Homecoming in Mossy Creek

by Debra Dixon

  I swung my purse strap over my shoulder and scooted from the booth. “Thanks for listening. As always, you are my muse.” I popped a friendly kiss on his handsome, scruffy cheek and promised to keep him posted. I had the perfect idea. Now all I had to do was make that idea a reality.

  Luckily, I had all day Sunday to figure out how.

  “All right guys, everyone line up at the lip of the stage and have a seat. I’ve got a surprise for you today.” My second period students looked at me like I had a screw loose.

  Savanna sneezed and raised an eyebrow as she lounged back on the stage floor. “You do remember that the show is in three days? I mean, do we really have time for surprises right now, Miss Lavender?”

  “You tell me.” My father stepped out from behind the stage curtain to gasps of awe and applause from my students.

  No time for a surprise, my foot.

  The students stared starry-eyed at my father. They’d seen him around town often enough, but to have him there in their presence, his attention solely focused on them, was a dream come true for more than one of them.

  Little Nancy Cartwright was visibly shaking with excitement and her face turned red as a ripe tomato. “Beau Belmondo!”

  Dad stepped right into the scene without hesitation. “Class, I am here because Miss Lavender has had a brilliant idea for your Homecoming play and I’m going to help you make it a hit. Can you do it?”

  The students all nodded in unison, each of the girls with dreamy doe eyes, each of the boys swimming in awe mixed with envy. It was ideal. If we were going to pull this off, I was going to need complete attention and concentration from the students. The plan was going perfectly so far. I couldn’t have asked for more moldable clay. If only I could drag their attention away from my father.

  The students didn’t even look in my direction as I gave them the second piece of good news. “I’ve been in touch with your teachers, and you’re excused from your third and fourth period classes for the rest of the week.”

  It took a moment for my words to sink into the thick heads of teenagers lost in movie star fantasies. When it did, cheers broke out. Harley looked as if he might actually cry with joy.

  I whistled to calm them back down. “All right, let’s get to work.”

  Dad winked at me. “This is gonna be fun.”

  The next couple of hours went by in a blur of activity, bustling excitement, a barrage of questions, and only some confusion. It wasn’t hard to make the kids see the similarities between Mossy Creek and Shakespeare’s Verona. The feud between Mossy Creek and Bigelow was as fresh in their lives as the feud between the Montagues and Capulets. The symbolism they got. It was finding consistency in the changes that tripped everyone up.

  We decided that we would sack the old Shakespearean wardrobe the drama department had been using since I was a kid in favor of the students’ own clothes. We changed the last names of Romeo and Juliette to Bigelow and Hamilton. And best of all, in a moment of epic clarity, we changed the ending. Romeo and Juliette were no longer destined to die, at least not in my version. Instead, Romeo and Juliette would be successful in their scheme and be embraced with open arms by the Creekites and Bigelowans.

  This was my drama class. I was making the rules now.

  Of course, I had to convince Eustene Oscar of that. She had been the ringleader of the mass exodus that nailed the coffin in my last play. And true to form, here she came marching into the school theater, right after lunch, right in the middle of rehearsal. Well, she wasn’t exactly marching. Her walker sort of prevented a genuine march. Apparently, the Mossy Creek Social Society was terrified that I was corrupting the town’s children with highfalutin’ city notions.

  “I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’re doing something strange down here, Hermia Lavender. I never in all my years would have imagined that your sweet mother, Anna Rose, would raise such a free-thinking, hippy...”

  The old woman’s words died off as Harley and Savanna spoke lines from Shakespeare’s third act of Romeo and Juliette. Her paper-thin eyelids blinked hard beneath translucent eyebrows. For a moment I was sure she was going to cry.

  “Why, that’s Romeo and Juliette.”

  “Yes, it is,” I agreed.

  Several moments passed before her teary gaze turned back to me. “I played Juliette the year my high school did this play.” She looked back at the stage with a wistful expression. “I’m sorry I interrupted. Hopefully, this will teach these children some wholesome values.”

  It took every ounce of my being not to point out to Eustene that Romeo and Juliette was a play fraught with deceit, bloodshed, prejudice and even a love scene. Instead, I just nodded with a smile. “Yes, my father is here with me, helping to make sure the play is a success.”

  Miss Eustene mumbled something as she gave me what I could only assume was the Social Society’s blessing and approval before turning around her walker and leaving for her Garden Club meeting.

  Always respect your elders. That was one quality Anna Rose had taught me well.

  I rejoined Dad on the stage and tried not to let Eustene’s visit distract me from my mission. The kids certainly hadn’t. They gave the rehearsal revisions their all, even suggesting new lines, and by the end of the day the play was taking on a definite Creekite flavor. Dad seemed impressed with the kid’s ability to pick everything up and according to Evan, who showed up that afternoon, we were destined for certain success.

  But there were still quite a few bugs in the works. The week ahead was going to be long.

