Victoria Frankenstein, III: Part 5

 

Four

Father was surprised.

“You’re going to see a school play?”

“I thought I would. It’s about Dracula.”

“I guess we need some more horror in our lives,” he said quietly. Then added quickly, “I’m kidding. And not very kindly so.”

“It’s all right, Father. The other day, I said something hurtful, too.”

“Well, you’re entitled—once or twice in your life. Maybe.”

We were both smiling by now.

“Want me to go with you?” he asked.

“I think I’ll be more invisible if I go alone,” I said.

“And ‘invisible’ matters right now?”

“You know it does.”

“Yes, I do,” he said. He breathed deeply. “I have some work to do tonight, anyway.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I’ve begun sort of an online journal.”[i]

“Like a magazine?”

“No, more like a diary.” He paused. Looked at me. “I’ve already done a few entries. Do you want to read them?”

“Sure,” I said. “What are they about?”

“About our recent … troubles.”

“Maybe I’ll wait, then.”

“I understand.”

He always did.

***

After our small supper, we cleaned up. I went upstairs to read a little, then came downstairs and found Father working at our computer.

“Well, I’m headed out,” I said. “If you find me later, missing all my blood, you’ll know what happened.”

“Want to take some garlic with you?”

Those were the last words I heard as I headed out the door.

***

It was not a long walk to the school, not at all. Just across the little town square: Our house was on one side; the middle school, on the other. As I’ve already mentioned, the school was old, and it didn’t really have a theater—just a stage at the end of its small gym floor. They had to crank up the basketball backboard and net for every stage production so that they wouldn’t obstruct the view.

Although it was October 26, the Saturday before Halloween, the weather was still Indian-summer warm.

When I arrived at the school, I saw there wasn’t much of a crowd—mostly friends and families of cast members, I guessed. Some appreciative teachers. I saw Mr. W., who sort of glanced my way and nodded. Anyway, with just so few people, I was able to find Irv quite easily. I saw, too, that there were other boys seated down the row beside him. I almost thought he was giving me a silent message. I almost considered not going over.

But he saw me, gestured to me to come over, and told me to take a seat right behind him—a seat on the aisle, like his. I wasn’t sure if I should be insulted or not, but he kind of smiled at me, so I decided I would settle for that.

Just at 7:30 some of the lights went off in the gym—no dimmers, just off. And the music teacher, whose name I can never remember, sat at the old upright piano and began to pound out the overture. It went on forever.

Finally, the curtains slowly jerked open, and stage lights came on, and the show began.

Everything looked so … plain. They obviously hadn’t had much money for scenery, props, and costumes, but what kind of touched me was this: I could tell right away that the actors—my classmates—were absolutely devoted and committed to what they were doing. There was no fooling around, no hint of looks or gestures that said I’m ashamed to be a part of this. They were proud of what they were doing, and, as the show went on, I felt my admiration for them swell—like a heart filling with hope.

John was especially good. I couldn’t believe it. No longer the sort of shy kid in the cafeteria, he was confident, was absolutely in command of this comedy version of Dracula. And when he began his first song? Well, I felt tears in my eyes. And when he had finished, the audience, who had been absolutely silent during his performance, exploded in applause for him. I confess I was clapping and cheering right along with them.

***

During intermission, I thought I would get a chance to talk with Irv.

Nope. As soon as the lights came up, he smiled at me again and then nearly sprinted over to groups of people. So I went to get a soft drink, and the kid had to scramble around to find something “special” for me. Right.

I returned to my seat and just sat there and stared at my play program. I looked up and saw Irv was talking with a couple of adults whom I didn’t recognize, and he was absolutely at ease with them. I listened hard, pretending I was not listening at all.

“John is just wonderful,” he was telling the adults. “Such a talent.”

“That’s kind of you, Irv. He’ll be glad to hear that.”

“Oh, I’ll tell him myself after the show,” Irving said. “But I just wanted you to know.”

John’s parents, I told myself. I looked at them a little more closely. They seemed … older, somehow, older than parents of an eighth grader ought to be. Now, I don’t want to seem unkind at all here—but they also seemed to be, well, poor. Their clothes were worn—maybe even a little shabby. But they wore on their faces looks of deep pride in their son. As well they should have.

After the intermission, John was even better. You may have experienced this? You’re at a play production, and you find that, after a while, there are performers you just notice more than others. Your attention focuses on them, and you’re barely aware of the others? Well, that’s how I felt about John.

When the show ended, John got to experience more appreciation at curtain call. Kids were cheering, standing and applauding. In that one evening, John probably did more good for the drama program at school than any other event or person had ever done.

I had planned to go up and congratulate him afterwards, but when I peeked in the band room (where the cast had gathered), I saw a crowd, and crowds (even small ones) are what I preferred to avoid. And so I left him there, enjoying his great victory.

And Irv? He had waved at me and left quickly. By the time I got outside, there was no sign of him.

Oh well: Sometimes things begin with a wave? It doesn’t always mean “good-bye,” right?

***

I walked quickly back across the town square. I was starting to feel a little woozy, and as I approached our house, I noticed something odd. Every light in the place was on (not at all like Father to do that), and the front door was wide open. The night was growing cool, almost cold, so even before I entered that front door, even before I called for Father, even then I knew something was very wrong.

And it was.

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[i] The term blog did not enter the language until about 1999, but this appears to be what Vickie’s father is starting to work on.