WHERE HAVE ALL THE LIGHTNING BUGS GONE?

THE CAST

A Boy

A Girl

THE TIME: The present

THE PLACE: A park on a nice day.

DESCRIPTIONS OF CHARACTERS

THE GIRL, in her late teens, is neatly dressed. She is quite attractive. She is poised, graceful; her voice

is likely to be well-modulated. She probably has long hair. Normally quiet and reserved, she can

become excited and show her love of life 

THE BOY. also in late teens or perhaps 20 years old, is neatly dressed but not in formal clothing. He has

a large yet calm love of life and people. That he initiates conversations with the Girl does not

mean he normally does this sort of thing; on the contrary, he normally is shy. However, this

particular Girl has an appeal to him which forces him to overcome the shyness

 
 BEAT ONE | WIDE OPEN SPACES

 SCENE: A park. A park bench, perhaps a few flowers, a wastebasket; but not much

scenery.

A GIRL sits, reading a book. Other books are next to her. She treats them as if they have

great importance to her. A BOY enters behind her. He might be holding a

helium-filled balloon. Embarrassed, diffident, shy, he tries to catch her eye. No

luck. Finally, he gets up his nerve to speak to her. Approaches her. Opens mouth,

prepared to speak. But GIRL speaks first, without looking at him.

GIRL. (Very Composed.) No, I don't know what time it is. Yes, it is a very good book.

No, I don't have a match. And yes, I am waiting for someone.

BOY.  (Amazed.) What?

GIRL. (Blasé.) My boyfriend, who is six foot six inches, is for whom I wait. He plays

football for the Jets. he weighs over two hundred pounds. And this six-foot-two-hundred-pound

monster will be here at any moment. So good-bye.

BOY. Wow!

GIRL. Goodbye.

BOY. (In awe.) You didn't even look up. How'd you know I was here?

GIRL. I knew. And that's all.

BOY. (Defensively.) And what about those things you said?

GIRL. I wanted to save you the trouble of asking.

BOY. What makes you think I was going to ask you anything?

GIRL. (Still engrossed in the book.) I’m psychic.

 ( BOY ties the balloon string to the back of the bench.)

BOY. (As if he didn’t hear her.) I mean, this is open range. No fences. So how come

you’ve tried to put up barbed wire, partner?

GIRL. (A bit taken aback.) Barbed wire?

BOY. You and me, we’re a-gonna have a shoot-out. (He is a cowboy with clanking

spurs, a big sombrero, two heavy guns.) Ain’t nobody a-goin’ put up no fence nohow on this

here range, pardner. No, sir. It's wide open. Alwuz wuz. My pappy, and his pap afore him, they

been comin’ ‘long this trail fer years. Nobody ever tried stop them; nobody stop me. It's noon,

see, and I’m a-walkin’ down this dusty road right a-toward you. Now. be you goin’ draw at me?

(He tenses.) Make your play. (He draws, gets shot, falls.) Ahhh! (Gasps.) Got me. (Crawls

toward her.) I reckon I’m only the West’s...second...fastest gun.

GIRL. (Laughs.) You got what you deserve, cowboy.

BOY. (Dying.) I’m a-goin’ fast. But…’fore I pass on...to that...great blue range up

yonder...tell me: What’s the name...of...that fast gun critter who shot me cold?

GIRL. Kate.

BOY. (Drops cowboy character; sits up.) Kate? (Seriously.) Kate. That’s a very attractive

name. (He suddenly becomes the cowboy again and sprawls to the ground.) Alright, Kate. You

done me in. no hard feelings. (He dies. Motionless.) 

GIRL. (Mournfully.) He’s dead. And I never knew the poor feller’s name. He’ll have an

unmarked stone, up there on Boot Hill.

BOY. (Alive; jumps up to his knees.) William.

