picture myself banging my girl, or whoever, without needing some random people I don’t even know just saying “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Chaise! Don’t they have any other words? Oh yeah, “fuck, fuck, fuck!” Nah, whatever… The bad thing is, when I’m really getting into my fantasies… then I gotta deal with my mom’s screams and my dad’s instructions. Yeah, that’s messed up, but he gives my mom instructions. He punches her in the face, and when he’s banging her, he’s giving her instructions. It’s pathetic. And the walls are drywall… Chaise, damn it. My life sucks. And sometimes more, and well, you know, every time they make up… they do it. And even if they don’t make up, they do it, even if my mom doesn’t want to, and I can tell she wants to go to sleep, but he keeps at it, and at it, and he gives her instructions, puts her upside down, flips her over, I don’t know what all they do, or yeah I do know ‘cause he’s giving instructions… but there comes a point when he pisses her off and she leaves, my mom leaves, tries to escape my dad’s “base desires.” And then, when she tries to escape, he stops her at the door: “You ain’t goin’ anywhere,” and, “I don’t feel like it, Dagoberto,” and, “Don’t call me by my name. You only call me by my name when you don’t want anything from me, when you hate me, and you can’t hate me ‘cause I’m your husband,” blah, blah, blah, blah, blah… And silence. You hear furniture dragging, and broken cups, or glass vases smashing on the floor, and sometimes even mirrors… and then, silence. And then they make up, and you hear the panting and the instructions… and the screams… of pleasure, ugh, gross.

(Long silence)

Dude. — (Looks up, like waiting for the plane noise, but nothing happens) When I was a kid, he used to tell me stories, yeah. My dad sometimes seems like an ogre, but he ain’t a psycho. He ain’t Vlad the Impaler, and he ain’t a Mennonite or anything to do with some crazy cult. Nah, sometimes he’s a good dude. Sometimes. When I was a kid, he’d tell me stories, read me stories, when he gave me baths, he was the one who bathed me, in the tub, and he’d tell me stories, read me stories. I think that’s why I still like baths, but now I’m the one telling myself stories. And yeah, I take a while, I take a while when I take baths.

My dad taught me a lot of stuff. He took me to a lot of places. He had a “firm intention for me to cultivate the fine arts.” That’s what he said. He took me to painting classes, singing, ballet… And languages. I don’t know how I’m not more of a nerd, ‘cause I spent my whole life learning stuff and I liked imagining stories and reading stories and acting out stories… my dad thought I was gonna be an actor or a musician or a singer. And well, right now I ain’t any of that. Maybe later. Right now my dad won’t let me out, won’t let me study. Ever since I ran away from home with my mom and then came back… well, he won’t let me do anything. I’m permanently grounded until further notice. But he was the one who hit my mom… Yeah, he was the one who punched her in the face.

(Sound of a plane passing)

Dude. — (Talking loudly over the plane) And the only bad thing about being locked up is that I don’t know what’s gonna become of me. I have no human contact, my life sucks. The only contact I have is with a kinda psycho old man who’s always talking weird to me and who feels really guilty about hitting the woman he truly loves and wants to be with, but who he unfortunately likes to hit. When my mom doesn’t do what he wants.

And well… her too. Gotta say it. And I will. She always comes back. She always comes back and forgives him. And she can’t do anything on her own. Can’t find a decent job. Can’t even find a messed-up job. No, not that. Not a messed-up job. She’s my mom, right? She’s my mom, or what?

Well, she always comes back. And she doesn’t study, and she doesn’t know how to do anything except cook, though she cooks really good and makes these little tomato squares that only she knows how to cut. And she knows how to cut carrots really well with a tiny knife, and her little carrot, tomato, and potato squares come out really pretty. She knows how to do a lot of stuff, but she doesn’t know how to make money. She could… I think, make money. Take classes… Read… Do something creative…

(Sound of a plane passing)

