Status: only a few more to go, hopefully it won't take me five months to post them.
Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow
Act Two, Scene Four.
“Mr. Iero, Mr. Way, I’m glad you’re early, can I speak to the two of you in my office?”
I nodded, not glancing at which Mr. Way he was speaking to, and headed into his office. Mr. Sanchez leaned against his desk and let out a sigh before addressing us.
“Good news and bad news; Quinn’s had a family emergency so I’ll need a fill in while he’s gone for the next few days. I’m still working on the fight scenes and the death scenes with Bert and Mikey.”
Gerard was standing behind me.
“Gerard would you mind running lines with Frank these next few afternoons? He can help you with yours as well.”
He must’ve nodded because I didn’t hear him say anything but I saw Mr. Sanchez smile and his eyes lit up.
“Thank you so much! The music room is yours to use for the afternoon, I’ll be by every now and then to check on progress.”
He nodded and ushered us back out of his office. Bert’s eyes roamed around the room, looking for his rival and I noticed the small flicker of sorrow when he realized Quinn wasn’t showing up today.
“Afternoon gentlemen, we’ll be practicing the fight scenes and deaths of Mercutio and Tybalt today. One of our cast members is attending a family emergency and will be dearly missed the next few days. We’re lucky this is just during rehearsals and not the actual show, but the show must go on and that’s what we’ll do. To your places, now!”
I leant against the desk as I watched my peers empty the classroom and head out to the auditorium. I felt eyes on me but I couldn’t bring myself to face him, not yet. I took a deep breath and walked towards the door, not really caring if he followed or not. His slow footsteps let me know he did follow.
“Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, not to partake thy passion, my humility.”
“You read poetry?”
I heard his sharp intake of breath.
“You, you heard that?”
Still not facing him I nodded for a response. It wasn’t till I reached that padded window seat that I turned to face him. He was leaning against the grand piano in the center of the room.
“It’s Emily Dickinson. I quite like her way with words.”
I offered a small smile, one which he actually returned. He just looked at me, almost as if he could see through me. He let out a sigh before he stood on his feet, upright.
“Happily met, my lady and my wife!”
We weren’t going to talk then?
“That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.”
He took a few steps closer to me.
“That may must be, love, on Thursday next.”
He was on the other side of the row of desks separating the two of us; his eyes never leaving my own.
“What must be shall be.”
I noticed he was without script, much like myself.
“Come you to make confession to this father?”
I finally looked out the window, breaking our intense eye-contact.
“To answer that, I should confess to you.”
My thoughts turned to last night and the pain that I had felt when I thought of what I had done. The look on his face though, that haunted me all through the night. Mikey woke with every nightmare I had; we didn’t get much sleep last night.
“Do not deny to him that you love me.”
These two lines spoke far more truth than any other line this play has given me. Knowing the first, I’ve taken out of its context, yet if I must, I should confess to him how I feel. I could never deny I’ve fallen in love with him—never.
“I will confess to you that I love him.”
I could feel him standing right behind me; his body heat radiating from him in waves.
“So will ye, I am sure, that you love me.”
I felt my eyes well up with tears. Still refusing to glance from the window, I let them fall.
“If I do so, it will be of more price being spoke behind your back than to your face.”
I felt a hand touch my shoulder and I couldn’t help but to turn and face him. Showing him my tear stained face, eyes closed. As he spoke his next line he brought his right hand up to cup my face, wiping away my tears with his thumb.
“Poor soul, thy face is much abus’d with tears.”
I let out a shaky breath, and opened my eyes.
“The tears have got small victory by that, for it was bad enough before their spite.”
I turned out of his touch. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t practice lines with him so close to me, touching me. Not with him being so gentle when for so long he’s been nothing but cold and cruel. Then I heard it, his soft voice.
“What’s wrong Frankie?”
I nodded, not glancing at which Mr. Way he was speaking to, and headed into his office. Mr. Sanchez leaned against his desk and let out a sigh before addressing us.
“Good news and bad news; Quinn’s had a family emergency so I’ll need a fill in while he’s gone for the next few days. I’m still working on the fight scenes and the death scenes with Bert and Mikey.”
Gerard was standing behind me.
“Gerard would you mind running lines with Frank these next few afternoons? He can help you with yours as well.”
He must’ve nodded because I didn’t hear him say anything but I saw Mr. Sanchez smile and his eyes lit up.
“Thank you so much! The music room is yours to use for the afternoon, I’ll be by every now and then to check on progress.”
He nodded and ushered us back out of his office. Bert’s eyes roamed around the room, looking for his rival and I noticed the small flicker of sorrow when he realized Quinn wasn’t showing up today.
“Afternoon gentlemen, we’ll be practicing the fight scenes and deaths of Mercutio and Tybalt today. One of our cast members is attending a family emergency and will be dearly missed the next few days. We’re lucky this is just during rehearsals and not the actual show, but the show must go on and that’s what we’ll do. To your places, now!”
I leant against the desk as I watched my peers empty the classroom and head out to the auditorium. I felt eyes on me but I couldn’t bring myself to face him, not yet. I took a deep breath and walked towards the door, not really caring if he followed or not. His slow footsteps let me know he did follow.
“Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, not to partake thy passion, my humility.”
“You read poetry?”
I heard his sharp intake of breath.
“You, you heard that?”
Still not facing him I nodded for a response. It wasn’t till I reached that padded window seat that I turned to face him. He was leaning against the grand piano in the center of the room.
“It’s Emily Dickinson. I quite like her way with words.”
I offered a small smile, one which he actually returned. He just looked at me, almost as if he could see through me. He let out a sigh before he stood on his feet, upright.
“Happily met, my lady and my wife!”
We weren’t going to talk then?
“That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.”
He took a few steps closer to me.
“That may must be, love, on Thursday next.”
He was on the other side of the row of desks separating the two of us; his eyes never leaving my own.
“What must be shall be.”
I noticed he was without script, much like myself.
“Come you to make confession to this father?”
I finally looked out the window, breaking our intense eye-contact.
“To answer that, I should confess to you.”
My thoughts turned to last night and the pain that I had felt when I thought of what I had done. The look on his face though, that haunted me all through the night. Mikey woke with every nightmare I had; we didn’t get much sleep last night.
“Do not deny to him that you love me.”
These two lines spoke far more truth than any other line this play has given me. Knowing the first, I’ve taken out of its context, yet if I must, I should confess to him how I feel. I could never deny I’ve fallen in love with him—never.
“I will confess to you that I love him.”
I could feel him standing right behind me; his body heat radiating from him in waves.
“So will ye, I am sure, that you love me.”
I felt my eyes well up with tears. Still refusing to glance from the window, I let them fall.
“If I do so, it will be of more price being spoke behind your back than to your face.”
I felt a hand touch my shoulder and I couldn’t help but to turn and face him. Showing him my tear stained face, eyes closed. As he spoke his next line he brought his right hand up to cup my face, wiping away my tears with his thumb.
“Poor soul, thy face is much abus’d with tears.”
I let out a shaky breath, and opened my eyes.
“The tears have got small victory by that, for it was bad enough before their spite.”
I turned out of his touch. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t practice lines with him so close to me, touching me. Not with him being so gentle when for so long he’s been nothing but cold and cruel. Then I heard it, his soft voice.
“What’s wrong Frankie?”