GIRL. (Contemplates the name.) William. Will. Willy. Bill. (Sudden insight.) Billy the

Kid?
 BOY. (Drawling.) That’s what some folk call me. ( GIRL suddenly becomes awkward;

she goes back to reading her book. She moves her body, so she isn’t facing him. BOY clears his

throat. She does not respond.)  Hey, are you really? (GIRL ignores him.) Really seriously?

GIRL. (Gives up, but not happily.) Am I really, seriously, what? 

BOY. Psychic.

GIRL. Oh. Yes, sometimes.

BOY. (Very impressed.) Wow.

BEAT TWO | SHAKESPEARE’S PIZZA PARLOR

GIRL. (Tired of it all.) Okay. That’s enough. (Tries to go back to her book.)

BOY. When, sometimes?

GIRL. (Not looking at him.) I knew you were going to ask me a question. Try to talk with

me. Start a conversation, so you could pick me up.

BOY. (Earnestly.) Yeah?

GIRL. (A bit taken aback by his earnestness; disliking the word.) Yeah.

(BOY springs to his feet. GIRL is momentarily frightened. BOY becomes a Strong Man

in the circus, flexing his muscles, posing.)

BOY. (A circus barker.) Yes, sir, ladies and gentleman, the Strongest Man alive. Watch

him pick up that beautiful girl, using only one hand. Come one, come all. Only one thin dime and

he’ll show you amazing feats of derring-do.

GIRL. (Laughs.) Well, am I psychic?

BOY. (Drops strong man character.) Kate’s a nice name.

GIRL. (Becoming cool.) Okay.

 BOY. (Meaning it.) I like it.

GIRL. (Cold.) Swell.

BOY. (Trying hard to remember; speaking in round tones.) They call you Kate that do

speak of you? Bonnie Kate, the prettiest Kate in all Christendom.

GIRL. (Impressed.) That’s pretty good.

BOY. But what light? ‘Tis the East, and Kate is the sun. (Dropping oratorical voice.) No,

that doesn’t work so well.

GIRL. Do you know Shakespeare? 

BOY. Sure. He runs that little pizza parlor on Eighth

GIRL. (Not laughing.) Ho ho ho.

BOY. Do you?

GIRL. (Loftily.) Of course.

BOY. In all those books?

GIRL. (Impressed with her intelligence.) Yes. This is about him. This one is about his

country, about other writers. And this: “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.”

BOY. (Humble.) Books mean a great deal to you, right?

GIRL. Of course.

BOY. I thought so. I mean, you have so many. All that to read. Sort of sad.

GIRL. Don't you like to read?

BOY. (Positive.) Uh-unh. Not for me.

GIRL. (Surprised.) I never met anyone who didn’t like to read.

BOY. (Happy.) Count no day lost when you meet a different human.

GIRL. (Dubious.) I don't know about that.

 BOY. I don't read; I live.

GIRL. (Defensively.) Well, I live, too. I’m not dead, you know.

BOY. (Seriously.) I know. I could tell.

GIRL. You’ve got a good approach, I'll say that for you. And I've heard a lot of lines,

believe me.

BOY. (Outraged.) Line?

GIRL. Sure. (Generously.) It’s good. I usually don't speak to strangers.

BOY. (More outraged.) Well, you're not psychic after all. All that stuff about time, and a

book, and a boyfriend. Huh. You were just putting me on. Listen: I wasn't going to ask you any

of those things. What do you think of that?

GIRL. (Kindly.) What were you going to say?

BEAT THREE  | WHATEVER HAPPENED TO ALL THE LIGHTNING BUGS?

BOY. (Becomes TV announcer; microphone in hand.) This is your Man on the Street,

friends. (Big smile switches on and off.) And here I am, out in the park on this beautiful day,

talking to Miss Kate Brown.

GIRL. My name isn’t Brown.

BOY. (Ignoring her.) As you know, friends out there in wonderful TV land, each day

WXX-TV asks the big jackpot question. If Miss Kate Brown knows the answer, she wins our

special prize. How about that, Miss Kate Brown?

GIRL. Matter of fact, my name isn’t Kate, either.

