Waging Wars to Shake the Poet and the Beat [Cue]

[Ryant Anderson]

Waging Wars to Shake the Poet and the Beat
Actors: Ryant Anderson & Cuetlon Omeic
Scene: Singing on the Stage
Cue: Ryant wants an audience; And a friend
The Curtains Are?: Open!
Lines Memorized:1,706 words

I've been roaming around. Always lookin’ down at all I see;

Confidence was so easy to fake. Taking that first step, throwing oneself into something new and strange, that was the hardest part of life. Whether or not other people call you a coward for running away from your problems in doing so, starting over, creating a new, fresh life, it couldn’t have been any more terrifying than the feelings he felt now. Always being surrounded by friends, classmates, other dancers and singers, and actors, that was what Ryant had considered his home. And now, it was gone. Well, not necessarily gone. His life continued on without him. Other good looking guys now got his parts in the plays he performed. Other people were now his partner’s partner in dance class. Someone else barked out commands to the high school dance line. Someone else held up the megaphone during football games. A feeling had overcome him, something like his chest had been crushed by the tires of a large vehicle. He couldn’t describe it and yet, it enveloped him, made his vision hazy. He couldn’t do anything else now but listen to the music in his head and search for home.

Painted faces fill the places I can't reach;

He had arrived on a weekend and the school buildings themselves were seemingly empty, sparse to say the least. Ryant felt as if the bustle and hubbub of school would never return, the happy voices talking about teachers and rules and homework and the girl next door would never bubble out of these hallways. He felt forlorn, though his hopes had been so high about his “new life at Somnium Academy” the one where he could “be himself and no one would judge him.” Now, it just seemed as if he would be alone. Ryant honestly wasn’t giving the school enough time to prove itself to him, no, he was judging it by the way it looked on a quiet Saturday afternoon. The tall boy sighed, shoved the headphones harder against his head to block out the silence, and turned the music up. It was as if the song itself, one that he had just heard before leaving home, was floating through his very veins, carrying him somewhere. Maybe, just maybe, it was carrying him home.

You know that I could use somebody;

Ryant’s flip-flops made a distasteful “wish, wish” sound against the hallways as he walked through them, trying to take the surroundings in, but failing miserably at seeing much more than a blur. He tried doors every now and again to see if they would open, to see what they held inside. The boy found a library with a young librarian sleeping at the desk, a chemistry lab someone had left open, and a set of cleverly disguised girls’ restrooms. Thankfully, the last room was empty as well. It wouldn’t have been as if he was trying to peek or anything, but girls were very territorial about their lavatories he had seen during countless impromptu costume changes he had to make there. Once, he had gotten a metal can of hairspray thrown at him, as well as several containers of lipgloss. He smiled at the memories, a wistful look taking over his plain face.

You know that I could use somebody;

The theatre freak’s hand landed on a wide set of stained glass windowed doors. He had heard from someone that the assembly hall had stained glass windows, but it didn’t occur to him as he pushed through them. The room was dark until he flipped a set of light switches upward, lighting up the center row of seats in what appeared to be an auditorium. A bit of adrenaline flooded through him as he flipped another which lit up a row of lights on the stage itself. It was a small stage, he had been on much larger in his lifetime, but it was a stage nonetheless. The carpet felt soft, plush under his shoes as he trotted toward the stage to size it up, to get a feel for it. He hadn’t even thought to see if Somnium Academy supported the arts or even theatre when he escaped to the school. That’s precisely what it had been, an escape. And even if that escape was from reality, he really didn’t care.

