Shawn Barr didn’t stay long at the champagne-pizza party. He made a small speech and he thanked everyone for giving so much effort. He said that in the end that’s what it’s about. He didn’t say anything about how the Munchkins were pushy and in the wrong places, and he also didn’t mention the door being locked for Randy or Quincy falling.
I’m really a winged monkey when I’m with the adult cast, so he could have said something and I would’ve been okay with it.
But I think he wanted to stay positive.
I took a program, which is called a playbill. It has all of our names inside. It also has pictures of Shawn Barr and Gillian, and paragraphs about the different things they’ve done in their lives. The witches Dana and Kitty also have special paragraphs. I’ve never heard of any of the places or the plays they point out. It’s not regular bragging because it’s part of a résumé, which is bragging in an official way to be more acceptable.
I kept a napkin from the place that delivered the pizza for the party. It was called Spumoni’s. And I saved one of the candles from Skipper-the-electrician’s cake. It was a chocolate cake with whipped cream instead of frosting and super-soft cherries that were soaked in something that smelled like lighter fluid, but tasted great.
I don’t care if I forget Skipper, but I would like to remember his cake.
All of these things will go in my scrapbook.
When I wake up, I spend some time thinking about the night and the excitement, then I climb out of bed and go brush my teeth. By the time I walk into the kitchen the clock shows it’s 12:37 p.m.
There is a note on the counter that says Mom and Dad are both at work and Randy is at Gene’s. This means I’m home alone. I guess I must have really grown up this summer, because they’ve never left me here by myself before. Tim is somewhere, but no one keeps track of him because he’s a teenager and has a cell phone. It’s summer, so who cares what he’s doing as long as he’s not messing up the house.
I sit down and try to decide if I should call Piper or Kaylee or if I should go see Mrs. Chang or maybe glue the new things into my scrapbook.
But then I remember the newspaper review.
The paper would’ve come in the morning.
The theater critic in our town is named Brock Wacker. He has a slogan when he doesn’t like something: “You’ve been Wacked.”
I didn’t know that until this summer.
My parents read the paper, but I’m too busy. I’ve heard people in the theater talk about Brock Wacker, and I guess a review is a big part of doing a show. Last year Brock Wacker gave something called Guys and Dolls a Wack. I have two brothers and neither of them played with dolls, so maybe the problem was that it was not a realistic story for a lot of people.
With The Wizard of Oz you know that it’s a fantasy.
I go to find the newspaper. It’s usually on the kitchen counter, and if it’s not there it’s in the recycling container. I don’t find it in either place, but then I realize that my parents would be keeping this issue because Dad would want to put it in the family scrapbook.
I will have to get a second copy for myself.
I bet Mrs. Chang would let me have hers. And if not, then I can look through Mrs. Murray’s recycling can and take hers.
I head to my dad’s desk because I think I’ll find the newspaper there waiting to be put away, but I don’t. I search around the house until I get sick of looking, and then I realize I can just go online and read Brock Wacker’s review there.
But first I eat a banana because I’m hungry. I wish I’d taken home a piece of the electrical guy’s chocolate cake. The whipped cream topping would probably not have a lot of air in it but the smelly cherries would still be great.
I take a seat and turn on the computer and I find the link to our town’s newspaper. I go to the Arts section because theater is an art form.
The page comes right up and I see:
WIZARD OF OZ IS A TRIUMPH
Then in small letters underneath, it says:
ONLY SHORTCOMING IS THE MUNCHKINS
I stare at the second line.
I blink.
I look again.
Then I keep reading.
By Brock Wacker
This summer’s offering at the university theater is a production of the timeless classic The Wizard of Oz. The local theater company has done two things right: They have brought in veteran out-of-towners Shawn Barr to direct, and Gillian Moffat to fill the role of Dorothy. Both imports make this play worth the price of admission.
Moffat’s vocal range and acting ability are simply wonderful, and Barr knows what he’s doing when it comes to putting on a spectacle. It’s too bad that early on in the show several of the most beloved musical numbers aren’t up to the rest of the production. There was probably no choice in the matter, but the local kids cast in the role of the Munchkins leave much to be desired.
Opening night found the beautifully attired youngsters moving in anxious clumps around the stage, seemingly unaware of their position or purpose. But putting aside this short (no pun intended) part of the show, The Wizard of Oz finds its feet once Gillian Moffat follows the yellow brick road and leaves the non-pros behind.
Standout performances by Ryan Metzler as the Cowardly Lion and Ahmet Bulgu as the Scarecrow bring the world over the rainbow to life. Special shout-outs to the high-quality production value of the show—the design of this Oz is captivating.
Kitty Plant had this audience member shaking in his shoes as the Wicked Witch, and Dana Bechtel gives the Good Witch a charming turn.
Final recognition goes to the troupe of flying monkeys. Standouts include Alexander Ocko as Nikko, the head of the troupe, and former prima ballerina Yan Chang, who take to the air in this all-too-brief spectacle. Rigging and costumes for the iconic apes are first rate.
