by Emma Scott
I just told the story.
I told the audience my favorite thing was to sneak to the zoo at night and watch the elegant cranes stand in the still water. I put myself there, with the birds and their gentle quiet. My heart pounded as the loud boys with loud music came and threw rocks at the birds. I watched in horror as the birds’ legs “bent like straws”, and I shouted to make it stop, but the boys couldn’t hear me. They kept throwing rocks and tears streamed down my cheeks as I told the story of blood staining white feathers—
(blood on my white sheets)
—red, and of dark water growing still and quiet.
I told the story of how I ran to get the guard but when I came back it was too late. They were all dead. I told how I’d screamed and screamed—
(X threw the stone of his body against mine, and I broke, while inside I screamed and screamed)
—and didn’t stop until they took me away, stuck a needle in my arm and then I slept.
I finished the story of how they never caught the gang, my voice trembling in Rose’s soft, shy lilt, and how even if they did, it wouldn’t make the birds come alive again.
(I never told anyone because it won’t make me come alive again.)
Silence. I came back to myself, on that stage. I wiped my cheek and bowed my head to show the monologue was over, and when I looked up, they were all staring at me, mouths agape.
“Okay…thanks,” I said.
I hurried off the stage, not looking at anything but the nearest way out. I pushed through the side emergency exit, into the cold, bracing air.
I did it.
I didn’t care whether I got the part or not. All that mattered was that for the first time, I’d told the truth. Cloaked in other words, but still my truth.
I slumped against the wall. Tears streaked my cheeks and I couldn’t tell if they were mine or Rose’s.
Maybe it didn’t matter.
Isaac
Holy shit.
Willow exited the theater, her long hair flying behind her. I grabbed her forgotten coat and hat and got out of my seat. My goddamn legs felt weak as I shouldered out the front of the theater and circled around to the back. I wanted a cigarette and she’d want her coat. She was probably freezing out here.
Not that I care.
I could practically see Martin rolling his eyes at that line delivery and telling me to try again.
I found Willow in the narrow alley between the theater and Nicky’s Tavern, leaning against a wall. Shoulders rising and falling and clouds of breath around her head. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and she wiped her sleeve over her face.
“What do you want?” she said. She hugged her elbows, not looking at me. Her body shivered in jeans and a soft pink sweater.
“You left these.” I held out her coat—heavy, expensive wool—and her pink knit hat.
“Oh. Thanks.”
I turned to go.
“Wait a sec.” She drew on her coat and hat. “Thanks for the advice. It worked. I wasn’t expecting what happened up there. Or maybe I was,” she added, almost to herself. “Maybe it was exactly what was supposed to happen, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready for it.”
“I get it,” I said. “You mind if I smoke?”
She shook her head. I lit a smoke and the flame from my lighter lit up the side alley where we stood. The only other light came from the tavern next door. I took a drag and exhaled, struggling to find words.
“You okay?” I finally asked.
“Yeah. Just…took me by surprise.”
I nodded. “You were…” Powerful and raw and fucking real. “…Good.”
I winced at the flimsy, pathetic word. She deserved better feedback. But it was either tell her, You shook me to the bone in a way I’ve never felt before and I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Or tell her, You were good. Nothing in between.
“Thanks,” she said. She shivered, even though her coat was buttoned up now. “I should go.”
I moved out of the way to let her pass, suddenly aware I was a virtual stranger cornering her in a dark alley.
She started past me, then stopped.
“Is that why you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Save all your words for the stage?”
I stared.
“Because it’s a catharsis, isn’t it?” she said. “It’s telling your story without really telling it.”
What story lay behind the one you told tonight? I wanted to ask. But whatever subtext Willow’d been operating off of to give us that performance, it wasn’t a story for a casual talk behind an old theater. Or for me. Still, I wanted to tell her something of my truth too. Give something back.
Forget it. Also not for casual talk behind a theater.
I stuck my cigarette between my lips to keep from saying more than “Yeah, I guess.”
“Is that why you don’t talk much?”
“Maybe,” I said, taking another drag, “Or maybe I just have nothing to say.”
“I doubt it,” she said. “But I get it too.”
“You’re going to get Ophelia,” I said.
“Really?” Her eyes lit up, and right then, she was beautiful with the hope radiating off her. Rays that bounced off me, filling my head with possibility. If she were Ophelia, I’d spend the next two months rehearsing with her. Acting with her. Having this untouchable beauty on my stage.
And that was too much hope for a poor bastard like me.
“Yeah, you might get the part,” I said, putting a hard edge in my voice. “But one monologue isn’t the same as an entire Shakespeare play. You’ll have to show up to every damn rehearsal. You’ll have to take it seriously. Because it might’ve been a whim or something for you, but it’s fucking important to me.”
She bristled a little, her chin thrusting out. “It’s not a whim,” she said, an edge in her own words. “It’s important to me, too. And cocky much? What makes you so sure you’re going to get a part?”
My edge crumbled and I laughed around my Winston. The ugly yellow light from Nicky’s Tavern turned Willow’s hair to gold. The urge to bury my hands in that hair was so strong, I had to take another drag.