BOY. (Dropping character; sotto voce.) That’s okay. My name isn’t William. (TV

announcer:) Now here it comes, Miss Sally Barrows. Are you ready? 
 GIRL. (A giggling, simpering Southern belle, using a fan.) Oh, Ah do declare, Ah gets so

fearful in front of that camera that y’all got over there. Ah just know Ah’ll forget.

BOY. The question is--are you ready?--it is, “Whatever happened to all the lightning

bugs?” You have fifteen seconds, Miss Sally Barrows of Landogoshen, Alabama.

GIRL. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Ah knows Ah’ll forget. But do go on, honey, Ah’ll just give it

my very pinkie little best. What’s the question?

BOY. (Pompously.) We just asked it, ma’am.

GIRL. You did, sure nuff?

BOY. (Coldly, nastily mocking her.) We did, sure nuff.

GIRL. Really? Honey, would y’all ask it just one more time? Ah promise to listen real

close, heah?

BOY. (Irritated.) Are you trying to cheat?

GIRL. Cheat? Why, whatever do you mean? 

BOY. We told you: fifteen seconds. That’s all. Now you’re trying to cheat for more time.

GIRL. (Big business with eyelashes.) Honey, Ah never would cheat you.

BOY. (Dropping character; speaking confidently.) I know you wouldn’t. That’s why I

wanted to talk to you. (TV announcer again:) Well, friends, it looks like this young lady blew it.

Bang! This has been your roving reporter, Anthony Knight, your Friendly Man on the Streets.

(Big smile clicks on and off.) Goodbye. Until later. (To man running the camera.) Cut. That’s it,

Bob. Jeez, we got a stupid one this time.

GIRL. Ah didn’t want your ol’ prize anyhow.

BOY. Yeah. Sure. That's what they all say. (Calling off.) Okay, guys. Wrap it up. Jeez,

what a stupe.
 GIRL. (No longer the Southern Belle; a bit offended.) I didn’t think that question was so

good. Anyhow, I really didn’t hear it.

BOY. (No longer the TV announcer; seriously.) That doesn’t make sense.

GIRL. What?

BOY. (Very earnest.) First you said the question was no good. Then you said you didn't

hear it?

GIRL. So? 

BOY. That’s not logical.

GIRL. Of course it isn't.

BOY. (Lost.) Well, then.

GIRL. Do you have a signed contract from me that promises logic?

BOY. (Stuttering.) Ah...well...no…

GIRL. (Aggressively.) When did I ever tell you I’d be logical? Never, that’s when. But

maybe I’m being very logical. In the fourth dimension. How do you know? Maybe I'm from

Venus. Or Mars. And that’s the way we think. Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s

wrong. (Angry, becoming loud.) So what right have you got to tell me I’m not a logical person?

It so happens that I am, and proud, too; proud of it. What do you think of that, smarty?

BOY. (Hurt.) You didn’t have to shout.

GIRL. (A bit less vehemently.) Well. I am logical.

BOY. (Quite hurt.) Gee whiz.

GIRL. (More calmly.) I didn’t mean to shout.

BOY. What? 

GIRL. I didn’t mean to shout.

  

BEAT FOUR | TOUCHING HANDS

BOY. (Finger in ear, as if to clean it.) Did you say something? 

GIRL. (Speaks ultra-carefully.) I said, I’m sorry I got loud.

BOY. (Watching her lips carefully.) I can’t hear you.

GIRL. (Silently, pantomiming the words.) Listen carefully.

BOY. (Sudden knowledge.) I’m deaf. (Frightened.) Deaf? (Tragic.) I’ll never hear the

birds sing as they leave Capistrano!

GIRL. (Soundlessly as before.) Can’t you hear me?

BOY. (Looking at her carefully.) I see your lips move. Did you ask if I could hear you? 

GIRL. (Nodding her head in large movements, still pantomime.) Yes.

