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This is a Box
by Feech
From my vantage point on the black box wall I
can see a gathering of Hayden Heath students.
They probably do not know I am here, given that I
almost always go home at six and it is now past
ten on a Friday night.
This Friday gathering is habitual for those
on the floor below me. I can watch from a fold in
the curtains near the scene shop and go unnoticed,
while I think. I did not have Melodie drive me
home tonight. Too much is going on in my mind.
Too much centers on the tiny container I carry
alongside the notepad bound to my foreleg.
Maybe the goings-on below will distract and
relax me-- but probably not. Not tonight. I am
not the only one distracted, and I suppose we each
have our own distinct reasons.
Improvisation night goes on without fail
every Friday that there is not a show running.
Usually, what with Gabriel's lack of inhibition
while performing, Bethuel's sense of humor, John's
silliness and everyone else's plain enthusiasm,
the evening is bound to be a lot of fun. I have
attended once or twice, just to watch, but tonight
I do not feel ready to join them. For their part,
the students are showing an unusual lack of
motivation to play tonight. They arrived at nine,
though some are still missing, and following one
half-hearted round of Storyteller took
disconsolately to the bleachers set up along the
wall under the sound booth.
The only consistent activity so far is that
of Calico, battling an "indestructible" red
Cressite ball in a rolling, swishing pursuit up
and down the black box. Rattling and growling,
ball and leopard approach the bleachers, carom off
them, and bound off to a corner only to start all
over again. Calico's grim concentration on the
potential death of the ball leads me to believe
that he is not in the most casually playful of
moods tonight, either, but it is hard to tell.
Bethuel and Juliet sit next to each other on
the bleachers and watch Kent Dryer idly arranging
plastic chairs into a four-seated "car" formation
as he hums quietly to himself. Gabe sits with
wildebeest head in hand and sighs.
"Come on, guys, let's play Car," Kent
suggests, hopelessly attempting to arouse
interest. "What kind of Improv night is this?"
"Mm," Gabriel says.
"Is there anything else we could play?" Beth
asks, not unpleasantly, but realizing that no one,
save Calico, is boisterous enough for Car tonight.
Unless maybe they play 'Hearse'. Ha. Just my own
little attempt at a joke there.
"Slide Show, then," Kent offers. "I'll be
the lecturer."
The group on the bleachers descends to the
black floor and organizes into a rough bunch in
front of Kent. "We need somebody for lights," he
notes.
"Isn't Jax coming?" A student inquires,
while the others look around trying to figure out
who can be spared to do the lights for the Slide
Show game.
"Not this Friday," Gabe informs him. "I
think he's at home. I think he was too upset to
come."
"That's pretty drastic," Kent observes.
"Well, he's not originally a Theatre person,"
Beth points out. "Maybe one of us should go see
him later. Anybody going to bars tonight? Maybe
he'd like to go out?"
"I doubt it," says Gabe. "He'd rather we
leave him alone, even if it does seem like he's
being really negative. Come think of it, I
haven't seen AAALLAAAAN, either." The
wildebeest-morph shouts the snake's name from the
habit of an old joke, and nobody reacts.
"He may be pretty upset, too," Beth mentions.
"I think we assume a lot about Feech and Jax. If
Alan's not here he must be down, all right. But
maybe he'll come later..."
"Maybe. Anybody want to do the lights?"
Kent is only half-trying. He keeps his amber eyes
on Gabe, now, having sensed some darkness about
him as he spoke of Jax. Perhaps Gabe should have
stayed home tonight, too.
"Well, are John and Bahni coming?" Someone
inquires.
"They are, yeah. Later."
"Well I wish they'd hurry up and get here.
This is the deadest Friday we've had yet."
Understandable. The Theatre Department
students have become used to being there for each
other and do not thrive when deprived of that
ability. It may be best for Feech that her family
took her home to their city's hospital, but this
does leave her companions at a loss.
