Remy Davis, age 17
I wrote this monologue this past December for my theater class. I submitted it and won the Greenway Arts Alliance (the company that runs the Melrose Trading Post) small monologue competition. My monologue can be interpreted as a day during 2020 or 2021, or a day in the far future.
I found myself at my old middle school. I climbed up the concrete steps to the entrance. The front doors swung open, but the hallways felt lifeless. As I entered, I could imagine students running around with hall passes. Wearing the uniform that we all once dreaded to wear day after day — the uniforms once bought new and fresh.
I walked down the smooth, cold floor of the hallway, peeking into the offices, envisioning students standing around, wearing their backpacks and holding their notes. I walked down the smooth, cold floor of the hallway, sticking my head into the classrooms, envisioning students working hard, the teacher standing at the head of the class, her eye out for passing notes during a test. I could almost see someone pass a paper to the person next to them. The class that I could imagine once full of life.
I walked into my sixth-grade classroom. Years ago I once sat in this plastic chair, the broken chair that once sliced my leg open. I walked through the entire class, through rows and rows of chairs: the chair where my best friend sat; the chair where the funny kid sat; the chair where the rude kid sat. The chair where my teacher sat, spending her days teaching us, the cushion still on it, ripped up and worn out.
My teacher’s holiday decorations were still up, hearts and sparkles everywhere, a teddy bear lying on the tiled floor, a pink and red card torn up. These decorations lying around for years and years. Years. And years.
I walked onto the field. I could imagine the happy students playing games on our free days. I could also imagine the students running endless laps, tired and mad, P.E. teachers blowing their whistles, basketballs and soccer balls soaring across the yard. I saw a deflated soccer ball on the other side of the field, all of the shoes and feet that have endlessly kicked it. The ball was once full of life.
I look forward to the day when the school will be full again, full of students and laughter, full of life.