Heat Wave: Plattsburgh

The Following Week “Jace O’Dell!” The booming voice of the theater director, Connie Dixon, caused Jace to stiffen in his seat in the dark theater. His jaw tightened. He scrubbed a fist over his goatee. Then he blotted his damp palms on his pants and stood, his heart striking hard behind his ribcage. His leg jiggled as if he was learning how to dance. He swallowed and descended the stairs towards the main stage. The director said, “On your way up to the stage, grab one of the sheets of paper on the table to your left. I want you to read the part of Puck.” As Jace walked past the table he picked up one of the loose-leaf pamphlets as instructed and padded up the stairs to the center of the stage. Stepping into a pool of warm stage lights, Jace stared out into a semi-dark theater, his legs shaky beneath him and his breathing shallow. The edges of the paper trembled in his hands. Once he was in place, the director said, “Whenever you’re ready, read from the dialogue highlighted at the top of the page.” When Jace looked up at the director’s voice, he saw the shadowy outlines of student faces staring back at him. Jace looked at the page and skimmed the dialogue in front of him. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and started to read the first line, “If we shadows have offended think but this, and all is mended—” The director yelled, “Louder!” Jace clenched the sheet of paper, leaving sweaty fingerprints in the margins. Heat prickled the nape of his neck. He brushed perspiration from his brow. “I, um—” Connie Dixon said, “Project your voice, Mr. O’Dell. So the people in the back of the theater can hear you.” A few ghostly chuckles from the student body echoed off the walls of the theater. “I’m sorry. I, um…I’m a little nervous.” Silence. Then the director asked him in her full-bodied voice, “Is this your first time auditioning, Mr. O’Dell?” More giggles. Female heckling, somewhere to his right, hidden in the shadows. Nervously tapping his foot, he answered, “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. I don’t know how you want me to read it.” In an authoritative, but assuring voice the director said, “Don’t worry about inflection. Just read the lines plainly. Stand up straight. Strong voice. Take it from the beginning.” Jace sighed and shifted in his New Balances. He felt sweat crawling down the sides of his face. Drawing a deep breath, he brushed the sweat away with one quick stroke of his hand. He pulled himself up to his full height and filled his lungs with one last intake of air. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. O’Dell,” the director said, eliciting a murmur of chuckles in the audience behind her. Lightheaded, Jace blurted, “If we shadows have offended think but this, and all is mended.” He paused, raised the sheet of paper closer his face. After a closer inspection, he continued, “That you have but slumbered here while these visions did appear—” “Stop!” His heart hammering, Jace froze. He looked up and out into the theater towards the director. “Mr. O’Dell, you’re reading too quickly. Slow down. Take a breath.” Jace inhaled, then exhaled. He felt dizzy. Sweat pooled under his arms. Embarrassed, he sauntered towards the stairs. Descending, he mumbled, “I’m sorry I wasted your time.” Connie Dixon rose from where she sat in the first row of seats. “Mr. O’Dell, please do not leave.” In a calmer, more placating voice, she added, “Come back.” Midway up the stairs, to the theater doors, Jace stopped and turned to her. A chattering of voices from others in the room unnerved him and prompted him to heed the director’s orders. Slowly, he made his way down the carpeted stairs to the edge of the stage. He stopped at the bottom of the stage stairs, thinking about whether to turn and walk away from this embarrassing moment, or pursue and embrace the new experience. Even if he was not cast in a role, at least he had tried. Taking center stage again, he turned to the director and said, “It’s really hot in here and these words are foreign to me.” He paused, exhaled, and continued, “I just wanted to try something new before I left for summer break.” He shook his head, looked down at his feet, nervously, then up at the director. “I’ve never been in a theater performance before. I thought it would be interesting and fun.” He released a slow breath while waving a hand in the air. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this isn’t the fun I’m looking for.” Connie laughed. “Mr. O’Dell, think of it this way. Reading Shakespeare is like reading a great poem.” She paused and sauntered to the edge of the proscenium. “Slow down. Take your time. Let the words tell the story.” Jace bit his bottom lip, mopped the gloss of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and shifted uneasily under the hot lights. Here goes nothing.