Between The Acts

Thought Of The Day

Tue, 28 Jun 2005 04:38:43 GMT

Why is it that every time I have to kiss Mr. Shakespeare for play rehearsal I get the impression that I am kissing the whole fucking school?

I am going to go shower.

Truth and Reconciliation

Tue, 07 Jun 2005 04:57:02 GMT

Leo and I slipped through the dance like an unknotted thread, absorbed as usual in our own dealings.

At the evening's outset, we paused on his front porch only long enough to let his mother snap this picture before driving away in my foster father's black Pontiac.

When we arrived, the auditorium was already seething with its brew of gyrating bodies and tangible school spirit. The glittery atmosphere did not mesh with my mood - or Leo's, for that matter. His usual cheery grin and flailing limbs had been stripped away and replaced by an anxious demeanor and self-conscious gestures. I wondered at the change, but lent it no further thought. As we danced, my eyes and attention instead roved restlessly over the crowd, searching unsated for the object of my indiscreet obsession.

Leo sensed this and held me at arm's length. His sudden look of pained realization - or was it affirmation? - pierced my indifference with such force that I physically reeled. I stumbled after him as he led me through the double doors to the starry night outside. When we reached the bleachers he whirled and unleashed the thoughts he had been brimming with all evening.

He knew about Vita. He collapsed on the nearest bench and sobbed, the words "I'm sorry" and "I love you" ejecting from his lips like volcanic blasts. I sank to my knees before him as tears, stained coal-black with mascara, worked their way down my cheeks. I could barely believe the sorrow and compassion that rose in my throat. This agonizing display from a boy who, in two years, had barely demonstrated a flicker of real emotion, tore the blinders from my eyes and made me see clearly for the first time in months. All that time I had been seeking passion and uncensored sensitivity in other people, when it had been lying dormant right beside me. I pulled myself onto his lap and absorbed what he had to tell. He confessed that this was how he really was - the insensitive, jokester facade was simply a mask he'd been forced to adopt.

I shook my head and marveled at how terribly long it had taken to finally uncover Leo's true self, but my heart glowed with its discovery. I caressed his face with my fingertips as if I were learning its features for the first time. My trance was broken by the inevitable question - why Vita?

"I suppose it's because she is who she is, and makes no apologies to anyone for it. She is completely comfortable with herself and her surroundings. . . I guess I admire her freedom."

"Oh Gini, why settle for admiring her freedom when you can have her freedom? What's stopping you?"

The simple genius of his words blew me away. I felt a slow smile growing on my face as I realized the truth. "Nothing now." I tilted my head back and we kissed.

Leo and I stayed on our perch in the bleachers long after crowds of well-dressed revelers poured out of the auditorium in the wee hours of the morning.

I certainly don't recall hearing any sounds of foul play. . .

Delirium and Deed

Mon, 23 May 2005 01:31:02 GMT

Yes, I'm still alive. I apologize for the protracted silence at this end, but I've been out of touch for some time. A week ago I happened upon Vita Sackville-West during lunch; she smiled and waved a pair of concert tickets in front of my eyes. Naturally I resisted profusely, alluding to a research paper and an audition to prepare for, but before I knew it I was careening down the highway in a van packed with drunken revelers.

The following few days are a blur of neon lit arenas and pulsating music, rolling around on a hotel room floor, platinum blonde hair gliding through my fingers, the taste of cherry covering me from head to toe. I have no recollection of the journey home, but I dimly remember leaning on Vita's shoulder as she opened the school auditorium door, kissed me for luck, and gently pushed me on stage. Still slightly stunned, I delivered my monologue, hardly taking my eyes off the blonde enigma watching me from the audience.

Something must have gone right, as I have been assigned the lead romantic male role of Raoul in this year's production of the Phantom of the Opera. I suppose I'll have to meet this Billy Shakespeare fellow, playing Christine, before rehearsals begin.

Pain and Revelation

Wed, 04 May 2005 22:16:36 GMT

I had a visitor tonight.

* * *

I was bent over my keyboard when an irregular tapping upon my window frame roused me from my reverie. Due to the unusually humid evening I had left my window ajar, so the only obstacle Leo had to overcome was his own inebriation. He slid headfirst into my room and onto the hardwood floor, laughing in spite of himself. I rose swiftly from my desk and knelt at his side to make sure he hadn't sustained any lasting injuries.

His eyes traversed my frame and I became aware that, because of the stifling heat, I had removed the majority of my clothing prior to his arrival. Appearing satisfied with what he saw, Leo winked at me and said, "Hey, Gini, could you help a brother up?"

I took his hand and assisted him in rising to his feet, where he promptly stumbled into my arms. As we kissed I tasted a mossy blend of marijuana and whiskey. He clumsily rid himself of his smoke-infused clothing and pushed me backwards onto my bed. He collapsed beside me with such drunken zeal that my bedsprings groaned loudly in protest, evoking a faint sense of gratitude in yours truly that my stepfather was away for the night.

