Take Five: On Stage - Part 2 of Chapter 1
Read the first post.
If I'm adding too much detail or too little I'm really sorry. Also I'm a bit afraid that it might seem to drag a whole lot before actually getting anywhere so.. Help me out and let me know.
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'Dearest, Char,' I began, rolling my eyes as I swerved round on the swivel chair to face him. By now he'd managed to untangle himself and dumped the many cans on top of king Arthur's round table, next to what I assume must have been the bust of some ancient emperor of Rome, 'you're kicking me off to school where the only revising I will be doing is of history papers and trig questions. All I've done these past few days is sit here in this dank prop-room and try to catch up.' It was a lie. I was very much ahead of the average year twelve student thanks to Verra, my tutor. And as for the script my brother had just demanded, it was on my desk, which in all honesty, I really had spent the past few days at. Only, not actually studying but in fact, working on that accursed script. The yellow folder with the bold red lettering. Char's gaze fell to it and he sighed. Something I caused him to do often.
'Oh for god's sake, Art,' he said softly, the hurt apparent in his voice. He came over to my desk and picked up the folder, 'I'm not kicking you off anywhere. Verra thought... well, you know what Verra thought.' Char looked at me wearily. Ah ha, I knew what Verra thought. She thought me crazy. And the day I convinced Nick (the special effects guy, Char's best friend, another brother figure and an Adonis incarnate) to move my desk down here, Verra had thought all the more than something had to be done.
I had gone all my life without a suitable friend my own age. Verra saw that as something to worry over. I frequently spent my time alone (another thing Verra busied her worries with), even at cast parties and movie premieres. And the day I had moved my existence to the prop-room, Verra had voiced her concern to Char and Nick.
Old lady Verra, ancient and shriveled like the history subject she loved so much, feared that if I did not mix with other teenagers or even strangers soon I would become a social impediment upon myself. Don't get me wrong, I may prefer my own solitary confinement but that is not why I moved into the prop-room. And quite frankly, I haven't completely moved into the prop-room. Verra wouldn't allow me and Nick to bring down my bed as well.
I am not a hermit, but you tell me, if every time you walked into your room, your sanctuary, you found a spoilt-rotten diva who complains that her trailer is far too small and that for the time being, this (she gestures around her) shabby room would do.
What would you do? If you couldn't kick her out to land on her pretty Botox - ed face because you love your brother too much to risk him losing an actor that he may never be able to replace, what would you do? Well, I did what I would do. I moved. Partially, anyway. You try revising a script with some women complaining about every freaking detail. Writing and revising a script takes a considerable amount of inspiration and concentration, and having a constant source of interruption boarding in my room had driven me out. So, I repeat, I am NOT a hermit.
I inwardly groaned. I knew Verra did have a point though, and I hated myself for not being able to completely hate them for sending me off. Why was it so hard to be pig-headed and without a conscience. For the past half a year I'd been a total misery to anybody whose company I was in. Nick felt too guilty to be around for too long and Char was always at the edge of exasperation whenever he came within five feet of me. I used to convince myself that secretly Verra was sick of me, so instead of subjecting herself to another year of torment and mortification, she was getting rid of me. Obviously it wasn't true and the more I told myself that the more I knew that I was being really pathetic to come up with an idea that was so blatantly seeped in flaws.
Firstly, if Verra really was sick of me she could simply quit and another flaw was that she'd still be tutoring me after school and helping with my homework. So nope, Verra wasn't sick of me. But regardless of that I was upset at the fact that I'd be missing out on lessons with Verra behind a movie set while Char angrily yelled 'cut!' at a scene that had gone horribly wrong. Or having a physics class on the rooftop while we watched a stunt and determined the outcome based on what I'd just learned. Living above a studio was exciting and so was being homeschooled in one, and that I would always miss.
Alright, so I wasn't moving to another country. Not even to a boarding school somewhere hereabouts. It was a normal school a few miles from here but it would still be a huge change.
