Writings
delicate emotions
horros / thrillers
nursery rhymes / narrative poems
- The Scholar
- Interlude I
- The Boy
- Interlude II
- The Aristocrat
- Interlude III
- The Exorcist
- Epilogue
Dramaturgy / PLAYWRIGHTing
delicate emotions
horros / thrillers
nursery rhymes / narrative poems
Dramaturgy / PLAYWRIGHTing
SAM’S FAREWELL PARTY
SAM’S FAREWELL PARTY
18/10/2018
Word count: 520
Approximate reading time: 2-3 minutes
Word count: 520
Approximate reading time: 2-3 minutes
"Life has a cunning way of finding our weakest
spots," Sam remarked after his final show with the company. We were moving on to a club, throwing a grand farewell party in his honor. However, Sam
wanted to linger for a while.
He had mentioned that he couldn't transport all his belongings back to London, so he stowed them in the theatre's workshop, hoping someone from the troupe might find use for them. In truth, he had left most of his possessions behind.
Finally, he departed the building, weaving through layers of eager fans before reaching the bar adjacent to our venue. Already there were Jack, Val, and myself, engaged in conversation and laughter. We were waiting for Sam, fully aware that once we reached the club, coherent conversation would become a rarity.
Sam arrived carrying a towering stack of presents. I walked over to the bar to get some drinks for him. It was my round.
The bartender appeared to know it was Sam's farewell night, promptly producing a bottle of Veuve Clicquot upon my approach. It was elegantly chilled in an ice bucket.
"Sam's leaving, isn't he? I've never seen the show, but I've heard it's remarkable. This one's for Sam," she said with a warm smile.
I thanked her and returned to our little gathering. Sam was leaning against the table.
"It's been an incredible journey," Sam mused as he popped the Champagne bottle and poured for the four of us. Then, I asked about his plans after this.
"I'm returning to my private life," he said, though it seemed he might have been talking more to himself, seeking to convince himself of this choice.
"Fifteen years. I never thought it would come to this. Fifteen years ago, I was just an usher for the original production."
"Yes, I heard about it. Wasn’t it staged in an abandoned warehouse?" I interjected.
"Yes, it was. It lasted only a week. It was a scratch project."
We toasted.
"Fifteen years ago, the first time I watched the show, I had no idea what was happening. I only thought the man sitting in the middle looked quite scary. But look at me now; I had become the man in the middle. No one in this company has this kind of history with this show," he paused. "Well, Fanny does. Maurice does, too. They created this show. But besides them, no one does, not even our director."
"I don't think you were annoying," backed up by alcohol, I finally had the courage to tell him something that I always wanted to tell him. "You were just passionate, and we appreciated it."
"You have to care," Sam looked at me, then at Val and Jack. "You have to care," he repeated several times, almost in an inaudible murmur. We raised our glasses again.
"And then there's the issue of balance. You have to care, but not too much nor too little. Because if you care too much or not at all, you'll make mistakes. It's so hard...." He trailed off. Sam seemed to be lost in thought again.
"It's so hard," and he returned to the present. "You might think I'm not making mistakes, but you're wrong. If there's a time when you feel you're not making mistakes, you're making a mistake."
"But that's how we learn, from our mistakes," Jack finally spoke.
"Yes, we keep learning. I want to share my understanding of this show with you. We're creating pictures, do you understand? For example, when we do the slowed time choreo, it's not slow-motion; it's about creating cinematic images."
"Like stop-motion," Val added.
"Yes, it's really intense. You have to be aware all the time that at any second, it has to look beautiful. It reminded me of Zeno’s arrow paradox. We're just shifting from one moment to the next."
"That's why I said stop-motion."
We finished the bottle. Sam stood up and noticed that there were still some audience members lingering. He decided to talk to them, to thank them for their support.
"The show will never be the same," one of them cried.
"You're wrong. That's the fascinating thing about theatre. There will always be interesting people. This time, it happened to be me."
