I’m that word

that doesn’t rhyme

One syllable

too short for time

My meter keeps

a different beat

As though

I shuffle two left feet

I’m a lyric

without song

Writing rhythm;

righting wrong

My misplaced, comma

gives me, pause

My “clever” quotes

are without cause

I’m ALL CAPS

shouting in bold

Mazzmyrrheyes;

long name, I’m told

Silver apples

in italics

Leaves of gold

left out

of context

A queue had formed before they got there. They joined it just as the doors opened.

“So, what kind of stuff do they have in there?”

“What?”

“Just singers? Comedians?”

“I thought you told mum you’d been?”

“Would’ve only looked strange if I hadn’t. I haven’t. Angie went with Quentin when I baby sat for them a while ago. She said some of the songs were filthy.”

“Oh god, she’s not wrong there. A lot of them are. I think they’ll be a bit tamer for the evening show.”

“Damn. Why?”

“Some take their kids. Still fun though. All kinds of acts. Not just songs and jokes. Usually a performing animal and who knows what else?” She looked around and pointed at the wall. “That poster, top of the bill.” She nodded. “The great Sun Ye… Bloke who pretends to be Chinese cos it’s mysterious and exotic… Magician. Seen him before. He’s good. No idea how he does it.”

“Ahh, card tricks, flowers, long chains of hankies, rabbit out of a hat, that kind of stuff?”

“That kind of thing, yeah. I won’t tell you what his grand finale is, it’s bloody good. His family’s been doin’ magic for about four generations. He’s famous. Why haven’t you been before?”

“Just busy, I suppose.”

“But you’re eighteen! Even before you came here”

“Ah, well… I’ve been to theatres, mainly for pantos when I was a kid, who hasn’t? There aren’t any music halls left.”

“What? None?”

“TV killed them off. No idea when they all shut but it was before I was born.”

“God, they’re missing out.”

“Well, it is a hell of a lot more convenient. Push a button and sit on your sofa rather than slog all the way into town.”

“That’s not what makes them so much fun though. It’s” she sighed. “God, your world… I prefer to sit in the middle of a bunch of people all enjoying the same”

“Yeah, they do still have cinemas. Those helped kill the music hall too of course.”

They got to the front, Eric bought the tickets and they made their way into the auditorium.

Their seats, about eight rows from the front in the centre.

It was a while before things kicked off and by the time it did, every seat was filled.

The band began to play and a man in an outlandish outfit strode out onto the stage.

Bright and extremely clashy colours was all Eric could think. Yellow and purple checked trousers, a red and green striped waistcoat over a shocking pink shirt. Even his bow tie clashed,

“Ladies and gentlemen! Tonight we have the most exquisite, exotic, extremely eccentric and sometimes even erotic”

The audience gave out an “oooooo!”

“extravagant entertainments ever experienced!”

Eric chuckled. “He likes his alliteration doesn’t he.”

“They’re always doing that.”

“Hope he gets off soon, his outfit’s hurting my eyes.”

She chuckled.

“Allow me to introduce, the supremely sublime sonorous songsmith, Sally Smethhurst!”

As he exited stage right, a small woman in a fancy outfit emerged from the left.

“Oh dear lord, is it me already?” She looked nervous as she inched her way to the centre of the stage. She sounded posh too but all that was an act, the moment she’d found her spot she instantly switched. From nervous to confident, from posh to incredibly common.

“Oh, oo am I tryin’ to kid? O’ course it’s me!”

God, her voice. It didn’t seem possible for someone so small to have such a penetrating sound. She was a good singer too and what she sang…

As it continued, Eric began to blush. “Bloody hell, thought you said this’d be tamer. I”

Rose cackled. “Oh god, you think this is rude?”

“For this world, yeah!”

“This is nothing compared to the good stuff.”

Before long, most of the audience had joined in. Eric glanced around in shock. Even some of the older boys sang along, wide grins and slightly guilty expressions. The guilt quickly vanished however.

“God, and I thought this world was still stuck with all that stuffy Victorian stuff.”

“Outside, yeah. In here though…”

“So I see. Damn. Know anywhere that sells song books? I… Well I can’t join in.”

“You’ll have to come more often, you’ll pick ’em up.”

“I might just do that, I had no idea!”

She ended her song, curtsied and left the stage as the compère returned to introduce the next act.

