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______________________________

Thoom

(Prepare to dive in. This runs roughly 15 WORD pages, but don't worry, it broken into acts, so it's easy to read some and pick it up laterif you like what you see.)
This Story Is copyrighted by Will Ritter, 2003

Dedicated to every Masque member, wherever they are now, to all those who deserve to be, but will not have that chance, and to all those who have breathed the life into what will always be my stage. I would dedicate, also, to Carol Coburn, but I have already done so; she is inside each and every person I have already mentioned in some way, great or small.

This is not autobiographical. Characters are fictional. Those people near to the author may notice distinct, even glaring similarities to characters or dialogues in the story, but I assure you, those people are hallucinogenic, doubtless the symptom of some deeper rooted mental illness.

Mike McCaffrey --------Stage Manager
Suzanna Scace ------- Sound and Lights
Julie Newman ---------- Props Mistress
Steve Kremit -------------------- Curtains
Flint --------------------------- Stagehand
Iris Quinn ------------------------ Actress
Nick Bruce ------------------------- Actor

Act one

There are some audiences that know when to clap, others that love to do so vigorously at all the wrong moments, and a few - a scant few - that truly know how to appreciate a performance. The applause tonight was absolutely musical. It would continue to be musical for several nights to come (though admittedly Thursday’s showing for the Aloha Village Retirement Home was a low ebb) and would carry in the close of one of the most memorable, fulfilling success stories of the theatre. I think I shall start from the beginning - or if that is, perhaps, a bit too far, I’ll pick up from the casting list.

______________________
My seat was cold. It was cold and dusty and might have had a screw on it but for some reason I didn’t feel like getting up. They would come streaming in at any moment. With the cast and crew listed in the hallway, and school just out, they would come. It was easy to guess the actors; The big parts traded with the supporting roles once in a while but in the long run things were always the same - even when they graduated, somehow they managed to make little clones of themselves, or train impersonators, or something - it was always the same people. Who came to me was the interesting part. My name’s Mike McCaffrey, I’m the stage manager. Every show a new batch comes my way. Then I have the job of figuring out who actually knows anything about tech, who is capable of doing difficult crew work, and who is a simple actor pushing a last ditch effort to be involved.

I took the few moments I had and tried to put myself in their shoes. I stood up, either to allow myself to take in the scene that soon would daunt or inspire a new fleet of my crewmen, or because the screw on my chair had finally broken through the fabric of my pants. The stage was a wondrous, living, breathing entity, one with perhaps more character and grace than any of the players that trod upon it. Layer upon layer of paint coated the floorboards; the most recent scrapes revealed hints of color that had not been used in years, some not since before I was born. The thick, tired curtains were parted enough to see an empty audience house. Various wires and ropes hung from even farther up to swing mysteriously off into the magic of the theatre... others, less mysteriously, lay strewn about in a vague attempt at order. To the left lay an army of stage lights, gels and frames, to the right, a sea of tools and set pieces: I was surrounded by a world that was every world... and I wondered. I wondered what this world would be to my newcomers. What piece of magic would catch their eye and begin their experience?

“You’ve got a nail on your butt, there cap’n.”

It took me a moment to bring myself to turn around. I attempted to remove the offending object in the same swift move but wound up intensely scraping at my backside for the first few seconds of the encounter.

“It’s a screw,” I said definitively, “and the name’s Mike. You are...?”

“Steve, Steve Kremit. My friends call me Kermit.” Kermit was a good bit shorter than I was, slightly soft around the middle, had a face that was both quite round and not at all pudgy, and, for some indescribable reason, was immediately likeable. His shirt said, “Toast” in bold, black letters. I made a mental note to ask him about that, “You the S&M guy around here?”

“If you mean Stage Manager, yeah, I’m your guy,” I tried to place where I had seen him before, “you my new stage crew?”

“Yeah, just been assigned.” He looked like the kind of guy that should be smiling, but wasn’t.

“Well, welcome aboard,” I said with a friendly smile, “I can’t quite place it, but you’re really familiar, have you been in a play here before?” This, it became immediately apparent, was the wrong thing to ask.

The face which had previously been simply not smiling now transformed slowly, painfully into utter consigned depression, “I’ve been in 9 shows here,” his eyes sunk deeper, “3 speaking roles, no leads. Ever.”

Despite the fact that I now felt about 2 inches high, I resisted the urge to crawl under the floorboards and quietly die. Somehow I managed to croak: “Sorry about tha - er - I... sorry.” Having no idea what else to say at this point I began seriously to reconsider the floorboards.

Kermit sighed lightly and brightened up a few degrees, almost reaching mediocre, “It’s not your fault. Leads get noticed, not me. I like acting though, and I AM good at it, really I am. This theater has been my home and if this is going to be the last play of my last year I’ll be danged if I’m going to sit it out.”

I had been about to say that I understood completely, that I had failed casting calls as a freshman and turned to love crew over time, instead I caught myself. After a pause I looked up, “I can’t give you back what I don’t have, but crew is a world all its own. It won’t replace acting, but you may find life on this side of the curtain can be as amazing as anything you’ve seen out there. You might just like swingin’ curtains better than being stuck watching kids worse than you try to act. At least behind the scenes you’re allowed to make fun of them all through the show, heh.” I smiled, weakly.

