And I Would Walk Five-Hundred Miles
Rushed
“Come on people, get it together. I know you can give more emotion in this scene. For God sakes, you all should have seen Equus when it first came out. This is a parody! We’re supposed to be making fun of a man who becomes aroused by horses! The concept is funny to begin with, but what I don’t understand is why all of you prats can’t just get this bloody scene!”
Mr. Holloway’s livid voice echoed in the auditorium. I just grimaced at how loud it was. One thing was for sure: he didn’t have projection problems.
“Now,” Mr. Holloway said, “You all will take, ‘I Can Love a Horse If I Want To’ from the top.”
I knew this play was going to bomb. He knew this play was going to bomb, but he was persistent. I had to attend practice every single day, as a part of my job. I was the assistant to Mr. Holloway, and he was my ticket to literary fame. I write. I write, novels, plays, random junk, but never the less I write. I left my home town to escape from the mediocrity of it all. I left to escape all of the conformists and conforming non-conformists. I left to get culture and be me.
Here, I wasn’t just Lydia Fassbender: the smart girl who left America to write. Oh no. I was… Lydia Fassbender: the smart girl who left America to write and is working with a really big director.
Okay, so I guess I left just to get a change of scene. I hated my home town. I left it to leave the idiots back there. I left as a nobody, and I promised I’d come back as a somebody.
“Oi, Lydia! You’re free to go home. I don’t need you here anymore,” Mr. Holloway said.
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Yes, of course I am. You can’t help me with this, really,” he said, pointing to the various people on stage. “You might as well, go home and get ready to pick up your old mate from the airport. Have fun on vacation.”
Mmhmm. Amidst all of the chaos of the musical spoof, Mr. Holloway decided I deserved a two week vacation. He said I deserved a break with all of the junk I had been doing (of course, much more eloquently than that). I was to go home, primp up, and pick up my old friend, Micah, from the airport.
Micah was one of my old friends from school. He lived in America, and was using some cash he had saved up from working for a computer and electronics shop to come and visit. I would be his personal tour guide to London, and he and I would get to catch up for the next two weeks. He would be staying at my house, not in a hotel, because I was nice, and I wasn’t going to charge my best friend to stay over.
I picked up my stuff, called back a goodbye to the cast, crew, and Mr. H, and walked out the theatre doors. I quickly started walking to the nearest tube station to go over to my flat, which was near the British Library. Minding everyone’s personal bubble, I rushed past everyone to get a seat. No such luck. I had to stand up the whole ride over. So, once I got to my destination, I excused myself, and stepped off the tube. I hurried upstairs to get my clothes ready, check the flight status, and start separating the sheets, pillows, towels, and all that other crap.
The computer showed exactly what I didn’t want it to show: “FLIGHT AHEAD OF SCHEDULE. FLIGHT 2374 WILL BE ARRIVING AT 2:30 PM” and it was 2:00 pm
Shit. I quickly freshened up my make up, changed my shirt from a ratty old Green Day t-shirt to a kimono top, brushed my teeth and hair, and ran out the door with my purse and a wad of cash in my hand. I quickly ran back downstairs and caught a taxi.
“Where to, miss?”
“Ummmm.. The Airport, please”
“Okay, then.”
We sped along, and I silently admired the busy city around me. The people, the clothes, the books, everything was amazing.
After a few minutes, the cabbie slowed the taxi to a stop. He smiled politely, told me the price, and I paid him while exiting quickly.
I walked into the airport, and checked the board for flight 2374: terminal D15.I turned to the right and started walking briskly. I brushed past families, tourists, and random airport personnel to get to terminal D15 at 2:40.
They should be out right now……
And almost as if on cue, I saw a tall man with long, dark, normally curly, but now straight hair walking towards me with a goofy grin on his face. He had a black button down shirt, dark jeans, and black vans on. He seemed even paler under the bright fluorescent lights of the airport. His dark eyes gleamed brightly, and his skin left a white aura around him.