What followed was something that to Eric looked like the cream of the crop from Britain’s Got Talent. A trio of Jack Russell terriers danced onto the stage, they balanced on balls, leapt through flaming hoops and waltzed off, paw in paw. A fire eater and sword swallower followed.

Next, strong man in a fur loincloth over a skin coloured body suit with fake hair on its chest.

He lifted a few weights, posed, bent an iron bar… Then a man carrying a table appeared and placed it centre stage. A couple of chairs followed.

The strongman didn’t need to say anything. The moment the stage hand had left, men began to stand. Eric looked around in surprise.

“What?”

“They know the score. Two chairs.”

“Arm wrestle him?”

“Yes! Now stand up. Show them what my boyfriend’s made of!”

“I couldn’t!”

“Course you could. You’d wipe the floor with ’im!”

“No, I mean… In front of this lot?”

She sniggered. “Of course in front of this lot. You’ll be the talk of the town!”

Eric sank deeper into his chair only to receive an elbow to the ribs.

“Go on! Nothing scares you!”

“I’ve never been up on” Eric sighed. “Oh god… I…” He stood.

The strongman had already selected three but when Eric stood his eyes widened.

“Good god you’re a big one. What’s your name… Private is it?”

“Call me Eric.”

“Eric it is then. Please, step into this aisle.” He pointed at the left hand one nearest to steps up to the stage. Where the other three already stood. “Join the queue, I think I might struggle with you!”

Eric shuffled down and stood at the end.

He called the first man up to the stage and he sat opposite. Elbow on the table, palm open, the challenger gripped and heaved.

He chuckled. “Come on, sir! You can do better than that! Both hands, if you like.”

With the full force of both, even when invited to stand, that arm didn’t budge. The slam down surprised everyone in the audience. One second, there was a man struggling to shift that arm, both hands gripping his, standing with feet braced and forcing his full body weight against it, the next… Wham. Down.

The same occurred with the other two. They pushed, they pulled, nothing would shift it until he chose and when he did, wham.

Eric grinned as he sat. “I love a challenge. Looks like I might’ve met one.”

“I was just about to say the same, sir.”

It was the same for Eric at first. He didn’t stand, he didn’t use his other hand to help, but no matter how hard he tried, the arm refused to budge.

“You’re good.” Eric grimaced as he put more force in. “I’ll give you that.”

“Sure you don’t want to try both?”

Eric shook his head and examined the feeling more thoroughly. He eased off a little and the arm didn’t budge, didn’t shove his arm down.

“What the hell?”

Again, he resumed his attempts putting his full strength behind it when without warning, the pressure against him increased dramatically. It forced his hand down forty-five degrees. He gritted his teeth and forced it back up again.

He stared his opponent in the eye to see something. Surprise? Maybe even a little fear? He muttered under his breath, dug deep into his reserves and a few seconds later, a groan issued from the table, a sharp metallic snap followed by a slam and a howl of pain.

Eric let go and stood in shock as the man leapt to his feet shaking his hand. A metal rod clattered to the stage. He looked at the table to see another piece of twisted metal and… Hose? It gave out a feeble hiss.

“Oh shit! Are you alright?”

The strongman strode the stage, shaking his hand in agony. “Of course I’m not alright! My hand! You’ve wrecked my… You’ve ruined me, I’ll never work in Staffordshire again!”

“What was that? Pneumatic ram? You cheated with a bloody”

There was a stirring from the audience. Eric span to look out at them. A lot looked angry. Before long, a boo spread. Something whizzed past his ear and there was a loud splat from the direction of the cheat. He span again as the smell hit him. Green slime dribbled down that fake hairy chest. Rotten egg?

“Oh fuck!” Eric leapt off the stage as the rain of rotten fruit and eggs began in earnest.

Sheepishly, he wormed his way back to his seat and shrank into it, desperate to hide his face as the curtain dropped.

“What happened, Eric? What was that?”

“He was using a machine to cheat, Rose. I couldn’t budge him until I dug deep and when I did, I broke it. Looks like I broke his hand in the process!”

The compere rushed up on stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please. I do apologise. I had no idea we had a fraud among our acts! We have plenty more to come but there will be a ten minute intermission…” He looked under the curtain and wrinkled his nose. “Fifteen minute intermission while we clean the stage. Please remain in your seats, there’s a lot better to come.”

* * *

Another sing-a-long, this time a group, singing a capella. This one a much more innocent number.

Then a comedian appeared. Huge collar, trousers too short and god, his jokes. Eric felt incredibly out of place and sat stony faced as Rose howled with laughter.

