“You opted to do extra work?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you’ve been working all week?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you’d rather not have Jaffa Cakes ever again if it just meant that you didn’t have to see other people practicing to be Elphaba when yo-”
“Yes! Now can you shut up? I’m trying to write this!” I snapped at Chris as he went on and on about the stupid cleaning job that I had to go to in a few hours’ time.
At the moment, it was five am and both of us were struggling to sleep. Chris wouldn’t tell me why he was having trouble sleeping, but if the dark, bruise like, circles under his eyes were any indication, he hadn’t been sleeping well for a while. As a result, we were once again hanging out in the lounge with Nutella on toast and hot chocolate. This time, however, I’d set an alarm on my phone for seven, when I’d have to start getting ready to be at the theatre by nine.
I wasn’t playing video games with Chris this time around either. Chris was seated in a beanbag in front of his TV as he played through ‘The Simpsons: Hit and Run’ game, which he told me was a classic game which couldn’t be bypassed. He also revealed to me that this was at least the twentieth time that he’d played the game through, and he still adored it. I, on the other hand, was lounging on the sofa with my laptop as I attempted to write my angry, dream dedicated, blog post.
Chris grimaced at me in a melodramatic manner. “There’s no need to be rude, your highness. If you continue like that, then I’ll have to eat all of this toast all by myself.”
“Bread makes you fat,” I smirked to him as I put the last of a slice of toast into my mouth.
Chris actually paused his game to spin round to look at me. “Bread makes you fat?!”
I half-smiled at him before returning to my laptop to write that rant. I knew now that Chris hadn’t actually bought bread for a while because of hearing about how bread makes you fat. He claimed that it wasn’t just the Scott Pilgrim reference that we’d both shared only moments ago, but he still hadn’t bought it for a while. Apparently, it was only when Lucy and I brought some bread home from when we went shopping almost a week ago, that Chris started eating more bread. Chris was almost enlightened when he was rekindled with his love of bread and how you could make sandwiches, toast…and how that was about it. He even commented that if the most exciting thing in his life right now was eating bread again, then he must be a weird ass person. I agreed immediately, but not only for his love of bread.
The breakfast that Chris and I had just had was actually using up the last of the bread. Chris had complained enough about it to make me say that I’d go and buy some more later today. Why, if all he did during the week was play video games in his pyjamas, could he not go shopping himself? It honestly baffled me. But then again, Chris hadn’t ceased to surprise me yet.
*
Friday 12th September 2014
6:03am –at home
‘Follow your dreams.’
‘If you keep trying, your dreams will come true.’
‘Someday, I hope all of your wildest dreams come true.’
For the lucky ones, their dreams become reality. Yay, people accomplish things! Congrats to you! *slow claps* For everyone else, that dream can be crushed within mere seconds when your dreams are ripped away from you when you’re a hair’s breath away from it. And that feeling is the worst bloody thing EVER.
Oh yeah, I know that if everyone’s dreams came true, then we’d all live in a Disneyland perfect version of the world, where everything is ‘happily ever after’ and magic actually exists (damn literature and movies for getting my hopes up on the magic front). Yet even so, it’s very difficult to think positively when it’s you that hasn’t been able to achieve their dreams.
Dreams are what make people individuals. Never mind if we all look different, the dreams are what we strive for, what shapes our personalities and promote our weaknesses.
There are many people who haven’t achieved their dreams and are perfectly happy, but then there are the people who don’t know what to do next because their chance at accomplishing their dream is shot. Some people go through subpar jobs which drive them slowly insane from the monotony of their actions that can make them miserable. These people may do this purely to have a chance of getting their dream job or obtaining those connections to start their journey to accomplishing their dream. Like in ‘The Devil Wears Prada’, for example.
As always, the negative seems to outweigh the positive. Life is a cold hearted bitch.
I’m signing off, Buds.
-Thorn x
*
Cleaners wise, the theatre had one apart from me, and that cleaner came in mid-week. From what I’d learned already over the past two hours that I’d been cleaning for, this other cleaner had no idea what a cloth, a vacuum cleaner or any cleaning fluid actually was. Various dust animals lived backstage, claiming their habitats in the Wizard’s mask and in the shadows of the stage props. The actors who worked here must either be blind to dirt or they’re just too nice to mention anything negative about the set.
The deal with my Saturday job was that I’d come in at nine to clean until twelve, when there would be a dance rehearsal on stage. I was also given the task of fetching teas and coffees for the theatre workers. Janice had given me a list of everyone’s preferred drinks so that I could go to Starbucks both before work on week days, and on a Saturday. I was left in custody of a theatre owned credit card made specifically for this. Any money that was used was carefully monitored so that I couldn’t use the card for personal reasons, and even then, I’d have to pay the theatre back if I did use it by accident or something. This would last for three weeks, unless Janice thought that I was actually doing an okay job with the coffees.
