Showtime
By Andrea Pinkos
Copyright 2013 Andrea Pinkos
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Showtime
My mornings start out the same. I wake at 6 a.m. Always 6 a.m. No alarm clock but my internal sense the day must begin. My wife, rest her soul, used to call me a rooster. I liked to think it had more to do with my cock-a-doodle doo than waking up early but that’s another story entirely.
I hop out of bed and start my morning routine. I won’t bore you with the details as I’m certain you’re familiar with the typical morning activities of showering, shaving, getting dressed and eating. It’s really not very exciting.
By 6:45 I am all set for my day in suit and tie, face shaved as smooth as a baby’s bottom, and what’s left of my silver hair combed until not one hair dare stray (on weekends I don’t touch the comb, I let my hair decide for itself what it would like to do). I pull aside the living room curtain and peek out the window to decide which jacket to wear. It looks like rain today so I decide on a raincoat. Sensible choice, yes? Well, whenever I wear it people think I’m a bit daft. It was my wife’s coat after all, her favourite. It’s beige with cute little pink flowers embroidered onto the lapels. She said they always reminded her that the rain was good because it would make her garden grow. Anyway, it’s a perfectly serviceable jacket and since my wife was of a larger size, it fits me with room to spare. Besides, I think it makes me look younger.
So, I slip into the jacket and pop a shoe on each foot, a matching set today, and head out the door. Now this is when my day really begins.
My skin tingles as I dancewalk down the road. This part of the day is always so exciting, don’t you think? When everything is fresh and new and anything could happen? It’s magnificent! I glide along, thoughts darting through my brain of all the wonderful stories I might see on my way to work today. I feel there will be a good one today. Fridays are usually the best story days. People are less self-conscious on Fridays. They probably don’t realize that but it’s true. By Friday, the tension from the week is quickly being replaced by the anticipation of two whole days off for the weekend. Yes, much better shows happen on Fridays.
My eagerness for arriving at the bus stop makes the walk seem much shorter than it actually is. One moment I am outside my house and the next, I am amongst a handful of other characters waiting in the wings before joining the show. It looks like we have a good crowd today. This is going to be so much fun! Oh, there we go. Over there, those two old biddies are giggling at my jacket. You’d think they would be used to it by now; I see them every morning. Some people, eh?
So here we all are, 6:59 on Monday morning, politely avoiding each other while at the same time judging each other by way of sideways glances when just then, over the crest of the hill, we see our stage lumbering down the street toward us. The bus stops on its mark and hisses at us to step back until the doors open. Three people exit downstage right before we can make our entrance. The show is about to begin! First in line, I inhale a deep breath to calm my nerves then take the first step up. Flashing my season pass I am allowed to continue on.
Listening to the clink of fares being paid behind me I scan for the best seat. Knowing I must make this decision quick I look to my preferred section first. I don’t want to be right at the back because my view will be blocked by my fellow thespians. I don’t want to be right at the front because the sideways seats make me turn my head too much to watch the show. The first row of the balcony, that’s where I look first. Today is a good day. The stage left window seat is available!
As I always try to be of minimal disturbance when entering a theatre, I politely squeeze in past the aisle seat and quietly mumble my apologies to its occupant, a rather plump woman with a pleasant smile. I sit down and pull the sides of my wife’s coat over my lap so as not to drape on my new neighbour. Now situated, I look around at everyone finding their places and notice the doors close with a squeak after the last person enters. I wonder what the show will be today. This is so exciting! Are you excited? Of course you are.
Scanning the crowd, I choose my cast.
There, midway to the front, the rather rough and tumble looking man with the dog. He will be Our Hero—a strong young gentleman with his loyal furry companion. They have been through many scrapes together and their relationship has surely grown stronger for it.
The slender woman standing in the aisle—beautiful by ordinary standards and ordinary by beautiful standards, she is Our Damsel. Oblivious to the world around her she is weighted down by an overly large purse hanging from her left shoulder. What treasures might it contain? Will we ever find out?
A murder of Boys cackle from behind me. Strange wires protrude from their ears and each boy rocks back and forth, as if entranced. A powerful Wizard must have them under his spell. They will be trouble.
There, up front—a Girl. No more than 16, strong heart, she thinks she knows who she is and what she is capable of. A future warrior of good. Head held high she fears no one in this place. This could be her undoing.
A Mother and Young Child. The Young Child, of approximately three years of age, is twisting her long brown hair around her fingers as she sits on her Mother’s lap. She looks around in awe of her surroundings. This is a magical place after all, so I don’t blame her. The Mother has a wary look in her eye and keeps her arms safely around the Young Child.
These are the players.
The stage is set.
We begin to move.