"Well, if what Verra thinks amounts to more than what I feel, I shall respond typically and hang myself." I swiveled round again and busied myself with shoving a few textbooks into a check sling bag I'd dug out of my cupboard last night. I don't usually speak that way except when I'm trying to be distant. I start school today, being distant seemed to be appropriate. Perhaps Char would change his mind and make Verra see how cruel this idea was. But all he did was chuckle behind me, ruffling my hair as he did so and causing the untidy mess into an even worse tangle, 'Always the drama queen,' he mused 'if only you'd put that talent to use and do the part.' This time I groaned audibly. I knew he'd bring that up.
Char was as adamant about me putting my 'talent' to good use as I was determined for them not to send me to school. He'd only been bringing it up every moment he could for as long as I can remember. But ever since we moved he'd been saying it more often. It was entirely my fault probably. As I was the one who stumbled across the chest with all my old attempts at script writing when I was nine. Char hadn't read anything else for weeks and left me and Nick to do all the packing. It was round about then, a year ago, that he'd got it into his head to adopt my nine-year-old fancies into a major motion picture. Yeah sure, that'd be awesome only along with that slightly deranged idea was the thought that I'd be perfect for the lead role. That's also the reason I'm the one revising the script in particular.
Funnily enough, when I was nine that's exactly how I thought my life would end up. Me as a great actress, acting out her own scripts. But I was young and naïve and had no clue that very thing that would destroy my entire future would be me. I was diagnosed with stage fright. I say diagnosed because stage fright is a disease as bad as cancer! Since then Char had always badgered me not to give up. But now, he was worse and I was beginning to think that I'd give in and then embarrass myself all over again.
Char had stirred nostalgia deep inside the pit of my stomach, but in order to survive the rest of my life unscathed, I'd have to be strong and forget that I had 'potential'.
'I will.' I stated, cramming another English literature book into my bag. I didn't know if I'd be needing any of these books at all but I thought I'd play it safe all the same. Char, who was about to leave, stopped short and gaped. I thought I had better repeat myself, so turning back to my puzzled brother I stated again, 'I'll do the part.'
'You'll do the part?' he finally croaked, barely audible. Char eyed me with disbelief.
'Yes, I'll do the part. Only, seeing as school is all week every week , from 8:30am till 4:00pm, I really don't think I'll have much time.' I said with a sigh and the regret on my face seemed as genuine as Char's utter bewilderment that, I should add, at that moment, faded.
As quickly as he'd been struck dumb another emotion swept across his British features (by the way, I'm not British) and Char scrunched up his face and stuck out his tongue at me, 'oh ha ha.' He chirped, sarcastically.
I really tried not to but all I could do was burst into hysterics. Really, with all my sulking, I'd forgot how comically weird my brother could be sometimes.
'Smart-ass. Get sorted, Nick offered to drop you off.'
'Nick!' I cried. I loved Nick, but I hated attention and Nick unintentionally drew a lot of attention, to himself and whoever he was around. I may have mentioned that Nick is practically an Adonis incarnate. Well, an Adonis incarnate driving a Porsche 918 spyder (I'm not even sure if it's been released anywhere yet) that would cost any average human being his entire life's savings, is a combination bound to attract attention.
'Yes, Nick,' said Char absently, flicking through the revised script, 'probably the very same Nick you've known your entire life.' Char's voice trailed off as he exited the prop-room and floated down the hall.
I sat motionless, wondering. I suppose it would be easier to start school as the girl whose brother had been nominated world's best contemporary director, as the girl who's met nearly every gorgeous actor that any other girl would kill to be me. I wouldn't need to worry much about fitting in. but I knew enough about high school from all the low-budget movies I'd watched being made. The same story line over and over again. And I understood the human sphyce to realize that any friendship made or moment enjoyed under those notions would be an utter lie. I stand by what I said before. I'd rather be a loser who didn't have to deal with deception.
