“Isn't this exciting?” chirped Charlotte to Claire who smiled nervously back.
“Yeah,”said
Topping, “I think it's great you have gotten into this spoken word thing. It's so cool.”
Claire
blushed, but not for long as her mind refocused on memorizing her words.
Ned sat
beside Claire, and Bartholomew settled into a seat behind Ned and put his hand
reassuringly on Claire's shoulder.
Claire didn't acknowledge the support but kept rehearsing silently.
The theater
was packed. Except for a handful of
performance veterans and a few parents, it was wall to wall young people. Busy voices buzzed as the vibe of good energy
and hormones pushed to the ceiling. The
room darkened, the crowd hushed only slightly and a middle-aged Latina woman
walked to the mic.
“Welcome to Slam104!” A cheer went up from the crowd. The woman on stage waved at people in the
crowd she knew and waited for the cheer to come down. “I am 'Rissa...” another cheer, “and I want to thank you all for coming out
tonight to help us celebrate the power of our voices.” Another cheer went up from the frothing
rolling and boiling sea of youth.
“Tonight we have some amazing talent lined up for you. Some are veterans, some have been performing
for a short while and some will perform for the first time. At Slam104 we work to bring a voice to those
who often don't have one and to those who need one. If you are interested in becoming a part of
our community, you can talk with me afterward or talk with Tony Curtis. Tony, stand up.”
A big man
in the front row wearing a colorful sweater and a leather hat stood up and
raised his arm to the crowd. A cheer
went up. He sat down and 'Rissa
continued. “Alright, let's get this
party started!” A big cheer. “Let's give it up for our first performer who
comes from right here in this neighborhood, JoJo!” Clapping and cheering greeted a young petite
woman to the stage.
“I am JoJo
and I am sad this day – and every day.
Cuz when I
walk down my street I wonder which way I should turn.
Turn like
you, turn like me, turn like those who don't want people to turn.
All I know
is I must turn. So I turn and I turn and I turn until I....”
JoJo's
performance continued and faded in and out of Claire's consciousness. “Turn, I turn, must turn,” thought Claire's
brain. Next up was a young man named
Mouse. He wore thick-framed glasses and
a cotton print flower shirt. His
performance was punctuated by rhythmically yelling “burn it down, build it up!”
fifty times and then bowing his head and leaving the stage. The crowd cheered loudly. “Burn it up, build it down,” seeped into
Claire's brain.
The next
several performances drifted through Claire's internal perfomance. She’d ocassionally snag a line or phrase on
the rough surfaces of her concentration.
Her friends were enjoying themselves.
Topping and Charlotte seemed to be having the most fun, yelling and
cheering for most of the performers.
Bartholomew liked some of the performances more than others and would
lean forward and say something to Ned after most of them. Ned responded by nodding in agreement or by
laughing. Ned, for his part, found most
of the performances a bit tedious. He
couldn't understand why everybody was yelling their lines. They all seemed angry.
Tony Curtis
walked up to the mic. The theater
hushed. In a strong calm voice he began:
“I am a
man.
Sure as you
are what you are.
I am large,
powerful. Do I intimidate you? Do I inspire you? I am a man.
I look over
this crowd and I see my past. I used to
dream, too.
Yes, I used
to dream, but I do not anymore. My past
is no comfort. I am a man.
I used to
dream of a Land of Promise, a place called Hope.
My dreams
have left me empty, though many have come true.
I am a man.
I see you
all taking the flame into your hearts, seeking to cross the Jordan.
I take
pride in your hope and your passion and... I... lift... you... up. I am a man.
My time has
passed, I no longer carry the flame.
Some would
call me cynical, some lazy. Perhaps I'm
jus' tired y'all. I am a man.
I am not
angry, I am not haunted, I am not lost.
I know who
I am. I no longer struggle and
question. I am a man.
I have
grown beyond the struggle you now take up – the struggle you use to define
yourself.
yourself.
When I look
at you I do not see 'the future,' I see what has always been and always
will
be. I am a man.
be. I am a man.
I see a
school of fish in a stream, one of many streams full of fish all heading to an
ocean full of even more fish.
ocean full of even more fish.
The ocean
you swim in is not made of water. It is
made of Love. I am a man.
To struggle
is to sharpen one's mind. To love is to
soften one's heart.
