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A monologue from the play by Ronnie Burkett
And just as I was about to give up, there was a miracle. There was a school play. See my high school had this drama teacher,
Mr. Garfinkel, who apparently had studied at a lesser institution of higher learning in a suburb of Toronto that made him like this total theatre expert.
He was always doing collectives and student-created work. That‟s just a step up from musicals and murder mysteries, I suppose, but, just the same, they were always so lame.
But in his mind they were completely relevant to our teenage angst. Anyway, there was a play – or rather a student collective – called Beautiful Voices,
a hodge-podge of melting-pot stories reflecting the diversity of teenage experience and the one-ness of our global village, blah blah blah.
It was a series of monologues and choral chanting with yoga-base movement, and featured the usual cast of characters.
Amy Tamblidge, this totally annoying born again “ho” with giant t*ts talking about her dreams for global peace,
Randall Betrick ranting on about his parents‟ divorce again, Trey Fergusson and Amber Witherspoon in this
embarrassing dialogue regarding teenage suicide without having the courtesy to actually perform it for us,
Blaine Hawker confessing that he was gay – oh puh-leese, like that was news – and now were all supposed to like him
even though he was just as annoying as before but out, and on and on and on, blah, blah, blah. But in the end, there he was. My miracle.
A boy who had never dipped his toe into the cesspool of drama club before, but had been coerced into my group by Mr. Garfinkel because of his brooding intensity and sullen mystique.
Which meant he was totally hot, in that damaged and dangerous kind of way.
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