Monologue Ap Lang Essay

Lang’s thoughts are killing me right now. I feel his wrath spewing around me like a tornado, becoming more powerful as new thoughts join old ones: ‘Monster’, ‘Soul-less’,
‘Criminal’. He condemns me without speaking. He passes by my stall with ruefulness, he spits in my food as he hands it to me without looking at me. But today, as he hands me my grub, he looks at me. He looks into me. But all I see in him is disgust.
His silence is my sentence. The sentence the judge did not give me. The sentence where I spend 6 months in jail, not an abridged three. His sentence declares me a rapist. And he says all of this without a single word.
Today is my last day in jail. Yelling guards startle me awake. “Out of bed!” “You’re cleaning the bathrooms today ladies and gentlemen!”
Hmph, I laugh to myself. Funny they should call us ladies and gentlemen, because the women here are more like savage lions and the men like gruff bears.
Few of us are actually respectable people. Then again, few in this dump are wrongly convicted.
For the past 91 days, I have thought back to that night, but each time I go through the story I’ve repeated over and over again, I still believe she wanted it. And by it I mean me…
Three months prior:
Seven beers is my limit. I know that because of my party with the toilet two weeks ago.
But I’m holding my fifth beer in my hand, thinking “Hell, I don’t feel too bad.” And the ladies are looking fine tonight, so why not stay a little longer?
“Hey Finch!” Swinging my head to the right, I see Jason my big, meandering my way.
“Did you catch Sarah break dancing in the garage? She was like, like a frickin’ whirlwind.” He swings his arms in loops and spins in circles, trying to imitate her “whirlishness”. As if a real wind comes and laces its gusts around his ankles, Jason trips, falls, and passes out. A girl to my left laughs, so of course, I ignore Jason to see who she is. With all my gentlemanliness, I stand up straight, sloshing my beer (which occupies my right hand), stick out my left hand, and
say,
“I’m Brad Finch.” “You’re dead hammered,” she replies. “But then again, so am I.”
“So, what’s your name?” She doesn’t answer, so I try again. “You know I don’t treat everyone like Jason over there, you just looked lonely so I thought I’d come talk to you.”
“Do you mean you don’t leave everyone you talk to lying passed out on the floor?”
“Ya!” I smile enthusiastically. She laughs—whether it’s at me or with me, I’m not sure.
Either way, she must think I’m funny, so I step closer.
“Can I get you another beer?” I nod toward her empty cup. She hesitates, looks at me, then behind me at someone, and finally hands me her cup, “What the Hell,” she shrugs. When I get back, I regain my closeness to her. She dosen’t move back. She must like it. And by it, I mean me.
“You know, I’m not lonely. I just don’t go to school here. I’m with my sister.
YOUNGER sister,” she emphasizes and takes a gulp of beer. ‘Younger sister?’ I think. Is she trying to tell me she’s legal? She digs me! She so wants it. ALL of it. So from then on, I talk and talk and talk. And she drinks beer and drinks beer and drinks beer. I tell her about my swim rank, and last years season. I impress her with my scores and titles. And finally, I tell her to come with me. I take her hand, and she doesn’t protest. I lead her outside, to the back of the house, beyond the backyard, where we are alone. She lies easily, yet sloppily, to the ground, so I’m sure she wants it. And by it, I mean for me to unbutton her pants, to peel off her underwear, and commit sexual penetration.
Present day:
Or so that’s how the law puts it.
By the time I think through all of this again, and yet still do not understand how she did not consent, my daily chores are finished. Having nothing left to do, I head back to my cell to sleep for the last day of my sentence.
I awake, not to yelling voices, but to one rough voice right above me. It’s Officer Lang.
“You know, the judge was wrong. 20 minutes can ruin a man's life. It ruined JT’s in the cell next to you, it ruined my father’s in a drunk driving accident, and son, it should have ruined yours.
Just because you were drunk, should not pardon your selfishness and wickedness. It sure as Hell didn’t pardon my old man for committing murder. So don’t you let that judge try to tell you that what you did should not have ruined your life. If prison hasn’t made you realize that, I hope that reporting yourself as a sexual offender every three months for the rest of your life will. Now get dressed and leave. You have a car outside the gates.”