All The World May Be a Stage, But We Can't All Be the Best of Actors

James and I did not speak most of the remainder of his visit. I knew that he had sensed I needed some time to think. His presence kept me sane, yet I still was infuriated with my father. I had tried to figure out all of the many possibilities his conversation could have meant. My head had been aching, and James's grip on my hand had been growing tighter. It was not very long until it was five minutes until eight o' clock, which was when his weekend shifts started.

He had not moved, but I knew he had to leave. He would not leave unless I said something, and I knew that. Part of me was selfish and wanted to stay, but I could not let him.

"It's time for you to go," I whispered. He ran his thumb over my forefinger. Usually, this would have brought a rosy glow to my cheeks. That Saturday, however, I was too angry even for such a small display of positive emotion.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, looking down at me, his blue eyes soft and caring.

I shook my head slowly, "No, but you need to."

"I won't go if you want me here," he said, his whisper so low he was barely audible.

I shook my head again, "Then I don't want you here."

He nodded, understanding that I was only saying that because I cared and because I wanted him to keep his job. He let go of my hand and a sudden chill came over me. I longed for his warm hand in mine, though he had let go barely seconds ago. He did not say goodbye as he left my room. I preferred it that way. It made it easier to pretend he never left.

I lay in my bed, my eyes fixed upon the glowing numbers on the digital clock. It was thirty minutes after eleven at night that I heard my mother and father go to their bedroom. They were talking animatedly, him acting as though he had missed her with all of his cold, black heart. She believed him, of course, and told him everything that had happened since he had been gone. His subtle words of fake interest echoed in my mind, causing my head to ache.

They were in their bedroom now, but I heard them still speaking through the thin walls. My mother told him of Mable's ability to count to ten, and my high grade point average. My father yawned, and told her he was tired. The conversation ended and I heard the slight creak of the mattress as weight was shifted so he could sleep.

I lay there, breathing hard, my rage burning deep within me. I had no control over these emotions and I could not hide them. The more I thought about the situation, the more my fury grew. My head was pounding. I was thinking so hard it brought me literal agony.

The clock read one in the morning and I still lay awake. It was then that I heard movement. They were heavy footsteps, unlike my mother's gait, and certainly unlike Mable's.

My father walked down the stairs, whispering to his secret, incoherently. When I was sure he would be unable to see me, I stood and walked to my door. I opened it a fraction and listened closely.

"I'll be home soon," he said. "There's no need for that."

I narrowed my eyes and waited for him to continue.

"It's late and the walls of this hotel are thin. No reason to wake others."

It was obvious that whomever it was that he was talking with was unaware my father had a family in America. His voice reverberated with worry as he pressed on quickly.

"I will be home soon," he said. "Two days at the most. It's snowing and airplanes are delayed but I will be home soon, dear."

The pain I felt for my mother was immense. She had not any idea what he was doing, and I could not bring myself to tell her.

"Okay. Soon, my love. I love you, darling. Goodnight, or rather good morning for you," he said with a chuckle.

I heard his feet shuffle and I closed my door, slowly walking back to my bed. This was the moment I had to pretend James had never left.

Sunday was a blur. My mother and father were gone, and left me to my thoughts. It was not long before I awoke, realizing it was Monday morning. I was unsure how I would perform, and my stomach was in thousands of knots.

James greeted me the moment I walked inside of the school. It was rare that he was here on time, let alone early. He wore a sad smile, and his hand found mine. I smiled back at him, and looked at our intertwined fingers before a blush formed in my cheeks. His eyes were blue as the skies of heaven, and his smile was as warm as the sun that they bore.

People turned and looked at us, some whispering, some simply staring. It did not take long for the people to stop. James shot the onlookers his icy glare. The people continued about their business, standing in line to get school breakfast or finding friends in the hallway.

"Did you figure anything out?" he asked, after a long, comfortable silence.

I slowly shook my head. The small pieces of my father's second conversation was not enough to know anything other than that whomever he had been talking to was unaware that he had a family, but that had been assumed.

He nodded and rubbed my forefinger with his thumb. A rosy coloration came to my cheeks again as we walked down the hallway. I realized how intimate it must have looked, and I felt quite special that James was willing to practically ruin his reputation to simply make me feel better.