If only my Ford Torino hadn't broken down on me. I cursed mentally, I'd have to get rid of Nick somehow.
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'Dearest, Char,' I began, rolling my eyes as I swerved round on the swivel chair to face him. By now he'd managed to untangle himself and dumped the many cans on top of king Arthur's round table, next to what I assume must have been the bust of some ancient emperor of Rome, 'you're kicking me off to school where the only revising I will be doing is of history papers and trig questions. All I've done these past few days is sit here in this dank prop-room and try to catch up.' It was a lie. I was very much ahead of the average year twelve student thanks to Verra, my tutor. And as for the script my brother had just demanded, it was on my desk, which in all honesty, I really had spent the past few days at. Only, not actually studying but in fact, working on that accursed script. The yellow folder with the bold red lettering. Char's gaze fell to it and he sighed. Something I caused him to do often.
'Oh for god's sake, Art,' he said softly, the hurt apparent in his voice. He came over to my desk and picked up the folder, 'I'm not kicking you off anywhere. Verra thought... well, you know what Verra thought.' Char looked at me wearily. Ah ha, I knew what Verra thought. She thought me crazy. And the day I convinced Nick (the special effects guy, Char's best friend, another brother figure and an Adonis incarnate) to move my desk down here, Verra had thought all the more than something had to be done.
I had gone all my life without a suitable friend my own age. Verra saw that as something to worry over. I frequently spent my time alone (another thing Verra busied her worries with), even at cast parties and movie premieres. And the day I had moved my existence to the prop-room, Verra had voiced her concern to Char and Nick.
Old lady Verra, ancient and shriveled like the history subject she loved so much, feared that if I did not mix with other teenagers or even strangers soon I would become a social impediment upon myself. Don't get me wrong, I may prefer my own solitary confinement but that is not why I moved into the prop-room. And quite frankly, I haven't completely moved into the prop-room. Verra wouldn't allow me and Nick to bring down my bed as well.
I am not a hermit, but you tell me, if every time you walked into your room, your sanctuary, you found a spoilt-rotten diva who complains that her trailer is far too small and that for the time being, this (she gestures around her) shabby room would do.
What would you do? If you couldn't kick her out to land on her pretty Botox - ed face because you love your brother too much to risk him losing an actor that he may never be able to replace, what would you do? Well, I did what I would do. I moved. Partially, anyway. You try revising a script with some women complaining about every freaking detail. Writing and revising a script takes a considerable amount of inspiration and concentration, and having a constant source of interruption boarding in my room had driven me out. So, I repeat, I am NOT a hermit.
I inwardly groaned. I knew Verra did have a point though, and I hated myself for not being able to completely hate them for sending me off. Why was it so hard to be pig-headed and without a conscience. For the past half a year I'd been a total misery to anybody whose company I was in. Nick felt too guilty to be around for too long and Char was always at the edge of exasperation whenever he came within five feet of me. I used to convince myself that secretly Verra was sick of me, so instead of subjecting herself to another year of torment and mortification, she was getting rid of me. Obviously it wasn't true and the more I told myself that the more I knew that I was being really pathetic to come up with an idea that was so blatantly seeped in flaws.
Firstly, if Verra really was sick of me she could simply quit and another flaw was that she'd still be tutoring me after school and helping with my homework. So nope, Verra wasn't sick of me. But regardless of that I was upset at the fact that I'd be missing out on lessons with Verra behind a movie set while Char angrily yelled 'cut!' at a scene that had gone horribly wrong. Or having a physics class on the rooftop while we watched a stunt and determined the outcome based on what I'd just learned. Living above a studio was exciting and so was being homeschooled in one, and that I would always miss.
Alright, so I wasn't moving to another country. Not even to a boarding school somewhere hereabouts. It was a normal school a few miles from here but it would still be a huge change.