No one speaks for a moment (except the
coughing of Calico as he determinedly attacks his
toy). As the group mills aimlessly, Slide Show
forgotten since they were never really interested
anyway, The flat black door to the Lobby squeaks
slightly as it is swung open from the outside.
"Shit!" The brown-haired man with beard
stubble and a green bookbag greets the other
students cheerfully. "You guys look dead as Hell!
Any news on Feech, anyone?"
"Hi, Bahn-John. Yes, I got a phone call,"
Beth tells him. "Her sister called and said that
it is Martian Flu. Her father's treating her.
But no details other than that, yet."
John bustles into the group and removes his
lover from his bookbag. "So everyone is
depressed. Well, me too. Let's play a game,
already!"
Noncommital mumbles are the reply. Kent
seems to agree, but is still watching the morose
Gabriel. "Got any ideas, John?" he asks.
"What have you done so far?"
"Nothing. A little Storytelling."
Bahni, freed from the bookbag, eagerly
approaches his friends in greeting-- and is
noticed by Calico. Suddenly still, the black
leopard ignores his Cressite ball and fixates on
the little black-and-yellow form moving through
the dust on the black box floor.
Calico's shoulders and rear set for a pounce,
but before he can move further Beth spots him and
speaks sharply. Instantly the leopard is doing
nothing more than grooming. He was in no way
intending to chase the garter snake, is his
obvious statement. As if all leopards go into
hunt-mode before grooming, and Bethuel should know
_that_. Beth laughs slightly, but Calico will not
look at him. Nor will he look at Bahni for the
rest of the Improv meeting. When cats deceive,
they do it all the way.
"I know," says John, "let's play a drinking
game. Everyone in a circle. Sit down."
"We don't have anything to get drunk on,"
Gabe points out.
"No matter. We'll make it hard. We'll screw
up whether we're drunk or not. Let's see... We
need some items..."
"Use Bahni!" Juliet laughs. She's killer at
this game. I've been watching her tonight,
wondering how she's feeling about all this. Now I
know. She can't figure out how to deal with all
the stress going around, and is relieved to have
an activity she can take charge in. She has
probably never messed up a round of a
concentration game like this one since first
learning the concept. It's all by rote. This she
can do and then some.
"Good idea. Come 'ere, Bud." John catches up
his lover in one hand and joins the slowly forming
circle in the middle of the box theatre. "Okay.
One more."
"I have a pen," a student holds it up.
"Great! A snake and a pen. Okay. I'll
start Bahn here to my left and the pen to my
right."
They can't help but play along. After all,
they came here for company, and to prove that the
Theatre group remains come Flu or high water. But
it begins rather reluctantly.
"This is a snake," John announces to Kent,
sitting at his left. He hands the
man-turned-garter-snake, who seems amused by the
situation, to the accepting student and waits for
the reply.
"A what?"
And John repeats, "A snake."
"A snake."
A nod of agreement, and on to the next
person. Meanwhile Beth, on John's right-hand
side, has been informed that he is now holding "a
pen".
Kent gives Bahni to Gabe, who, admittedly,
flinches a bit before accepting him. Bahni, too,
shows slight hesitation. They suppress the
instinct to crush and fear crushing, and quickly
the game continues. I think about the box
strapped to my arm and consider what may be
possible. Below me the voices layer upon each
other, going around the circle in an almost
rhythmic fashion, at least to the hearing of an
outside observer like me. I wonder exactly what
Melodie is doing right now. I wonder whether Gabe
will be okay, and what Jax is doing instead of
coming here. I wonder if someone is going to
screw up the pattern.
"This is a snake."
"A what?""This is a pen."
"A snake.""A what?"
"A snake. This is a snake."
"A what?""A pen."
"A what?""A pen. This is a pen."
"A what?""A what?"
"A snake.""A what?"
"A snake.""A what?"
"A snake.""A pen."
"This is a snake."
"A pen."
"A pen."
"This is a pen."