BOY. Indeed, deaf. (In deep despair. A German accent:) What will I tell my piano

students? How can I piano teach if I can’t hear them? What vill I for a living do if I can’t teach

pianer? (Sitting, despondent.) Verdammung! Mine ears: kaput. (Looking up mournfully.) Und in

der prime of my life.

GIRL. (Wiping a tear.) Oh, my poor little Franz.

BOY. (Tragic and brave.) Vell. Herr Beethoven, he vas a brave kapitan, in deafness. So

must I be. 

GIRL. That’s right. Be brave.

BOY. (Moving closer.) Vhat? Let me see vhat it is you say.

GIRL. I said, you can still be a composer.

BOY. (Closer still, peering at her lips.) You said I must mit der work continue?

GIRL. Your art is your life. You have years of great music in you.
 BOY. (Very close.) Ya.

GIRL. I’ll help you. You must be strong.

BOY. Mine own sweet Carlotta.

GIRL. Yes. (BOY has gotten quite close to the bench on which she sits, leaning on his

hands and arms on either side of her hips, his hips quite close to hers. He now kisses her. GIRL

seems to respond for an instant. Then she tries to escape and cannot.) Quit that! (Angry.) Damn

you! (BOY rises and moves behind her. He is perfectly still, his back toward her.) You’ve got

nerve. (BOY doesn’t speak. GIRL begins to gather up her possessions as if to leave.) What made

you think you could get away with that? (GIRL decides to stay.) Howard? (Gently.) Please put

out your hand. (BOY stretches his hand out slowly behind him, toward her. GIRL stretches out

her hand. Their fingers touch. They probably do not look at each other.) Thank you. Look, I

don’t want to leave. I want to stay. But you must be careful. Don't make me leave. This...this is a

gift, something given to us. We have to be careful with it. There’s a… I don’t know...a big

Sweetness. Do you know what I mean? 

BOY. (Still with his back toward her.) Yes.

GIRL. Will you?

BOY. Will you? 

GIRL. Of course.

BOY. Me, too.

GIRL. (Laughs, a little shyly. She pulls her hand away from his.) Thank you.

BOY. (Facing her.) Why’d you do that?

GIRL. (Embarrassed.) A quirk of mine, I guess. It’s so hard to talk to people.

BOY. I know.
 GIRL. Touching hands: that helps.

BOY. I never thought of that. But it does.

GIRL. I think so. Some people can't touch. That’s their problem.

BOY. (Thinking.) Maybe that’s why it gets harder. Talking, I mean. When we get older.

GIRL. Yes.

BOY. Remember when we used to play? When we were kids? It was easier then.

GIRL. (Enthused.) Oh, yes!

BOY. Because we didn’t mind touching each other?

GIRL. We didn’t even think about it. Maybe we’d touch, playing some game, and we

never thought about what it might mean. Now, though...

BOY. (Positive) It was easier.

GIRL. Things get more complicated when you get older. There’s always that suspicion.

You know what I mean. All the pawing, grabbing.

BEAT FIVE | HORSE

BOY. (Pantomimes a basketball player, dribbling adroitly, then shooting a fancy hook

shot into the basket.) There. (Throwing the ball to her.) Your shot, Beth. (GIRL catches the

basketball and goes through the exact motions he did, finally shooting.) 

GIRL. (Sadly.) I missed. That shot always does it. 

BOY. That’s horse on you. (Again dribbling.) This is easier. (Shoots.) Okay?

GIRL. (Repeating his motions.) Naah, naah, Seymour. You’re not so good. There. (Goes

to him to give the ball. Their fingers touch.) Your turn.

BOY. (His voice is younger.) Hey, where’d the other kids go?
(They continue playing basketball, shooting baskets, dribbling, laughing.)

GIRL. (Her voice is lighter.) I don’t know.

BOY. (The indifferent kid.) Well. As long as they aren’t here. I might as well play with

you, Allie.

GIRL. You goin’ swimmin with us this afternoon, Seymour?

BOY. Where?

GIRL. The Club.

BOY. Naw.

GIRL. Why not?

BOY. I don’t wanna.

GIRL. Why not?

