980Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8cdg2cbOYd
980Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAXgxSES5Aw
It’s a scene from the hunt or it’s a random drawn out scene for a damsel-in-distress movie. Horseback, weaving through rocks and dodging trees as bullets of rain strike down over your hands while you hold onto the horse’s reins for dear life. A flash of lightning startles the horse, all its weight thrown back on its rear legs as it stands. You struggle to hold on, but you know you have a princess to save. She’s waiting, waiting in the highest tower. She waits; forever waiting against the odds, waiting to feel your lips when you give her true love’s first kiss. If that’s what it means to be a prince in shining armor, I fail on the criteria.
“Kenji, come over here,” says Mrs. Martin, wagging a finger. I jump off the stage, script in hand. She looks at me closely, like a doctor examining one’s physical symptoms. “Look, you are a prince that’s going to save a young maiden from eventual doom. Put more…I don’t know, put more emotion behind the acting. All I hear up there is this and that. No. I want to hear a raw voice, a voice determined to bring back his love. Can you do that for me?” Mrs. Martin gives me one of those looks that she only gives to beginner students. I look away.
“Sure.” I take a glimpse at my script and try to picture myself saying at least half of these lines with emotion. In the end, I can’t imagine myself saying a quarter of these lines. Why did I get chosen for this part? I can’t be the first to admit that I’m afraid of major roles. There’s a huge difference between being under a spotlight, being the one that doesn’t get the light, and being the person that directs the lights. In my shoes, I would rather take the other two options.
The class takes a break and sets up the stage for the next scene; the prince finally meets the princess. I turn my script page and, I’m having a hard time searching for white space. It seems that Mrs. Martin wanted to squish as many lines as she could onto one page if she didn’t want to tip over the how-much-paper-you-print-per-week-rule.
I glance up from my script and see Jean talking with some guys as she helped set up the stage props. Oh, how I would love to trade places right now. A sharp stab picks at my brain while I think. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I take a sip of water from the fountain outside the classroom. For good measures, I gathered some of the water into one of my hands and splashed it onto my face. Strays drops are stuck to my glasses like stars, and some roll down like droplets on a rainy day. Really, I wouldn’t mind keeping my face wet for the rest of the period. It’s not because I want to be in-character, but it takes my mind off from the character I’m forced to play.
I thought about last week when Jean came to visit me while I was sick. The sharp stab is still in my head but duller than before. Pinching my nose again, I shake my head and resume my position in the theatre room.
“Alright everyone, prince and princess come to the stage,” Mrs. Martin says, initiating the start of the orchestra with commands and hand gestures from her seat. A girl taller than me—and that’s saying something—leaps onto the stage. She stares me down and clicks her tongue when she catches sight of me.
“Dry your face.” She throws down a towel. She says some other things, but my ears and eyes are focusing on something else. Right behind the princess was Jean, and her eyes caught mine. She looks away, flinching when a girl asks her a question about lighting. Ladies and gentlemen, Jean should be awarded a Grammy for spectacular acting for being a jerk.
“Earth to Nguyen,” tall girl says, snapping her fingers. My attention snaps to her. “Whatever.” She rolls her eyes. “Why’s a sick kid like you playing the lead role?” Trust me Sister—include Z-snap formation—I wondered the same thing when Mrs. Marin gave me the role. “You’re more clueless than usual, little A-student.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Let’s get this over with. I’m already getting a migraine.” After the scene was established and the lighting was made, Mrs. Martin gave a brief summary on the scene before gesturing to tall girl and me to start. The spotlight moved to where tall girl was and she began her lines. I read back my lines, but I knew my voice was lacking that raw emotion Mrs. Martin wanted.
It’s kind of weird because I’m known to be emotional when I’m sick, at least that what’s Jean says. Jean… There are lines to be delivered, so I can’t be distracted now but the lines look blurry to me. I adjust my glasses, but it doesn’t change anything. I don’t hear tall girl’s voice anymore. What was her real name? Was it Melissa or something? Darn, she must be waiting for me to say something. I can’t see the words in front of me.