She glanced at him and stopped. “Why aren’t you laughing?”

“I… just don’t get many of the jokes and the ones I have got are so old and corny they’re not funny anymore.”

“Really? But”

“I… I just don’t… Different worlds remember.”

“But you’ve been here years!”

Eric sighed. “I know, but you grew up here, I didn’t realise until now just how much of an outsider I am. I really need to get out into the world more. Pick up a lot more of your culture and I don’t mean the high stuff like art, I mean the… Well, stuff normal people talk about all the time. I’ve kept myself to the villages too much.”

“Well, this is a good place to start.”

“You’ll have to explain a few on the way back. I know, that’s the best way to kill a joke, but…”

“OK, Eric. OK.”

The curtain fell again for a few minutes and when it rose, platforms stood on each end of the stage with a tightrope between them. A man appeared with a unicycle and clambered up the steps.

He unicycled back and forth across the wire while juggling and singing a crude little ditty about a woman who constantly pursued him for the contents of his underwear, the title of the song, I’ll never fall for you.

As that song finished however, he did fall. Eric sat bolt upright but the man grabbed the wire and swung, gripping the unicycle to his backside with his feet. He did a couple of complete swings around the wire, let go and plummeted to the stage, the unicycle landing on its wheel.

He remained upright, his voice rose three octaves and he sang about a greengrocer complaining about bruised plums as he cycled off the stage.

Eric sniggered. “Now that… that was funny!”

A ventriloquist with a seriously drunk dummy, an impressionist… Eric recognised two of the voices as he had Kings Philip and Henry arguing with each other. Henry didn’t come out of it well at all.

The curtain dropped, the compere announced Thomas Benjamin Wild esquire and a man with a ukulele stepped out. His clothing was a better quality than the work clothes Eric found comfortable but other than that, he could’ve been any member of the audience. Flat cap, shirt, matching brown waistcoat, long jacket and trousers. He had a beard and a twinkle in his eye. He began to play.

It was an upbeat tune which acted as a counterpoint to the words. He sang about everything he attempted resulting in failure.

Then he got to the chorus and Eric’s eyes widened in surprise. It certainly raised a grin.

“I’ve no more fucks to give

My fucks have runneth dry

I’ve tried to go fuck shopping

but there’s no more fucks to buy

I’ve no more fucks to give

though more fucks I’ve tried to get

I’m over my fuck budget

and I’m now in fucking debt.”1

The song continued and Eric found an irresistible urge to sing along the next time the chorus came along but when it did, the words were different.

“Damn! I wanted to sing along to this one! I love it!”

Rose gave him a nudge. “Getting into the spirit now?”

“Apart from that comedian, I’ve loved everything, Rose. This song though, god, it’s fun. I’ll be singing along to this for a while, with a lot of dumdedums where I can’t remember the words.”

“But you do still have a lot, don’t you, Eric?”

Eric sniggered. “Yeah. It’s a shame I can’t give him any of mine.”

That song ended and with a bow and a huge round of applause, he exited stage right and the curtains rose to reveal a table and a lot of magical paraphernalia.

What emerged from the wings this time was the most stereotypically racist depiction of a chinaman it was possible to produce. A brightly coloured silken robe, a long moustache that framed his mouth and chin, he’d even added a yellow tint to his skin and painted his eyes so they appeared narrower. The thing that looked even more out of place was the top hat he wore. At least he wasn’t wearing one of those conical ones.

“Radies and gentremen, boys and girrs, purease welcome my gramolous assistant, the derightfur Derolis.”

Eric stared at the sight. “God, bet the people in the Chinese restaurant love him.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never seen anything so… well… racist!”

“So what?”

“So what? I…”

“No, I mean, what do you mean, racist?”

Eric sighed. “I suppose we just got a lot more sensitive to that kind of thing in my old world, Rose. Taking the piss out of someone just cos of where they came from. I’ve never seen a Chinese person dress like that or have one of those stupid ‘taches either. And all that messing about mixing R and L… God he sounds nothing like ’em. Who the hell does he think he is, Fu Manchu?”

“Think that was the look he was going for, yeah. Be fair, all the ones you saw before you came here were in uniform.”

“I did see a lot before I was enslaved too y’know, but even so…”

Wearing a sequinned dress that gleamed in the limelight, Deloris marched onto the stage and took up a pose.