The Wizard of Oz runs for the next three weeks with matinees on Sundays. For further ticket information contact the university box office.
I turn off the computer.
I go back to my room.
I lie down on the bed.
The Munchkins got Wacked by Brock Wacker.
I feel numb.
Tonight we have another performance. How will we face the rest of the cast? How will we even look at Shawn Barr? We let everyone down. We are non-pros.
It’s the worst name anyone has ever called me.
I can think of only one thing: I’m so glad I have two parts in the show. It’s horribly selfish, but at least Brock Wacker liked the winged monkeys, even if he called them flying monkeys, which is not the right way to say it and might prove that he’s no expert.
I roll over on my side and I pull up my legs so that my knees touch my chin. I’m in a tight ball. I’d like to disappear.
Then suddenly all I can think about is my little brother.
I got a good review for being a winged monkey. He doesn’t even have that. What if this Wack makes Randy so sad, he wants to throw himself off a bridge? What if he and Gene are right now someplace crying their eyes out?
This is so-so-so unfair.
The Munchkins didn’t get to rehearse with all of the new stuff onstage. We weren’t prepared for the huge daisies and all the extra sparkling leaves. It wasn’t my little brother’s fault that someone painted the door shut. We hadn’t rehearsed very long to the live music, and also, we were afraid.
We’re just kids!
I want to talk to Mrs. Chang and to Olive and to my mom and dad and Grandma Mittens and to Mrs. Vancil. They all said we were wonderful. Piper and Kaylee came backstage and they claimed they loved it.
Was everyone lying to us?
Do people do that?
I know there were problems, but the audience was clapping and it’s just a fact that the Munchkins got a very good curtain call.
I have to talk to Randy.
r /> I have to let him know that he can’t be so sad about this.
I go into my closet and I put on my jean shorts and my running shoes. I head out to the garage and I climb on my heavy bike because I can ride down the hill faster than walking. I put on my helmet and I take off.
I pedal as fast as I can around the curves, and when I reach the bottom of the hill I can feel Randy’s sadness on my skin like the stinging nettles that grow in the vacant lot behind the Kleinsassers’ house.
I bike down Seventeenth Street and then across the big parking lot at the discount tire place. I cut through the Old Pioneer Cemetery, which is something I never do because that place gives me the creeps. Plus riding on the grass is so bumpy.
I’m all sweaty and light-headed when I get to Gene’s house. I run up the stairs and knock on the front door.
No one answers.
I press on the doorbell, and I hear a sharp ring.
It takes forever, but finally the door opens. Gene and Randy are there. They are holding plastic light sabers.
Randy says, “Hey, Julia!”
Gene adds, “We’re acting out Star Wars. We could use a Princess Leia.”
Obviously they don’t know.
This is a hard call. I’ve come all this way. I have to tell them.
I say, “Gene, did you see the newspaper this morning?”
Randy answers for him. “The theater guy called our play a triumph!”
I just stare.
Gene adds, “My mom cut it out of the paper to send to my aunt in New Jersey.”
I’m not sure I’m hearing them right. I say, “But did you read what the Wacker said about the Munchkins?”
I guess my voice is too loud. Randy answers, “Julia, do you want to come inside. They have great lemonade here.”
I shout, “The guy hated us! He said we weren’t as good as everyone else!”
Randy just shrugs. He then says, “We’ll get better.”
I can’t believe what just came out of his mouth. I don’t move.
Randy adds, “What do we care what he thinks anyway?”
I turn around.
I walk down the steps to my bike.
Gene calls after me, “Julia, we’re going to put on a movie in a few minutes. You can stay and watch with us.”
I don’t answer.
I can’t answer.
I climb on my bike and pedal away.
They don’t get it.
I’m completely out of breath by the time I get to the bottom of the hill. I get off my bike, and I push it hard straight into the blackberries that grow in a snarl by the big drainpipe. It disappears into the thicket, and only a slice of the pink fender can be seen. The bike is too heavy and it never was the right size and I don’t care if I ever see it again.
I’m done.
I start the long walk up the steep road home, and I don’t look back.
TWENTY-NINE
I’m halfway up the hill to the house, and the sun is hotter than I ever remember.
I don’t know if this is the effect of climate change on our planet, or if I’m getting a fever.
Maybe both things are happening.
I wish I had taken the glass of lemonade at Gene’s. I’m not hydrated right, and maybe that’s why it feels like there’s a fire burning inside my eardrums.
I think I’m going to faint.
I have never fainted before, but Uncle Gary did once after eating too much Christmas dinner. He hit the hardwood floor like a bag of bricks. I’ve never seen anyone carrying a bag of bricks, but this saying at least doesn’t take a lot of brain power.
If I faint right now no one will see me fall because I’m little, and I’ll land in such a way as to give myself a concussion. I won’t come to. Then once the sun goes down, a pack of coyotes will find me bleeding in the weeds. They’ll pull me to a secret spot in the woods and then rip me apart limb by limb. I won’t even get a decent funeral because so much of me will be in the stomachs of the wild animals.