Val thought it was time to move on to the next spot. The rest of the gang was already at the club, dancing on the floor. The four of us joined them.
For the next couple of hours, there was nothing but drinking, laughter, and dancing, not a trace of sadness.
I found Sam lying on the street later.
"It could have been anyone else, but it happened to be you. It's written. It's official. No one can change that. You're Sam." I whispered to him.
I thought he was asleep, but he reached out and squeezed my hand.
It sure was a party.
He had mentioned that he couldn't transport all his belongings back to London, so he stowed them in the theatre's workshop, hoping someone from the troupe might find use for them. In truth, he had left most of his possessions behind.
Finally, he departed the building, weaving through layers of eager fans before reaching the bar adjacent to our venue. Already there were Jack, Val, and myself, engaged in conversation and laughter. We were waiting for Sam, fully aware that once we reached the club, coherent conversation would become a rarity.
Sam arrived carrying a towering stack of presents. I walked over to the bar to get some drinks for him. It was my round.
The bartender appeared to know it was Sam's farewell night, promptly producing a bottle of Veuve Clicquot upon my approach. It was elegantly chilled in an ice bucket.
"Sam's leaving, isn't he? I've never seen the show, but I've heard it's remarkable. This one's for Sam," she said with a warm smile.
I thanked her and returned to our little gathering. Sam was leaning against the table.
"It's been an incredible journey," Sam mused as he popped the Champagne bottle and poured for the four of us. Then, I asked about his plans after this.
"I'm returning to my private life," he said, though it seemed he might have been talking more to himself, seeking to convince himself of this choice.
"Fifteen years. I never thought it would come to this. Fifteen years ago, I was just an usher for the original production."
"Yes, I heard about it. Wasn’t it staged in an abandoned warehouse?" I interjected.
"Yes, it was. It lasted only a week. It was a scratch project."
We toasted.
"Fifteen years ago, the first time I watched the show, I had no idea what was happening. I only thought the man sitting in the middle looked quite scary. But look at me now; I had become the man in the middle. No one in this company has this kind of history with this show," he paused. "Well, Fanny does. Maurice does, too. They created this show. But besides them, no one does, not even our director."
"I don't think you were annoying," backed up by alcohol, I finally had the courage to tell him something that I always wanted to tell him. "You were just passionate, and we appreciated it."
"You have to care," Sam looked at me, then at Val and Jack. "You have to care," he repeated several times, almost in an inaudible murmur. We raised our glasses again.
"And then there's the issue of balance. You have to care, but not too much nor too little. Because if you care too much or not at all, you'll make mistakes. It's so hard...." He trailed off. Sam seemed to be lost in thought again.
"It's so hard," and he returned to the present. "You might think I'm not making mistakes, but you're wrong. If there's a time when you feel you're not making mistakes, you're making a mistake."
"But that's how we learn, from our mistakes," Jack finally spoke.
"Yes, we keep learning. I want to share my understanding of this show with you. We're creating pictures, do you understand? For example, when we do the slowed time choreo, it's not slow-motion; it's about creating cinematic images."
"Like stop-motion," Val added.
"Yes, it's really intense. You have to be aware all the time that at any second, it has to look beautiful. It reminded me of Zeno’s arrow paradox. We're just shifting from one moment to the next."
"That's why I said stop-motion."
We finished the bottle. Sam stood up and noticed that there were still some audience members lingering. He decided to talk to them, to thank them for their support.
"The show will never be the same," one of them cried.
"You're wrong. That's the fascinating thing about theatre. There will always be interesting people. This time, it happened to be me."
Val thought it was time to move on to the next spot. The rest of the gang was already at the club, dancing on the floor. The four of us joined them.
For the next couple of hours, there was nothing but drinking, laughter, and dancing, not a trace of sadness.
I found Sam lying on the street later.
"It could have been anyone else, but it happened to be you. It's written. It's official. No one can change that. You're Sam." I whispered to him.
I thought he was asleep, but he reached out and squeezed my hand.
It sure was a party.