Despite
everything Roger Michaels tried to seem unaffected by the impatience that
everyone else seemed to be afflicted by.
Truth be told however, his heart was racing, his palms sweaty in anxiety
ridden fists. He tried to hold his
right leg from tapping, but it persisted.
Taking his hands he pressed them both down on the leg, and it began
tapping rhythmically. One, two, one
two, and a small thud of a bass drum echoed with each tap. From his spot on a deceptively uncomfortable
padded chair he saw that everyone else littered about the lobby of the theater
were doing the same. The feet tapped in
unison, as young women and men scratched under their noses, through the hair
upon their heads, and inspected fingernails as if impulse were driving them to
do these things. The unified anxiety,
and hopefulness within each of them was manifesting forth.
Joanna:
Patience
they tell us,
Wait
and see the end result,
Don’t
get your hopes up,
And
never hold a grudge,
Take
it like a champ,
There’ll
be other days,
But
goddammit I gave it my all
All
is all I have.
Marcus:
No
one deserves this more than I do,
I’ve
wanted this part more than anyone,
This
is my favorite show I told them,
All
that sweet talking can’t be for nothing,
No
this is mine now,
No
one deserves this more than I do,
I
gave it my all after all,
And
all is all I have.
Marcus/Joanna:
Waiting
for the truth to set us free,
Waiting
for the news to break us,
Or
make us,
Prefer
that it made us,
Semi-famous,
Locally
known,
I
need this for my resume.
The
pair of them Marcus and Joanna push their cheeks against one another singing
toward the sky. Their hands were
enveloped within one another’s, and the note hung deliberately in the air
before them as if trying to stay suspended within an inch of the ceiling. Then it subsided and as if unaware of the
violation of bubble space the pair of Marcus and Joanna went back to themselves
and awkwardly excused themselves from the room. Roger had seen them before, not just a
couple times, but nearly ever time he had auditioned for parts. It was often that they were cast in a role of
substantial importance and yet they behaved as if they had never had the
opportunity to act before.
Marcus
was paper thin and wore a plaid button up shirt that hung terribly loosely on
his figure. His hair was a ruffled mop
of pitch blackness dangling over his left eye and he was often given to tossing
his head back to remove it for his sight line to be cleared. He did this often enough that it became
apparent to Roger that Marcus believed that the action made him attractive,
that flipping his hair to the side of his face only to have it return to its
initial position was somehow going to drive the women wild.
Joanna
did not share Marcus lanky frame but neither was she overweight, she was what
one would call avegerage and what Roger deemed average with a bit of extra
heft. She wore shirts that were two
sizes to small so that her rather large breasts would be trying to burst forth
from her outerwear. This particular day
she was donning a low cut flower printed blouse. The flowers overlapped over the edge where
her bra top was partially exposed covering the cream of her cleavage. It was often that she was feign disdain that
men stared at her breasts, as though society hadn’t deemed these lumps of chest
fat desirable to men. Roger didn’t see
the point of exposing these beauties if you didn’t want them stared at. She was a bit of a hypocrite.
The
foot tapping was still persisting, and the whole lot of them who waited – about
fifteen or so – began to groan in unison.
Chorus:
Undeniably
we are,
Rather
casually,
Awaiting
our verdict,
Life
or death is at stake,
Were
not whole lest were on stage,
Grant
us and end to our worrying,
I
can’t go back again empty handed.
Roger
began tapping his knees with the palms of his hand, back and forth, and his
arms criss crossed over one another as the bass drum continued, and a light
acoustic guitar began to emanated a chill and calming tune, as each string was
plucked. Soulfully the people continued:
Chorus:
Every
day we go to work,
We
go to school,
Every
day we try to deny it,
That
we don’t live for this,
Pouring
our hearts out,
Trying
to be found out,
Living
on the fantasy,
That
we will have a legacy,
Of
singing and romancing,
Sword
fighting and tap dancing,
On
a big city stage,
Not
stuck in this small town cage.
The
sentiments were echoed for a brief time before they faded into the walls of the
theater lobby, and then every person snapped their fingers as one. The guitar music faded, and Roger missed it
immediately. He could feel boredom
building in his mind next to the anxiety as they all as patiently as they
figured they could waited for the director to post his decision upon the door
of his office. Before the door of said office
Marcus and Joanna were standing and waiting in a two person single file
line. She bit her nails and he fixed
his collar. Roger did not move from his
spot, and somehow he felt this time was different. That was when the bass drum finished, and
the richochetting sound of cymbals clashing against one another in jazzy
overtones took its place.
He felt
the light heat of the spot light land on him.
Directly from above the hot yellow beam was all the light there was, and
all else was dark. Roger could no longer
see the others about him. The only
reason he knew they were there at all was because of the low hum that rumbled
passed the lips of each and every one of them.
Roger stood to his feet and the light followed him like a perpetual rain
cloud, he took a slow and methodical step forward, one foot crossing over the
other. His hands were buried deep in
his pockets, and his head hung low so that he stared down at the floor. Then he began his reflection.
Roger:
In
a place behind my eyes,
My
dreams persist despite,
The
fact,
That
I lack,
A
certain quality.
Upon
my soul a dreamer sees,
Into
a world that wants me so,
Nothing
ever felt so right,
While
staring into my bathroom mirror
All
those years of watch movies,
And
sitting front and center at the playhouse,
Whatever
the place,
I
wanted to be where they were.
Actors
behaving,
As
if they were not themselves,
Becoming
someone else,
And
not who they were.
Can’t
say I lack the drive,
But
that’s something else I lack.
Chorus:
Talent.
Roger
Michaels says he wants to be star,
Roger
Michaels tries it all the time
Roger
Michaels who drives his parents car,
Roger who god it should be a
crime,
How
talentless Roger Michaels is.
Roger
felt a hint of embarrassment about the words the people sang but he in good
conscious could not deny that they were right.
Maybe one day he’d somehow have a break through, but he was twenty-seven
and that moment had never arrived. With
hands still dug deep into his jean pockets he continued his slowly pace across
the lobby floor.
Roger:
I’ve
heard the words
But
I have to believe,
There’s
something up fates sleeve,
Some moment of clarity,
Were
my passions will manifest into,
Chorus:
Talent?
That
was when every one erupted in laughter and the lights quickly switched back
on. Roger’s spotlight persisted faintly
as he stumbled through the people who all made their way to the line behind
Joanna and Marcus.
Roger:
We
all have dreams,
Chorus:
Just
dream on,
It’s
not going to happen,
Roger:
It
could happen,
This
could be my break,
Chorus:
We
hope you break your legs.
To
listen again,
Captive
in our own fantasies,
While
they humor you with readings,
Give
us a gun,
Give
us some rounds,
Put
us out of our misery!
Roger:
Cruel.
Chorus:
But
true!
