M is for Melody (Old)

Chapter 10: I Give In To Silence and Recitations

Contrary to popular belief, I have a good amount of focus when the situation suits me. It's not like I can do much with this, but sometimes it can be useful to be able to stay silent and listen for a long period of time. Meaning, listening to the other auditionees try to act. And okay, yes, I might be chastising them in my head. I'm not brave enough to actually say my momologue out loud, so I settle for an American Idol setup in my head, pretending to be some world famous musical genius paid generously to break the hearts of poor aspiring contestants. I am Melody the Ruthless in my head, but on the outside I maintain a veil of whatever normalcy I can stand.

Frank-what's-his-name finishes his reading with a warbly sort of thank you and exits the stage. The rest of us are in the seats, awaiting the perpetual doom of expression. Ellie is right beside me, which means I only have to endure the close proximity of one complete stranger instead of two. Thank life itself for familiarity, else we'd all be hellbent on avoiding everyone's gazes perpetually.

Like the noble jester soul he is, Ellie mouthes Frank-who's-it-what's-it's closing line quite dramatically, complete with aghast expressionisms and pure as clouds Ellieness. I feel genuine despair for the poor lonely ones without an Ellie. Truely, a shame. And to think I was missing the great showman soul for thirteen years of my life. We honest-to-God don't know what we're missing till we've got it. And, oh, I don't know, maybe I'm missing something right now. The unfathomable can only become fathomable if the universe permits it, I suppose. But this second, the universe is banning any fathom in my head and I can't seem to get past the barriers for all my willpower. A shame as well.

And then one unfathomable fathom reveals its decrepit form as Ellie's turn to audition has pounced on the unsuspecting heroine and company. He smiles that kind of hopelessly goofy, innocent way and slides out of his chair, skipping the steps to the stage in favor of hopping up the rim in a spectacularly uniform-screwimg way. Let it be sung: everyone should have access to an Ellie.

And, oh, allow me to comment, I've yet to greet a soul who can read a sentence written by Ellie and live to tell the tale. So when Ms. Kimber reads his name off the list, it sounds more like she's suffering from a high school crush on reality tv. "E-Ella...Ellot Tar -hm- Tyler. Ellot Tyler? Next!"

As Ellot Tyler clears his throat, I am expecting some nonchalant, half-trying monologue, the kind old people listen to on casset tapes to fall asleep. Power Talk, Build a Better You, the works.

But that is not what I get. My pleasantly surprised heart ruptures a vein or something, silencing the beats so my ears can only hear the voice of one person. I even think my breathing stops. It is impossible to pull away from an enraptured moment, at least when one is in front of me, and frankly, it would be a waste to. He flips to the beginning of the script and clears his throat quietly.

Ellie begins with a sweeping gaze at the miniscule audience. "Far away, dwelling where children's dreams gather to hide from the realities of growing up, lies a place called Neverland..."

He's using the very beginning, the narrator's monologue introducing the story. October can learn a thing or two about bravado from this...

"...where never means forever, and where a certain green-clad lad lures unsuspecting dreamers..."

I feel like I'm a dreamer, like I woke up in such a state and am incapable of waking, nor would I like to. I'm a dreamer with open eyes, sleeping...

"...but a villain to childish wiles also makes residence in such a place, with a hook for a hand and a deadly sword swing, he is a pirate of wishes who plunders innocent muses..."

Sapped of reality, such a villain could hurt the dreams so sought out by many. Is there such a person in reality?

"...but perhaps that lad dressed in green can put an end to the pirates tyranny." And suddenly the spell is broken as the last word is spoken. The audience blinks in a sort of confused state, but I understand what Ellie has done. He has inspired. The entire goal of acting, of singing, playing, drawing, and painting has been tapped by this seemingly ordinary person. So I smile.

I smile because I have just been shown up again by my best friend. And I'm gonna murder him with kindness.

A few brave souls produce a spattering of applause and Ellie bows like a conductor in a great music hall after the final symphony. I clap a total of three times and rise out of my seat, content to enraptured just as strongly as he did. I don't even spare a glance when we pass each other on the steps, but the situation is funny in its own right, so I allow a small smirk to relinquish the tickling behind my heart.

While his monologue told a physical story, mine tells an emotional one. It's not extremely original, but Jack Nicholson has delivered a least one good speech in his film career. The movie, it's pretty average. But I chose my words not from a critics point of view, but from a watcher. The powerful moment in A Few Good Men completely swept the audience off their feet. So I shall do the same. Eat dust, Elliot Taylor.

I position myself in the front of the stage, near the edge. All the better for effect. I take a small moment to pull out my phone for the script, taking a relishingly steady breath.

"'You can't handle the truth!'" I shout, suddenly, as if provoked past the breaking point. I want to smile at the slightly taken aback faces of the people below, but I'm not here anymore. I'm torn, broken from war. Ready to argue as if its the last thing I could possibly do.

"'Son, we live in a world that has walls.'" Draw out the important nouns. "'And those walls have to be guarded by men with guns.'" Hone the inner Colonel Jessep... "'Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lieutenant Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom.'"

Now, raise the volume. Now, suddenly. But not all the way. "'You weep for Santiago and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury.'" Be disgusted, disappointed. Let it shine through the anger. "'You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that Santiago's death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives...You don't want the truth.'"

I must express what the Colonel felt. I am him right now. I must, or else my entire scene will go kaput. "'Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me on that wall. You need me on that wall.'"

Now, for the lull in the speech. The blue behind the clouds. "'We use words like honor, code, loyalty...we use these words as the backbone to a life spent defending something. You use 'em as a punchline.'" Fire, now. Fire to the rain. "'I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it!'"

And then the silence hangs, keen and quiet and thinly veiled. "It" echoes a while, and I try my hardest not to crack a smile. Eat my dust, Elliot Taylor.

Someone begins clapping awkwardly, but he lets it die quickly. I recognize his face dimly as Mr. Stalk-n-dash - August - as I take my seat. In the dark, I can get away with sticking my tongue out at my greatest narrative competition. Ellie sends a glance my way anyway.

Something fidgets in my backpack as I pull it up to me after settling, and I know I've stirred more than a smattering of crowd.