“Thanks, Mike.” He said, and smiled back.

“So what do you think your specialty is?” I continued after a brief silence, “Sets, props, fly-lines? ---”

Any chance of his reply was cut off by a loud bellow from just outside. “I have arrived! The Prince of Dorahn is here!” The speaker strode in. He looked a bit like a game show-host and a bit like an arrogant jock. (I didn’t know how so many jocks managed that level of arrogance - our school won an average of 2 out of 30 games, and that was only if you counted the junior-high kids that challenged us last year for a joke.) “That’s right - I landed Garamonce, the fancy nobleman and hero of Hearts of Honor. Ah, thank you, thank you.”

“Mike,” Kermit said in a flat, hushed tone, “are you also resisting the urge to shove a weasel up that guys pants?”

“If I were in possession of a weasel, Kermit, I doubt resistance would be possible.” We watched as the jock strode toward us.

“Howdy guys, you in the play too, or just crew?” His eyes both looked at us and didn’t, as if they were waiting to know if we were worth acknowledging before settling on us directly.

“If you don’t mind,” I said, slowly turning my head to look him in the eyes, “I am currently beginning the training for the true talent and backbone of this performance. You clearly have managed to procure an acting position, hurrah for you. As difficult as it is to spout lines and follow actions clearly detailed for you on a piece of paper, I and my crew,” I gestured to Kermit, who I saw was full-heartedly behind me in this ego-deflation, “must completely design a system by which entire scenes must swiftly transform, castles must sprout out of countryside, and a bit of rope and a few switches must be the life of a otherwise non-existent world. Or if you forgot, without someone opening the curtains, there would never be a show.”

The look on his face told me that, as I had hoped, that this had not been a speech he had been prepared for, nor was it one in which he had understood every word. “I... I thought crew was for the guys that couldn’t make it as actors.” This he said in honest, almost pitiful confusion, but I realized the effect it was probably having on Kermit and quickly replied.

“The most talented and experienced are usually put on crew. For instance, how many shows have you done, uh, what was your name?”

“It’s Nick Bruce... and this is my first.”

“And so, Nick, to keep things from being too difficult you were given a simple acting role. I’ve worked on 9 or 10 shows, my associate here, about the same. Both of us took the easy acting road at first too, but we’ve moved up, as may you someday.” I smiled and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Stick with it, you’ll get there.”

He nodded, still a bit confused, and walked away. Kermit watched him leave, then turned to me, a look of reflection on his face. “I should have his part,” he said, “but I think I may enjoy this even more.” He broke into a grin and gave me a wink. “Oh, and: curtains.”

“Huh?” I had been grinning back at him but was caught off guard by his last comment.

“Without someone opening the curtains, there’s no show, right? I want to work curtains.”

I grinned again. “You got it, Kermit.”

By this time several others had filed into the theater and were walking about. I recognized a few: Flint was sitting by the lights, Julie, mingling with a few of the actors. Those two were sure to be on my team. Julie despised acting, which was just as well since she was terrible at it. She tended the prop table, instead, and did an adequate job of it. Her father was a notable casting director for New Wave Cinemas and insisted she take an interest in the trade if he were to continue to pay her hefty allowance. This worked out well for her because as much as she loathed acting, she loved attractive male actors. Or attractive male anythings, for that matter. Flint was a different case. I don’t think I had heard him speak more than 3 words at any one sitting before, and the more I thought about it the less sure I was that he had been the one who said those 3. He was shy and quiet, but whenever I had needed something done on set and no one was available to do it, he had somehow known and been there, right on time... creepy bugger.

Iris was on stage, looking over the new script. No doubt she had the lead female role, but she was a different type. Iris Quinn had worked her way up to earning the big roles. She never boasted or pretended to be any better than the rest of the cast or the crew and she always helped at work parties. But there was something more than that. A certain cunning, yet kindly intelligence radiated from her and with it a great deal of respect. I had often gone to her with questions about far more than the theatre, and she had yet to let me down with a response. There was one person I wanted most to see, however, and she was not yet in sight: Suz.

Suzanna Scace had grown up with me. Sort of. She had lived on the same street, gone to the same schools. It just wasn’t until high school that we really met. She was funny, quirky, and very intelligent. She was also one of the few people who knew how to work the sound and light boards, a skill that had frequently led to our working together closely during shows. I had known for 3 years that I wanted to ask her out.

For 3 years I had also known that I was not the kind of guy that asked out someone like Suz. There are the kind of guys who stride up to any girl and walk away with a phone number and then there are the kind of guys that walk toward a girl and within 10 feet of her become suddenly violently ill with nervousness and in the process of suppressing dry heaves and spasms, manage to knock over 4 lunch chairs, 3 trays, and shatter Herman Spinknoll’s glasses. I was the latter. Herman hadn’t come out of the AV room for lunch even months afterward.

“Michael! Hello Michael! Another play together, hey? We just can’t seem leave each other’s sides can we?” This came as a purr from Julie Newman, now fast approaching, “Gimme a hug, babe!” Julie had long since learned that I was not interested, and yet she still insisted on regular hugs that lasted just a little too long for comfort.

“Um, hiya Julie,” I said trying to peel out of her embrace as discreetly as possible, “this is Kermit, er, Steve, really. He’s new to crew.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to make him feel as welcome as any of the guys,” she smiled deeply at Kermit, looking him over.