I wonder how Feech is doing. I wonder
whether I will stay here all night, or make my
presence known and ask for a lift home... or to
Melodie's place.
Laughter. The players are beginning to
loosen up enough that they make silly mistakes in
the phrases that pass back and forth around the
circle, and laugh at their own goofs and the
ridiculousness of the whole idea. The fact the
Bahni often makes it difficult to handle him
without being tickled helps to improve some
people's spirits.
Gabe backs out the second time through the
game. "I'll just watch," he says, but then he
doesn't. Instead, he kicks the red ball so Calico
can chase it, then urges the big cat to settle
down near the bleachers so he can pet him. Kent's
concern over Gabe's mood causes him to break the
pattern, and although he picks it up again quickly
the smoothness of his actions is gone. Bahni
darts his red-and-black tongue out to tickle Kent
on the wrist, but is disappointed with the lack of
response.
Gabe's blue-grey half-man form slouches on
the seats, staring at nothing for the next
forty-five minutes or so that it takes everyone
else to get bored with their drinking games. His
lightly-furred hand rubs the back of Calico's ear
until the leopard tires of this and hints that he
might prefer a chin-scratch or a back-rub. Gabe
complies automatically.
The Improv group has not been fully made to
forget by John's enthusiasm. There is still
little response to suggestions of other games, and
before eleven-thirty the students are dispersing.
"Give me your phone numbers," Beth tells the
group, "and I'll call you if I get a call from
Wisconsin again."
Gabe speaks up at that. "I have her address.
In case anybody wants to write to her or
anything."
The phone numbers and address are exchanged
and many of those present in the black box start
out to their dorms and apartments. I consider
showing myself, but decide to wait. Kent goes to
sit next to Gabriel, at the same time that Juliet
calls Calico and the leopard follows her and Beth
to the door.
On the way out, turning back to wave to Kent
and Gabe, Bethuel pauses and looks up, directly at
my hanging-spot. I know I am in the coal-black
curtain-fold, and that my wings when pressed
together will not show at his angle, but it seems
highly possible that Bethuel is aware that I am
here. Judging by his expression, I half-expect
him to call out to me, but then he turns and is
gone out the door with Juliet.
John, bookbag in hand (and snake poking his
little head out through a gap at the end of the
bag's zipper), sets a foot on the bottom bleacher
and addresses Gabe and Kent. "See you guys on
Monday, I guess, hm? Hope you feel better, Gabe.
Don't let it get to you. That won't do anybody
any good."
"Look who's talking," Gabe snorts, and Kent
puts a warning hand on his knee.
"Thanks for trying tonight, Bahn-John." Kent
turns to them and smiles a slight, grateful smile.
"You kept things going, silly as it was."
"Hey, silly is what improv is for," John
grins.
"Improvisation is a vehicle for the
enhancement of the actor's art," Gabe says in a
baiting fashion, and John intelligently lets it
go.
"See you guys later," he says, and leaves,
taking his snake with him.
Now it's just me, Kent and the
half-wildebeest, and I suddenly cannot decide
whether to stay or go. The situation has become
potentially intimate, with no one else occupying
the box. Still, this room belongs to the whole
school. I huddle into the curtain fold, touching
my tiny box with my right antenna. I have to
think. I am not yet ready to go.
Gabe and Kent sit close together in silence
for some time. My thoughts have freedom to wonder
about Melodie and the possible insanity of what it
is that I want to do. But I must try. I have
committed myself to that. The question is when,
and what she will do.
I am as aware as anyone that a student is
down with the Flu, that the Improv group had a
lousy turnout tonight and that Jax and Alan may or
may not be lonely in their homes right now. To
me, these things are important. But I do not feel
that they make my own desires and anxieties any
less. Would that be different for anyone? We all
have our own connections and worries. Gabe is
worried about Feech. I can hear him. He is the
first of the two men to speak.
"Sorry, Kent."
"Hey, that's okay. Are you just that upset
about Feech? And what do you have against John,
anyway?"
