Seven-Year-Olds Still Have Wings (A Monologue)

This is the result of my first venture into script. The class I took was Memoir to Monologue

[AT RISE: GRACE, a teacher, on a school playground in the rain. She’s holding a pink envelope.]

The last thing I want to do on a rainy Saturday in June, is go back to the school. But that’s what teachers do, right? They show up for their students, even when they’re tired, even when there are only 5 days left before summer break. It’s been a tough year. This rain, like tears of exhaustion…and today, grief.

I have to be honest with you, I barely knew you, what with quarantine, and masks, and as a movement specialist, I see 500 students a week. It takes me several months to learn everyone’s name, but I remembered your name right away; Lennox, such a unique name. Still, I only saw you twice a week at best before the pandemic. Maybe that’s why it was more important than ever for me to show up today. I feel guilty, like I neglected you, like I didn’t take the time, when I had the time, to know you. Like maybe I could have prevented…no, I can’t go there. There was nothing I could have done.

[GRACE fingers the pink envelope]

This? The PTA lady gave it to me. There’s a Painted Lady butterfly inside. I just wasn't ready, earlier today, to let her go. Lennox, it’s a Scottish name meaning “with many elm trees.” Elm is the liberty tree with interlocking grain used for wagon wheels, chairs, and coffins. How do I know that? I’m a teacher, I like to learn.

[GRACE chuckles]

I Googled it. Did you know that about your name? Do you feel the liberty of your name? I saw your liberty, your freedom, when you danced. I saw your light, I remember your light, not just the lightness of your hair, but of your feet when you skipped around my gym. I remember the lightness in your eyes and on your wings when you leaped.

[GRACE sighs quietly to herself]

Yeah, seven-year-olds still have wings. It’s a cool thing. Wings…I didn’t know that you LOVED butterflies. But now that I think about it, I saw it when you danced, the way you would flit and float. So, it’s fitting, today, that the PTA dedicated this butterfly garden, your garden with a release of Painted Lady butterflies. The flowers, the lupine, hollyhock, cosmos, sunflowers, they’re all just little starts right now, like you, in first grade, just starting, supple green stalks of limbs and the promise of blossoms…futures…blossoms in patches of dry dirt that nobody paid attention to before. They’ll pay attention next fall. The rain is a good thing today, watering those tender baby shoots, masking our tears. I forgot my raincoat, but I have my umbrella, the big one I take out for bus-duty when all of you are standing shivering and unprepared. Did I shelter you once with my extra-large umbrella? I don’t remember. There were a lot of people at the dedication: your mom, of course, and grandma, all the first grade and kindergarten teachers, oh, and girls from your Girl Scout troop who painted stepping stones for the garden. There was a lady who remembers you from the senior center that you used to visit. Quite the humanitarian, huh?

[GRACE pauses as if listening]

Oh, that means you are kind and thoughtful to other humans. She said you were a wonderful storyteller and brought many smiles to their faces. I learned a lot about you today–– not enough, though. There's still a lot I want to learn about you, Lennox, but for now, have a sublime summer. 

            [GRACE releases the Painted Lady butterfly from the envelope]