At first, the usual, a lot of pulling flowers supposedly out of the air. He was good. Eric tried to see where they came from but his hands were too quick. He removed his top hat, held it up to show it was empty, placed it on the table and waved his wand.

“I now ploduce labbit out of hat! Arakazam!”

He reached in and pulled out a carrot.

“I tellibry solly radies and gentremen, I think snowy rittle nehvous tonight but he plovide me with bait I lequile.”

This time he waved the carrot over the hat and pulled out the rabbit, handing it to his assistant.

The audience clapped. Eric shrugged. “Nothing new there.”

“What?”

“Seen that one loadsa times. When does he get on to the grand finale? The one you said was bloody good?”

“Oh, it’s coming. Left me wondering how the hell they did it for… heck, I still wonder how they did it. Not seen him in a few years though. It starts small, watch.”

“And now, radies and gentremen, I lequire assistance of one of you, but to make shue it not someone I met, to assure you it not fliend in audience, I thlow ball… Band reader… If you play rittle tune, when music stop, person with ball, purease step to stage.”

He tossed the ball to someone on the front row and the music began. That man tossed it behind him and it was caught by a small boy, he threw it and it passed between a dozen members of the audience before the music stopped.

An old woman held up the ball.

“Purease, madam, join me on stage.”

She leapt to her feet in excitement, inched her way to the aisle and then rushed up to the stage.

“So ruvery to meet. What name purease?”

“Ethel.”

He produced a pack of cards and fanned them out. “Purease. Take one card. Pen on table, prace mark on the flont and show audience.”

She drew an elaborate squiggle and held it up. It was a seven of diamonds.

“I not touch card. Prace card in enverope and give to Derolis.”

She sealed the envelope and handed it over.

“Thank you, madam. You may leturn to seat now.”

She nodded, rushed down and shuffled back to where she’d come from.

“Many mystical cullents frow thlough this space and what I do next, velly, velly gleat danger. I send derightfur assistant to spilit worrd and then I communicate, she tell me many things!”

He wheeled a tall box out onto the stage.

“Oh god, not the disappearing assistant trick? This is the gran”

“Eric, shhhh! This is only part of it. Watch.”

The magician tapped the inside of the box with his wand to prove it was solid, he turned it around and did the same on the outside and when the front was facing the audience again, he opened it and she stepped inside.

He closed the door, turned the thing round again, waved his wand and with a cry of “I banish thee! Ablacadabla!” there was a blinding flash and the box fell apart.

Deloris stepped down from the ruined box and moved to the side of the stage. Eric glanced around in confusion. None of them… He looked at Rose. She looked at him. They both looked back at Deloris.

Eric began to chuckle. “Oh god. No wonder he’s top of the bill! Genius! I wonder when he figured it out.”

“What’s happening? What the hell, Eric? Why is she just walking about like that? She’s meant to vanish!”

“Pay a little more attention, Rose… She did vanish. None of them can see ’er. Look at her feet, she’s doing what we do. Little bit of dancing back and forth…”

“She… she can shift?”

“Must be. She has. Still is in fact. Try not to let her see you looking at ’er but keep an eye open.”

Sun Ye continued his patter.

“Assistant now not here but still here! She no longer visible, no sight, no sound, no touch. She froat alound loom and ter me. I use mind to contact.”

As he’d been saying that, she’d moved down into the audience. The first thing she did was place the card in the breast pocket of a man on the fifth row. She moved a little further down and stood behind another man.

Ye’s finger lanced out, pointing directly at him. “You, sir. Purease! Ploduce thing from pocket and look at it intentry. Study it. Tlansmit thoughts into aether where Derolis hear them, then she tell me!”

Eric chuckled even more.

“Oh what now, being able to do this, it’s already spoiled the trick.”

“How did he know she was there, Rose? He can see ’er! Besides, you wanted to know how they did it.”

“Bloody hell! That explains a few things.”

“It does?”

“Keep watching.”

The first man chosen had picked something. He held it, shielded it from the front. She peered over his shoulder and signed something.

Sun Ye placed his fingers on his temple and concentrated. “I see… I see a handkerchief… White… With retters embloidered, purease, sir, concentlate!… Retters in gleen thlead. The retters BD.”

The man stared in awe, he looked down at his hanky, up at the stage, down at his hanky again.

“Purease, hold up item for arr to see.”

Of course, a massive round of applause ensued but it wasn’t over yet. She moved through the audience and did the same with ten other people before she returned to the stage.