"Hmph." Gabe does not elaborate on his
response for some time. Then, "Bastard doesn't
_want_ _anything_."
"You're not on _that_ kick again, are you?
Come on. You know I love you the way you are. I
think it's kind of selfish for you to go wanting
to be something else."
Gabe hears the slight teasing tone to Kent's
voice, and gets the message, but still he
responds, "That's not fair. You _can_ change.
Even if you have no control over it. And I don't
think it's fair that John is in such a frigging
good mood when someone from the Department is
sick."
"Maybe he would say it's not fair for you to
sit around moping. I was surprised that you
didn't act today. There is really something more,
isn't there."
"Maybe."
"Tell me."
"Maybe I made her sick."
"Now that is utterly ridiculous." Kent tries
to hug his friend, but Gabe dodges away and makes
just the faintest of threats with his horns.
"We don't know, do we, Kent," the wildebeest
snorts. "It could be anyone. How do you know
there isn't more danger for normals, hanging
around me, with how long I fought it?"
Kent sighs. "Gabe." He doesn't seem to know
what to say after that. When Gabriel is in an
impossible mood, there's no reasoning with him.
He needs something to be angry about. I may as
well approach them now as any time. I don't want
to hide when they may need private time.
Kent looks up as soon as the curtains move,
but does not seem surprised to see me appear.
Could _he_ have known I was here? Maybe... He
certainly has a good sense of smell, but still...
I fly over to the two men and, as I land with
the tiniest of scratching sounds on the bleachers,
I see Kent widen his nostrils to deliberately
smell anything unusual about me. Gabe just turns
away, into his own thoughts.
"Shadow," Kent nods to me. "Studio,
downtown?"
What can I say. He's right. Studio
Jewelers, by the Cafe. I scribble an affirmative
answer on my armpad.
Gabe looks at me then. "What did you buy?"
I write, "Never mind. You'll find out and if
you do not, I would rather you not have known in
the first place."
"Makes sense. I guess. Did you know I am
useless?"
Kent and I simultaneously express dismay at
that. Quickly I write, "Try something."
"What? Like what?"
Kent leans into him a little. "Change. Like
you used to before the SCABS stabilized. You can
do it. Maybe then you won't be so jealous of
everybody else."
"That's ridiculous," the half-wildebeest
scoffs, but I detect a miniscule heightening of
his ears. He's interested.
"Powers," I write on my pad, "don't need to
be anything special to Joe on the street. Kent,
can you drive me home?"
"Sure, soon as Gabe tries something. I want
him to."
That does it. Gabriel is first and foremost
an actor and he is being flattered. He stands up
and flexes his shoulders.
"I don't know if I can do this, guys."
"Let's see."
Gabe takes the black box floor in front of us
and looks at his hands. "Maybe I should get out
of these clothes, just in case. You mind?"
I shake my head. Kent laughs. "Are you
kidding? That would be worth it in itself."
"Stuff it, Kent. I'm going to do this before
I go home tonight or I'm not _going_ home."
Kent submits to the sudden shift in attitude
and just watches. It stands to reason that Gabe
should be able to do it. After all, he fought it
_off_ for over a year.
Gabriel strips and again looks at his hands.
He can't decide where to put them. Following a
few moments of frustrated concentration, he sets
his fingertips on the floor in the manner of
hooves, and closes his grey eyes.
"Now wait," he says, his breathing changing
slightly. "I have to remember what I even look
like."
"As a human?" Kent asks, almost reverently.
Gabe shakes his head. "Wildebeest. I'm
trying to remember the television shows."
"Don't worry about them."
"...All right..."
Gabe rolls his shoulders forward, and I think
I see something. The blackish mane stringing over
his skin may be obscuring his progress, but indeed
I do think the muscles of his back are knotting
and stretching in an unfamiliar fashion. Kent is
looking on in an eagerly predatory stance, but I
know he is harmless. I almost want to fly to
another part of the theatre, to leave the two
alone, but Gabe wants an audience and I am part of
it. Strange improvisation, yes, but in a way I
_must_ stay and watch for me, too. If he has the
strength, maybe I do too. Not to change,
necessarily, but to improvise, perform and
discuss. Hold Melodie until I am done saying what
I need to say.