I felt a little guilty, but the introduction of fresh meat had moved her out of my personal bubble enough to regain a bit of my composure, “not quite as 'welcome’ just yet, I hope. Give him a little time to brace himself first.”

“Oh, Michael, be nice,” she batted at my arm, winking. As she turned back I offered an apologetic look to Kermit, then laughed inwardly at his reply of a knowing glance.

“Any chance I could get one of those hugs?” came a voice behind me, “maybe just a little one?” I turned immediately, knowing before I looked who it was.

“Suz!” I smiled broadly, enveloping her small frame into a hug. Careful not to make her uncomfortable, I pulled out of the hug much sooner than I would have liked. I could easily have spent several hours or days in a hug like that, but somehow I doubted I could get away with it. As it turned out, I couldn’t really get away with leaving the hug either, for as my arm swung out from around her shoulder it met squarely with the back of her head. Automatically I leaned in to apologize, connecting with her forehead this time and almost sending her backwards if it hadn’t been for a quick sweep of the hands to catch her. The hands, however, found themselves, at the end of the flurry of motion, directly on either buttock, which I quickly remedied, the result allowing her to finish her descent to the floor.

I doubt I would have survived the embarrassment had I not been able to at least help her back up without further event. “Good to see you too, big guy,” she laughed, after recovering from the shock of the rapid combo assault, “remind me not to go away for any longer!”

I felt my cheeks rapidly growing warm and turned attention away from myself as deftly as I could, “This is Steve, Suz, he’s new onto the stage crew team.”

“Hi Steve, welcome aboard,” she gave him a kind smile and shook his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Suz,” he said, accepting her hand, “you can call me Kermit, though, everyone does.”

“I can see how you could get ‘Kermit’ out of Steven,” she smiled, “does that make the same kind of sense as: ‘Toast’?”

I had almost forgotten the shirt.

“Steve Kremit. That’s my name. And toast is great!”

“Favorite band?” I asked.

“No, Toast. Favorite result of bread entering a toaster!”

I officially liked Kermit.

______________________
Act two

“Why must the chariot that brings the night so swiftly make its way to me this hour?”

“Hark, my lady! Bundled with the moon and stars, I too have come to thee!”

“Garamonce!”

“Helenia!”

Kermit stepped aside as Nick bounced onstage for his regal entrance, “good golly. That hurt my head.”

I smiled, “Okay,” I said taking a pencil from behind my ear, “mark ‘hark my lady’ to open curtain slightly, and close again on ‘Helenia!’”

Rehearsals had been running for about two weeks. During this time the actors had run lines and blocked scenes, while the crew had sorted lighting gels and cleared out set pieces. This was not the most exciting time in the performance process for crew members. It was only today that we had come to a temporary end of clutter and been able to begin marking up scripts for our own directions.

“... as surely as that very moon shines in the sky...”

“Whoops,” I set down my script, “lets go find a find a moon.” Kermit and I were working alone backstage. Suz was in the sound booth, searching for effects tapes that claimed to be in ‘drawer: G-K’, a drawer which clearly contained nothing outside the range of M-P (with the exception of a re-taped Beatles collection.). She had been in there all rehearsal. Julia was in the basement prop room, looking for a set of spears, banners, and a gold-painted goblet. With her had gone one of the actors not needed for the scene. They would not be up for a while. Flint was doing something incredibly helpful, I’m sure. He had never needed a lot of direction.

“Where are we supposed to find a moon?” Kermit asked, following me across the stage.

“How afraid of heights are you?” I asked, “...the grid.”

“The grid?” Kermit’s eyes widened a bit and I could tell by his alarmed upward glance that he was familiar with the grid. I smiled. The grid, for the stage, is simply up.

Every good theater needs curtains and drops. For the audience these are magical landscapes or buildings that gracefully float down from nowhere and, later, find their way back up to nowhere just as gracefully. Behind the scenes, however, someone is hauling on a massive rope, which leads to the elaborate system of wires and poles that constitutes the roof of the stage. To reach the drops and curtains while they are high above the stage, one must walk along a gridded floor, looking straight down fifty feet to the stage below. Where each drop reaches this point, there is a break in the floor, creating very long three-foot wide gaps every few feet. This is the grid.

As we reached the top of the stairs we could hear the scene beginning again: “Why must the chariot that brings the night...” I looked back to see how Kermit was doing. The grid is an exciting place, a difficult place to keep people out of at times, but it was also a dangerous place. I didn’t want to force my new crew member into anything too frightening for him so soon, partly because he was only beginning to warm up to stage crew and partly because I found myself liking him more and more. His eyes were wide and he was looking intensely downward at the moment.

“How you doing?” I asked. It was difficult to judge his exact thoughts from my glance.

“I’m finding it hard to control,” he said in a straightforward tone, “the urge to hock a huge loogie.”

This was amusing enough in itself, but as I followed his unfaltering gaze I saw the figure directly beneath his spit-range.

“Hark, my lady! Bundled with the moon and stars...” Nick moved onstage once again, and out of Kermit’s line of fire.

“Dang,” he muttered, looking up with a childishly hopeful grin, “next time?” The heights, it seemed, were not a problem.

