Margaret? It’s me, God. Shut the hell up by Kayla Matters (2011)
Margaret: Dear God, it’s me, Margaret. Today was pretty tough God; I’m not gonna lie. God, today I was wondering, who am I? Like, obviously I know who I am, but like, lately, I’ve just been questioning. Well, not in that way. I know I like boys. The way my heart beats super fast and like, my palms get all sweaty and gross when I’m around Jimmy Henderson, that’s gotta mean something, right? Speaking of which, Jesus Christ God, is it too much to let me have my first kiss? What I’m trying to say is, what was I put on this earth to do? I mean, you obviously know, and as of late, you’re not telling, so if you could give me a sign, not like, a flood where all the animals have to go into an ark in pairs and that guy Noah with the beard is running around, but like, a good sign. And while we’re on the topic, God, I was wondering, could you possibly invent a Christian Bat Mitzvah? Cause there’s like, two Jews in this town, and I’m never going to pass up a party that has inflatable guitars and airbrush tattoos. You could call it like, a Bat Christah, but if you could do me a favor and cut out all the religious crap and –
God: (from offstage in a deep and booming voice) Shut up!
Margaret: (looks around) Mom?
God: (from offstage) Up here.
Margaret: God? Is that really you?
God: (entering, in a normal voice) Hi, hey, hi, what’s up. I’m not sure if you noticed, but um, I’m God. Howya doing?
Margaret: God…is a teenage boy? Actually…that kinda makes sense.
God: Oh yeah, about that, I’m just a temp, really. The real big guy upstairs is facing a major inquiry at work, so while he gets that all sorted out, I’m the big man on campus. By the way, did you like my little sound effects? (in a deep and booming voice) Margaret Ann, I, God, have come to bring you salvation. (laughs) that shit is always funny.
Margaret: Um, God?
God: Call me Big G.
Margaret: Ok, Big G, not that I’m not totally honored to have God in my house and all that, but why are you here?
God: I was just getting to that. You see Margaret, you are what we call in heaven a Bratty Whinerpants, or, to put it simply, a bitch. The angels and I, those boys are total babes by the way, have decided that somebody needed to step in and straighten you out. Margaret, most Gods would be thrilled to have someone praying to them everyday, but I’m not most Gods. (begins to pace around the stage with impatience) And let me tell you, it is so goddamn annoying to listen to you whine every single day. I mean Jesus, get a diary or something. What I’m trying to say is, I’m not your personal therapist Margaret, I’m the world’s therapist.
Margaret: Well God, I’m sorry that my problems seem trifle to you, but they’re mine.
God: Oh, and what are your problems Margaret? Your mother didn’t cut the crust off of your sandwich? Trying to find your tennis racquet that you lost in Pottery Barn? Oh, and then there was the time you whined to me for a good hour about your period cramps. I don’t want to hear about it Margaret! That shits nasty.
Margaret: Aside from insulting me, what are you trying to tell me, ‘Big G’?
God: Everyone has problems Margaret! And this may come as a surprise to you, but yours aren’t the most important in the world! Jimmy Henderson from down the road? His mother was just diagnosed with cancer, so while you’re moaning over your tennis racquet, he’s grappling with the fact that his mother may not survive. How’s that for a Monday? And you know your grandma, whose phone calls you always ignore? She broke her arm. That’s why her calls stopped. And I bet you miss those calls now. You miss the way she would call you every night at nine on the dot, you miss the way she would come over while you were at school and iron all your laundry, and you miss her spaghetti and meatballs.
Margaret; How do you know?
God: Uhhh, you seem to forget that I’m God. As in like, I’m an omnipotent being. And by the way, that time when you put your red socks in with your mothers favorite white dress and then blamed it on your dad? I know about that. You didn’t get away with it.
Margaret: Well if you know everything, how come you can’t seem to give me an answer to any of my problems?
God; Margaret, I see everything, I don’t know everything. I mean Jesus, cut me some slack, I’ve only been a deity since last Tuesday. Margaret, I can’t give you the answers, I can only offer you advice.
Margaret: Oh? And what’s that?
God: Try to put things in perspective. You know, earthquakes, tsunamis, world hunger, global war-
God: Nope that’s it. Just try to put things in perspective.
Margaret: That’s your advice? That’s all you have to offer? I’m looking for answers here!
God: Margaret, I’m not a Magic 8 ball, I’m just God.
