[A bouquet of marigolds appears. One flower for every student gone.]
-🧿
[Grace takes the flowers. He clears off a table, sweeping all his research onto the floor. One by one, he counts out the flowers, laying them on the table, the head of every marigold facing the same way.]
One. Two. Three…
[Kids who sat in the front row and answered every question gleefully. Kids who sat in the back and stayed quiet, but who came up to him after class and talked to him. Kids who never liked science before building up confidence over the year, who cheered when they got good grades on their tests. Kids who’d loved science already and who told him he was their favorite teacher. Kids whose names he can’t all remember. Kids whose faces are halfway gone from his mind. Which ones? Which ones did he fail? Does he want to know? Does he have an obligation to? He was their teacher. He was supposed to be there for them.]
…Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight…
[Kids who confided in him. Kids who came out to him before telling anyone else. Kids who knew he would fight to make learning fun and easy for them, even when it was harder for them than it was for the others. Kids who trusted him. Kids who might now be gone forever.]
…Fourty-two. Fourty-three.
[Fourty-three kids. Fourty-three marigolds. He divides them into clumps and empties out all his other vases of flowers. Petals scatter across the floor. Lupines. Daisies. Gilia. None of that matters now. He arranges the marigolds’ vases on the table. He can’t protect his kids anymore. He can do this. Grace sinks to his knees in front of the table. He thinks about his students.]