BOY. ‘Cause it’s stupid, that’s why not.

GIRL. I don’t think it’s stupid.

BOY. I do, and that’s all that matters.

GIRL. Won’t your parents let you go?

BOY. Huh. A lot you know.

GIRL. What?

BOY. (Pantomiming driving a car.) They were killed. Last Christmas. My old man, he

couldn’t drive worth two cents. Pow! A mess like you wouldn’t believe.

GIRL. Oh. Well, you’re still a member of the Club, aren’t you?

BOY. (Lying magnificently.) That old Club? Sure. 

GIRL. Well, then?

BOY. I said I don't wanna. 

 GIRL. You don't like the kids there, do you?

BOY. (Shrugging.) Maybe.

GIRL. They’re nice. 

BOY. So you say.

GIRL. They are. It’s just...they haven’t gotten to know you yet.

BOY. I spend my whole life waiting for someone to get to know me. How long does it

take, anyhow?

GIRL. You missed. That’s a horse on you.

BOY. Oh, yeah? Watch this. (Goes through an amazingly complex series of movements,

juggling the ball, bouncing it through his legs, finally shooting.)

GIRL. (Impressed.) Hey.

BOY. (Exhausted but proud.) Let’s see you do that. (Tired, slumps down on the grass.) 

GIRL. Not me. Just watching wore me out.

BOY. Besides, I’d rather stay with you than go swimming.

GIRL. Me, too. (Lies down on the grass next to BOY. They laugh.)

BOY. Who won?

GIRL. Oh, you did. By far. Ten horses.

BOY. (His voice is no longer young.) You’re sweet.

GIRL. (His voice is no longer a young girl’s.)  Thank you.

BOY. I’ll bet you always let your boyfriends win basketball.

GIRL. (Lightly.) Always.

BOY. Of course, I’m pretty good at it.

 
 BEAT SIX | WHEN WE WERE YOUNG

GIRL. Robert, what are you going to be when you grow up?

BOY. I am grown up. Too grown up. 

GIRL. (Agreeably.) Okay. What are you now that you’re grown up?

BOY. (Taken aback.) I hadn’t thought of that. (Thinking. Then speaking positively.) I

guess I’m a poet. Of life, I mean. Not the writing kind. The living kind.

GIRL. That’s nice. A poet of life: that’s better than a poet of paper.

BOY. What are you?

GIRL. (Sadly.) Nothing yet.

BOY. Sure you are. You look like a poet to me.

GIRL. (Anxiously.) Do you think so?

BOY. (Generously.) Certainly.

GIRL. (Sincerely.) Thank you. I’d like to be.

BOY. It’s those books: sometimes they hide life. You oughta get rid of them.

GIRL. (Apprehensively.) Do I have to throw them away?

BOY. (Positively.) I Did. When I was 10 months old. Poof! Out the window.

(Reflectively.) I must have thrown away a thousand books. All out the window. (Grinning.) We

lived on the fifteenth floor. I’ll bet the people down on the street wondered about the books

raining on them.

GIRL. (Hands over head. An adult, complaining voice.) Charles, it’s getting so a body

can’t walk down the streets anymore. I just don’t know what the world’s coming to,

BOY. ( Also a whining adult.) Look at all them books, Mabel. I tell you it's not like the

good old days, when it rained cats and dogs.

 GIRL. (Dropping adult character.) A thousand books?

BOY. (Dropping adult character.) Maybe tens of thousands. It was my mission in life.

Everybody needs a hobby--that was mine when I was young.

GIRL. Did you have fun when you were a kid?

BOY. (Reflectively.) We used to do a lot of things that I liked, so I guess I had fun.

GIRL. Me, too. What sort of things?

BOY. In the evenings, when it was dark, we’d play flashlight hide and seek.

GIRL. So’d we. There’d be a dozen kids from the neighborhood.

BOY. The streetlights were sort of half-hidden by the trees. The breeze would make the

limbs move and then the light would move the shadows and maybe there’d be a ghost.