The twenty minutes before school passed quickly with his hand in mine. The bell sounded and the usual corridor traffic began. Teachers ran towards their classrooms, keys clinking as they unlocked their doors. Boyfriends and girlfriends looked for any teachers, and quickly pecked lips before going their separate ways. Small cliques said their goodbyes before scurrying off to their various classes. It was that way every morning, yet even due to the situation at home, something seemed so much brighter that morning.

James and I walked into Theatre and Performance, hands still clasped together. Jenna and her thespian friends began whispering as they saw the two of us enter. Several heads turned left and quickly turned back, almost unanimously. I rolled my eyes and followed James to seats near the back. I smiled as I noticed he still had not let go of my hand as we sat.

"So, only three groups performed for extra credit--" Jenna opened her mouth and Mrs. Hoffman added, "--but Jenna and Todd will still receive extra credit because they were willing to go last week. Would anyone like to volunteer to go first today?"

Only weeks prior to that day, before I had become friends with James, my hand would have shot in the air and I would have practically waltzed towards the stage. My words would be enunciated perfectly, probably better than Jenna Coalman's. My actions would be dramatized, yet realistic and fluid, again, probably better than Jenna Coalman's. However, something inside of me changed and my competitive edge towards Jenna had seemed to disappear. I knew it was not because of my father, for the edge was gone before I had found out about that.

Elizabeth Morris and Tommi Dells walked onto the stage. I had not the slightest idea what their scene had been about, though I generally would have paid attention. James's hand was still in mine, and it seemed that was all I could concentrate upon.

It was not long before James was pulling me onstage. I had completely forgotten about performing. His hand let go of mine as we stood onstage and the absence of his warmth came across me. I felt cold inside and suddenly I could not remember any of the scene. I looked up to James, his blue eyes pleading for me to begin.

My mouth was ajar, yet no words were to come out. I had forgotten all of them after I had known them all so well. I knew that I had not developed stage fright, but I still did not know how this phenomenon of forgetting my scene came about.

The thespians were all sitting on the very edges of their seats, their eyes boring into me. They stared at me, expectantly, waiting for something to come out of my gaping mouth. I felt my jaw quiver a little; however, no words came out. My eyes looked from left to right, scanning my audience. Mrs. Hoffman looked completely shocked. I had never forgotten a line in my life, and she knew that.

Gulping, I turned back to James. He bit his studded lip and his eyes found mine. It was then that I remembered why he had worked so hard to come thus far.

Short-term memories began to flood my mind. I thought about the long drive to reach his dilapidated apartment building. I thought about the gang walking the street midday. I thought about the bloodstain upon the snow.

"It is so; the Count Claudio shall marry the daughter of Lenato."

James smiled at me, relieved, and the audience all sighed, angrily.

"Yea, my lord; but I can cross it."

"Any bar, any cross, any impediment will be medicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure to him, and whatsoever comes athwart his affection ranges."

The scene continued, the words enunciated just as I dreamed of, the actions fluid. The simple difference was that it was not for my pride, nor for my rivalry. It took me long enough to realize that I was changing my ways because of James, and because of everything he had taught me.

An outsider may have seen him as a bad influence--someone to stay away from. Admittedly, I had thought the same before I had began to learn more about him. There were so many things the eye did not see--so many wonderful things. His eyes were practically luminous when he was truly happy. His scent was intoxicating. He always looked perfect, no matter if he tried or not. He was fastidious, yet mysterious and alluring.

I felt myself being pulled again, and the familiar warmth arrived in all of my body, but especially my cheeks. I realized that I had been pondering, and probably would have continued to stand there the rest of class if he had not heaved me towards our usual seats.

Jenna and Todd pranced onstage, and their performance, just like the others', was a simple blur. I felt James playing with my fingers, subconciously as his eyes were fixed upon the duo onstage.

"Well done," Mrs. Hoffman said, with a smile, setting her critique rubric on my lap. I glanced at it and grinned, handing it to James, who was beaming. The grade would secure that he passed the class. I felt his eyes and my eyes meet again as I bit my lip. He was still beaming at me. Thought it seemed like forever, it could have only been a few seconds, for Mrs. Hoffman was still standing there.

"You're trying out for the play, I hope?"

I shrugged a little, feeling James playing with my fingers once more, and with a smile I said, "I don't think so."