I could do something creative: collect stamps? Nah! Write a diary? What’s wrong with me? Paint my room? Okay. Start cooking? Nah, neither. Listen to music, talk to my friends? Ha, yeah, right. With the twenty-five friends I have and the thirty-five I’m beefin’ with for ghosting ‘em. Oh yeah, yeah, yeah. I get really intense, but what can I do? I hate people who say stupid stuff, I hate people who just say: “What up, dude, whatcha doin’?” And well, I ain’t doin’ nothin’, and neither are they, but they bug me, and then I don’t answer ‘em, and they get mad. You feel me? They get all twisted ‘cause I don’t hang with ‘em, ‘cause I don’t like crazy drinks, ‘cause I don’t smoke or do coke and I don’t like anything they say, want, or talk about. Man… I got nowhere to go, no interest in doing anything, not creative stuff, nothin’, and I got no friends, no girlfriends, no chick. Well, I’ve banged seventy-four times, I got it written down, and I came seventy-four times, with seventy-four girls. I always finish outside, just in case, and I use a condom. And that pisses ‘em off. They’re so dumb if they want me to finish inside. And I don’t know, I ain’t tryin’ to be a player, but girls always say yes to me, and other dudes always get rejected. They always get shut down, the poor bastards, but I don’t know if I can say I’m lucky, but they say yes, and they’re always the ones doin’ it with me, and I barely even have to try ‘cause they even put the damn condom on me, and they almost come for me, but I’m the one who always finishes first, and I finish outside. And they get mad. I don’t know why they get mad. Obviously, I never see ‘em again. Seventy-four times and they’ve all been different, nothin’ serious, and they never talk to me again, and I don’t look for ‘em, and the good thing is they don’t look for me, ‘cause why would I look for them… That’s intense.

(A moment of silence)

(Another plane passes)

Dude. — The bad thing about all this is that my dad didn’t tell me when my grounding ends. It’s been two weeks already. And the worst part is that my mom ain’t even here.

At least if I had my phone, I could listen to music, watch videos, check out the stupid stuff people post. Post my own stupid stuff… Take selfies? No, please no… with this face I must have… No, I don’t even wanna know what I look like.

(Goes over to one of the mirrors on the wall)

Holy moly… those bags under my eyes… I know! What I need to do is meditate. Get my demons out. Find my balance. That’s it. Gotta adjust the forces of my nature… That’s the ticket.

(A plane passes)

My shrink says what I need is to reach sexual maturity. Sexual maturity? What the heck does that even mean? Sexual maturity my butt. How am I gonna have sexual maturity if I’m seventeen? How am I gonna have sexual maturity if I got a dad who still calls me “kid,” and a dad who won’t let me out, and a dad who kicked my mom outta the house?

I gotta chill. Someday this grounding will end. Someday. The only thing I can do is concentrate, relax, and look, but without seeing… That’s it, look but without seeing… And what’s important… Look but without seeing, look but without seeing.

(A plane passes)

That one I’m lookin’ at, but not seein’… that one I ain’t seein’, but I am lookin’ at. That… that’s my own reflection… that’s me. That’s me. And it looks like… yeah, I like what I see. Everything’s gonna be alright, someday. It won’t be easy. I’ll get outta here, I’ll be able to go out, and everything’s gonna be okay. There’s a lot to do, a lot to work on, a lot to live. But everything’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna get out soon. Real soon.

Everything’s gonna be alright.

Real, real alright.

(Dude closes his eyes. Breathes. Meditates.).

Análisis e Interpretación de "Un adolescente"

"Un adolescente" de Benjamín Gavarre es un monólogo que nos sumerge en la psique turbulenta de un joven en un momento de confinamiento y crisis familiar. La obra, escrita con una voz auténtica y visceral, explora temas complejos como la violencia doméstica, la búsqueda de identidad, la sexualidad incipiente y la desesperación adolescente, todo ello filtrado a través de una lente de humor negro y sarcasmo.

1. La Voz del Protagonista (Nene): Autenticidad y Contraste

El corazón de la obra es la voz de Nene. Es un torbellino de emociones: furia, frustración, cinismo, vulnerabilidad y una sorprendente lucidez. Su lenguaje es coloquial, directo, plagado de argot y vulgaridades, lo que le confiere una autenticidad innegable. Esta autenticidad es crucial para que el público conecte con su experiencia, por más extrema que sea.

Nene utiliza la imitación de su padre como un mecanismo de defensa y una forma de procesar el trauma. Al parodiar las frases y el tono de su progenitor ("¡Y no puedes salir a la calle y Sanseacabó!"), Nene no solo expresa su resentimiento, sino que también intenta despojar a la figura paterna de su poder, reduciéndola a una caricatura. Este recurso es dramáticamente efectivo y genera momentos de humor oscuro que alivian la tensión, pero también subrayan la toxicidad del ambiente.

La repetición en realidad funciona como un reflejo de la mente adolescente obsesiva y atrapada. Las frases recurrentes como "mi vida es un asco", "estoy castigado", "sin poder salir" o el sonido constante del avión, no son meras redundancias; son anclas que marcan la monotonía de su encierro, la circularidad de sus pensamientos y la persistencia de su trauma. La repetición de "Chaise" es un tic verbal que denota su desesperación y su intento de encontrar una válvula de escape lingüística.