  Mossy Creek glistened in the moonlight as I crept barefoot to the water’s edge, lulled to a strange peace with the sound of water rushing over stones slick as glass. There was something magical about crisp fall nights in Mossy Creek. Maybe it was this spot, the same where I’d waited for Seth those years ago. It was strange how time had carried away so many details of him. I couldn’t quite picture his face anymore, recall his scent or the sound of his voice. But his spirit I remembered easily. His passionate ideas of good, solid, respectable living. Of peace and respect between Mossy Creek and Bigelow.

  Maybe my play would help see those dreams fulfilled, be the spark that lit the fire.

  I could only hope. It was clear to me now that if the play failed I would probably lose my job. The Creekites would either love or hate my rendition of Romeo and Juliette. And who could blame them?

  But what better way to celebrate our heritage than with a message of hope? What better way to usher in a new era for our school at such an important event as Homecoming? Possibility. Renewal. Changing for the better. I was taking a tragedy and turning it into a Happily Ever After. It was perfect. At least I thought so.

  The breeze tickled the trees and swept my hair about my face as I waded a step into the shockingly cold water. I stared up at the sky a moment. My mother, Anna Rose, had told me often of the fairies she believed lived here in the hollows by the creek. She said they appeared to usher in new life, new hope. I hadn’t seen any fairies yet. But then, in my experience, magic came when your faith was almost spent.

  I still had faith—in myself and in Mossy Creek.

  Mossy Creek was bustling with activity Thursday morning as Evan walked with me to The Naked Bean to grab coffee before school. Everyone was hard at work preparing for the big Homecoming events that were to take place over the next couple of days up until, and even after the game, win or lose. Tents were already being constructed to house the bake sale, raffles and side-walk games of all kinds. Landscapers were placing pots of gold chrysanthemums and hanging school banners from light posts all around the square. The energy was high, and I couldn’t help but join in the excitement.

  I dug through my bag and pulled out a fresh heap of fliers advertising the play. Evan had already spent the last two days hanging them up all around town. Tuesday I’d managed to find the time to o
rder an ad to run in this week’s edition of both the Mossy Creek and Bigelow papers. It was a gutsy move, but with any luck we’d have a good enough Creekite turn out that I wouldn’t have to rely solely on my drama student’s parents for success. I still hadn’t gotten on all of their good sides since my last play.

  “You’re nervous.” Evan shook his head with a sly smile. “Don’t be nervous, Brown-Eyed Girl. There’s too much good karma floating around your head right now for this not to be successful.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  He opened the door to the coffee shop for me. “I am.”

  We had a seat in a booth that looked out over the square. I couldn’t recall a time in the past when the square had been so done up, other than for Christmas, of course.

  A Bake Sale was scheduled for that afternoon on the square, then the play afterward.

  Surely with all the excitement, Creekites and Bigelowans would be lined up out the door tonight, anxious to get in on the festive play. I’d made the ad in the papers big and bright, with red, flowing letters announcing a celebration of Creekite and Bigelowan heritage the likes none of them had ever seen before.

  “Seriously, Mia. No one is going to be able to resist this.” He held up one of the fliers I’d handed him. They were the same as the newspaper ad. “Get the worried look off your face and enjoy your breakfast. You’ve got a long day ahead. You need your fuel.” He took a bite of a doughnut.

  “You’re right,” I said as I took a bite of coffee cake and let myself enjoy the sunshine and the aroma of coffee wafting through the coffee house. “Thank you for coming to all the practices. It was nice having you there and it gave Dad someone to talk to during down time.”

  “No problem.” He chuckled. “I never thought I’d know Shakespeare so well. I think I could recite the play in my sleep.”

  Fifteen minutes later it was time to get the ball rolling. “All right, I’m off to school.” I dropped some money on the table. “Dad’s gonna come to class again today to try and help smooth out the kinks. It’s amazing the way those kids worship him.” I took one last sip of coffee before slipping out of the booth and heading toward the door. “They’ve never seen him first thing in the morning with sleepy eyes and bed head. Not exactly Hollywood hunk material if I do say so myself.”

  Evan was still laughing back at the table as I walked past Jayne on my way out the door. She gave me a wink and nodded meaningfully at Evan. I stopped abruptly and glanced back at the handsome guy finishing my breakfast.

  “Evan?! No,” I told Jayne, “we’re just friends.”

  She smiled, clearly not believing me. “Sometimes that’s the best start to a lasting relationship.”

  I shook my head and just smiled as I stepped out of the Naked Bean and off to school.

  Ten hours and four cups of coffee later I was standing at the entrance of the high school auditorium watching the parking lot fill with curious Creekites, and yes, even Bigelowans.

  So far so good.

  But the question was there. Had they come to see the play out of celebration for Homecoming? Or had they come to see the latest disaster that was becoming my career?

  I suppose it didn’t really matter. The point was they were there, and all the kids and I could do was give it our best shot. It didn’t matter how many times I’d performed or directed in Athens, my stomach was twisted up in knots and my hands were shaky. Granted it could have been the excess amounts of caffeine, but I was nervous, no doubt about it.

  The play started right on time. The students didn’t miss a beat. Each line was enunciated as if I was at a Broadway show, the Southern twang of their voices somehow adding a definitive Creekite flair to Shakespeare’s prose.