I feel my hands shake and I’m biting into my bottom lip. I’m getting emotional for no reason, but it’s natural since I’m sick—at least that’s what Jean says. Uh, Jean! It’s natural to feel ill when you recover from a sickness, Jean. Why? Just thinking about Jean, just uttering that name under my breath releases something from inside me.
“You must be sick. You’ve probably been sick ever since I came back. Questioning me, putting me in weird situations, dressing up as a girl to help me, getting touchy and feely every now and then… Kenji, I think we should play our fighting game now,” Jean says, sitting on top of a pillow cushion. She tosses me her game boy. “Help me defeat the boss.”
I can only see a fraction of Jean since my bangs are covering my eyes. I don’t know if she’s dressed normally or if she is disguised as a guy. Honestly, I don’t care. I grip her game boy hard and throw it down on the floor, the force shifting the game’s screen into static. The next thing I know, Jean has a hold on my collar and lifts me up.
“The heck did you just do? I didn’t even save my progress.”
“How can I help you?” My voice is small but it grows, and my already sore throat is getting sorer. “How can I help you? Answer me that, at least! How can I help a friend that’s been hiding from me? How far can I help you before you shun me in the dark?” SMACK! Jean doesn’t punch me—I’m probably not worth it—she slaps me instead. The impact shifts my bangs and I finally see her. She isn’t wearing a wig or contacts. Jean’s herself for once, but tears are half way down her face. She goes on the offensive and I grab my pillow to use as a shield. Never has a pillow been so trashed up after a friendly fight.
I guess the saying is true. A bad past will always haunt you, but it doesn’t explain why my vision is blurry? Before I even realized it, someone had carried me off the stage and placed me onto one of the audience seats. All I see are blurred faces and mixed voices. A sweaty hand feels my forehead and someone runs off somewhere, probably to get me a drink of water. Maybe it wasn’t the cold and rain that made me sick. Maybe it wasn’t the legendary cooties from elementary. The fight with Jean, my best friend, might’ve caused this.
Someone tips water into my mouth and I drink, coughing up the cold liquid as soon as it hits my throat. No. Maybe I’m more like Jean than I originally thought. Comparing and contrasting myself with her slowly brings my sense back from the brink-of-no-return. Mrs. Martin lets me sit out for the rest of the period while Jean plays the part of the prince, my part. I know she dreads the role, but fear-training and acting skills keep the anxiety off her face. Tall girl says her lines, tapping her foot like a metronome. Jean barely spills two words before cowering behind one of the stage hands, knees shaking. I guess my fear-coaching is paying off since she isn’t balling her hands into fists at the moment. That cracked a smile onto worn my face. Somehow and some way, I felt a little better.
“Mrs. Martin, let Jean play as the princess and give me another chance on the prince,” I say, my voice so low that Mrs. Martin could barely hear it. Without waiting for a reply, I get up, stumble around, and jump onto the stage like in those action movies. I gesture to tall girl—I’m sure her name is Melissa—to go backstage, and I take Jean’s script, waltzing her back under the spotlight. Twirling Jean around a few times—I guess I forgot that she’s a guy right now—I bring her hand to my lips, faking a “kiss”.
“As Prince of the Gale, I have some words that must be said to the love that will soon be in my arms,” I whisper, ignoring the swoons I heard. Maybe after listening to Jean rap during fear-coaching has turned me into a poet, whatever the gibberish rappers rapped these days. I know Jean doesn’t want to pretend or act with me, but she hides the expression well. Jean and I take our places and Mrs. Martin gestures us to begin.
The scene was set. Imagine to myself: a cold, lonely room inside a tall tower, a straw bed in the corner, a dying candle light flickering by the window, and a fair princess, stunned by my arrival. I close my eyes, imagining myself wearing drenched, muddy clothes while my hair was a mess. Jean’s a fair lady. Jean’s a fair lady. Jean’s a fairy lad… No, but that would be funny though.