“It’s not as easy as you seem to think,” I said.

“I can handle being up there,” he replied, “I’ve come up once or twice before, work parties mostly. “

“No, no, walking the grid’s just a little spooky, spitting off it takes concentration and talent - more than you’d expect. First of all, your targets are moving. Secondly, they’re moving 50 feet away. With level-ground spitting, the challenge is distance, here that’s replaced with timing. By the time your spit makes it to its destination, your target will have had plenty of time to move out of the way.”

Kermit just looked at me for a moment, “you speak from experience, don’t you?”

“Lots,” I grinned. We continued up.

It didn’t take long to find the moon. It was a circle of plywood at least 6 feet in diameter, painted an almost luminous yellowy white. The difficulty was rescuing it from the chaotic jumble in front of it. If you can imagine what it would look like if a room full of huge tarps, wooden skylines, and occasional clouds was tipped on its side and all of its contents were packed onto a single wall, then you begin to know what shape the far end of the grid was in. Inwardly, I didn’t mind so much; the grid was still somehow exhilarating, though I had long since become familiar with its empty floor, hectic cables, and low ceiling. I also didn’t mind getting a chance to work away from the actors far below.

“You come up here often during rehearsals?” Kermit asked, beginning to shift items in the heap.

“Usually just to find things, like today. It’s supposed to be kept fairly clean, but with all the regular storage areas packed to the gills, more and more ends up here,” I looked down at the stage below, “and once in a while I come up just to think,” I added. In all honesty, lately I had made up more and more reasons to escape to the grid.

“What do you think about?”

Kermit seemed genuinely interested, a rare quality in anyone my age. I didn’t often share my thoughts while I was on the grid, but then again, it wasn’t often someone asked. I decided to be honest and open with him, so I made myself pour out, “Stuff. Y’know, things and... um...” I paused, searching for the word. “other stuff.” Doubting that he had quite grasped the entire essence of my feelings at that point, I pushed on, “My life, really. I guess it’s just where I come to figure out what I’m going to do with myself. It’s where I can convince myself that I can do anything I want and I don’t need to be so afraid. You know: ‘I can take that test, I can ask her out, I can eat school food’. that kinda thing.”

Kermit paused, looking up at me from the lumber he had been stacking to the side. He had a crooked grin on his face and I suddenly wondered what I had said, “Well, what did she say?” he asked, his eyebrows cocking to accompany his grin.

“What did who say?”

“...When you asked her out? Did she say ‘yes’? I’d ask if there were several, but you don’t strike me as the kinda guy who likes to run around, if you know what I mean.”

I sighed. “She never really got the chance, I didn’t quite make it.” The memory of the lunch room and Herman’s glasses shot through me and I sighed again, “and somehow I doubt I would have wanted to hear the answer if I had.”

“Man,” Kermit blinked at me for a few seconds, “I thought you said this place gave you confidence, dude, but it sounds to me like that was what you needed most.”

“I’m kinda klutzy around her. I think she figures I’m just a complete screw-up... when I went to actually ask her I made a bit of a scene. By the time it was all over I would’ve been asking her from the floor, lying on my back with an AV kid stuck under my arm. It wouldn’t have worked out.” I went back to shoving rolled-up curtains aside. I was starting to wish I hadn’t let myself pour out quite so much.

“Once? You should give it another chance, man! Suz seems like a great catch and the worst thing that could happen is that she’d be flattered and go on with her life. She obviously got over the whole fiasco... though it doesn’t sound like you ever did.”

“It’s not as easy as that,” I began, feeling flustered and a little embarrassed talking about something that I had dealt with for so long without success, “I know it should be but it’s not! Yeah, from up here I get all the confidence I need, but each step I take down that ladder I lose a little more of it. By the time I get to Suz I’m the same bumbling -- wait. When did I say it was Suz? How did you know that?” I sat down on the curtain heap. My ears felt hot.

“Just call it a hunch,” he said, sitting across from me, “I’ve seen the way things go for you when she’s around, and from what you described if she’s not the one...” he let himself trail off.

“She’s the one.” I said. “She’s been the one for a long time now.”

“So go for it!”

“I can’t! I always screw it up!” I flopped back onto the curtains farther. Or rather, I flopped back to where I was expecting curtains and met a large foam duck instead. I accepted this and sunk down.

“I saw your little one-two number when she first got here. You knocked her on her butt before you’d been around her a minute.” Kermit smiled.

I closed my eyes, “That fails, somehow, to stir my confidence much, Kermit.”

“The point is,” he said, poking his head under the orange foam bill to look at me, “She took that and still liked you.” I opened one eye, wanting to follow his logic. “That either means she’s into you, too, or that she’s a dang good friend to have. Either way, you don’t want to lose the chance to keep a friend like that.” He gave me another smile before pulling away and going back to work.

I thought about what he had said for a while, not moving from my duck. He had struck a chord and something inside me was still resonating. As much as my doubt and fear tried to crowd my skull, something buzzed about making it hard as heck to be entirely cynical. Finally I sat up, not wanting to leave him alone to his work. He had caused a great deal of muddling in my brain, but he had also made me sure of one thing.

“As surely as that very moon shines in the sky, I shall be in your arms anon.” drifted up from below.

I was going to ask her out.

