This is about all the response I can muster up.
“What do you want?”
I’m thinking, Rob Berger’s totally hot bod. Until I discover I’m at the front of the line where the nondescript middle-aged woman behind the cash register patiently awaits my order.
“Two bacon double cheeseburgers, small fry, and a medium Pepsi,” I tell her, polite as punch. Followed by, “Please.” And then I’m right back to my staring.
“I’ll see you in Drama,” Rob promises, catching my eye. “Don’t be late.”
Again, I’m gonna wet myself!
I watch his every move while he picks up his double Whopper with cheese, large fry, and large pop at the opposite end of the counter. As he slips away joining his jock friends at a booth in the corner, I take in one final glimpse of Rob Berger’s totally hot ass…5th hour can not come soon enough, you know what I mean?
By the time 1:00 PM rolls around I’ve endured about as much of “Call me Hal” and his sweat dripping as I possibly can. The second the bell rings, thru the Choir room door I fly, like a bat outta hell.
“Brad!”
I’m about to enter the auditorium across the hall when I hear a voice call out my name. I turn to find fellow Drama Queer, Liza Larson, dressed in her uniform—black spandex pants, and black leather jacket complete with fringe. Her bottle-blond hair is perfectly feathered, and her signature penciled-on spider sits dangling from the web its spun in the corner of Liza’s left eye.
“What’s up?” I ask, slightly outta breath.
Liza gives me a look. “You gotta pee or something?”
“No.”
I can’t help but wonder why she’s questioning me like this. Until I realize I’m hopping back and forth on one foot like I gotta find the nearest boys’ room. Really, I just wanna get into the auditorium ASAP and save a seat for somebody…Guess who?
“Wanna head out to Skid Row real quick?”
In addition to being one of my Senior classmates, Liza is also my post-Chorale/pre-Advanced Drama smoking buddy.
“I think I’m gonna pass,” I decide, even though I can’t believe the words just came outta my mouth. Mind you, I’m not a Burn-Out myself. I don’t partake in the whole Mötley Crüe, knee-high moccasin boot worn over tucked-in tight jeans-wearing culture. I just love to smoke.
“Your loss,” Liza sighs, sauntering away.
For a second, I think about running after her as she heads down the hall and out the side doors. For the life of me, I can’t figure out who started calling the spot across the street from HPHS Skid Row. They didn’t see Little Shop of Horrors, I guess. Me and my friends used to always call it The Log. Until we discovered it’s really a downed telephone pole laying on its side. Regardless, it’s in front of the Blue Building, and where all the badass Burn-Outs go to do their thing.
Unfortunately, I got other business to attend to.
“This seat’s saved!”
My fellow fire-haired Senior, Audrey Wojczek, just tried to join me in the third row of recently reupholstered auditorium chairs, complementing the newly painted walls: maroon and gray, respectively.
“Who you hoarding it for?” she asks, as if it’s any of her business.
“Um…” I start to say. “Somebody.”
Aud turns her head slightly to one side, furrows her brow, and purses her lips. “Somebody who?”
Thank God I’m saved by the ringing bell, freeing me from having to succumb to this infernal interrogation. Only I don’t see Rob Berger anywhere.
What the fuck?
Audrey takes a seat beside Tuesday Gunderson, a slightly overweight Senior girl with stringy black hair, just as our Drama teacher calls out, “Dayton!”
“Right here, Dell.”
I give a wave in case Mr. Dell’Olio can’t pick out my Howdy Doody hair in this low-level light from where he sits on the lip of the stage, scratching his receding hairline.
“Where’s your scene partner, Mr. Berger?”
I look around the auditorium again. Finally, the place is starting to look like a real theatre. My first year in Drama, you should’ve seen it…Torn curtains, lights that didn’t light, graffiti spray-painted on the backstage wall by some Class of ’86 breakdancer dudes.
“Not sure,” I sadly report. “I seen him at lunch.”
How am I gonna make it thru the next fifty-eight minutes when I’m wracked with worry?
“Right here, Coach!”
All heads turn towards the deep bass reverberating thru the room. I don’t know why Rob insists on calling Dell Coach. Maybe because he plays a lot of sports. If you ask me, it’s fucking charming as all get-out.
“You’re late, Berger!” Dell shouts, taking on a tone only a Varsity football player could relate to.
I can’t say I’m attracted to Mr. Dell’Olio—he’s at least thirty-five. But whenever he talks to Rob, it’s like he becomes a totally different person. Like maybe when he was in high school, he always wanted to be a jock, but instead he got stuck being a Drama Queer. I never realized it before, but it’s sorta hot the way he butches it up.
“Sorry, Coach.” Like an embarrassed little boy, Rob’s cheeks burn bright red. “It won’t happen again.”
When I see him looking around for somewhere to park his totally hot ass, in my best stage whisper I hiss, “Berger…. I saved you a seat.”
Rob nods and smiles.
Scootching in beside me, he puts an arm around my shoulder and gives it a manly squeeze. “Thanks, Bradley.”
I think I’m in love.
Let’s Hear It for the Boy
“Maybe he’s no Romeo
But he’s my loving one-man show…”
—Deniece Williams
The only thing worse than being a Band Fag is…Being a Drama Queer.
At least according to the Hillbilly High Handbook.
I see why being in Band can be viewed as sorta lame. I mean, there you are, wearing this wool uniform along with this funny plumed hat and spats, stomping around the football field while all the Cool Kids sit up in the stands enjoying the game. Not to mention having to wake up at the butt crack of dawn for practice. Plus giving up your weekends to march in some stupid parade somewhere.
But how can Drama possibly be considered geeky? You perform plays in front of an audience of admiring fans. What person in their right mind wouldn’t enjoy the applause? I know I do. Why does everybody think movie stars are totally cool, but not the ones on stage?
Back in 10th grade when I decided I wanted to be an actor, I didn’t realize this would be the case. I totally thought cheerleaders such as Shelly Findlay and Betsy Sheffield or Vikettes like Lynn Kelly and Angela Andrews would be trying out for Drama Club. Maybe even a few football players like Tom Fulton. I remember he seemed to enjoy himself performing in this play we presented back in 7th grade in Ms. Lemieux’s class.
Well, it wasn’t so much a play as it was a skit, but I did have the lead opposite Tom’s then-girlfriend, Marie Sperling. I guess maybe it wasn’t real acting since I didn’t have any lines or anything—it was a silent skit. I did get to soft-shoe to Scott Joplin’s “The Entertainer” as this strobe light flashed around us the entire time, making everything look all Charlie Chaplin-esque.