Rough Opening for Talentless

                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!