______________________
Act three

It was Saturday. Saturday meant one thing when a play was in production: work party. Though it may be hard to believe that anyone my age would do anything out of the kindness of their hearts without at least a certain level of monetary compensation, work parties had always been just as voluntary as they had been packed -- with student actors and techies, bustling and building all about the stage and surrounding halls. I slid in a bit after eight and checked in with Iris, collecting a complimentary donut as I did so.

Already, the unmistakable sounds echoed from the stage: the TAK, TAK, TAK of hammers, the various BUZZZZZes of the saws, the K-KLATTER slap of dropped boards. I scanned the room to find Kermit, sweeping up dust and screws, and caught sight of Flint mixing paint before he disappeared around the corner. Nick was measuring wood up and down for an archway, and Julie, it seemed, was measuring him up and down. Nick had never warmed back up to us after my initial cutting him down to size, and had apparently taken himself more and more seriously as an actor ever since. This was helped to no end by Julie’s constant fawning. It appeared that Nick had become her favorite for the show, which didn’t bother me a bit as it kept both of them mostly out of my hair -- aside from the occasional haughty look from across the room. I strode up to Kermit.

“Do you know if she’s here yet?” I asked. I didn’t add that, seeing him hunched over scooping up dust, I finally remembered exactly why he had seemed so familiar when we had introduced ourselves.

“She’s here, not sure where she’s at now, but I’ve seen her... you gonna bloody do it finally? “ He stood up, “Aww, yea you are - lookit you all dolled up.” He grinned broadly.

I was wearing a normal work party pants and shirt underneath, but I had on my favorite jacket and a brilliantly matching scarf, wrapped and tucked carefully for the most dashing effect I could muster. I had thoroughly shaved and my hair was, possibly for the first work party ever, combed and tidy. “I look okay? I’m good enough to date?”

“You’re spectacular, tiger, but I’m afraid I’m not ready to commit right now. Aw don’t lookit me like that, you’re too cute when you’re angry,” cocked his head and giggled coyly.

“I’m way outta your league anyway,” I retorted, “Where’d you see her last?”

“Hauling out some extension cords, I think,” he said, still grinning, as he turned back to his dustpan, “Just follow the sounds of power tools and it shouldn’t take ya too long.”

I took a jaunty bite of my donut as I headed toward the stage. I rounded the paint sink and there she was. Do you know the way movies play swelling orchestral music and use a bunch of pastel lights just as the lover comes into view? And how everything kind of slows down and everyone else fades away around her, so for just one eternal moment she’s the only person in the world? It was just like that, exactly. It was the next moment that my donut launched a massive goob of jelly at my pants.

Fear and insecurity froze me to the spot. I was still unsure of what to do -- standing there feeling artificial preservatives travel down my thigh -- when Flint was suddenly standing in front of me. He gave a quick smile and shrugged his eyebrows, then lifted the paint he had been mixing so I could see it. Red. Perfect jelly red. He said nothing, still, as he slapped a streak across the jelly mark and another on the left knee, for good measure. By the time my jaw and brain un-froze he had already circled behind me and continued about his business, leaving me with my slightly paintier work pants and an empty donut. With the bolstered confidence of a man with real red paint seeping into his legs I tossed the donut into the trash and marched up to Suz.

“Good morning!” I called as I got near. I had avoided the blast of sawdust from Nick’s project to my left, missed Julie’s swinging two-by-four on my right, and was now, finally face to face with the best thing that ever, maybe, possibly, hopefully was going to happen to me. “Got just a minute, Suz?”

She smiled up at me, setting down a pencil on the work table, “Always, hot stuff, what’s up?”

My brain skipped several beats at the words “hot stuff” until I finally regained the capacity to blink at her with certainty. “I, well, have something to ask you - if this is a good time. Because, if it’s not I understand and,” I paused. I got control of myself. She liked me, or at least she liked me enough that asking wouldn’t be able to destroy everything, and this was my chance. I leaned on the table and said “I think I’m in love with you, I think I’ve been in love with you for the longest time, Suzanna. I would count myself honored to be your friend forever, but I just couldn’t live with myself if I never found out if you felt it too. Would you consider giving it a try, going out with me?” Or rather, I would have said that or something like it if, upon leaning on the table I hadn’t connected with her skill saw by mistake.

I don’t know if you’ve ever used a skill saw, but to trigger any modern one requires pushing not one but two triggers for safety reasons. This is a wise design and has doubtlessly saved many workers a lot of pain. I managed, in approximately half a second, to not only hit both, but also to also catch my sleeve in the primary trigger, locking it into place and onto my arm. The saw leaped wildly to life, clawing at the wood, kicking and bucking off of the table! I flew back, only to be pursued dangerously by the menacing machine. Somehow my arm retreated to me from the sleeve, egging the saw to swing more wildly on the loose fabric, clawing and climbing as it swung. By the time I tore the coat off I had moved across half of the stage. The duo of coat and saw danced frantically for another several moments before the blade caught it’s own wire and they collapsed together in a heap of shredded cloth and cord.