Margaret: Just God? Just God? Weren’t you just saying that you’re an omnipotent being? Omnipotent my ass! (stands up) My problems may not compare to other peoples, but they’re real, and they’re mine, and they’re what keeps me awake at night, and I’m sorry if my complaining bothers you, but I always thought that you would be the one person who was always there for me. Isn’t that what they say in Sunday school? God will always forgive you, God will always be there for you? WELL GUESS WHAT MISS WILSON, I MET GOD, AND HE’S A DICK.
God: Margaret, if you insist on yelling at me, I will not hesitate to get the Devil up here, and you do not want to meet her.
Margaret: God, (sighs) you suck.
God: That’s the point Margaret! It’s true, I’m a dick, you’re a bitch, none of us are perfect, and we all have problems, but the world won’t stop turning just because you have one, believe me, I’ll see to it that it doesn’t.
Margaret: So I should just not care at all about my problems, is that what you’re telling me?
God: Well, so far it’s worked for me.
Margaret: But I’m not you, God! Clearly I’m not anything like you! And just because people aren’t like you doesn’t mean you can ignore their problems! You know, you’d think with the whole being the controller of the heavens and shit, you’d have a little empathy.
God: Fine then Margaret, go ahead, lay it on me, what are your problems?
Margaret: You really wanna know? Fine! You clearly don’t know how hard it is to be a teenage girl. It’s like, my mom wants me to be someone who I’m clearly not, and at the same time, I’m trying to figure out who I am, and how am I supposed to do that when I have thirty different people telling me what I should and shouldn’t do! I mean, tell me God, who am I! And how am I supposed to accept myself if not even God is willing to? I’d go on, but clearly you don’t care.
God: No, no, continue, now I’m interested.
Margaret: And besides the whole questioning what I’m even here for, there’s school and sports and friends and drama, and oh God, boys. And my mother signs me up for that goddamn soccer league even though she knows I don’t like it and when I tell her that she just says it’s good for me and it’s like no matter how loud I yell, no one is listening.
God: Well Margaret, I’m listening.
Margaret: But I guess that’s it, right? At the end of the day, you’re the only person I can count on. Not my mom, not my dad, just you. And not even God has the answers. And you’re not even the real God, I get the freaking substitute!
God: Hey, watch it.
Margaret: I mean, what kind of world do we live in that not even God can help me out of this rut?
God: Margaret, there are some things not even I know. But I do know, being a teenage girl isn’t that difficult.
Margaret: Well then I guess I’ll just have to figure it out as I go, right?
God: Now you’re catching on. By the way, when was the last time you went to confession?
Margaret: Right now.
God: And what did you confess?
Margaret: That I’m scared.
God: And what are you scared of?
Margaret: I don’t know. The future I guess, messing up, not doing it right.
Margaret: You know, life.
God: And how was it received?
Margaret: I don’t know, you tell me.
God: All I have to say is, welcome to the club. We’re all scared Margaret. But life is nothing to be afraid of. We’re all uncertain about what we’ve done, or what we’ve yet to do, but as we stumble along, we figure it out.
Margaret: So, what you’re trying to say is, it’s ok to make mistakes.
God: Margaret, as God, I am giving you my full permission to fuck up sometimes. How else are you going to learn?
Margaret: So like, I don’t have to fold my laundry every Tuesday? It’s ok to not do my homework if I’m too tired? And I don’t have to go to that goddamn soccer league?
God: Now you’re getting it!
Margaret: …And as I make these mistakes, I should learn from them, right? And as I learn from them, I won’t need your advice, or anyone else’s!
God: (puts hand on his forehead in relief) Thank God!
Margaret: Thank you! No really, thank you!
God: Yep, well, it’s what I do.
Margaret: No I mean, you just changed my life! I’ll always be grateful, like, how can I repay you?
God: Don’t worry, there’s no charge. I’m having a special on life changing revelations, they’re free on Wednesdays.
Margaret: Well, it was really nice talk-
God: Yeah, yeah, you too. So long Margaret.
Margaret: Ok,well…bye. Will I ever see you again?
God: Don’t worry Margaret, if you need me, you know where to find me. (points upward)
Margaret: Don’t worry, I will.
God: So long Margaret. (begins to exit)
Margaret: (pauses, deliberating) Hey God, I know you’re busy with the whole controlling the fate of the universe and shit, but if you have like, say, next Saturday off, would you maybe want to go out with me?
God: Oh haven’t you realized it by now? I’m gay as a Macy’s Sweater Sale.