Someone like you;

His fingers touched the stage floor first as he leaned up against the wall of the orchestral pit. It was cold, comforting, silent as he tasted the wood with his fingertips, leaving his fingerprints embedded on it. A happy sigh broke free from his throat, and he moved from the pit to the dimly lit stage, his footsteps echoing across it. He slipped off the flip flops just to feel the wood of the stage beneath him, the feeling of ballet slippers grazing it, the sound of tap shoes rattling away against it, beating the life from it, bringing the passion to the surface. For a moment, he felt his body go into autopilot as he prepared to stretch and break into some form of dance, it didn’t matter what kind, any kind. But in his current clothing, it was impossible. Tight fitting dark brown khakis hugged his hips while a t-shirt with some silly saying about ballerinas doing it at barres clung to his torso. The clothing was a brave choice, something he would have never dared to wear back home, for… obvious reasons. He couldn’t dance, not now, not here, but at least he had a close second. He could sing.

And all you know and how you speak;

Ryant didn’t need to warm up or stretch his vocal cords, the song that was playing in his headphones had been begging to burst forth from his body. He opened his mouth and his well trained voice flowed out in time with the song his iPod was blaring loudly in his ears. “Countless lovers, under cover of the street..” the song flowed effortlessly, but he sang loudly, without the aid of a microphone. Ryant couldn’t stop singing, it just felt too good, too natural. For him, it felt like home. Barefooted, he sang with his eyes closed, his hands grasping at something that simply wasn’t there. He sang expressively, echoing the sentiment in every word that the Kings of Leon had written. The song was simple, but the meaning was something raw, human, and ultimately complex. “You know that I could use somebody. You know that I could use somebody! Someone like you…” His voice was deep as he sang, the words raspy to match the way the original band member sang it. Ryant himself was completely enthralled, breathing deeply to sustain the song as he slipped into his own world, the world that he had created around the mysterious place he only knew as “The Stage.” This place was one where everyone was an actor, and yet, everyone was able to be what they truly were inside if they were good enough at what they were doing. Ryant himself would never claim that he was excellent, that he was perfect, because he, like any other performer, knew that there were corrections and additions and changes and improvements that could always be made.

Off in the night while you live it up, I'm off to sleep;

Ryant’s entire body was consumed with his song, his arms clenched, his chest refilling his lungs with each delivered line of the song. He sang so hard and with so much of himself in it that a line of sweat developed on his forehead. Yet, through all of the words, he didn’t open his eyes and couldn’t have heard anyone walk into the room. The music was too loud in his ears, pouring through his heart too heavily for anything else to disturb him. For the moment, nothing else mattered. She didn’t matter now. He had loved her once, she had been his best friend once upon a fairytale. But now, she was the reason he had to hide himself from the world, why had to be the shadow of Ryant, the Ryant who lived in someone else’s skin. The thoughts disgusted him and he blamed his own weakness on her. He couldn’t tell because he would hurt her. No, he couldn’t tell because his throat closed up every time he caught his mother alone in the kitchen. He couldn’t tell her because he knew her husband had never wanted a faggot as a son. The word burnt him, seared his flesh on the inside.

Waging wars to shake the poet and the beat;

For a moment, he thought tears might pour down his cheeks. He missed home. He missed his mom and his room. Ryant missed his friends and his school and even his damned homework. He missed his dance classes and his voice teacher and the acting classes he took on weekends. He missed the little kids he tutored, especially his baby-ballet class for four to six year olds. He missed the posters on the walls of his room of every play he had ever performed in and the framed signatures of every star he had ever met. Ryant missed normalcy, but despised it in the same moment. Freedom was the feeling he desired and he knew he would only get that by telling the truth. But was the truth the right thing to speak about when it could hurt everyone he knew. Was it right that he be happy while crushing people who thought so highly of him. No. It was better to run away, it was better to be here even if it meant it hurt right now. The singer’s voice cracked slightly as he reached the final chorus, “I hope it’s gonna make you notice. I hope it's gonna make you notice. Someone like me…” The crescendo was coming, the song was ending, and he felt invigorated, flushed, but a bit happier now that he had released the poison that had been boiling inside him. He breathed, then finished his part and let the music die off without him, opening his eyes when he was done.

“I've been roaming around, always lookin’ down, at all I see.”