Princes

First

My name is Levi Blackwell, and I saw my first real play when I was seven years old.

I'd seen small elementary school and high school plays before. Little ones. The elementary ones usually went along the lines of Native Americans and Pilgrims, the high school ones were usually based off Disney movies, to keep the little ones familiarly entertained.

But this was the real stuff. Legitimate blazing lights, legitimate booming make-ups and wardrobes.

It was Cabaret.

I fell head over heels in love with the story and the knee-weakening music. The story of a shimmery German girlie club entertainer, Sally Bowles, encapsulated me. Sally became a hero of mine, with her tight black outfits and popping black eye shadow.

Immediately after seeing the play, it changed me forever. I have a framed portrait of Liza Minelli, my idol and actress of Sally Bowles in the movie, on my desk. My walls are decorated with posters from the movie and every Broadway rendition. My playbill has been framed, as well as numerous candids from the cast in costume. As well as posters from other Broadway classics, The Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, Cats, etc. etc.

But nothing has ever surpassed my love and obsession for Cabaret, and nothing will.

Ever since then, I've been obsessed with theatre, especially the musicals. Buzzing with comparisons to the classic Cabaret, and oozing praise and other musical theatre nerdy babble, to my moms and my two best friends, Mavis and Maggie Callahan, identical twins.

This was the day I found out about my school's play, and a surprisingly large effect it had on my life.

___

"What good is sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play. Life is a cabaret, old chum. Come to the cabaret"

The first lyrics in the jazz hands-worthy title song oozed from my ancient phone's crappy speakers, punctuating my alarm.

I groaned, tucking my blankets tighter, absent minded, scooping up my phone and clicking off my alarm. I sighed, feeling the sunshine, filtered through clogging storm clouds, stream through my window. I groggily popped my eyes open, slamming my head against my pillow repeatedly.

I got up, cracking my toes. Edison, my baby brother, was wailing from his baby room. I sighed heavily, throwing on a clingy black T-shirt, a vest, and faded jeans.

I ran over to Edison's crib in his baby room, scooping him up and rocking him, placing his pacificer into his button sized mouth.

Technically, Edison and I weren't related at all. It's weird, I'm not sure why my moms decided to do it the way that they did, but my biological father was named Erick Collins, more about him later.

My moms had wanted us to have the same biological father, but Erick is obviously still in Wales, and my moms had Edison after we moved to America, so that was too much hassle.

Edison's biological father is named Rick something. Mom (her real name is Bethany) gave birth to me, while Mother (real name is Aimee) gave birth to Edison. Like I said, I'm not sure why they did it the way that they did.

After Edison was calmed, I slipped into the bathroom. I quickly brushed my teeth, the overwhelming taste of mint flooding my mouth, and calmed my wild hair with a comb. I briefly looked at myself in the mirror.

I had chestnut hair and tan skin, which was surprising for the limited times that I went outside. I had blue-green eyes, and a goofy smile. It started kind of lop-sided, one of my eyes going squinty, but then developing and engulfing my face. It was awkward, made me look dumb.