GIRL. (Taking up the narrative.) And we’d hide. Behind the trees. Even up the trees. Or

under a hedge. And whoever was It would try to find us.

BOY. But It couldn’t find you and me.

GIRL. Because we’d find a place where we both could hide. Together.

BOY. As soon as It found us he had to shine the flashlight in our faces.

GIRL. It was always sort of spooky. Frightening, in a nice way. All the strange noises.

BOY. Being a kid wasn’t always fun. (He caresses her hair.) Someone was always

round. An adult, trying to rush us. 

GIRL. I never noticed.

BOY. Oh, sure. Always.

GIRL.  Really?

(BOY gets up. He is a menacing night watchman.)

BOY. (Thick voice.) Awright, youse kids. Whatcha doin’, lyin on the grass like that?
 GIRL. (Young. Innocently; Frightened.) Nothin’ Honest, we were just hidin’ here.

BOY. (The watchman:) Hidin’? That ain’t what it looks like to me. Whatcha doin’, you

there, boy? (Lying down to be the boy.) Nothin’. (Standing to be the watchman.) Yeah? I seen

you around here before, ain’t I? (They boy, sullen.) How do I know? (The watchman, angry.)

Don’t get wise with me, you snot-nosed brat.

GIRL. (Indignant, but still frightened.) You leave him alone!

BOY. (The watchman:) Go on, boy. You get outta here. I’ll take little Miss Smartie Pants

home myself.

GIRL. (As before.) I’ll tell my father on you! He’s the mayor of this town, and he’ll fix

you.

BOY. (The watchman, taken aback.) Yeah? (The boy.) That’s right. Her father’s the

mayor. You’d better watch out.

GIRL. We’re going home right now. And, boy, you’ll be sorry.

BOY. (The watchman, humble.) I was just tryin’ to pertect yuh.

GIRL. Tell me you’re sorry you called me “Smartie Pants.” Or I’ll tell my father you

talked about my panties. And you know what he’ll think!

BOY. (The watchman:) Awright, I’m sorry. Now git.

GIRL. (Laughing) So there!

BOY. (Laughing.) You really showed him!

(The watchman is gone.) 

GIRL. (As if there had been no interruption.) We used to catch lightning bugs. Put them

in a glass jar. If you caught enough, they made a good light.

BOY. Better than a flashlight.

 GIRL. God’s own moon bugs.

BOY. (Appreciatively.) That’s very pretty. You’re getting the hang of it.

GIRL. That’s because you’re teaching me the way.

(BOY picks an imaginary flower. Rising, he gives it to GIRL with a courtly bow. She sits up to receive

it.) 

BEAT SEVEN | NOT REALLY STRANGERS

BOY. (Thick French accent.) Mam’sel, ze flower of ze field, eet do not match ze

incomparable beauty of your eyes.

GIRL. (Coyly.) M’sr he is so kind to give me ze flower. So gallant he is, thinking of ze

flower right after he slew the dragon. Oh, so cruel ze dragon.

BOY. Eet was pleasureful for me. (Dropping accent.) For I love you. Oh, Cecily, I love

you so much!

GIRL. (Dropping accent.) And I love you, Carl. I think I’ve always loved you. Even

before we met.

BOY. You’ve got the sweetest mouth. Even when you’re not smiling, your mouth smiles.

(Touching her lips with his fingers.) The corners always turn up. Friendly. (Abruptly changing

pace.) Except when you’re angry. Then: pow! whop!

GIRL. (Indignantly.) I don't get angry very much.

BOY. You do. Precisely seven and one half times a month. I keep records.

GIRL. Never more than once a month.

BOY. So, sir. In ten years, you’ve been mad at me...let’s see...exactly 900 times in 3,650

days.
 GIRL. Honestly?

BOY. Yep.

GIRL. (Regretfully.) That’s a pretty poor record. Why do you stay married to me?

BOY. (Shrugging.) It’s too much trouble to get a divorce.

GIRL. (Hurt.) Is that the only reason?