Even if I did have a fair bit of cleaning and errand running to do to truly make up for my mistake yesterday, Max had at least smoothed things over for me concerning my actual job. That was what I was here for, after all; to maintain that job. Whilst she’d been basically saving my job, Max had suggested to me that I go to the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square at some point so that I could reignite my own sense of creativity, seeing as she wanted me to be a little more experimental with the cogs I produced. She’d promised that if I could do that experimentation, then I could make something else for the set instead of constantly painting fake mechanical components. I planned to visit the art gallery tomorrow so that I had ideas for Monday.
So here I was, on the theatre stage with the curtains drawn to the empty audience, whilst I scrubbed at a sticky spot which was on the stage with some industrial strength cleaning solution and a ratty sponge. This was my life now, apparently.
The only positive of this job was that I could tactfully listen in on the singing rehearsals that happened either backstage in one of the dressing rooms, or on the stage itself if I worked in the audience seating area. I’d listened to the group and chorus’s songs from off stage whilst I was chasing away the various dust animals, Glinda song rehearsals in the dressing rooms area, and now, the Elphaba songs. Currently, the three potential Elphaba’s were singing ‘The Wizard and I’, one after the other, which I already knew word for word:
“Did that really just happen?
Have I actually understood?
This weird quirk I've tried
To suppress or hide
Is a talent that could
Help me meet the Wizard
If I make good
So I'll make good…”
It was almost torturous to listen to them sing the songs I adored so, especially as it could be me in their position. Because of my incredible powers of deduction, I knew that it was Elinor, Twelve and Seven who were doing the singing.
I like to think that I know the songs quite well, seeing as I love the musical so much that I learnt the words for all of the songs and have had the songs playing on loop from my iPod for years, so I found myself picking flaws and noticing faults in how these girls were singing Elphaba’s songs. They weren’t doing Elphaba justice! Did they understand the desperation and conflicting emotions that she was feeling? Their voices didn’t portray as much, and that disheartened me. I wanted to find the musical director for this production and lecture them about the meaning of Elphaba’s role. I think that the musical director here was Mary-Anne, also known as the woman who’d been sat with Tony and Dexter during my first audition. She didn’t appear to be a particularly scary woman, if I remembered correctly, but I suppose I couldn’t really afford to cause more dispute and problems for this production.
Instead, I hummed along to the songs by myself. Because the practice singing session was so bloody loud, it was like I was getting a free singing tuition out of this, which was helpful seeing as I didn’t have a vocal coach here just yet. Maybe I should ask Max for advice on finding a singing coach and attending more dance classes here, and where the best place to go actually was.
At around the time of the song’s fourth stanza, I was singing properly as I spun around on the empty stage. I had to take care not to slip on the area of stage that I’d been cleaning.
“Once I'm with the Wizard
My whole life will change
'Cuz once you're with the Wizard
No one thinks you're strange!
No father is not proud of you,
No sister acts ashamed
And all of Oz has to love you
When by the Wizard, you're acclaimed
And this gift or this curse
I have inside
Maybe at last, I'll know why
When we are hand in hand -
The Wizard and I!”
I continued to sing through the song, throwing in clutching hand gestures and enthusiastic head flicks. My voice even took over and started almost belting out the final lines of the song. I was left breathing heavily as the music died out from offstage. This made realisation dawn on me that I’d just sang really, really, loudly to a song I wasn’t meant to be singing. Oh.
I lowered my head and slowly sank down to sit on the stage, where I picked up my cleaning things before returning them into the little cleaning box that all of the supplies were stored in. Sneaking singing lessons from here seemed like an okay idea to me. There was just the chance of someone overhearing me and complaining about it. I wanted to sing and I needed to practice, so maybe the risk would be worth it. I had to hope as much.
One hour of cleaning later, I was happily making my way back home via my standard Tube route. Working six days a week was beyond unfair, but at least that made my time off even more worth it. It did mean that I was on the verge of falling sleep on the train as I slouched on the train seats though. I almost drifted off on a stranger’s shoulder before I was jolted awake by the station announcement and I fled from the carriage before I could make eye contact with my human pillow.
When I did actually return to the flat after trudging back to my building, shoving the key forcefully into the look and stumbling through the door, I took myself back to my room, where I promptly collapsed onto my bed and hid my head in my pillow in the hopes that I’d never have to leave my lovely bed ever again.