The only thing that stops this from happening is the sound of a horn honking.
I turn around and see Mrs. Chang behind the wheel of her silver car. She puts on the brakes.
I run to the passenger door and open it and climb in.
“You came along just in time. I was about to be eaten by coyotes.” I realize this sounds crazy, but fortunately she doesn’t ask for details.
She says, “I called your house, but you didn’t answer.”
I blurt out, “We got Wacked by Brock Wacker! I went to find my brother. Only he didn’t care, which is maybe even worse than getting Wacked.”
“I wondered if you’d read what that silly man wrote.”
I like that she calls him a silly man.
I also like that she doesn’t look upset.
I say, “I feel horrible inside. I’ll never be able to look at Shawn Barr again. Plus I’m so thirsty.”
Mrs. Chang slows down, and not just because she’s going around a curve. She turns into a driveway, which is not her driveway. She puts the car in reverse and backs out. We’re now going down the hill. We’re headed away from my house.
She says, “Let’s go see Shawn.”
I shout, “No!”
She says, “If you talk to him you’ll feel better.”
“I think if I had some ice cream and a soda I’d feel better. Could we do that instead?”
She doesn’t answer, but keeps driving.
I say, “I have some money saved up. This can be my treat. I’ll pay you back later this afternoon.”
Mrs. Chang just keeps her eyes on the road, but she reaches over and turns on the radio. She’s got it tuned to the classical channel.
This is the only music that she ever listens to in the car.
When she first started driving me I couldn’t stand hearing this stuff. It doesn’t have a beat that you can clap to.
Mrs. Chang has explained to me that “classical music” means music that was written in a particular one-hundred-year period. And that was a long time ago.
She told me when it was, but I knew there wouldn’t ever be a test, so I wasn’t a good listener. I think it was the eighteenth century. In America the new people who arrived were busy giving Native Americans diseases like the plague, but back in Europe they were all obsessed with finding some kind of formula to show perfection.
This was before computers and cell phones and even electric can openers.
According to Mrs. Chang, they were trying to do this perfect formula with music. They wanted to show off each instrument. Or maybe not. I don’t remember. I think she said they thought music was some kind of puzzle.
I think everything in life is some kind of puzzle.
Driving down the street, I’ll admit that this music is now helping me. It’s not anything I’d ever listen to by myself, but the violins are taking my mind (a little bit) off of Brock Wacker.
I close my eyes, and I’m glad I’m not hearing a song about falling in love or about losing love.
This music doesn’t have words, so it’s about a lot of nothing.
It’s a relief.
Mrs. Chang parks in front of the Bay Motel. She opens her door, and I realize that I don’t have a choice, so I do the same thing. We walk by the front office, which is empty like last time.
We head into the courtyard and see Shawn Barr on a deck chair right in front of the green swimming pool. He’s wearing a white bathing suit and sunglasses and he’s asleep.
I keep my voice low as I say to Mrs. Chang, “He’s resting. Let’s not disturb him. Old people love naps.”
“I’m not napping.”
I forgot that he has excellent hearing.
Mrs. Chang says, “I’m leaving Julia with you for a few minutes. We were just talking about Brock Wacker. I’ll be in
the car.”
I turn to her and make what I hope is the face for Are you kidding me?
She can’t see because she’s walking away. I spin back toward the pool.
Shawn Barr lifts his sunglasses, and I can see his eyes. They are dark brown. They are not sad. They are not mad. He says, “Julia, come sit down.”
He’s the director, and I’ve been trained to listen to him. I go to a metal chair that’s close by and I sit.
Shawn Barr says, “So you saw the review?”
I whisper, “We let you down.”
“Is that what you think?”
I say, “We were ‘unaware of our position or purpose.’”
Shawn Barr laughs. He has a great laugh. Just listening to the laugh makes me feel better.
“Your purpose was to entertain people. I think you did that.”
“Oh.”
He says, “Young people need models, not critics.”
I smile.
He adds, “A basketball coach said that. I forget his name.”
I say, “I’m not good with quotes either.”
He puts his sunglasses back down. I guess the bright light is hurting his eyes.
“The Munchkins will live to fight another day. That’s why plays open out of town.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I say, “We can be a lot better.”
Shawn Barr smiles. “The play’s sold out for the run of the show. It’s solid. This is the time to find the joy.”
I’m all for finding joy. Now that he’s put it into words, I realize that maybe that’s what the play was about for me this summer.
I don’t say that. But I smile again. I’m not sure he can see it, because he’s got on the sunglasses.
“Okay, I’m going home now. I’m very thirsty.”
He nods. “You have a five o’clock call. Don’t be late, Baby.”
I get up and say, “Charlotte Brontë never let people push her around.”
This makes him smile again.
When I’m at the office I turn around and look back. Shawn Barr has his arm in the air. He waves at me by only moving his hand in one direction like he’s wiping steam off a window. I return the wave in the same style.