He didn’t realize how much I had been dying to see him.
“Lydia?”
Mr. Holloway’s livid voice echoed in the auditorium. I just grimaced at how loud it was. One thing was for sure: he didn’t have projection problems.
“Now,” Mr. Holloway said, “You all will take, ‘I Can Love a Horse If I Want To’ from the top.”
I knew this play was going to bomb. He knew this play was going to bomb, but he was persistent. I had to attend practice every single day, as a part of my job. I was the assistant to Mr. Holloway, and he was my ticket to literary fame. I write. I write, novels, plays, random junk, but never the less I write. I left my home town to escape from the mediocrity of it all. I left to escape all of the conformists and conforming non-conformists. I left to get culture and be me.
Here, I wasn’t just Lydia Fassbender: the smart girl who left America to write. Oh no. I was… Lydia Fassbender: the smart girl who left America to write and is working with a really big director.
Okay, so I guess I left just to get a change of scene. I hated my home town. I left it to leave the idiots back there. I left as a nobody, and I promised I’d come back as a somebody.
“Oi, Lydia! You’re free to go home. I don’t need you here anymore,” Mr. Holloway said.
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Yes, of course I am. You can’t help me with this, really,” he said, pointing to the various people on stage. “You might as well, go home and get ready to pick up your old mate from the airport. Have fun on vacation.”
Mmhmm. Amidst all of the chaos of the musical spoof, Mr. Holloway decided I deserved a two week vacation. He said I deserved a break with all of the junk I had been doing (of course, much more eloquently than that). I was to go home, primp up, and pick up my old friend, Micah, from the airport.
Micah was one of my old friends from school. He lived in America, and was using some cash he had saved up from working for a computer and electronics shop to come and visit. I would be his personal tour guide to London, and he and I would get to catch up for the next two weeks. He would be staying at my house, not in a hotel, because I was nice, and I wasn’t going to charge my best friend to stay over.
I picked up my stuff, called back a goodbye to the cast, crew, and Mr. H, and walked out the theatre doors. I quickly started walking to the nearest tube station to go over to my flat, which was near the British Library. Minding everyone’s personal bubble, I rushed past everyone to get a seat. No such luck. I had to stand up the whole ride over. So, once I got to my destination, I excused myself, and stepped off the tube. I hurried upstairs to get my clothes ready, check the flight status, and start separating the sheets, pillows, towels, and all that other crap.
The computer showed exactly what I didn’t want it to show: “FLIGHT AHEAD OF SCHEDULE. FLIGHT 2374 WILL BE ARRIVING AT 2:30 PM” and it was 2:00 pm
Shit. I quickly freshened up my make up, changed my shirt from a ratty old Green Day t-shirt to a kimono top, brushed my teeth and hair, and ran out the door with my purse and a wad of cash in my hand. I quickly ran back downstairs and caught a taxi.
“Where to, miss?”
“Ummmm.. The Airport, please”
“Okay, then.”
We sped along, and I silently admired the busy city around me. The people, the clothes, the books, everything was amazing.
After a few minutes, the cabbie slowed the taxi to a stop. He smiled politely, told me the price, and I paid him while exiting quickly.
I walked into the airport, and checked the board for flight 2374: terminal D15.I turned to the right and started walking briskly. I brushed past families, tourists, and random airport personnel to get to terminal D15 at 2:40.
They should be out right now……
And almost as if on cue, I saw a tall man with long, dark, normally curly, but now straight hair walking towards me with a goofy grin on his face. He had a black button down shirt, dark jeans, and black vans on. He seemed even paler under the bright fluorescent lights of the airport. His dark eyes gleamed brightly, and his skin left a white aura around him.
He didn’t realize how much I had been dying to see him.
“Lydia?”
♠ ♠ ♠
I hope you guys weren't bored by this first chapter, but setting up was in order. :]Comments would be appreciated.
Thanks