“I’ll get it because there’s no one else Martin will trust with it.”
“That’s not the only reason,” Willow said. “You have to know how good you are.”
I sighed and chucked my cigarette down and ground it out with my heel.
She cocked her head. “You don’t want to talk about that either?”
“No, because it’s boring. It is what it is. Acting is how I’m going to get the fuck out of Harmony. Beyond that?” I held up my hands.
“Oh,” she said, her face falling. “You want to leave?”
I peered at her curiously. “You want to stay?”
She shrugged, rubbed her chin with her shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe. I like it better than I thought I would. It’s quiet here. Peaceful.”
“There’s nothing for me here.”
“No, I suppose not,” she said. “Your talent is too big for this little town.”
I’m counting on it. It’s all I have.
A silence fell, and then she said, “Okay, well. I’m supposed to meet a friend. Mr. Ford will tell us what comes next?”
“He’ll email the callback list,” I said. “You’ll need to be back here tomorrow night at seven.”
“If I get called back.”
I smirked. “See you tomorrow night, Willow.”
“See you tomorrow night, Isaac,” she said. “If you get called back.”
I smothered the chuckle that bubbled up my chest, watching until Willow got to the street safely. Then I pushed off the wall and walked out of the alley, away from the theater. Away from my real home. It was good practice for when I left Harmony for good. I’d walk away from all the shit memories. My mother’s ghost and my father’s rage. The poverty and the cold and the constant hunger for something more than I had. I’d leave it behind and never look back.
&nbs
p; Willow could stay here if she wanted. More power to her.
I’d walk away from her, too.
Willow
Getting ready for school Monday morning, I stopped to read the email on my phone for the hundredth time since it arrived on Saturday morning.
Date: January 28th
Re: Hamlet, Final Cast List
Congratulations and thank you for being a part of the Harmony Community Theater’s production of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Please find the rehearsal schedule at the bottom of the list, and notify myself or Assistant Director, Rebecca Mills, or Stage Manager, Frank Darian if you have conflicts and can no longer participate.
Thank you, and I look forward to creating stage magic with you!
Hamlet: Isaac Pearce
Gertrude: Lorraine Embry
Claudius: Len Hostetler
Polonius: Martin Ford
Ophelia: Willow Holloway
Laertes: Justin Baker
Other roles and names scrolled on and on, but my gaze kept stuttering and jumping back up to Ophelia and my name across from it.
“Holy shit.”
The shock kept slamming me from one side while a flicker of pride burned the other side. I’d been happy with my audition and relieved I didn’t embarrass myself during the callbacks, but I still didn’t think I’d get the part. Now I had the kind-hearted Martin Ford trusting me with a small but pivotal role in one of Shakespeare’s most famous plays. A play that would be performed in front of the entire goddamn town.
“And the school,” I muttered. “They’ll come to see Isaac…”
My gaze moved up from my name to Isaac’s across from Hamlet. Of course, he was playing Hamlet.
And I was playing Ophelia.
Fuck. What the hell were you thinking?
This was too much. Isaac was a genius who deserved to act alongside actual talent. And Martin Ford was a good man just trying to put on a good show. I was a hopeless amateur who’d only auditioned to try to find some relief from my own fucked up situation.
The stupidity of it bowled me over. Then my eyes landed on the bundle of blankets on the floor beside my untouched bed. I’d spent another mostly-sleepless night, breaking in and out of dreams of shadowy weight pressing down on me, crushing the air from my body. My arm was still blackened with X’s from my Sharpie.
Doing nothing didn’t work. I have to try something else.
“I got the role, didn’t I?” I said to the bedcovers. “I can do this.”
I just have to tell the story.
I stuffed my phone into my bag and went out.
I took over Isaac’s old desk in Mr. Paulson’s English class. I told myself it was to be across from Angie. Really, I hated seeing it empty. Hated the daily reminder of how the system had failed Isaac. Literally kicked him out.
“I got the part,” I said, sliding into my seat.
Angie’s head shot up and she brushed a mess of black curls out of her eyes. Today’s sweatshirt read, I do marathons…on Netflix.
“Are you serious?” she said. “Ophelia? And you’re just now telling me this?”
“Not so loud,” I hissed, glancing around at the classroom. Students either had their heads together talking, or their heads on their desks. Mr. Paulson was busy organizing himself. Nobody looked at us.
“When did they tell you?”
“Saturday.” I pulled out my phone and called up the email.
“Saturday?” She was practically shrieking. “Two days is like two months by Angie Standard Time. That thing you’re holding? It has this cool text function you should try.”
“I wasn’t sure if I was going to go through with it,” I said, and handed Angie my phone. “It’s crazy, right? I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Angie used her finger to scroll down the list, a slow grin spreading over her lips.
“Look at you, Miss Thang, acting alongside the great Isaac Pearce.”
“Shh, don’t say anything. Not around here. The last thing I need is everyone thinking I’m following him around like an idiot.”
“Why would they think that?”
“You thought that.”