BOY. (Very British.) Well, of course, there are the children. It wouldn’t be fair to them,

what? All twenty of them.

GIRL. (Laughing.) Twenty! 

BOY. (Positively.) Twins every year.

GIRL. Good grief!

BOY. (In spirit of compromise.) Would you believe fifteen?

GIRL. How about three?

BOY. (Unhappy.) Don’t you like kids?

GIRL. Not twenty.

BOY. (Agreeably.) Six, then?

GIRL. Okay. Six. (A comfortable pause.) You’re a funny one. I never talk to strangers.

BOY. No?

GIRL. And especially never in the park.

BOY. The park’s the world, and all the world is a park. So all the world is strange.

GIRL. (Dubiously.) You never can tell about a stranger. What he’ll do. Sometimes it’s

pretty dangerous.

BOY. I’m not a stranger. We know each other pretty well.

GIRL. (Laughing.) Twenty kids!

 BOY. That’ll do it.

GIRL. Do you come here often?

BOY. Never. You?

GIRL. First time.

BOY. It must be Fate.

GIRL. It was that question about the fireflies. That really got me. How did you think up

that one?

BOY. (Earnest.) I’ve always wondered. There used to be so many. And wrens. Other

little birds. And butterflies. The big ones.

GIRL. You said you knew what happened to them.

BOY. (Cautiously; trying to be accurate.) I’ve got a theory.

GIRL. Tell me.

BOY. I’d better not. It’s sad.

GIRL. It’s the least you can do is tell me. For the sake of those twenty kids.

BEAT EIGHT | THE DOES FLY

BOY. (Up-ends bench to serve as lectern: a professor lecturing.) Very well, students.

Today’s lecture topic concerns the question of the demise of certain small living things.

Specifically, the nocturnal soft-bodied beetle of the family Lampyridae.

GIRL. (Taking notes. Raises hand.) Professor?

BOY. Yes, Miss Darby?

GIRL. (An eager student.) Sir, would you be so kind as to spell that?

BOY. Yes. B-E-E-T-L-E.

 GIRL. (Writing rapidly.) B-E-E...what?

BOY. B-U-G.

GIRL. (Gushing.) Oh, thank you so much, professor...

BOY. (Straightening tie, brushing hair back.) Now. This insect is often called a

glowworm. But it isn’t a worm, of course.

GIRL. (Writing.) Isn’t a worm.

BOY. It is called, by some, a glowfly. Or a firefly. But...

GIRL. (Quickly.) But it isn’t a fly?

BOY. (Impressed.) Very good. Very good, Miss Darby. (Cautiously, to be precise.)

Although it does fly, of course.

GIRL. (Writing.) It is a does fly.

BOY. This lightning bug has an organ at the tip of the abdomen which produces a soft

light, a glow. (Rocking back and forth.) Any questions?

GIRL. No, sir.

BOY. Thank you, class. That’ll be all for today.

GIRL. Uhh, professor?

BOY. Miss Darby?

GIRL. You said you were going to tell us the rationale behind the mysterious

disappearance of this lovely insect. Why is it no longer observable in such abundant numbers as

it was in days of yore.

BOY. (Amazed.) I said that?

GIRL. Oh, yes, sir. I have it in my notes. (Slyly.) If you’d like to see them?
 BOY. (Worried.) No, no. The last time you referred me to your notes you...grabbed my

arm...and you…(Embarrassed.) Decorum, Miss Candy.

GIRL. (Innocently.) I won’t do anything. (Big flare of crossing legs.) Honest.

BOY. I’ll not waste the class time examining your notes, thank you.

GIRL. Perhaps after class, professor?

BOY. (Sternly.) Decorum! (Loosening tie.) Since my attention is drawn to a careless

oversight on my part, allow me to finish.

GIRL. (Subdued; a tiny voice.) I wasn’t being critical.

BOY. (Ignoring her.) The salient point is that they’re gone. Whence, and whither flown

again? Whence are we? The roses of our summer die. The glowworms of our youth are killed.