Everyone was staring at me as I lay, panting on the floor. I don’t mean it felt like everyone, I mean every single person at the work party, from every corner of every hall, was suddenly there, wide eyed and absolutely silent. Suz was at my side, then, asking “Are you okay? Oh my God! Are you hurt?” and then there was whispering and then there were laughs. It wasn’t like Kermit’s laughter, friendly and joking, it wasn’t like Suz’s sweet laugh, warm and happy. They were laughing at me, blatantly, painfully. I became suddenly acutely aware of the paint seeping into my boxers, and of the blue and pink “D.A.R.E. to succeed” shirt I only wore at work parties, and of the fact that it did not brilliantly match my scarf, not even a little bit. Most of all, then, I became aware that, having made sure I was all right, Suz was holding back her own laughter.

I stood, pushing back my now frazzled hair, and walked away. I loved making Suz laugh, but I had been a fool to think I would ever do anything more for her. I didn’t blame her; I knew I was ridiculous, everyone knew. As I passed him, Kermit had the decency to say nothing, a look of pained understanding on his face. Iris called for me to wait as I trudged out the side door, but I waved her off and she did not pursue. I felt my hand drip and realized I had a big dab of the paint/jelly mix between my thumb and finger. I wiped at it absently and was met with the painful discovery that I was bleeding. My encounter with the saw had not been as entirely lucky as it had seemed at the time. I almost had to laugh at myself, then, at how horribly wrong everything had gone.

There comes a time when you just can’t get any worse; it actually gives you perspective and you can’t help but laugh at how obscenely bad things are going. Then, as I inspected the cut, a splat of bird droppings hit my open palm.

______________________
Act four

It was opening day. The set was finally done; Julie was checking off her props table, Flint was double-checking fly-ropes, and Kermit was manning the curtain for the final dress rehearsal. Suz was, as could be expected, in the sound booth completing final system checks. I hadn’t spoken to her for days. I spent all the time I could on the grid or in the below-stage props room, trying to fall out of everyone’s memory forever and fade into oblivion.

“Out of my way, techie!” grunted Nick, garbed in flowing scarlet and purple robes, complete with an elegant feathered cap. He had complained loudly of how absurd the costume was and refused to wear it any longer than was necessary. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise as he was rarely backstage longer than was absolutely necessary during rehearsals.

Kermit eyed him menacingly from his shadowy perch by the curtain cord. “Why must the chariot that brings the night so swiftly make its way to me this hour?” we could hear Iris’s cue from the other side of the curtain.

“Hark, my lady!” bellowed Nick, pointing at Kermit as if, without his signal, Kermit would not know his cue. Kermit slid the curtain open, allowing the brave prince to just burst through before he closed it again, fast on his heels. “Bundled with the moon and stars, I too have come to thee!” My disgruntled friend mouthed along with the line. Indeed, he knew the script as well as Nick did, better in some scenes, because of the painful repetition that had drilled it into his skull. Cockier than ever, Nick had taken to seizing every chance to flaunt his self-proclaimed superiority, which meant that in my absence, Kermit had felt the brunt of most of his arrogance. With every “Hark my lady” he was jarringly reminded that he would not be given his chance to prove himself to the world, would never get the spotlight, and would have to watch as this oaf took it instead.

“It doesn’t end here,” I said, sliding up next to him. “This is just school, the real world still has a chance to see what you can do.”

“I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say in a week,” he didn’t look up, “I’m sorry about what happened... really I am. Maybe you’ll get another chance, maybe with her or with someone else -- but for me, this really is it. I don’t want ‘the real world’ out there. School is supposed to be where we learn, where we get our chances to be a big fish even if it’s a tiny pond. Everyone knows Hollywood and Broadway are a million times harder on everyone; the big fish are bigger and the little fish are toast. I don’t want it out there; I want what I never got here. I love this stage, I love everything about it. This will always be my stage, my only real stage, but I want my chance to step out onto it and prove its mine. I want the chance to feel the lights hold me and the floorboards lift me. So many actors have had a chance to leave their mark on this stage, my brother and sisters have, why can’t I? I don’t look like the dashing prince, so I don’t deserve to be an actor? I know this stage has a way of leaving a piece of itself inside you... I just don’t want the piece that I’m left with to be the little bundle of regrets and missed chances. It isn’t fair and there’s nothing I can do about it. So I’m sorry if you missed another chance, I really am, and I’m sorry I pushed you to try, but at least you have chances.”

Neither of us said anything for a while. I opened my mouth a few times, but nothing came out. Finally Kermit broke the silence again, “don’t sweat what you can’t change, Mike, sometimes life doesn’t go the way its supposed to. Sometimes it does. Often its hard to tell which is which until its past.”

I wanted to tell him that life would go his way or at least that he shouldn’t let Nick’s insults get to him. Before I could say anything at all, though, the scene came to an end and the lights went down onstage. Kermit went steadily about his job and shortly Nick and Iris came sliding through the curtain. I wished I could do the right thing, somehow, but I had no idea what to say or how to say it. Quietly, after he had finished pulling tight the ropes, he looked up to me with an almost-smile.

“Thanks for listening,” he said softly, “Its good to have someone who’ll listen earnestly whether he can or will do anything thing about it. I’m glad I’ve got a friend in you.”

I gave him a sad smile and looked him in the eyes, “You’ll always have a friend to talk to in me, no matter what happens.” He nodded and went back to his duties for the next scene, yet another with Prince Garamonce, this time with a few of his knights. I needed to get away and think, so I made for the gridded stairway I had mounted so frequently in the past week. I nodded to Flint, who was working the fly-lines and he nodded silently back. As I reached the floor of the grid it became apparent I was not alone. There, sitting on a large foam duck and looking not the least bit surprised to see me, was Iris Quinn.

