Two: Lights, Camera, Faction!

 

      The actors milled about the stage, most of them not really knowing their cues or lines. 

They got ready for the big number of the show.  A soundtrack going right along with their dance so they could try and get it right.  They wouldn't.

I sat in the first row of seats, which was completely empty.  The same way it's going to be opening night. 

Have you ever seen someone who doesn't know how to dance, they just have no rhythm, and they're flailing their limbs around themselves like a character in a fighting video game doing combo moves. But they're inner voice is saying over and over again, "You are so awesome at this.  You could teach dance." 

Have you ever seen someone like that, well imagine seeing thirty people doing that at the same time.  It’s enough to make you heave.

And then one of them falls causing a giant domino effect across the stage.
      "CUT!" the choreographer yells. 

Thank God it's over for even a brief moment.

The choreographer for this play was Kevin He was an averaged sized, bald man, in his forties.  Really nice guy. 

When you were working with him however he could get really mean.  He could say the most brutal things to someone, but after it was all over he would be really nice again, so if he had just screamed at you he was still really nice and you kind of understood why.

"Britanny what the hell are you doing?"
      "I'm sorry, Kevin, I just lost my footing." 

Britanny was a girl that, well let’s just say she had a slight inner ear disorder.  Constantly losing her footing, or putting a move in the wrong place.  Always bumping into people.  But she was so sweet and innocent you really didn't have the heart to tell her.
      "Well, how many times are you going to lose your footing before you get it right?  People, we open in two weeks and we still have other numbers to work on.  We're already over schedule with this one, because all of you have no clue what you're doing. 

“How long will it take before you stop forgetting what to do?  I'm not going to show you what to do anymore.  Now you're all on your own.  One person messes up, I yell cut, and we start all over from the top.  So we're going to take it from the top," he got off the stage and the actors reset themselves.  The moral went down faster than the Titanic.  

      Not wanting to the go through the spine shattering feeling of messing up again I went out into the hall.  After closing the door I heard Kevin yell, "CUT!" again, and just laughed a little bit. 

      I walked down the hall and found Erin.
      "Hey," she said.  She was a short, pale girl with brown hair and glasses.  Her parents were "Off the Boat" Irish, and, I never knew the exact number because it changed with the joke, but she had somewhere around six brothers and sisters. 

      Something that made her distinct, other than her family, was she had the highest pitched voice out of anyone I knew.  A couple of times it became inaudible because its frequency got so high. 

      Dogs would sometimes run to her if she screamed loud enough.               

      “What’s up?”

      "Nothing.  I just couldn't bear it anymore."
      "Is it really that bad?" she asked.
      "Have you ever gotten really badly sunburn?"
      "If I've never gotten sunburn I'd have to live under a rock and never come out ever," she said.  It was true.  Erin was so pale she could have been considered transparent.

      Apparently the town I lived in was a safe haven for Irish immigrants in New York during the 1950's, so most of my friends were Irish.  Our county had the second largest St. Patrick's Day in America, which I doubted, but seemed plausible with all the Irish in the county.  So, we didn’t have the highest melanin count.
      "Well, imagine getting the worst one you could possibly think of.  Then having somebody hit you with a wet towel where the sun burn is."  She twitched slightly after I said that.  She had six brothers and sisters she had probably met the feeling once or twice.

      I continued. 

      “While someone sings "My Heart Will Go On", and makes you watch a video of a puppy slowly freezing to death on Christmas morning." 

      Her jaw dropped. 

      All right that’s enough.

      I had an affinity for making people uncomfortable.

      For some reason in the past couple of months I had become less afraid of what people thought of me and just said whatever I felt like saying. One day, I'm not sure when, I was just said to myself, F**k it.  And started saying whatever the hell I wanted. 

      That's been working for me lately.  But then again, saying whatever the hell you want has its consequences:  Erin hit me a few times.
      "Don't ever say anything about a puppy like that again."
      "Hey, you wanted the truth.  There's no way this thing is going to be good enough for people see in two weeks.  Hell, I don't want to see this show." I meant it. 

