I am monotone. At least that’s what people tell me. My voice is a finger tapping tapping on the same note on the piano over and over. My voice is a record skipping, where you think I’m saying the same thing again and again but really the words are all new.
I am the person you tell to smile, or to look happy, as if on your command I can spontaneously project cheer and goodwill. But it’s not that I’m unhappy, I’m just deep inside my own head. Of course I’m right here, but I’m also yesteryear and in some country
over there.
I am monotone because actions speak more languages than words. I can see what you’re saying a lot easier than I can hear it. So the people with voices that sound like flutes and acoustic guitars sing songs about the sad boy with the monotone voice.
When I ride my bike through downtown traffic my face becomes monotone. My hair slicks back into a helmet and the visor closes down over my head. I can’t always see the driver’s face – especially on sunny days – so I stare into the rectangle of light where I think the eyes might be and I try to snarl louder than the metal beast underneath him.
I walk into a building and sit down at a table with a person who actually calls himself a “businessman.” If I wasn’t in the habit of thinking so much I might just turn his tie upside down and have to excuse myself. But instead I listen to his actions and treat his words like musical notes coming out of the speakers on a foreign midnight bus ride.
Out on the street, the double yellow line is monotone and keeps you safe from wreckless drivers hurling themselves in either direction. Just when I think that I really am invincible, a car door pops open faster than I can talk my way out of it. Knowing that my last word ever spoken could very well be this obscenity, I crumble to the ground - but not before hitting every blunt surface along the way. Out of my mouth I start singing so many wonderful notes - soft, high notes and low, grumbly ones. The flute and guitar are struggling to keep up with me but they don’t know that I’m making it up as I go along. I stand up to unfold my body and walk away pulling my bike along. A couple blocks later I get back on my bike and pull the visor down and continue my ride.