2. Temas Centrales:

 * Violencia Doméstica y Ciclos de Abuso: Este es el eje central. Nene describe con una frialdad perturbadora los ciclos de golpes y reconciliaciones de sus padres. La normalización de la violencia ("Prefiero cuando mi papá le casi rompía la cabeza a mi mamá a botellazos. Al menos pasaba algo") es desgarradora y revela el profundo impacto psicológico en el joven. La obra no solo muestra la violencia física, sino también la manipulación emocional y el control.

 * Adolescencia y Búsqueda de Identidad: Nene tiene 17 años, una edad crítica para la formación de la identidad. Su encierro y la disfunción familiar le impiden explorar el mundo exterior y desarrollar relaciones sanas. Su sexualidad, aunque expresada de forma cruda y desinhibida (las "setenta y cuatro veces"), es también una forma de autoafirmación y escape en un mundo donde se siente impotente. La fantasía sexual se convierte en un refugio ante la dura realidad.

 * Confinamiento y Desesperación: El castigo de Nene es tanto físico como emocional. La falta de un celular, la imposibilidad de salir y la soledad lo llevan al borde de la locura. El monólogo es un grito de auxilio, una forma de liberar la presión acumulada.

 * La Madre: Víctima y Cómplice: Nene tiene una relación compleja con su madre. La defiende, pero también la critica duramente por su pasividad y su incapacidad de romper el ciclo de abuso ("Ella siempre regresa y lo perdona. Y ella no es capaz de hacer nada por su cuenta"). Esta ambivalencia añade una capa de realismo y complejidad a la dinámica familiar.

 * La Verdad Subjetiva y la Percepción: Nene es el narrador no fiable por excelencia. Su percepción de los eventos está teñida por su edad, su trauma y su necesidad de procesar la realidad. La obra nos invita a ver el mundo a través de sus ojos, un mundo distorsionado por el dolor y la confusión.

3. Estructura y Ritmo Dramático:

El monólogo es una corriente de conciencia. Nene salta de un pensamiento a otro, de una imitación a una confesión, de una queja a una fantasía. Esta estructura refleja el caos mental del personaje. Las acotaciones escénicas, como el sonido del avión o las acciones de Nene (dar vueltas, gritar, taparse la cara), son vitales para marcar el ritmo y la progresión dramática. El avión, en particular, funciona como un recordatorio constante del mundo exterior inalcanzable y de la monotonía de su encierro.

La "acción dramática lenta" que mencionas podría interpretarse como la inmovilidad física de Nene, que contrasta con la ebullición de su mundo interior. La verdadera acción está en su mente, en sus recuerdos, en sus fantasías y en su desesperada búsqueda de sentido. El clímax emocional llega con su intento de meditar y su afirmación final de que "Todo va a salir bien", una mezcla de autoengaño y esperanza genuina.

4. Dónde Funcionaría:

"Un adolescente" tiene un potencial dramático considerable y funcionaría excelentemente en varios contextos:

 * Teatro (Monólogo o Pieza Corta): Es su formato natural. Un actor talentoso podría encarnar la complejidad de Nene, alternando entre la furia, la vulnerabilidad y el humor. La escenografía podría ser mínima, permitiendo que la fuerza del texto y la interpretación brillen. Sería ideal para festivales de teatro de monólogos, obras de cámara o como parte de una colección de piezas cortas sobre la adolescencia o la familia.

 * Escuelas de Actuación: Por su riqueza emocional y lingüística, sería un material excelente para ejercicios de actuación, audiciones o escenas de estudio. Permite al actor explorar una amplia gama de emociones y técnicas vocales.

 * Cortometraje o Web Serie: La naturaleza fragmentada y la voz en off de Nene se adaptarían muy bien a un formato audiovisual. Las imitaciones, las fantasías y los sonidos del avión podrían ser visualmente muy efectivos. Un cortometraje podría capturar la atmósfera claustrofóbica y la intensidad del personaje.

 * Análisis Literario y Académico: La obra es un texto rico para el estudio en cursos de literatura contemporánea, drama latinoamericano, estudios de género (masculinidad tóxica), psicología adolescente y sociología de la familia. Ofrece una ventana cruda a realidades sociales complejas.

 * Espacios de Diálogo Social: Dada su temática de violencia doméstica y salud mental adolescente, podría ser utilizada como una herramienta para generar discusión en foros comunitarios, talleres o programas de prevención, siempre con el acompañamiento adecuado.

En resumen, "Un adolescente" es una obra valiente y necesaria. Su fuerza reside en la voz inquebrantable de Nene, que, a pesar de su crudeza, nos obliga a escuchar y a reflexionar sobre las realidades ocultas de muchos hogares. La "lentitud" que percibes es, en mi opinión, una elección estilística que subraya el encierro y la desesperación del personaje, haciendo que su eventual (y frágil) esperanza resuene con más fuerza.