The muted cobalt curtains sway a little bit in front of my eyes. From the floor, things aren't as amazing. On that stage, the blood boils in your veins and you have the motive to perform. To impress people. Down here, no one notices you, or knows who you are for that matter. Being passed by is an interesting experience. You can feel the acid churn within your abdomen, as though you could lose your insides at any moment. Seconds pass with the ambition of a spring beetle--lively at first, but slowly dying with every tick. Word goes around that this production is going to change the school forever. I can say that it's changed me forever, already. It's thirteen days until this play goes on the stage. Thirteen days of unspeakable hell, chaos, and tears left to be shed. I walk with little enthusiasm in my step over to my seat on stage left and sit down, a scowl distorting my face. The stars on the stage. They know that they're good enough and they show it. Flaunting themselves, giving little appreciation for the stage workers. I could barely be called a stage worker at all. I'm the director's sidekick. The term "sidekick", I believe, refers to the fact that I'm by the director's side at all times to be kicked around. Sidekick. I was granted this role because I didn't fit in with the idiosyncracies of the acting or vocal crews. I'm an average joe, thirteen years old, short, and not very talented at anything.
I was the least amazing person in this room.
As to what role I play, I'm everywhere. Whether it be directing the dance crew onto the stage or demanding them to shut up, I'm always somewhere. I make it backstage occasionally, only to be thrown around a bit more. By now, I thought I would be used to it. But this was a particularly bad Saturday morning for me. My best friend Aiden had brought me a stress ball in the shape of a brain and told me to keep my cool. Half an hour into rehearsals, I had lost my resolve and all of the composure I had contained was turned into a dodgeball--dodging its way away from me so that my stress levels raised to my eyebrows. Of course, the director had assigned me to dance crew babysitter duty and I was having trouble getting them to shut their mouths. Sweat beaded on my forehead and I glared at the dancers, raising my low voice at them, trying in every way possible to get them to stop making so much racket.
My attempts were futile, seeing as I was merely a stage manager.
I have friends on the dance crew, good friends, ones that I deal with on a daily basis. During rehearsals, I am their kickball. The only respect I get around here is from the director and she barely acknowledges me once an hour. Sometimes, rehearsals run for five hours. I haven't attended any of the five-hours yet, only the weekend warrior two hour battles. Here's where things get fun. While my director gets the dancers under control, I stand behind her, staying true to my duty, but losing my temper. When she's done speaking, I pull my director out onto a piece of the stage that was unused.
"I can't keep them under control. They won't listen to me. Please, fire me." I said in a hushed tone.
The director laughed at me and regarded me with her brown eyes for a few seconds.
"Fine, you're fired." She said, clearly being sarcastic.
I looked at her frantically, my eyes the color of weak tea looking directly into hers. She reached out and patted me on the shoulder, closing her eyes briefly.
"Hang on. I need you here for support. You'll be okay. I know you." She said, striding back out onto the stage to be with her stars.
I actually know the director quite well. She's my English teacher and like a second mother to me. But sometimes, her involvement with the school community frustrates me to no end. I reached up to my forehead and wiped away the beads of sweat that had gathered at my temples. I felt my insides protest their existence and took in a light breath of air. I went back to the dance crew, who were back to being loud and quite frankly, obnoxious.
"Guys...you need to be quiet. Please." I said in a broken voice, feeling my head swirl.
They continued on and I stepped back out onto the unused piece of stage and looked at my director, who had come back.
"Fire me." I said sternly, losing my respect.
The director gave me a rough squeeze on the shoulder and walked into the stage left waiting area and barked at the dancers. I felt tears well up in my eyes and tried to keep them from coming down. Unfortunately, the clear beads found their way onto my face and my dream was to be fired. I didn't want to be involved in this anymore, I never had. The director came back out, not noticing the streams on my face. She stepped up to me and paused for a moment.
"How about you go sit in the audience and let me know if you see anything wrong?" She said quietly, patting me on the shoulder again.
I nodded my head. I didn't care what she did with me anymore. I had lost my mind. I was tired of being trash. From the floor...things are always different. No matter who you are.