“Found me out? Or are you here to get away too?” I slumped into a heap of curtain fabric next to her.

“I’m here to help a friend help himself,” she smiled, pleasantly, “now talk.”

She had always been willing to listen, and after my talk with Kermit I was happy to have a friendly ear. I began to tell her about how I liked Suz, about the lunchroom accident and the saw, but she held up a hand.

“I know all that, Mike, I’ve got eyes and I’ve got enough sense to tell when someone’s lovestruck -- tell me what’s behind it. Tell me how she makes you feel, why she does, tell me what your heart knows, not your memory. From what I can tell it’s you’re memory of past mistakes that’s making you so worried you can’t look to the future. So... talk.”

I don’t know why, exactly, but I told her everything. I told her what I had yearned to tell Suz for the longest time, what I had tripped and stumbled over every time I got near. I told her how when she smiled a warm tingly feeling would sometimes shoot up from my toes, and that sometimes when I looked at her from across the room it was as if the whole world disappeared and it was only her and me.

“Do you remember,” She asked when I had finished, “what she said when you were sitting on poor Herman in the cafeteria? No? I do. She said ‘That looked nasty, let me help you up, poor guy.’ She didn’t mock or jeer, and then do you know what she did?”

“She helped Herman up, I do remember, the guy hasn’t forgiven me since and...”

“No, Mike, she reached to help you up. I can’t say that it was particularly nice to Herman, but she did. You leaned away before she had a chance and the kid leapt up to take her hand. Do you remember, at least, what happened just a few days ago, after the saw ate your coat?”

I winced at the thought and absently rubbed my hand. Like the skin, the memory had still not completely healed over. “Yes, she laughed with the rest of them, I don’t blame her but she did.”

“She leaped to help you, Mike, and you might have noticed that she looked like she was about to cry when she thought you were badly hurt, but I know you didn’t see when she did cry after you ran out. So what if she laughed, you laughed too! I saw you. Sometimes people need to laugh when the alternative is crying. Sometimes laughing lets you see that things aren’t so bad. It’s when you can laugh at yourself that you’ve got the world beat. She wasn’t laughing at you, mike, she was laughing because you came out of that thing alive and so she could step back and be happy again -- why don’t you let yourself be happy?”

“When there’s something you want so, so much and you know you can’t have it it’s hard to be happy,” I said, mulling it over as I sunk into the curtains, “especially when you know that the only one you have to blame for not having it is you.”

“Well why can’t you have it? Why can’t you tell her and find out what she thinks? What inside you is stopping you?” She leaned forward on her duck.

“Words,” I replied. I tried to elaborate, but eventually gave in and left it at that.

She just smiled at me, “you had some elegant words when you were talking to me about her, what’s wrong with those words?”

“I just... They aren’t there when I want them to be - and when they are,” I collapsed entirely into the curtains and sighed, “I just don’t know. I wish I could just take all that and have her up here instead of you -- I mean, well -- you know -- not that I want to get rid of you, I just... well thank you for listening, I guess, but like Kermit says, sometimes life doesn’t go the way it’s supposed to. That’s just the way it is, sometimes.”

A foam bill rocked into my line of sight and above it, Iris appeared smiling broadly. “Sometimes life goes exactly like it’s supposed to, Mike,” and she handed me a small black box.

“What’s this?” I asked, turning it over. I realized it before she told me -- it was in the on position.”

“It’s my mic. box,” she grinned.

“You mean to say I just broadcast that to everyone?!?” I gasped, shocked at her cruel prank.

“Not everyone, Mike, calm down,” She said, trying to sooth me as I clambered to get out of the curtains with less than remarkable success, “It’s on one-way and Suz has control over it from the box.”

“What does that mean?” I demanded.

“It means it only came through one headset,” said a new voice, “this one.” I sat up. Slowly, this time. Suz had come in while I was down; she was already across the grid, one hand resting on Iris’s duck. “It means you talked to me, whether you knew it or not. It means I heard every word of it and Mike,” she said, kneeling eye-to-eye with me, “It means yes... It means I would be the luckiest girl... It means I couldn’t wish for anyone better than you in all the world. And I think,” she added, coming closer, “It means I love you, too... and that I think I’ve loved you for a long, long time Michael McCaffrey.”

And then she kissed me, and it was perfect.

______________________
Act five

For about the millionth time in the last three hours, I grinned from ear to ear. I skipped and sighed a light, airy sigh. As an afterthought, just to keep things new, I tried an experimental “Yippee!” softly, mostly to myself. It was opening night, and in a few minutes the show would open for its first paying audience. I couldn’t care less about the show, to be honest. Suz loved me back, and it was marvelous. I swung around a corner brace and nearly ran into Kermit, still sitting at his post. Suddenly it all flooded back to me and I felt miserably guilty. I didn’t stop feeling elated, which, if you have ever tried it yourself, is a troubling combination to say the least.

Kermit looked up and smiled, not the weak smile I had seen on him last, but a genuine grin of satisfaction and joy. “I heard,” he beamed, “and good gravy, it’s about time, too!”