Ye picked up a long pole and raised it. Dangling from it, a red curtain. He tossed it into the air, yelled “Shazzam!” and when the curtain fell, Deloris stood there and curtseyed. To everyone else she really had just appeared out of thin air.

“That’s the grand”

“Not quite, still that card remember. Then… well, watch.”

The man first visited by Deloris was his next target. Sun Ye pointed, ushered him up to the stage and called the old woman back too.

“Sir, while assistant in spilit form, she gave something to you. Purease, bleast pocket.”

He reached in, his hand touched the envelope and he looked around in surprise as he pulled it out.

“Open, purease. I not touch. No interfelence from me.”

The envelope opened, the old woman confirmed it was her card and the auditorium erupted into a standing ovation and with that, with both members of the audience still on stage, he raised the curtain rail, this time with both of them standing behind it, tossed it into the air and the ovation stopped with a collective gasp.

Both of them walked off stage and were gone.

Rose began to giggle. “Oh god, you don’t think all magicians can do that, do you?”

“Nah. They… They can’t surely. It must j… but… I need to see them. I”

“They should be out for autographs at the stage door in a bit.”

“I think we need to see them in private. Dressing room.”

“They’ll never let us in there.”

“We have access all areas remember.”

“Eric! We can’t! Not with all these people about!”

“Let’s try the normal way, we can say we’re friends. He might object until we convince him.”

She nodded, they stood and just as the compere came back out onto the stage, they shuffled to the aisle and waited there until he’d finished. Just a thank you and goodnight. He left the stage and the audience began to file out. They moved down the steps instead of up, down to the side and rushed to the back stage area.

“Where are you going!? You can’t be here!”

It was an old man. He looked them up and down as he barged over to them.

“Sorry, sir. I need to speak to Sun Ye.”

“The stage door’s at the back.”

“I need a private word, sir. He’s a friend and it’s important.”

“If he’s a friend, what’s his name?”

Rose chipped in. “Stanley Collins. Named after his great granddad if I remember right.”

“And your names?”

“Just tell him this…” Eric lowered his voice and glanced about conspiratorially. “Time is a tree. He’ll know what we mean.”

He nodded and rushed into the back of the theatre.

He returned a couple of minutes later and beckoned. They followed. God, the place was dank and dingy backstage. Rose began to look uncomfortable.

“What’s up?”

“It’s so… squalid!”

“Yeah, it’s all glamour and bright lights out front.” The old man chuckled. “Not back ’ere. Just real life, no sparkles and sequins. Lots of the acts get paid a pittance. They’ve got to do two sets a day and three at weekends just to make enough to live off.”

“So why do they do it?”

“Once you’ve been bitten…”

Eric nodded. “Ah, they love the applause, eh?”

“Really gets under your skin. I’m just a stage hand now but I used to be part of a double act.”

“What happened?”

“Drank himself to death. I was the straight man, couldn’t work alone, no-one gives a toss about the unfunny one but” he sighed. “I do love the life, so, I got a job backstage.”

He pointed at a door at the end of the corridor. “Room one’s the one you want. God, I’ve never seen anything like them and I’ve seen dozens of magic acts over the years. How the hell they do it…”

“I know! Bloody impressive, but I’m not letting on.”

“You know?”

“Oh, we both do but it wouldn’t be fair, a magician never reveals his tricks, or so the saying goes.”

He turned and returned the way they’d come, calling over his back. “Quite right too. Probably get kicked out of the magic circle if he told anyone. He’d never work as a magician again if that were the case.”

A knock on the door, the voice behind it said “Come in.” It didn’t sound happy.

Eric opened the door and held it for Rose. She grinned and entered. Eric followed and closed the door behind him.

Stanley Collins looked at Eric, then Rose, then back at Eric again.

Eric sighed. “Don’t worry. We won’t tell anyone. It’s a scary idea, being caught at it. Trust me, I know.”

“Caught? Caught at what? What did you mean, time’s a tree?”

“It’s alright, Stan. We know. When we saw what you two did on stage we just had to find out more. How did you do that? Were you taught or did it come natural for you and you taught her? Or she taught you?”

“You… you… What do you mean, you saw? No-one can see us. It’s impossible!”

“Only people who can’t do it can’t see you. Trust me, we saw you.”

“Can’t do what?”

“Please! Seriously? Just as you saw your assistant as she looked over their shoulders and signed to you what they had in their pockets…?” Eric shifted and made his arm vanish.