I had lately been starving for an intense emotional connection with another human being, so I went along with Leo's lust, praying it would lead me towards some sort of truth about life, love, or myself. As we embraced I reached out with tendrils of thought, trying desperately to link my mind with his and stumble on an affirmation of our relationship. To my utter dismay I found him blank, with no outlet of veracity to tap into, not even after two years together.

Afterwards, he merely fumbled around for his clothing. As he dressed he asked if I'd like to join him and his friends. I smiled wryly and declined, citing an assignment I have due tomorrow. He kissed me goodbye and clattered out the window. Holding the sheet around me, I rose and gazed outside as he ran across the lawn and leapt into a familiar vehicle. I started as I realized that his friends had been waiting outside the entire time. That thought made me ill somehow. . .

As Leo drove away I was reminded of the poem given to me by my dear Vita, which I had previously neglected to read, but now find distressingly appropriate. For your benefit I have reproduced it here.

And so it ends,
We who were lovers may be friends.
I have some weeks in which to steel
My heart and teach myself to feel
Only a sober tenderness
Where once was passion's loveliness.

I had not thought that there would come
Your touch to make our music dumb,
Your meeting touch upon the string
That still was vibrant, still could sing
When I impatiently might wait
Or parted from you at the gate.

You took me weak and unprepared.
I had not thought that you who shared
My days, my nights, my heart, my life,
Would slash me with a naked knife
And gently tell me not to bleed
But to accept your crazy creed.

You speak of God, but you have cut
The one last thread, as you have shut
The one last door that open stood
To show me still the way to God.
If this be God, this pain, this evil,
I'd sooner change and try the Devil.

Darling, I thought of nothing mean;
I thought of killing straight and clean.
You're safe; that's gone, that wild caprice,
But tell me once before I cease,
Which does your Church esteem the kinder role,
To kill the body or destroy the soul?

* * *

My Vita. You sate me in ways I never thought possible.

Tears and Frustration

Tue, 26 Apr 2005 20:37:40 GMT

I can not recall a time I ever felt more disgusted. That damned sexist boor! How dare he try to corrupt young minds with his orthodox rhetoric!

. . . perhaps a bit of exposition is necessary.

My Politics class had the privilege of attending an electoral debate this afternoon. After the staged questions had been answered, the public was invited to interrogate the candidates at will. I leapt at the chance and asked if any incentives would be made to encourage women to work in positions of importance within the government. Notwithstanding the dithering responses I received, it felt quite satisfying to make them sweat.

I left the debate on a high note. However, on the walk back to the school, my oafish professor Dr. Mierzwiak halted the class and drew me aside. In his obnoxiously booming voice he proceeded to berate me for asking "such a foolish question" and "embarassing his reputation".

"The government has no interest in taking women away from the home! Their role is to produce future voters and take pressure off the economy. Don't you realize that the work of stay-at-home mothers saves the government three hundred billion dollars a year?"

I shrugged away from his sweaty touch and cried, "What is this? The Dark Ages?!" The rest of the class gasped and chuckled while I pushed my way angrily through them, seeking escape.

Mierzwiak chuckled and called out a final parting jab. "See, students, another reason women don't belong in politics - premenstrual syndrome!"

Love And Lust

Wed, 20 Apr 2005 00:00:25 GMT

Vita, Vita. As I whisper her name I am obliged to bite my lower lip and taste again the aftermath of her fiery kiss.

* * *

She leans against the railing with sleek nonchalance, shoulders rolled back to elevate her ivory breasts. The sun dances on her platinum hair as she flicks it from her eyes and gestures with her chin to the folded slip of looseleaf she has pressed into my palm.

"Aren't you going to read it?"

Her latest work of poetry, presumably. She's been sliding them under my locker door all year.

I meet her expectant gaze.

"Maybe later. . . I'm kind of busy." A shadow of disappointment darkens her features, but how could I tell her that to pore over her words of sunny brilliance and unquenchable desire in her presence, her sweet, dizzying presence, would render me absolutely helpless?

"But you will read it eventually?"

". . . of course!"

She straightens and closes the gap between us. She smiles a crooked smile. Her fingers find themselves entwined in my hair. Suddenly I'm tasting her menthol cigarettes and cherry lip gloss.

She pulls away and my eyes snap open. A flounce of her miniskirt and she's gone.

At the apex of the stairs behind me a door slams and I am startled from my reverie. I turn and raise my eyes to watch a young man with unruly dark hair slide cheekily down the railing.

My heart pangs at the sight of him, as always; the adoration marred by long-suffering guilt.

"Hello, beautiful!"

More guilt. "Hey. How'd your day go?"

Leo laces his fingers in mine and gestures with his free hand while enthusing about some exploit or another. As we walk I smile and try to listen attentively, eyes occasionally darting to the blonde, skirted figure sprawled cross-legged on the bench across the street. She's wearing headphones now and staring up at the sky.

Oh Vita.