The Theater

Something about the smell of the theater caused Malcolm’s heart to swell. He knew the smell was just dust from the stage curtains mixed with fresh lumber for the sets, but the scent felt like magic to him.
When he was ten, he traveled to Hollywood with his grandparents. The highlight of the trip was seeing Phantom of the Opera at the Pantages Theater. He could still remember his seat number, section D, seat 213, in the mezzanine. At first, he didn’t like the idea of having to go. He assumed it would be similar to plays at his elementary school. When the curtain rose, revealing real actors performing on stage, Malcolm was hooked. He knew acting was his calling.
In his junior year in high school, rumors were circulating that the theater department was producing a musical. When he heard it was his beloved Phantom of the Opera, he began practicing singing. He knew he was an okay singer, at least that’s what his mother told him, but he knew there was no way he could perform the lead role of the Phantom, even though he desperately wanted to.
Two months later, he sat patiently in his high school theater, reading and rereading script lines. No one knew he was there, not even his parents or friends. The outside community shunned theater kids. And his father, well, he wanted Malcolm to play baseball. Malcolm didn’t mind playing baseball, but it wasn’t his dream.
“Malcolm, Rena, and Sam could you three grace us with your presence on the stage?” called Mr. Archwise, the theater teacher.
Mr. Archwise was a typical high school theater teacher. Like most, he had learned his craft from Juilliard. Then went on to star in a few minor off-Broadway roles only to fade away into oblivion because something out of their control happened. In Mr. Archwise’s case, that translated into an affair with a producer’s wife.
Malcolm hurried to the stage, followed by Rena Mitchell, who he knew from his freshman English class. She dressed all in black, with black lipstick and heavy eyeliner. She never said much to anyone. Malcolm was shocked that she was trying out, let alone that she knew how to sing.
The other, Sam, he’d seen around a few times but never spoke to him. He knew that Sam had the lead role of Romeo in last year’s production of Romeo and Juliet. Malcolm was concerned because he knew Sam was a good actor. If Sam could sing, Malcolm knew he didn’t have a chance.
The three stood on stage, ready to recite their lines. Mr. Archwise raised his hand to gain everyone’s attention.
“This year, we’ll be performing Phantom of the Opera, as you may have read. Don’t be discouraged if I cut you. It isn’t because you’re not good, only not good for certain roles,” Mr. Archwise said as he handed out the first two pages of the script. “Malcolm, you’ll read for the Phantom.”
Malcolm’s heart leaped into his throat. He hadn’t prepared to read for Phantom. He was fully committed to the role of Raoul, the love interest, and knew his lines backward and forwards.
“But, Mr. Archwise, I was thinking I was more of a Raoul,” Malcolm mentioned.
Mr. Archwise hid his face behind the script. “Do you want to try out or not?” he asked. Malcolm nodded. “Then read – Christine, you start.”
After Malcolm finished, he crawled to a seat near the back of the theater. His entire time on stage was a blur to him. Malcolm didn’t know if he had recited his lines correctly or if he was a bumbling idiot. All he could do was stare at the curtain, hoping it would suddenly fall and the production would be canceled until a new one was installed.
“That’s it!” Mr. Archwise said in a booming voice. “You, get out of my theater! I never want to see your patronizing mug here again!”
Malcolm shot up, momentarily thinking Mr. Archwise was speaking to him. Instead, it was one of Malcolm’s baseball teammates, Troy, that the teacher was yelling at. Troy couldn’t pass up a moment to be a jerk or make a fool of himself. If Malcolm had been paying attention, he would have seen what Troy did to upset Mr. Archwise. However, he really didn’t care. He was too concerned by his performance.
“As for the rest, I’ll post callbacks on the door tomorrow. If you’re asked to return, round two will be to see if you can sing. Thank you all for trying out,” Mr. Archwise called out.
Malcolm grabbed his backpack and left.
That night, Malcolm tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep. All he could think about was the audition. What if Mr. Archwise called him back to sing, and he sucked? Was he a good singer? Before he knew it, the sun was shining through his bedroom window.
When he arrived at the theater door the following day, several students were crowded around the callback list. Then he noticed Troy leaning against the wall near the door. Troy sauntered over to Malcolm.
“Congrats. You made it to round two,” Troy said with a sneer. “I never pictured you as one of those types of guys,” he added as he walked on.
Malcolm frowned, confused. “Those types?” He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He continued to the list, seeing his name. His name was indeed on the callback list. That meant he had until Friday, two days, to prepare.
After the sixth period, Malcolm snuck away from his friends and went directly to the theater. He knew that Mr. Archwise didn’t have a sixth-period class and that the theater was typically empty by the end of the day. It provided Malcolm with the perfect opportunity to practice –as long as the janitor didn’t lock him inside.
He set his backpack on the corner of the stage. He then turned on the stage lights, not entirely, but just enough to see the first two rows of seats. After a few minutes of vocal warm-ups that he learned from online videos, he began to sing Music of the Night from the show.
His song vibrated throughout the theater, filling the space with the haunting melody. As he finished, he closed his eyes, letting the feeling wash over him.
A person clapping echoed across the stage. At first, he wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or amused. Instead, he returned backstage to flip on the house lights.
Near the middle of the theater sat a girl around his age with long curly brunette hair. She stood, continuing to clap.
“That was beautiful,” she called through cupped hands.
“Thanks,” Malcolm called back, waving for her to join him on the stage. “I didn’t expect anyone would be in here,” he admitted.
She came closer, looking up at him on the stage. “This is my hangout. It’s a great place to catch up on my reading.”
“In the dark?” Malcolm pointed out. She shrugged dismissively. “I don’t recall seeing you on campus before.”
“I keep a low profile,” she joked.