Rose grinned and did the same.

“You? And her?”

Eric nodded.

“But… You can’t! You’re… do you realise how long it takes?”

“To learn? For me? I did it without tuition although I did get a little after I’d done it the first time.”

“You’re a wildling? Bloody hell! Do you have any idea how rare you are?”

“Oh, I know. I know something else too. We’re nowhere near as rare as you think. I know two other, as you call us, wildlings. If by that you mean people for whom it came naturally without being taught.”

“Three? Who know each other? You… Her and?”

“Oh, no. Not Rose. I taught her. Took me a couple of days but I did have help.”

“Days!? It takes years! God, it’s frustrating.”

“I did say with help. OK. OK. A few years ago… were you able to do it back then?”

He nodded.

“And did you find anything unusual in your travels?”

“You… you found it too? Oh bloody hell, it scared the shit out of me.”

“It is a very different world, I’ll grant you. Did you explore? Find out about it?”

“What? How?”

“Well, there are libraries. Several in every town there.”

“Libr… you went there too?”

“More than that. I’m from there, originally. I made this world my home.”

“Just as well. I couldn’t find…”

“Couldn’t find it again? I know. Get a little dizzy about two years ago?”

He nodded again. His eyes no longer had that trapped look, they looked eager, hungry even. “What the hell was that?”

“First, please. Tell me how long, how many more?”

“I’ve met? How I can do it?” He sighed. “My grandfather, Sidney Collins. He was the first as far as I know. Must’ve been a wildling like you. I think he coined the term actually. Found it quite appealing. Wildling. It took a lot of patience but he was a magician and he found he could use his new-found talent to hoodwink the punters. He spent years teaching my dad, dad spent years teaching me and I did the same for my missus. How the hell did you teach her in two days?”

Rose sniggered. “Oh god, it wasn’t smooth going I’ll tell you that. That world you found. Eric took me there last year. There’s a special room under Blackpool tower.”

“God. Blackpool tower. I… I heard it was an amazing sight.”

She nodded. “It still is, there. Visible from miles away and right smack bang under the thing, a hidden chamber. That’s where Eric taught me. That, combined with the distance back to here was enough. I shifted two days after we started but it wasn’t that easy. I got stuck.”

“Shifted? Stuck?”

Eric nodded. “Alright, what do you call it. Do you even fully understand what you’re doing?”

“Other worlds, most identical to this one, the only difference is versions of me who can’t do it. I call them reflections. They’re not really… well… real, pale reflections of this one.”

“Oh, trust me, they’re as real as this one. All of them. And the act of travelling to them? What do you call it? What do you call the return when you relax? Might as well have a slang we all understand.”

“Seeing them? Viewing? Moving to other ones? Travelling. Why? What do you call it?”

“For seeing and moving, we call it shifting. And the return?”

“Slide? Slip? We never really decided to tell you the truth.”

“We call it drifting. Even that’s more complicated than you might think. And do you know what that world was you visited? How something so different could exist?”

He shook his head.

“Just as well we found you. If you’d spent a little time there on the wrong day, the day of your dizziness, you likely would’ve never seen this world again.”

Stan stared at Eric in horror. “I… I could’ve been stuck? There? I hated that place! It stank! The noise! Even the people were horrible! Wouldn’t even look at me! Very unfriendly.”

“I imagine if you were wearing the getup you wore on stage they would’ve beaten the shit out of you too.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Look, we’ve got a lot to talk about. How about this for an idea? Come with us, we’ll put you up above one of our pubs. We’ll be able to tell you a lot more then.”

“Pubs? Where?”

“Kidsgrove.”

His eyes lit up. “I’ve wanted to see that place for a while.”

“Let’s just say, it’s even more special than you’d ever guess.”

“Special how?”

“Finish getting changed and scrubbed down, grab your assistant and we’ll tell you all about it. Trust me, you’ll be amazed.” Eric stepped out of the room. “We’ll wait outside. Stage door?”

He nodded. “I’ll tell Hue to scratch me from the bill for tonight. I’ll do tomorrow night instead.”

[1] If you wish to hear the full song or any of the others by Thomas Benjamin Wild Esq, they’re available on YouTube. He kindly allowed me to place him in this story. He’s perfect for music hall. Shame there aren’t any now.

There's five of us.

Two and two and

...one.

I'm the only one that's alone.

Of course, we all have each other, but they really have each other.

At the end of the day, when we go home,

they'll go in their pairs,

laughing, hugging, chatting.