I beamed once more, “Are you feeling better, then? I wasn’t expecting to find you in the highest of spirits, to be honest.”

He let his eyes close and shook his head but didn’t lose his smile, “What I need,” he looked up again, “more than any role or award or anything, is a good friend, and when you have good friends,” he cocked his head for a broader smile, “A little joy can go a long way. I’ve been thinking. This stage is wonderful, but it’s wonderful because of the people that love it. You can’t love someone or something without leaving a mark and this theater is just a holding place for a lot of marks. It has the spirit of good people, people like you and Suz, Iris and Flint, filling it to the brim. I’m proud to add whatever I can to it, but I don’t need it to fill me, I’m lucky to be a part of this show and I’m dang glad I got to spend my last year with you instead of onstage. This is what I wouldn’t get on Broadway or in Hollywood, and this is what it’s all about.”

“So you don’t regret not getting the part?” I asked, “You wouldn’t rather be out there when the lights go up?”

“I don’t regret a thing. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like the lead, but I’d be daft to imagine the journey out there being a better one then the one I’ve had back here.” With that he took my hand in his we shook proudly, “Thank you, Mike, and break a leg tonight.”

“Ha,” came a derisive snort from behind me. “What do you need luck for, ‘Be careful watching the show from backstage, I know it’s hard,’ HA!”

“Nick!” I hissed, whipping around to face him, “Without us, you have no show, without us, you aren’t even -”

“Save it!” He barked. “You tried that crap on me when I first showed up and you thought you were so funny, didn’t you? Well I know its bull and so do you if you’ve got half a brain!”

All of the pain of watching my friend beat himself up over missed chances and life’s unfairness welled up in me, “Listen to me and listen now, you little cretin! Congratulations, you got a role in a school play - not a big budget movie, not a hit series, not the biggest thing on Broadway, you’re no better than anyone here in the field of acting and you’re way worse than a lot of people here in the field of human relations! You’re a pompous, arrogant jock who got lucky at an audition, that doesn’t give you the right to lord over anyone!”

I was expecting him to explode at me, to foam at the mouth, or to hit me, at least; I was totally unprepared for, “You’re right.”

I blinked, “What?”

“I said ‘you’re right,’” He grunted, thoughtfully, though he didn’t seem overcome with a revelation or lifestyle change, “This isn’t anything big, this is a pathetic piece of garbage hardly worth my time where no one gives me the respect I deserve - being here doesn’t let me lord over people, so what good is being here? It’s all about human relations, I have to meet the right people and break into show biz for real if I want the respect I deserve. I have to go big to get away from twerps like you.”

I stared at Nick, hard, for a moment, trying to decide if he was mocking me somehow or if he was really serious. After a few moments it became clear, “You’re serious! You think you can make it in the real world of acting?”

“Yeah - you don’t?” he demanded.

“Just how do you plan on making it into the big pictures, applying with the sterling record of one, count ‘em, one show under yer belt?” I asked. I shouldn’t have asked. Julie slid up to Nick’s side and glared.

Normally Julie, as I have mentioned, is all too nice to anything male. When she sets her sights, though, she can get nasty and she’ll use anything she’s got to help him win. “I’m how.”

“Huh?” said all three of us at once, in some form or another.

“I’m Nick’s key to Hollywood.” She half growled, half purred, “My dad wants me sticking with ‘the biz,’ and he wants me to marry someone in acting - if Nick wants in, all I have to do is show daddy the puppy dog eyes and tell him my big strong man wants a big strong part, and he’s in. Daddy gives me what I want if I stick with acting, and he’ll want to ensure the guy I stick with makes it as an actor, or else I might be dating a showbiz nobody. He’ll take care of everything. It’s a cinch, too, he’s having auditions all the time, tonight even.”

Nick perked up, “Tonight? We could ditch these nobodies and go right now?”

“Well,” Julie backed up and looked at him, “You’d miss your big show.”

“We’ll miss it, I quit,” And he tossed off the robes and hat, “Let’s go, baby.”

“Wait!” I called, “you can’t --” but they were already headed out the door and moments later the telltale sound of an engine carried them away. We were moments from showtime with no leading man. The lights, of course, took that moment to dim.

Iris rushed passed in the darkness, “Break a leg Nick, and don’t forget the cue for the chariot line this time,” and before either of us could say a thing she was in place on the stage.

I began to panic. Not an amateur weak panic with pacing and mumbling, but a severe, brain panic. I pivoted toward Kermit, “We need to get hold of Suz, tell her to stop the lights!” I whispered into the darkness, but it was too late, already the dimmer was moving up and the show was beginning.

“Why must the chariot that brings the night,” began Iris from around the curtain. I could see Kermit now. He had donned the robe and hat and was standing, it seemed, just a little taller than I had ever seen him stand, “so swiftly make its way to me this hour?” He pulled the cord.

“Hark, my lady!” Called Steve Kremit, and strode purposefully onto his stage, “Bundled with the moon and stars, I, too, have come to thee!” And behind him, noiselessly, Flint pulled the curtain shut without missing a beat.

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There are some audiences that know when to clap, others that love to do so vigorously at all the wrong moments, and a few - a scant few - that truly know how to appreciate a performance. The applause tonight was absolutely musical.

(END)

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