“Guilty as charged.” She tapped her finger on her teeth. “So why are you doing it? I’m not trying to give you a hard time, I honestly want to know.”
I started to blow off her question with a bullshit reason. Instead I shrugged, dropped my gaze. “I had…a rough time last summer and I need a change.”
Angie’s round, open face was soft with concern. “A change from what?”
From what I’ve become.
“Nothing, just a change. A fresh start. Since we moved, I figure it’s a good time to try something new.”
Angie nodded slowly, her dark eyes warm. Then she smiled brightly and went back to the cast list. “I’m proud of you. And I promise to keep it amongst The Greatest, but looky here.” She held the phone to face me and pointed to Justin Baker’s name. “Your big brother, Laertes, is sitting right over there.”
She inclined her head to a blond guy sitting in the front row. His face was turned to profile, talking with Jessica Royce, one of the Plastics. Justin was exceptionally handsome with a tall, baseball player physique clothed in expensive jeans and shoes. The kind of guy the old me would have noticed the first time I’d walked into the classroom, instead of weeks later. That Willow would’ve taken a seat as close to him as possible and asked him what the homework assignment was, even if I’d already written it down.
He leaned to say something to Jessica, and then they both turned to look at me. I quickly averted my gaze.
“Relax,” Angie said. “Why would anyone think you auditioned just to follow Isaac? By that logic, so could Justin.” She grinned. “Anyone who asks, tell ‘em you did it for Mr. Paulson’s extra credit.”
The blood drained from my face. “Mr. Paulson…”
Who was at the front of the class now, beaming a smile right at me.
“Happy Monday, folks. Some announcements; so happy to report that our very own Justin Baker and Willow Holloway have both landed roles in the HCT production of Hamlet.”
He started clapping his hands, encouraging the others to do the same. Half-hearted applause went around but for Angie who slapped her palms together and let out a whoop.
I gritted my teeth. “For real, Angie?”
Mr. Paulson beamed. “You will both be awarded extra credit toward our Poetry and Drama unit this spring.” His smile fell. “And if you could please extend congratulations to Mr. Pearce on our behalf, I would appreciate it.”
He was looking right at me, and the class saw it. I wanted to slink under my desk, my cheeks burning.
You don’t give a shit what anyone thinks, remember?
Only I did. A little. I blamed the thaw in my detachment on Angie. The girl was impossible to dislike and oddly, she’d made me feel normal by doing nothing at all.
I sat up and nodded faintly at Mr. Paulson. Justin craned around and gave me a friendly smile and an inquisitive look, his brows raised. He was gorgeous—nice eyes, strong jaw.
And while he didn’t have the meathead douchebag aura of Ted Bowers, something about him made my stomach tighten instead of tingle with butterflies.
At lunch, I sat with The Greatest People You Will Ever Meet, and they crowed over my casting news.
“Congrats,” Jocelyn said, sitting beside Caroline. Their hands were on the table next to each other, not touching but as close as they dared. “Your first time onstage?”
“Shakespeare, straight out the gate,” Caroline said when I nodded. “That’s not going to be easy.”
“Especially on stage with Isaac,” Nash said, and winced as Angie elbowed him. “What? I’m just telling the truth. The entire cast is going to have to up their game.”
“But Mr. Ford won’t let me fail, right?” I asked. “He’ll put me out of my misery if I’m in over my head.” I looked around. “Right?”
“You’re not goi
ng to fail, you’re going to do great,” Angie said. “Won’t she?”
The others agreed with enthusiasm, and then we all fell silent as Jessica Royce approached our table with two of the Plastics. She flipped a lock of silky dark hair over her shoulder.
“Hey, Willow. Please pass on to Mr. Pearce our sincerest congratulations,” she said, echoing Mr. Paulson almost word for word. “And congrats to you too, on getting a part.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying to channel Isaac’s stony expression.
Jessica’s smile was wide, but it didn’t come anywhere near her eyes. “You have to hand it to her, ladies,” she said to her friends. “Some girls would just ask for a guy’s phone number. Willow takes it to a whole new level.”
The girls tittered and moved on, Jessica twiddling her fingers at me in farewell.
“I thought you said your mean girls weren’t so mean,” I said.
“We’re stale and boring,” Nash said. “You’re fresh blood.”
“I still don’t get why my being in the play has anything to do with Isaac.”
“Jealousy,” Angie said. “The only reason they go see the plays is because of him. He never gave anyone here the time of day, but you just scored yourself a front row seat to the Isaac Show.”
I rolled my eyes. “For fuck’s sake, he’s just a guy. Jesus, even my dad gave me an earful.”
Angie frowned. “What does he know about it?”
“Some guy he works with has a daughter here. She told him all sorts of shit about Isaac’s home life.”
“Let me guess, Tessa Vance?” Caroline rolled her eyes. “Her dad works at Wexx. Last year, she got a hold of Isaac’s cell phone number and asked him out over a text. He shot her down, and her little brother stole her phone, screenshotted the exchange, and posted it on Facebook.”
I froze up at the thought of a guy, however young, using screenshots to humiliate a girl. It hit way too close to home.