“I love you, bed,” I said sleepily as I hugged my duvet and tried to burrow my way into my little den of warmth and safety. I didn’t care that I was fully dressed; I wanted to sleep. I tried to pull my boots off by repeatedly kicking at my boot heel with the other foot, but I was obviously unsuccessful. I basically decided on the factor of ‘fuck it’ as I let my feet hang off the edge of the bed instead of dealing with my shoes. I’d cleaned them off on the welcome mat anyway.
“Princess? Are you dead? Are you leaving me to pay rent by myself?”
I groaned into my mattress and reached out to one of my pillows, taking the fabric in my hand as I held it. “If I’m dead, go and find Augustus so that he can give me a true love’s kiss to bring me back to life. I’d like that.”
“I think you’ll find that Augustus is the dead one.”
Like an unlearnt reflex, I sat bolt upright in bed and threw my pillow at Chris, who ducked behind me door whilst I yelled at him. “SHUT UP, CHRIS!”
“Jesus Christ,” Chris said in shock as he looked round the door at me. I could only see one of his eyes and some of his hair. “Are you on your period or something?”
“No, I’m not on my period! NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!” I snarled. I pointed to my door as I continued to glare at him. It was one thing to try and talk to me when I was tired and hungry, but it was as if he was asking for a death threat if he brought up that little factoid about my darling Augustus, not to mention the period thing.
“But we need food…you didn’t go shopping…”
My shoulders sunk as I closed my eyes and lowered my hand so that it was flopped on the duvet next to me. I really, really, didn’t want to go shopping now. I wasn’t in the right mind-set to even make myself food, let alone go and buy food. With my luck, I’d end up slumped atop the cabbages like a lifeless corpse because I would have collapsed from fatigue. That’s the problem with not being able to sleep at night; you need to sleep during the day….like now.
“And why are you incapable of going shopping yourself?” I sighed irritably as I pressed my hands to my eyes.
“Because I don’t know what food you want…I don’t think we can live off sesame seed noodles, Nutella and toast, for some reason.”
I have to go shopping, don’t I? “I don’t want to collapse on the cabbages,” I mumbled sluggishly, drowsiness taking over my brain.
Chris laughed and stepped out from behind the door, where he proceeded to lean up against the side of the door and watch me in a vaguely amused manner. “Wait, what? You don’t want to collapse in the cabbages? Are you that tired?”
“Unlike some people,” I started as I struggled to push my duvet away from my legs, “I wasn’t able to go back to bed after spending three hours on the Xbox earlier this morning.”
“Point taken,” Chris admitted. “We could go shopping together, if it’d stop you from collapsing in the cabbages. I can’t say the same for not letting you fall into the cauliflowers, mind.”
Despite myself, I chuckled. Maybe my lack of sleep was affecting my brain, meaning that I was actually finding Chris funny. “Ah, okay. Let me just eat something quick for lunch before we go.”
“Fine. Just drag me away from the Xbox when you’re ready to leave,” Chris said simply as he turned to leave my room.
“And how am I meant to successfully remove your game controller from your hands without you killing me first?” I called after him.
“Remind me that I need food. If that fails, promise to buy me a mocha whilst we’re out,” he replied loudly.
I grinned to myself as I heard Chris crash about in the lounge whilst he turned the Xbox back on. Chris wasn’t making it easy for me to not form a crush on him. As much as I hated the idea of it, I will admit that the feeling of liking him was almost pleasant. That is, it was pleasant until I was reminded that he could only ever like me as a friend, seeing as he was devoted to Mia. When that thought struck me, my mouth tasted sour and my heart ached a little with the sudden darkness of my thoughts. Yay.
With that, I forced myself to get up off my bed and drag my fatigue saturated body towards the kitchen. The fridge was basically bare when I opened it up and released the cold fridge fog. There was a bag of wilted lettuce leaves and a tub of mayonnaise on the second shelf but that was it. I wasn’t going to eat aged rabbit food which tasted like dead dandelions because it’s sell by date was two months ago. Nope, not me.
After lots of hunting for food, I eventually found a slightly browning banana on the sideboard next to the kettle. The kettle had a thin layer of dust over it which had only been disrupted to make Chris and I’s early morning hot chocolates, it seemed. The banana, in all of its speckled glory, actually looked vaguely edible.
I picked the banana up and looked at its little freckles sceptically. Bananas had this habit of turning ridiculously sweet if they were left to ripen for too long. On the other hand, this seemed like the only relatively consumable food that we owned. Even the freezer contained only a half empty bag of peas, some out of date fish fingers and a kids’ mini pepperoni pizza. It was pitiful picking.
I ate my meagre excuse for a lunch hastily whilst I leant up against the kitchen counter and made a vague shopping list, the food intake already giving me something which resembled energy. We’d need more bread, Nutella, Jaffa Cakes, hot chocolate powder and milk, that much I knew. I’d attempted to help Maddie with our weekly shop enough times to have a vague idea about which ‘staple foods’ Chris and I might need to survive. Stocking up on freezer foods, pasta, rice and noodles was an apparent must.