“I’m Malcolm, by the way,” he introduced.
“Emily,” she returned. “You’re trying out for the school play?” she asked.
Malcolm nodded shyly. “I don’t know if I have a chance, though. I hear Sam, the other guy I’m up against, has professional training.”
“Professional training doesn’t give you talent, and you have talent. I can tell. Though would you mind if I gave you a few pointers? My dad used to be an actor, and I remember a few things he’d do to prepare for a role.”
Malcolm shrugged. “Why not? What do I have to lose?”
He continued to practice with Emily until late that evening. If it weren’t for the janitor demanding he leave, he wouldn’t have realized the time – 9:00.
“My dad’s going to kill me!” Malcolm said in a rush as he grabbed his backpack. “Um, can I offer you a ride home?” he asked Emily, who seemed unconcerned by the time.
She shrugged, taking a seat on the edge of the stage. “No, I’ll walk home. Thanks. See you tomorrow?”
Malcolm paused, turning back to her. “Yeah, sure. I’d appreciate it.”
Throughout the next day, Malcolm’s mind was torn between the play and the desire to see Emily. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of her in the hallway, but he couldn’t find her anywhere.
He sat next to Dave in Biology, with whom he’d been friends since the second grade. Malcolm nudged him before class, then motioned to the theater.
“Hey, do you know a girl named Emily? She has long, curly brown hair. She’s kind of cute in a nerdy way,” Malcolm asked.
Dave shook his head. “No. Hey, I heard you were hanging out last night at the theater. What were you doing?”
Malcolm froze, unsure what to say. “English project. Why?” he asked.
“You know, it was built in the 1800s. There are rumors that the place is haunted.”
“By who?” Malcolm laughed as if it were the funniest thing he had ever heard.
Dave shrugged. “Theater students, I suppose. I heard about this guy who took a header off the catwalk. He fell sixty feet straight to the stage. They say he looked like a watermelon splattered all over the place.”
“That’s messed up,” Malcolm grumbled.
“What’s messed up, Mr. Thompson?” Ms. Andrews, their Biology teacher, asked impatiently as she stood at the whiteboard.
“Nothing. Sorry.” Malcolm sunk into his seat.
He darted out the classroom door as the six-period bell rang. He ran so fast through the crowds of students that he considered trying out for track for a moment. The moment passed. When he arrived at the theater, the doors were locked. He tried several times to open them. Then he remembered that Mr. Archwise had taken a personal day.
“NO!”
The door flew open, and without thinking, Malcolm rushed inside. Once inside, he paused, scanning the dark theater for who might have opened the door.
“Hello?” he called with slight anxiety, remembering what Dave had told him about the theater being haunted.
“Hey,” Emily said from behind him, nearly sending Malcolm through the ceiling. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to–“
Malcolm bent at the waist, clutching his chest as he caught his breath. “No, it’s all good. Hey, I looked for you today, but no one seemed to know you,” he mentioned.
She shyly grinned. “Yeah, well, I’m easily forgettable.”
He grew closer, looking deeply into her eyes. For some reason, he couldn’t wait to look into her eyes again. “I think you’re very memorable,” he flirted.
She turned away, grinning. “Thanks, I think. Anyway, I was thinking about a way to improve your stance on stage.”
“Stance?” he questioned, snapping into actor mode.
For several hours, he continued to practice singing as Emily watched from the audience. Malcolm paused mid-verse in his song, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. This time he remembered to set an alarm to remind him to leave. The alarm was set for 7:30.
“I need to go. My dad is already upset with me for staying out late last night,” he mentioned.
“One more time, from the top?” she requested.
He was about to say no, but then she gave him a cute pleading look that he couldn’t resist. “Okay.”
She relaxed back in her seat as he began to sing once more. This time, as he finished, he heard someone else clap. The hands had the sound of someone older and masculine.
“Bravo, Mr. Thompson. Bravo!” Mr. Archwise called from the rear of the theater. “There’s no need to audition tomorrow. I had a feeling you’d be our perfect Phantom!”
Stunned and baffled, Malcolm climbed down from the stage, searching for Emily.
“Where did she go?” Malcolm asked.
Mr. Archwise scanned the theater, perplexed. “Who?”
“Emily. She was sitting right there,” Malcolm said, pointing to the seat she had sat in.
Mr. Archwise started to say something but paused as he thought about his words. “Brunette girl with curly hair?”
Malcolm nodded. “Yeah.”
Mr. Archwise took a deep breath. “Uh, oh. Emily died about twenty years ago while acting in Midsummer Night’s Dream. I was informed it was a freak accident involving a prop tree. My predecessor wouldn’t go into details about the incident.”
Malcolm squinted as if the mere act of squinting would help him understand. “So, what are you saying?”
“You, dear Hamlet, have been ghosted,” Mr. Archwise joked. “She pops up now and again. However, I wouldn’t tell too many people, or they may question your sanity.”
“I want to be an actor. My sanity is already in question,” Malcolm joked.
“I hear you there. Anyway, be here Monday after class, and bring that marvelous singing voice.”
For the next three months, Malcolm practiced his singing and lines every chance he could. His father came around, at least enough to let him follow his dream for one year. He even agreed to attend the performance on opening night.
On opening night, Malcolm had so many butterflies in his stomach that he felt he’d never eat again. He stepped onto the stage, the lights beaming into his eyes, making it impossible to see the audience. All Malcolm could hear was the buzzing of silent text messages and low coughs. He couldn’t speak – his feet heavy as if glued to the stage.
“Go on! You can do it!” A voice called to him.
He glanced to stage left, where Emily stood, encouraging him onward. Malcolm smiled, suddenly feeling a boost of confidence. He continued out onto the stage, fulfilling his childhood dream.