Playing with Matches - A monologue. You've got to learn the hard way. It's the only way to learn. I learned not to play with matches when I was very young. My parents weren't the best parents in the world, but they taught me that. It's not that I didn't learn it. But I never did have the greatest memory. My first stepmother married my father when I was seven, two years after my mother kicked the bucket. She was a smoker. You shouldn't smoke, of course, but she did. I loved her. She didn't seem to care for me as much. I think most stepmothers are a little bit afraid of their stepchildren, don't you? Anyway, I loved her, better than my real mum, and what I loved the most was her cigarette lighter. My dad would never let me go near lighters or matches anymore, but she didn't seem to care much. Maybe he never told her. You know how kids steal parents' smokes and hide them, to get them to quit? No? Well, they do, apparently. My stepmother thought I did that. Couldn't be further from the truth. But you shouldn't smoke, of course. Carrying a...