“Chris?” I called out as I dropped the banana peel into the bin and made my way towards the lounge with my shopping list and pen. I looked up from my scrawled food notes when I entered the lounge to see that Chris was engrossed in his Halo game (of course he was). His eyes had taken on this odd glassy tone which I now knew was something which represented the dead state of mind he went into when he played these one person shooter games by himself.
“Chris?” I said again as I went and hovered at his shoulder. “We need to go shopping. You need food to survive.”
He didn’t respond, instead making his character throw a grenade at his enemies on screen.
“We can’t live off fish fingers, peas and mini pizzas,” I told him as I prodded the side of his head with my pen. Chris’ head tilted all the way over so that his ear was resting on his shoulder due to the motion of my pen as he continued his gameplay.
I frowned at him. Either he really was consumed by this game, or he really wanted a free mocha out of this.
“I need to go to the National Gallery to do some creative research for work. I’ll get you a mocha at their café,” I said reluctantly.
No sooner had the words left my mouth did Chris press the power off button on his Xbox and TV. He tilted his head back and grinned excitedly at me. “I told you that mocha’s would work.”
I rolled my eyes and pushed his head so that he was facing forward again. “Only because you were holding out for that mocha. I bet you were waiting for me to offer a free mocha and all.”
“And what if I was? It worked anyway,” he chuckled gleefully as he climbed upright. “Are we really going to the National Gallery as well?”
“Yeah,” I admitted with a sigh. “I really have been asked to go and have a look at the art there to ‘reignite my sense of creativity’, or something.”
Chris lifted one curve of his cupid’s bow up to grimace at me. “You poor sod.”
“Welcome to the world of work. Actually, you wouldn’t recognise that world; you don’t have a job or do any work.”
“Woah, hold up,” Chris said, letting out his inner sassy person as he z-snapped right in front of my face. “Gurl, I work all day, once a fortnight, plus major editing. I try and do daily vlogs everyday on my second channel as well. That is work.” He kept rolling his ‘r’s as he slid into his standard American accent. “I’ll have to take you to my show’s filming next week to prove it to you. Either that or I force you to make one of my weekly vlogs for me. ‘Fucked Up Flatmate Fridays’ has a nice ring to it.”
“Haha, you’re so funny… And just so you know: ’I Bet You Can’t Draw Thursdays’ is not work,” I snorted as I abruptly turned and left the room to quickly check my reflection in my bedroom mirror before I left the flat. I was surprised that Chris didn’t make some sort of defensive comment about that part of his vlogging, but that did give me time to put a new coat of my dark red lipstick on before joining Chris at the door.
Chris and I silently went into the lift together after locking up the flat. Chris leant across me to press the ground floor button when we were inside the lift, making my senses heighten and my spine feel like someone had forced it to be vertically straight. He was close enough for me to smell his shampoo. His hair smelt of apples. Apple shampoo and orange shower gel? He really had a thing for fruit smells. Maybe Mia smelt like some sort of fruit and he wanted to match her? What an odd thought…
“So…you watch my vlogs?” Chris said awkwardly as we descended through the floors of the building.
I swallowed hard in an attempt to flush away those thoughts of my flatmate. “Yeah. I have since you showed me that Becca vid.”
“Oh.”
“I, er, I subscribed to both of your channels.”
“Um, thanks then, I suppose.”
As soon as the two of us left the lift, the tenseness of our conversation seemed to immediately evaporate. I suspected it was how we’d been inside a small space together for a few seconds, rather than being in open space, let alone how my thoughts had instantly turned almost stalkerish at his proximity. I really needed to get a grip.
“National Gallery and then the shops?” Chris suggested mildly as we hovered on the doorstep of the building, unsure on where we should go.
“Okay,” I practically squeaked. I coughed slightly before following Chris off down the pavement towards our nearest Tube entrance a few hundred metres away.
Chris smirked as he dug his hands into his coat pockets and tensed up against the autumnal chill that was present in the air. The cloudy weather and the dappled lighting made Chris look dark and mysterious. It brought out shadows under his sharp jawline which consequently made his dark under eye circles look like the beginning of black holes in his face. His hair looked darker, as if he’d had a very bad hair dyeing experience. He looked eerily handsome.
Chris’ pale lips quirked up into a sly smile as he caught my gaze, making me feel conscious that I’d probably been staring at him. “I didn’t know that you were half mouse, Princess,” he said coolly, his teeth almost glowing as he smiled.
I scowled angrily as I sunk down deeper into my coat. And now, we were back to normal.