Siblings always have each other.

The other two, the lovers, of course, they'll go home and watch a movie, cuddling, the usual.

But me...

I'm an only child.

I don't have a lover to go home to.

Not that I don't have love, but you can't kiss and hug someone who's on the other side of the country.

Even at home, I'm often the only one.

My parents are still working.

It's far too quiet.

As long as life keeps me chained here,

I'll be an outcast.

But...

One day, I'll spread my wings

and

fly

away.

I always thought she was Mrs. Fitz — until I sent her an email, and she responded with the signature of an unmarried authority... When she presented the assignment a hush fell over this roudy class. For once, she captured our attention.

It was spring. Miss Fitz unsuccessfully extended her patience to provide us with books we'd like to read, relaxed lesson plans to include the social media scene, and even discarded writing requirements to allow us to explore anything we dreamed. But Brock, Dean, and Michael were busy distracting Fiona, Cindy, and Amir and debating worthiness of touchdown calls that seemed to concern Lenora and Seth too. When they weren't engulfed in whistle blowing, they liked talking with me and Kiko about how George Bush did 9/11 and how Donald Trump's orange skin was just a bad cover for the green lizard within. Michael, Amir, and Kiko would come to class with their snacks, and only share if Gianna was there (because she would sleep during lunch, and after class go to her dad's, who tried to keep junk food away). And Gianna always sat next to Ross, who only wanted to whisper about the group chat, and what bullshit his twin Nat pulled this time. John and Ricardo never spoke. They would pass notes, though. Miss Fitz stopped them once in September, putting one under the projector for further inspection, and found that their comics were mostly innapropriate affection. Donna, Nat, and JP sat right behind me, and it seemed like they were reading, but they never dared raise a hand, unlike some of their parents -- to me it seemed like Miss Fitz didn't mind.

Except this time. Written on the board was the following:

"5,000 words on why I should bother coming to this class to try and teach students determined to remain ignorant."

That night, after submitting my assignment, I asked everyone in the facebook group if they wanted to add to her apology letter. Not a single one let me know I got her title wrong.

I always envied their friendship. Seeing the two of them together and observing how they could finish each other’s thoughts. Their lifestyles are very different now but their bond has held strong. I wanted to be a part of that and was so happy when they became my friends. They accepted me into their world but would not let me in fully. I had and have others who would say that I am one of their best friends but I never had that connection that the two of them do. When I was with them, I always felt like the odd one out. This was proven to be true when I did something that they felt was a betrayal. One cut me out of her life immediately, not letting me offer an apology or explanation, just unfriended me from all social media. The other said she accepted my apology but then gradually faded from my life. Of course, I should have known, that when it came down to it, they would choose each other over me.

I watch with a heavy heart

as people go around

throwing care to the wind,

laughing around as they please.

Don’t they know

that they’re being merciless?

That they’re inflicting pain

on my already burdened heart?

I envy their smiles,

their friendships, their lives.

Sadly, they’re not to blame.

I’m basically an onlooker to them.

Studying my life,

I question myself, ‘Why am I so alone?’

‘What’s so bad about me?’

‘Why can’t I make this work?’

Dear heavens, I try!

Each time I try to encourage a smile,

it comes out as a twisted grimace.

Nothing more, nothing less.

But finally, I’m part of something, a group maybe.

Telling myself it’s the start

of a better life for myself,

it only ends up going in the opposite direction.

As I sit among them,

my eagerness slowly diminishes.

It just basically feels like

I’m practically invisible.

I’ve tried to look on the bright side,

but faced the even darker side.

I’ve tried to hold in my tears,

but there’s no use, so I let them go.

Either way, I’ll still be hopeful,

because there are still many days ahead.

But I sincerely hope,

that I can find the strength to wait until then.

Picture this: first day of school. Ever. You’re four years old. You are excited to make new friends and do all the fun things your mommy has told you that you will do there. You hug your mommy goodbye and run into the classroom with all the other children. The teacher says hello and tells you to go sit on a purple pillow in the circle of children already sitting on the floor. (Purple is your favorite color.) You learn lots of new things that day. But you don’t remember any of them. The only thing you remember is that you discovered you were different from everyone else and apparently that was a bad thing. When you get home that day, you say to your mother, Mommy, am I black?