The Boys at the back begin to cackle as one. Orders must have been given by the evil Wizard. I turn to glance at them surreptitiously and find their gazes locked on centre stage. Following their eye lines I see what has captivated them. The Young Child, so innocent, with her Mother. Why does she excite them so? Of course! They must capture the Young Child. Though she is too young to know it, she has the power to destroy the Wizard! He must stop her before that day comes.
The Mother holds the Young Child even tighter.
The cackling behind me builds as the Boys form a plan of attack.
Other characters glance back toward the Boys, annoyed by the disturbance but not aware that something foul is afoot.
Ding!
The stage slows to a halt and one of the Boys separates from the flock. He makes a straight line for his target. As he approaches her, the Young Child squirms in closer to her Mother.
Two more steps and he will be upon them.
Before he can reach her, several people crowd in on him blocking his path. Foiled! Accepting his defeat, he exits centre stage right fully engulfed by the mob. The remaining Boys laugh at the failure of the first. He was weak. They would do better.
Moving again, the child relaxes but keeps looking back to the strange Boys. She smiles uncertainly for she has no idea the fate they intend her.
More people have entered making the stage very full. Our players have no choice but to crowd in on each other. Our Hero notices an elderly woman standing before him so he rises, allowing her his seat. In this way, he has expertly manoeuvred himself and his dog in front of the Young Child. I chose Our Hero well.
The Boys shriek at this unexpected turn. He was not part of the plan! They must get the Young Child. Going back to the Wizard without her is not an option. They need a distraction. The stage creaks and bumps over unseen terrain while they study the situation. As one, they nod their heads. They know what to do.
Ding!
Another boy is ready to make his move. He leaps from his seat and struggles through the crowd. Our Hero sees him coming and tenses. To Our Hero’s surprise, the Boy stops behind Our Damsel! What is this trickery? She is unaware of his lurking presence.
Our Hero is torn. Does he leave the Y
oung Child to save Our Damsel?
As the stage slows, another Boy is creeping his way through the crowd. The stage stops and the second Boy lunges for the Young Child while Our Hero is caught in turmoil. In his frenzy, the second Boy fails to see that Our Hero’s mighty companion has moved closer to the Young Child and so the Boy steps on its tail.
YELP! The dog has now gained the attention of everyone on stage. The Boy has no choice but to flee. Snapping back to attention, Our Hero realizes the Young Child must be his priority. Only she can stop the Wizard for good. He stays by the Young Child as the two Boys usher Our Damsel off stage and into the unknown. It is a difficult loss but there was no choice. Now we may never know the secret of why such a large purse is necessary.
One Boy remains.
Our Hero scans the stage for other threats as we begin to move forward again. He catches the eye of the Girl downstage. She has been watching the whole ordeal. She nods to Our Hero, commiserating with his position. How difficult it must be to have to choose saving one at the sake of another.
We glide along with no movement or sound from the Boy for several minutes. He is waiting. Help is coming.
Ding!
The stage slows again. Our Hero looks to the Boy and sees a devious smile on his face. He looks to the Girl downstage. She seems to be steeling herself for a fight. She stands up and looks at Our Hero. The stage stops. After one last glance at Our Hero, the Girl turns and stands before the onslaught of people coming on stage.
Jostled back and forth she holds her ground. At least until he arrives.
Our Hero watches as the Girl tries to buy him some time to save the Young Child but she is severely outmatched. With one motion of his hand, the Wizard diverts her away from him and quickly guides her off stage. She has much to learn.
Rolling forward again, the Wizard glides along with no notice of the turbulent ride. He is powerful indeed.
Our Hero stands his ground as the Wizard approaches. The dog leans in close to the Young Child and her Mother, watchful of the boy at the back.
The Young Child cowers.
Tension fills the air.
Ding!
The stage slows and the mother nudges the dog out of the way. Standing, the Mother raises the child up into her arms. Our Hero is to their left, the dog is to their right. They are going to make a run for it!
The stage stops. Mother and Young Child seize the moment and dash off stage leaving Our Hero and his dog as guard against pursuit. The Wizard is foiled again!
Moving again, with no one left to protect, Our Hero sits in the seat just vacated. His dog hunkers down at his feet.
The Boy turns away in disgust.
Oh bugger all! That was my stop! Shoot, shoot, shoot!! Apologizing again to my neighbour I ease out into the aisle of the bus and make my way to the door. Waiting for the bus to stop, I straighten my jacket and get ready for the blustery fall air. It’s only a short walk back to where I need to be. I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear that this isn’t the first time I’ve missed my stop. Well, it certainly won’t be the last either. Good show! I wonder what’s going to be playing for the ride home.