"Well, if what Verra thinks amounts to more than what I feel, I shall respond typically and hang myself." I swiveled round again and busied myself with shoving a few textbooks into a check sling bag I'd dug out of my cupboard last night. I don't usually speak that way except when I'm trying to be distant. I start school today, being distant seemed to be appropriate. Perhaps Char would change his mind and make Verra see how cruel this idea was. But all he did was chuckle behind me, ruffling my hair as he did so and causing the untidy mess into an even worse tangle, 'Always the drama queen,' he mused 'if only you'd put that talent to use and do the part.' This time I groaned audibly. I knew he'd bring that up.
Char was as adamant about me putting my 'talent' to good use as I was determined for them not to send me to school. He'd only been bringing it up every moment he could for as long as I can remember. But ever since we moved he'd been saying it more often. It was entirely my fault probably. As I was the one who stumbled across the chest with all my old attempts at script writing when I was nine. Char hadn't read anything else for weeks and left me and Nick to do all the packing. It was round about then, a year ago, that he'd got it into his head to adopt my nine-year-old fancies into a major motion picture. Yeah sure, that'd be awesome only along with that slightly deranged idea was the thought that I'd be perfect for the lead role. That's also the reason I'm the one revising the script in particular.
Funnily enough, when I was nine that's exactly how I thought my life would end up. Me as a great actress, acting out her own scripts. But I was young and naïve and had no clue that very thing that would destroy my entire future would be me. I was diagnosed with stage fright. I say diagnosed because stage fright is a disease as bad as cancer! Since then Char had always badgered me not to give up. But now, he was worse and I was beginning to think that I'd give in and then embarrass myself all over again.
Char had stirred nostalgia deep inside the pit of my stomach, but in order to survive the rest of my life unscathed, I'd have to be strong and forget that I had 'potential'.
'I will.' I stated, cramming another English literature book into my bag. I didn't know if I'd be needing any of these books at all but I thought I'd play it safe all the same. Char, who was about to leave, stopped short and gaped. I thought I had better repeat myself, so turning back to my puzzled brother I stated again, 'I'll do the part.'
'You'll do the part?' he finally croaked, barely audible. Char eyed me with disbelief.
'Yes, I'll do the part. Only, seeing as school is all week every week , from 8:30am till 4:00pm, I really don't think I'll have much time.' I said with a sigh and the regret on my face seemed as genuine as Char's utter bewilderment that, I should add, at that moment, faded.
As quickly as he'd been struck dumb another emotion swept across his British features (by the way, I'm not British) and Char scrunched up his face and stuck out his tongue at me, 'oh ha ha.' He chirped, sarcastically.
I really tried not to but all I could do was burst into hysterics. Really, with all my sulking, I'd forgot how comically weird my brother could be sometimes.
'Smart-ass. Get sorted, Nick offered to drop you off.'
'Nick!' I cried. I loved Nick, but I hated attention and Nick unintentionally drew a lot of attention, to himself and whoever he was around. I may have mentioned that Nick is practically an Adonis incarnate. Well, an Adonis incarnate driving a Porsche 918 spyder (I'm not even sure if it's been released anywhere yet) that would cost any average human being his entire life's savings, is a combination bound to attract attention.
'Yes, Nick,' said Char absently, flicking through the revised script, 'probably the very same Nick you've known your entire life.' Char's voice trailed off as he exited the prop-room and floated down the hall.
I sat motionless, wondering. I suppose it would be easier to start school as the girl whose brother had been nominated world's best contemporary director, as the girl who's met nearly every gorgeous actor that any other girl would kill to be me. I wouldn't need to worry much about fitting in. but I knew enough about high school from all the low-budget movies I'd watched being made. The same story line over and over again. And I understood the human sphyce to realize that any friendship made or moment enjoyed under those notions would be an utter lie. I stand by what I said before. I'd rather be a loser who didn't have to deal with deception.
If only my Ford Torino hadn't broken down on me. I cursed mentally, I'd have to get rid of Nick somehow.
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