      The show was terrible.  It was an atrocity to theater.  Shakespeare would choke himself with his own frilly collar if he heard this piece of work.

      In the middle of all this a pile of coats, sweatshirts, and book bags were moving on the floor.
      "What the hell is that?"  The pile squirmed a bit more.
      "Celia," she said looking over to the pile.
      "What is she doing under a pile of coats?"
      "Sleeping."
      "I see."

I walked over to the pile of coats and just looked at the pile for a second.  Then it stopped squirming. 

Silence. 

So, I yelled as loudly as I possibly could at the moment.  Erin started chuckling behind me.  A leg popped out from underneath the pile of coats.  I lifted a coat where I thought her head would be.
      "Morning sunshine,” I said in a cheery manner.
      "I.... hate.... you.... so much," she said groggily. "Why would you do that?"
      "Because if I have to sit this train wreck, so do you."
      "Is it really that bad?" she asked. This would be the part where I look into the camera and break the fourth wall.
      "Have you ever gotten really badly sunburn?"  Erin smacked me on the back of the head.  "What did I say about the puppy?" she said angrily.
      "What about a puppy?" asked Celia still coming out her sleep, stretching underneath the coats.
      "Never mind.  So, what's with the hobo bed?"
      "I'm very tired and I don't want to move," she said.  Her tone of voice of would consistently change.  It might be really low pitched. It might be high pitched.  Almost like a boy going through puberty, but only on purpose.

Now she was going into her child like voice that could make just about anything sound sweet and innocent.  Using this tone she could say: "I just killed ten people." And you'd just say "Aww, that's precious."
      "Why so tired?" I asked her. 
      “I was up all night doing a homework assignment that I didn’t even finish.  And now I’ll be up all night tonight doing it again.”  Celia was an overachiever.
      "C'mon, don’t leave me alone in there. Come inside."  After a sigh, and a deep breath she reluctantly said:

      "Fine."  She pulled the remaining winter-wear off of herself and sat up. 

      She was a girl of average height, with blonde hair.  Her real name was Cecelia, but she thought the first "Ce-," was redundant and that, "Celia is prettier anyway.” 

      I'm not going to lie, I didn't like Celia very much at first.  And I'm quite confident she didn't fancy me very much either.  But over time she grew on me, as I did on her.

      As we walked back to the auditorium, I saw the bassist in the pit orchestra, Dex, heading outside to get a cigarette while we were breaking.  Just what I needed after tonight.  I opened the door for the girls.

      "Aren't you coming in?" Erin said.

      "Um.... I'll be there in a second.  I’m just going to get some air."  In a sense.

      When I walked outside there was Dex leaning against the building, trying to enjoy his cigarette in the cold, December air. 

      "Hey, Dex," I said.

      "Oh, hey," he jumped a little when he heard me.  He didn't want to get caught smoking. 

Even though he was a senior, and could get away with just about anything, if the wrong person saw him smoking he would get into trouble. 

"Are we starting yet?"

      "No, not yet, they're still working on that damn, dance scene.”  I pointed to the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket, “Do you think I can get one of those?" 

      "Oh, no problem."  He took the pack out and gave me it to me.  "Need a light?" I nodded.

I really need one tonight. After I lit it I handed him back the pack and the lighter.

      "Thanks." 

I know what you're thinking: it's a bad habit.  I know it is.

In the summer before my freshman year I picked it up, but quit before school started.  There were very few people who even knew I smoked at all; Dex was one of them. 

      "So, what happened?" Dex asked.

      "What?" I really don't want to tell you.

      "You only smoke when you're stressed.  The last time you had one it was f*****g October.  And it can't be this play.  So it's got to be something else. 

“I'm thinking it's a girl," he said, confidently, and accurately. 

      "That would be the reason," I said. I didn't really want to tell him about today, but I knew I would have to.

      "Are you over that Emma chick yet?"

      "I thought I was," I said.