Youth is
drawn to struggle, but the Elders understand the true life is of love. I am
a man.
a man.
It has been
a long road to where I am and deviations were part of the journey.
Your
journey is just beginning, what deviations lay ahead no one knows. I am a man.
Sure as you
are what you are.
I am a
man.”
Tony
stepped away from the mic and his footsteps rang through the theater as he
walked to his seat. The silence lingered
like a thick soft frost clinging to tree branches. Little murmurs began to patter through the audience. 'Rissa came forward and leaned into the
mic. “Now, we have a first timer,
Claire.”
There was
tepid applause as people were still inside Tony's performance. Claire's friends, especially Charlotte,
patted her on the shoulders and gave her encouragement as she rose from her
seat. Tony Curtis smiled and gave her a
thumbs up as she made her way to the stage.
The mic was just a bit too high for Claire. She tried to adjust it but it wouldn't
budge. She cleared her throat and raised
up on her toes. She began:
“I, um, I,”
Claire flicked the hair out of her eyes and went flatfoot. “I mean, I can't imagine...oh, okay.” Claire searched for the first few words of
her performance. She was nervous but if
she could remember the first sentence she would be fine. Back up on her toes, she began:
“I can't
imagine what it will be like once this planet is done with us.
When I
heard the bluebird call, its sweet voice singing in my heart,
I loved
this world with its beauty and majesty and...”
Claire went
flatfoot her eyes looking inside her head for clarity. Back on her toes.
“...its
sweet voice singing in my heart,
I loved
this world with its beauty, majesty and heart.
The trees
sway in the wind and call my name.
Claire, Claire, Claire.”
Topping
adjusted his seat. Ned was heard giving
a sigh. Bartholomew sat quiet, his mind
drifting off to kale. The air in the
theater shifted, Tony Curtis' performance was very quickly gone and replaced
with something writhing in pain.
Charlotte beamed at Claire, devouring her every letter, her every
movement.
“I and the
world, this planet, are one.
You can't
tell me anything different. I know it is
true.
Chickens
and I have a million year history. We
speak the same language.”
Ned sunk
down in his chair. A quiet “ba-gaack”
was heard from the back of the room. A
few people laughed lightly. Claire did
not hear, the driver and pushers were in and heads down in this bobsled of a
performance.
“But they
did not care for you, oh Earth. No.
The Man
dissed you and choked you and raped you.
And his
henchmen and that stupid Mayor Dick laugh and spit on you.
They think
we cannot see, but I can! And I can hear
you, too!
Do you hear
me Mayor Dick? I can hear you.
I can hear
you like an atom bomb.
I can hear
you Mayor Dick! You are ruining the
thing I love!
You are
ruining me!”
Claire's
voice cracked. She was breathing heavy
and paused to compose herself... she did
not pause long enough.
“I HATE
YOU!! MAYOR DICK!!
I HATE
YOU!!! YOU ARE KILLING ME!!!
STOP
IT!! STOP!!”
Tears were
streaming down Claire's face, her nose was running. Her eyes pleaded with the audience to come to
her side, to join her in shouting down the horror that was Mayor Dick. The crowd was quiet.
“Remember
the chickens,” Claire said and left the stage.
She did not go back to her chair but walked out the side door and
collapsed on the loading dock of the theater.
Claire could not catch her breath and heaved heavy sobs into the dark
night sky.
“Cawww!” said an old friend. “Chickens?
What about me? Remember me?”
Claire's
mouth was so full of embarrassment she could not speak. So the crow did.
“Child! Still can't find your bridge, can you? You have no home. You have no...cawww!”
The crow
melted into the night as Charlotte came out the door. She said nothing and came to sit next to
Claire. Charlotte wrapped her in her arms –
and her friendship. There they sat, the
both of them. Both crying. A moment later, the guys were there. Bartholomew and Topping hopped down off the
dock and stood in front of Claire and Charlotte and joined the hug. Ned paused.
He stared blankly at her while his eyes looked inside his own head for
clarity. Then he knelt down, kissed
Claire on top of the head and put his arms around her. Cacooned in the flesh and bone of
friendship, Claire let herself melt into a blubbering puddle of anguish.
__________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________
Claire Speaks Out is the 25th story in The Book of Bartholomew.
The story is written by Mark Granlund and illustrated by Meghan Hogan
Claire tries spoken word and ends up needing more than a little help from her friends.
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