The black box seems in some way to be
accepting Gabriel's hands and toes. The look of
black paint is climbing from his nails up the skin
of his fingers, pushing the fur back and building
a black, split support for each of his four limbs,
the coronets topping them with the fine blue
hairs. Gabe does not speak nor do anything but
concentrate.
His tail, already fully developed in his
half-morph state, now rides off to the side as the
hips bulge and reconfigure... when the stripe of
darkness marking the antelope's spine, an
inexorable trickle of color and, under the skin,
changed vertebrae works tailward from the thick
blue-brown-cream neck and ends over the rejointed
legs, the fringed tail presses back into place and
flicks, as if Gabe is testing the balance of the
parts done so far.
Kent tilts his head for a different angle. I
simply sit. I don't suppose that a wildebeest is
really as plain as you might think. Patterns of
grey and black work and swirl over Gabriel's hide
as he strives to match the whole body to itself.
The hair has to go in the direction of the
animal's movement, yet as if streaming back when
the creature bounds forward. Until he is
complete, hooves to nostrils to whorl of hair over
the crease in the flank, Gabe fully intends to
move nothing but the parts in transition. It is
taking all his concentration.
Suddenly his chest deepens with such force
that I _hear_ the crackle of a bone changing. At
that jerking of his torso into shape, the animal
quivers, shakes out its mane and looks up, at
Kent.
Gabe snorts, with a humming tone that I
construe as pleased. The man sitting next to me
leaps lightly off the bleachers and approaches
Gabe sideways, somewhat carefully. Neither
speaks a human word. I part and close my wings in
what has become my version of applause, and Gabe
notices. He goes carefully into a bow, on one
thin foreleg. I hold up my jewel-box and my
notepad to get Kent's attention.
"Yes, Shadow," he admits, "it's late.
Gabriel, can you?"
The wildebeest nods, but then kicks out as if
evading a lion, and trots twice around the black
box as if nearly unable to contain an all-out
gallop. We wait for a few minutes while he shows
off, then Gabe returns and gazes back at himself.
He twitches. He concentrates, and the hairs and
bones that settled before now trace backwards over
his form. He is quick, accustomed to the shape he
will now resume. Shades of coat color shift as
hairs resume their everyday places. And Gabe
stands before us, coughing modestly into his hand
as he reaches for his clothing, awaiting any sort
of adulation we might wish to bestow upon him.
"Good job," says Kent. "I wish _I_ could do
that. Do you suppose that's what it looks like
with me?"
"Dunno," Gabe half-smiles. "Maybe..." --a tad
smugly-- "I could teach you."
Kent hugs him and he does not resist. I take
a deep butterfly-breath. "Kent," I pen.
He looks at the paper. "Yeah?"
"I wish you would drop me at Melodie's
instead."
He grins, wolflike. "You got it."
"I feel guilty now," Gabe informs us, not
sounding in the least guilty.
"Because of Feech?"
"Yeah. Maybe I shouldn't feel good."
"Maybe you should call her."
"Maybe."
Kent flicks out the lights, at the switch
near the Lobby door where they can all be operated
at once. The box is now truly black. We open and
step through the door, letting a patch of yellow
in before closing the space and locking up. I
feel conspicuous out here, same as perhaps Gabe
would. I show up as black and yellow on the tile,
and it is out here in the Lobby that Gabe for the
first time seems to have been exposed tonight. I
feel almost ashamed, not because of him, but
because of me. I could kick myself sometimes for
being such a coward. Well, if I _could_ kick
myself. Ha.
Clutched to me is the tiny white box. Wolves
and antelope? I suppose. Swallowtail and human?
One way to find out.