      "What happened?  She being a cocktease or something?" he said.  I couldn’t help but laugh.

Dex was a pretty blunt guy: says whatever he wants and doesn’t care about what other’s think.

      "No...Not to me, anyway." 

The wind was starting to pick up and it was getting colder, but he lit another cigarette anyway.

      “I need another one for how bad this f*****g show is,” he said, justifying his second cigarette.  He was justified. 

"Who then?" he asked.  Before I said anything I took a drag.

      "That kid Gregg: my grade, soccer player, brown hair, kind of tall," I said beginning to shiver.

      There was a pause. 

      "That kid's a douchebag.  The way he spells his name will two ‘g's.  Who the f**k does that?"

Very blunt. 

"They riding the hobby horse yet?" 

Really blunt.

      "No, but they will.  Soon, probably, too," I laughed so hard I started coughing.

      "How do you know that?

      " She stopped by library today..." I didn't really want to finish the sentence.

      "What?  Did she just come up to you and say, ‘Oh F.Y.I., I will be f*****g Gregg this weekend’?”

      Extremely blunt.

“She was photocopying a book for teens who are about to have sex for the first time." 

Smoke was slowly coming out of Dex’s gaping mouth. 

"What?" I asked.

      "Now that's a f*****g story; did you just find her photocopying it?"

      "No, she needed help with the copier and I was the one that came to help her," I said.

      "That’s something that happens in a bad sitcom, never thought that it would actually happen in real life."

we both started to cough from laughing.  After all nothing like that ever happens. 

It’s one of those moments where you say to yourself: “This is not my life.” 

“Want to beat the s**t out of him?"

Dex was that kind of guy, just ready to fight at the drop of a hat.  It was kind of frightening.

      "No," I said laughing.  I wanted to, but knew I wouldn't.  I was a very passive person.  Avoiding a fight at all cost was pretty much my mission till I died.

      "Cause, I'll do it man.  You just say the word and I'm there kicking the dude's head in."  He started to kick an invisible man. 

      "I know you will; that's what kind of scares me.  But it's fine.  It's not like that'll make things better.  If I kick Gregg's a*s that'll just make her hate me more, so it wouldn't be-" 

      "She hates you?" He was very surprised by that.

      "Well she kind of ignores me, so I’m guessing that she does."

      "That's surprising." 

      "I'm surprised that you're surprised.  She doesn't talk to me at all anymore."  I paused for a second.  "Unless she's nervous about me finding the sex book she's copying." 

We started to laugh again.  The door behind us opened.  Dex moved his hand behind his back, to hide the cigarette.  It was Erin.

      "They're finally starting," she said. 

Great, now I have to sit through this garbage again. 

The same disappointed look on my face was on Dex’s.  He finished the cigarette with one, long drag, and followed me inside. 

As soon as we walked in Kevin was yelling again:

      "CUT!"

So, we're not rehearsing? 

"You know what?  That's it I can't take it anymore.  All of you get out of here, we're stopping for tonight."  He wasn't yelling, but sounded very disappointed, which is much worse than getting yelled at. 

      "Rehearsal for all of you tomorrow.  After school." 

The only thing you heard from the stage were scoffs, but they knew he was right. 

"Just dancers, no musicians."  I looked over at Dex. 

      "Thank God," he said relieved.  I concurred.  I had better things to do anyway than watch a play that I didn't want to see anyway. 

Celia came up behind me.

      "Hello," I said.  She began to sniff the air around me.

      "Why do you smell like smoke?"

      "I was outside with Dex."  The lie I had planned before I went outside to smoke.  "And you know how much he smokes."

"All right," she gave me a look like she didn't believe me.  But I don’t smoke. 

"I came over here for something?" She did this quite often: forget what she was going to say, or do.

      "Now I remember."  And started hitting me in the arm.

      "What the hell?" I asked putting my arm over my face, in case she went for that.

      "This is for the puppy," she said.  She stopped for a second, she was out of breath.

      "Done?" I asked.

      "No," she said, paused for a second more, and gave me a final hit.