“My dear, I have traveled a long way. Through woods, and horses and beauties throughout and yet, I traveled here not by fate’s design.” Jean raises an eyebrow as she snatches the princess’ lines from Melissa, aka tall girl. Fear-training was going well for Jean didn’t even flinch when Melissa muttered some nasty things under her breath. Jean knows what I’m saying isn’t on the script, but she plays along.
“Stop with the idiotic talk, horseback rider. Will you save me from my bonds or shall I steal off in the horizon on your trusty steed?” Jean’s no longer a princess in my mind’s eye but a dragon, slowly guarding away the gold she wanted found but not used. For myself, I’m no longer in a tower but in a desolate castle with a rusty sword and a dragon to boot. I steady my hands and make my first strike, my first attempt to grab some gold.
“I’m here to settle old ties from days of old. I’m here to pay privilege and ask for forgiveness from the wrongs of yore. For a dragon-tongued princess and I aren’t too different after all. For it seems, you hide inside a tower to block off the goodness of reality and hearts. I build up walls to secure the treasures I refuse to let others know about. We both hide something vulnerable from the outside world, why can’t you see that?” Score! I got a handful of gold from between Jean’s scaly wings. Steam issues out of Jean’s nose as she rears up on her hind legs and breathes down a thick coating of blue flames.
“We’re nothing alike. I hide and wait for a love that will take me without question.” She emphasized the last two words and stomped on the floor. Dragon Jean reveals her fangs at me before spreading her wings to fly. Looking around, I grab a rope of chain and lasso it around Jean’s hind leg. With the hot gold releasing its stored heat from the blue flames, the chain burned and scarred my hands and legs but I climb. I crawl up Dragon Jean’s back, hanging onto a back spike when Dragon Jean took to the air.
“I’m sorry for not being the one you’ve waited for. I’m sorry for making you relive a hot past. I’m sorry.” I scratch my head, trying to look at Jean straight in the eye. Her bright eyes were firm but soft around the edges, so I press on. “We…We never each other long enough. There used to be a bright young girl back in my village, my home. She disappeared from village life for ten years, ten nerve-wrecking years. When…When I heard that a young maiden was living in this tower, I thought—I hoped—it was that same girl from ten years before. Whatever misfortune that set you here, I’m willing to break you free. I…I might not be the ideal prince you want, heck; I’m just a horse breeder. People say I’m a prince because…I’m willing to go far and beyond to find the person I’m looking for.”
In my mind, I see myself take out my rusty sword and stab it through Dragon Jean’s back. Dragon Jean screeches with agony and spins into a land. The force shatters the ground and forest, and I lie like a mangled corpse under Dragon Jean’s wings. Somehow, I survive and see Dragon Jean dying…dying.
In real life, Dragon Jean dying is equivalent to me seeing Jean’s eyes water. She’s lost. She breaks down. Jean isn’t the only thing that breaks down, however. In my mind, knight-me hears the snarls of wolves. Dragon Jean raises her head to spit out fire, but her life is quickly leaving her. My village wants me to kill Dragon Jean for all the troubles she’s done, but I can’t it in my heart to carry out the deed. Why should a misunderstood creature die in a misunderstood way? Instead of carving Dragon Jean’s heart out for proof, I fight off the wolves.
In real life, that’s equivalent to me pushing Jean out of harm’s way. At that very moment, that very second, and that very breath, a stage spotlight comes crashing down. All the girls jump and scream. All the guys check how fast their heart is beating. The stage crew gave each other frantic looks, wondering who did it.
Okay, maybe moving that fast wasn’t a good idea. I managed to save Jean but got my shoulder busted up. I couldn’t move my shoulder, and my rapid breathing to calm down the pain wasn’t working either. I turn my head around, and Jean has already disappeared—probably to shed tears without anyone looking at her funny. Guys aren’t the emotional ones, but on sick and recovery days, I’m the exception.
I didn’t really know what happened next since my reality is blurred once again. However, in my mind’s eye, I could see everything perfectly. I see a dead Dragon Jean with a smile over her lips, and the gold I had on me transformed into marigolds.
I remembered what Mrs. Martin said once, during a slow day in theatre class. “You know you’re living a true fairy tale with you see two realities.” I guess I was living my own true fairy tale.
