Worrisome Waiting Room

     I grudgingly dragged myself into the cold, dreary hospital waiting room and sat down; I was desperate to hear about my brother. I tapped my foot on the hard linoleum floor as my mind was bombarded with thoughts of serious injury, paralysation and death. To distract myself from the traumatizing thoughts, I closely speculated my surroundings.
     Suddenly I was aware of a not too distant wailing that I realized was coming from a woman who sat in the corner. A man was trying to comfort her, but it appeared she would not be consoled. She rocked back and forth on her heels, causing the aged flooring to creak.
     I forced my gaze away from the morbid sight and found myself staring into the eyes of a young girl, no older than 4. She looked away shyly, whipping her hair and causing the scent of shampoo and soap to drift my way. The girl went back to playing with the dismal array of toys that were offered and I continued to scan the room for someone: a doctor, a nurse, anyone with the slightest bit of information. I noticed my mother walking down the narrow hallway towards me and ran to her. She was crying.
     "What is it? Where is he? Is he alright?" I scrambled to get the words out as quickly as possible. But she just looked at me and shook her head, tears cascading down her face.
     I tried to reach for the door as the taste of bile crept into my mouth, but I didn't make it. Tears and vomit escaped my body at the same moment as I leaned over the trash can and emptied what little food I had in my stomach. The acidic stench lingered in my nose and the salt of my tears mixed with the existing bile in my mouth, making for a horrid concoction. My mother came and softly caressed my shoulders as I let her take me into her warm embrace. This is where I stayed for the next hour, enveloped in my mother's sweet, vanilla scent and her strong, but shaking, arms.
     A nurse came to collect us and lead us to the room that contained my brother. The hallway was off-white and smelt of rubbing alcohol and latex, but my thoughts were concentrated on the warmth of my mother's hand in mine. We came to the door and I watched the nurse reach out her hand and grab the handle that would reveal my brother. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply as the door creaked open.

I Have a Dream

      I have a dream that one day theatre will not run my life. I have a dream that I will be able to go home at three o'clock sharp with the rest of my peers instead of being stuck in the prison that is Princess Margaret for hours on end. I have a dream that I will not have to suffer the wrath of Mrs. Grant because Grease is not my top priority. That the lines of my character, Marty, will not invade my brain space, taking over my very thoughts. That I will not have to practice redundant dance moves instead of working on my math homework. That I will not have to complete yet another pointless assignment to boost up my theatre troupe average so I can achieve the coveted four credits.

 

     I no longer wish to dedicate my every movement, every thought, every breath to a play. I do not want to memorize every line, every dance move, every note of every song. I long for the day where every costume is fitted, every wig is flattering, every inch of make-up is carefully applied. But alas it cannot be.

 

    For my dream is unreasonable as long as the drama funds are insufficient. My dream is useless as long as the leads remain tone-deaf, uncoordinated nitwits. My dream is ludicrous as long as the play is performed in November because we are unprepared. We are exhausted. We are pressured and worst of all, we aren't even paid!

     Yet we will persevere because we love the sound of applause at the end of the show. We will endure the hardships of high school theatre because we love to serenade a crowd. We will pull through because we, unlike paid actors, do it entirely for the happiness it brings us.

     I know that one day it will finally be our last performance. I know that one day my friends and I will be the ones performing the grad skit at the cast party. I know that that day is November 23, 2013 and I know that it will break my heart. For all the grief it brings me, for all the endless rehearsals, lectures and arguments about who is in the wrong place, who said the wrong line, who forgot a simple dance move, theatre is the one thing I truly love; and I have a dream that I will be lucky enough to go through the trauma of being in a musical many more times.