Have you ever walked into a room and felt like everyone was looking at you, then looked around and realized that, no, you are not paranoid, everyone islooking at you? And then have this happen every time you walk anywhere: school, market, bakery, butcher, ice cream parlor, restaurant, library, bus station, train station, airport, beach, down the street, someone’s home…for your entire life?

Have you ever felt out of place everywhere except for your very own home – because even your relatives say things like, ha ha, so you been out in the sun, haven’t you?– when the summer sun kissed you as played outside?

Have you ever gone to play at your new best friend’s house, you are, let’s say, ten years old, and then have her mother make you leave simply because of how you look? And when she is finally worn down by your best friend’s pleas, she tells her neighbors – who worry aboutthatchild coming over to play – oh, don’t worry, she’s different?

Having heard this, did you then spend decades trying desperately to continue being differentso that you might be accepted, fly under the radar, finally have people stop staring?

But they can’t because they would have to knowyou to know that you are different, but they can’t get beyond the skin for which there is no possibility of ecdysis.

When you walk into a upscale store, do they completely ignore you? Or, alternatively, do they eye you suspiciously until you leave, making you want to buy something even if you don’t like anything you see just so they know that you can?

Do people jump out of their skin (and occasionally scream) when they see you in a dimly lit, early morning gym parking lot, or in the stairwell of your luxury apartment building when the elevator is not working? Because they see yourskin, not your smile?

Did you ever have a friend ask you what you liked to be called and respond with your name and have her say, ha, you know what I mean, black or African-American? (Clearly, she had not read, Dale Carnegie: Remember that a person’s name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language.)

Have you ever fallen in love with and married someone who society (and some family) thought you shouldn’t, didn’t approve of, indeed, had it happened 23 years prior to when it did, it would not even have been legal to marry?

Have you ever given birth to a child who is so different from you that your mother worried the nurses wouldn’t bring him back thinking he could not possibly be yours?

Have you ever prayed to God that your child would never be embarrassed to call you Mom? Not the normal, don’t kiss me here, don’t walk next to me, Mom, drop me off a block away, which every parent deals with in some form, at some point in a child’s life. No, I mean the possible reaction to “Oh, that’s your mom? Weird, I didn’t know you were black.”

If you answered yes to any of the above, you may sometimes, often or even always, feel like a misfit, but know that you are not alone.

My wonderful english teacher stood, eagerly dissecting the first page of Edith Warton's Age of Innocence to her class of bored high school juniors. That was, until she asked our class a simple question.

"As you can see, the norms of elite New York society required speaking in another language, a secret language made of small motions and signals. Think of it like high school, right? Don't you guys have a secret language to get into the party scene here?"

The class woke up then, slowly nodding to answer her question.

I was confused about what she was talking about.

"....Y'know what, raise your hand if you have a secret language within your grade.... I can already see you guys making eye contact and throwing glances."

Everyone else had risen their hand.

And then it hit me. There is another high school language, one of social norms.

One of signals and conversations through glances and eye movements and social media posts.

One of how to get invited places

One of whether or not you can sit at this table.

One of flirting and judging.

One you have to spend a lifetime in to understand.

One I had not learned how to speak.

Much of my life I’ve felt like a spectator.  Not necessarily someone who was here to experience it for myself, but to watch others claim what they believed was owed to them.  Very rarely do I feel part of a group, or that my purpose is amounting to anything in this world.  I’m not trying to sound depressing, simply stating the thoughts that tend to swim in my skull.

I have not lived long enough to claim I know much, and even if I did I’m sure I’d still know very little about the multi-faceted aspects of life.  Time and means limit us all from experiencing it in the ways we’d like to.  Time, means… and someone to share it with.

Life begs to be shared.  If the story of humans is based on memories passed down from generation to generation, then how would anyone know you existed if you didn’t share experiences with others.  Memories are so important, but often in this day and age we forget the people closest to us.

In the meantime, I’m going to start participating more.  Life is not a spectator sport.

But I am happy to watch you laugh loudly and socialize freely. But sometimes I feel a disconnect; Between me, you and them. I get lost in conversation because I don't understand.

Sometimes I feel like the less I am like them; then, the more indifference builds between us two.

Sometimes I don't get you, but they do.

They live with you, and I live without you.

I am a misfit that blends in but not really because I can feel the divide. The divide that brings the social anxiety high. I’ll never get over the fact that I am an outsider and seniority doesn’t even matter.

I don’t ever even get the insiders all I see are social barriers.

Social barriers,

Space between us,

I’ll never be enough.

A misfit is what I’ve become.