And how?

(Pause.)

GIRL. (Filling the pause.) And how?

BOY. What is this that thou hast done to innocence? With freeways and speeding cars,

thee assassinated the gentle butterfly and the warm glowworm. (Sadly.) They fly no more.

GIRL. (Dropping character.) Is that what happened?

BOY. (Dropping character, stepping down from bench.) That’s my theory.

GIRL. Cars?

BOY. I used to have a job in a car wash. (Sadly.) The front ends: smeared with bugs.

Pow. Radiators filled with butterflies. It was a pretty bad mess.

GIRL. (Sad.) Yes.

BOY. Never mosquitoes. And not ugly hornets. Or chiggers. Not Japanese beetles. Only

the beautiful things get killed.

 GIRL. (Softly.) I know.

BEAT NINE | ONLY THE BEAUTIFUL THINGS GET KILLED

BOY. Love gets killed, not hate.

GIRL. Yes.

BOY. Nice people, not the other kind.

GIRL. (Sigh.) Only the beautiful.

BOY. And the bad thing is that I don't know what to do about it.

GIRL. (Angrily.) We should abolish all cars.

BOY. I do. I have.

GIRL. Good!

BOY. I never drive one. Never ride in one.

GIRL. But how do you get anywhere?

BOY. I walk. Everywhere. The whole world.

GIRL. (Reflectively.) That’s a good way. When I’m God, I’ll get rid of all cars. And

trucks. And especially those smelly buses.

BOY. (Becomes an airplane.) How about planes?

GIRL. No, I like being up in them. Let’s keep planes. And boats.

BOY. (Doubtfully.) I don’t know about planes and boats. The trouble with the world is

that people can get around too easily. Move from here to there to make trouble.

GIRL. Or to find new beauty?

BOY. Will you write me?

GIRL. (Earnestly.) Oh, yes. Every day. Twice on Sunday.

 BOY. And send it air mail?

GIRL. (Taken aback.) Air mail? Where will you be?

(BOY is a soldier, under fire, attacking an enemy line. He carries a rifle.) 

BOY. Over this way, men!

GIRL. (Frightened.) Look out!

BOY. We got orders to take that hill. Come on!

GIRL. (Busily writing.) Captain Frank Davis, APO San Francisco. Dear Frank

BOY. (Briefly returning from the war, but still a soldier.) Captain? I don't think so, baby.

GIRL. (Scratching out the address.) Lieutenant Tommy Wright, APO...

BOY. (As before.) Lieutenant? No...

GIRL. Mr. Timothy Franklin, APO

BOY. (As before.) I don’t think the Army knows what “mister” means. Better just say

“Private.” (A soldier again, he crawls toward the enemy.) Come one! We got to get them, or

else!

GIRL. Dear Timothy. It seems so long since you left. That day in the park: was that years

ago or yesterday? (BOY continues pantomime of fighting the war.) You must come back. I was

waiting all my life for you.

BOY. Watch out! Over there! 

GIRL. (Seeing in her mind the danger around him.) Oh! Timothy, please be careful!

(Back to writing.) I found a little house for us. It’s warm and friendly, with lets of land for us and

the children.

BOY. Hurry, you guys! They almost got us trapped!

 GIRL. The house is surrounded by woods. And--dear Timothy--we saw lightning bugs.

Hundreds! At night it looks like a moving carpet of “God’s own moon bugs.” They’ll be waiting

for you, too.

BOY. (Crawling toward offstage.) I don't know. (In bewildered anguish.) I just don’t

know, but come on!

(BOY exits.) 

GIRL. Today’s Sunday, so as soon as I get back from mailing this, I’ll start another letter.

I love you, darling. Thank you for giving me that warm glow. Your Elizabeth.

(GIRL folds the imaginary letter, puts it in an envelope, and rises to leave. As

GIRL exits she seals the envelope with a kiss. GIRL exits, leaving behind

her books. She takes the balloon with her.)

CURTAIN