  The entire play went along without a hitch. The audience laughed when they were supposed to laugh, cheered when it was right to cheer, and gasped when circumstances called for it.

  The sword fights were epic, each of the boys dressed in their favorite jeans and plaid shirts, their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, handkerchiefs on their heads. They fought with wooden swords as the girls cheered them on from the side, decked out in cut-off shorts and gingham tanks.

  Harley and Savanna managed a believable Romeo and Juliette despite their real life disdain for one another. That is—right up until the final act.

  Savanna had already drunk her potion meant to put her to sleep and was lying atop a very well-made funeral bed, looking every bit as dead as a doornail. Vacant expressions are something of a strong suit for Savanna if I do say so myself. Harley was doing a stellar job, finally looked as though he was comfortable on stage, maybe even enjoying himself.

  And then Savanna sneezed.

  Not just a little, understated sneeze. This was a whopper of a sneeze, the likes of which made audience members jump in surprise. Harley hesitated a moment, but continued on in with his lines.

  And then another sneeze. And another. And another.

  Savanna sat up and looked at the audience, cheeks glowing almost as red as her nose and she rolled off the bed in a rush and ran backstage without a word.

  Harley stared at the place Savanna had vacated, his face as white as a sheet. He stood frozen, and I could have sworn he was going to burst into tears. I’d never met a boy who cried so often or as easily as Harley. But he was such a big guy none of the students dared make fun of him. But to cry in front of the whole school, in front of the mixed Mossy Creek and Bigelow audience, would ruin the poor kid.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  Savanna still stood backstage in the throes of a sneezing fit. None of the other students knew her lines well enough. I had to step in. Without another thought I rushed onstage and lay down on the funeral bed. I winked at Harley, willing him to continue his lines.

  But he just stood there. White faced, chin quivering. I was too late. I saw a single, glistening tear trickle down Harley’s cheek as he ran from the stage, clear and present terror plastered across his face.

  Murmurs and chuckling broke out across the theater as I continued to lie on the bed, hoping Harley would step back on stage. But moments passed and nothing happened. And just as the notion that I was ruined for good crept into the forefront of my mind, just as I considered standing up and thanking the audience for coming and apologizing for the mishaps, just as I gave up hope, a miracle happened.

  Evan hesitated at the edge of the stage. I’d never seen him speak in public. Usually he was the quiet, mysteriously handsome guy in the back of the room, taking everything in. But now there he stood, a strange and exciting courage evident in the set of his chin, in the sparkle of his eye.

  He leaped onto the stage with a flourish and winked at me before reciting the line left hovering in the theater by Harley, who I could hear quietly sobbing behind the curtains.

  Evan would be my Romeo.

  He stood close to me, his voice full of passion as he spoke his lines over my funeral bed. He was flawless, and as I peeked down at the front row, there sat my mother and father, their eyes gleaming, no doubt remembering the night Dad had come to my Mom’s rescue in almost the same way.

  It was fate.

  “Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss, a dateless bargain to engrossing death!”

  Evan threw his arms around me, lifting me close to him as he recited what would have been his last line. But this was my play now. This was no tragedy.

  I opened my eyes and reached up to touch his smiling face, trying not to look out over the gasping crowd.

  “Romeo.”

  “Juliette, you’re alive!”

  And then it happened. He kissed me. Oh, he was supposed to. But this was a high school play. A little peck on the lips, that’s what I expected. But this was a kiss. Among the cheers and laughter of the Creekite and Bigelowan audience, a rea
l kiss.

  The kids entered on cue. The Bigelowan and Creekite characters of the play cheered at the sight of Juliette alive and in the arms of her Romeo. And as I looked up at Evan’s smiling face, something inside of me came alive, as well.

  “That was amazing.” Principal Blank actually grinned at me as he shook my hand in congratulations. “You sold out every seat in the house and we’ve collected outstanding donations for the new stadium.”

  “The standing ovation wasn’t bad, either,” Dad chimed in from over my shoulder. “I even saw Eustene Oscar leap to her feet.”

  Principal Blank chuckled. “Yeah, it was an impressive night.” He patted the money-bag full of the aforementioned donations. “Keep up the good work, Miss Lavender.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away. I could hardly believe the success of it all. My job was safe, and everyone had loved the play. Creekites and Bigelowans alike, beneath one roof. The feud wasn’t over in one night. But it was a small step in the right direction.

  Mom pulled me into another giant hug. “You should come over for pie and ice cream.”

  Dad grinned. “Bring Evan, too.”

  Mom elbowed him in the ribs. “You don’t have to bring anyone, dear.”

  I giggled, heat rushing to my face at the look in Dad’s eye when he mentioned Evan. “No, it’s all right. If I see Evan I’ll invite him. I’ll be along soon.”

  After another set of congratulatory hugs, my parents left and I sighed another breath of relief over the emptying theater. I scanned the crowd for Evan. He’d disappeared right after the show, before I’d even had a chance to really thank him. But it was okay, I knew right where I would find him.