Dramatic Monologue

Sara is sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea clasped tightly between her thin hands. She is wearing a thick cardigan. It is a summer’s evening.

Rae asked me today why her daddy was never around. I couldn’t see her face because they were bent over her drawing, but I could see her eyebrows, they were knotted together in concentration. Or confusion. Maybe both. I knew she was bound to start asking these sorts of questions, for a 6 year old she’s pretty clever; I don’t know where she gets it from, not from me that’s for sure and definitely not from her dad. But how do you tell a 6 year old child that her own daddy doesn’t want her? You can’t. It would be like kicking a dog; no matter how many times you apologize and explain that it was an accident, it wouldn’t be able to understand. And so you’ll end up spending the rest of your day thinking about the cry of pain that you caused it to make. Huh. You’re probably sat there thinking I’m mad; comparing my beautiful six years old to a dog, you’re probably thinking I’m not fit to be a mother. My parents certainly didn’t think so, but me and Rae proved them wrong. We managed alright for a few years, but then the council threatened to cut my benefits if I didn’t get a job. It all got a bit messy after that, but me and Rae pulled through. And now here I am a dinner lady at Rae’s school; it all worked out for the best. I drop Rae off in the morning then I come back to the school, do my shift (11:00 – 1:00), go home to relax for a bit and then go back and pick up Rae. We’ve got each other and that’s all that matters. That’s what I told her when she asked why her dad was never around. She looked up from her drawing then, her big brown eyes (that’s so like her dads) fixed onto my face. Thinking about it now she probably didn’t like that answer, but she must have seen something in my eyes because instead of asking another question she just nodded and went back to her drawing. Smart kid.