Hello? Um...
is anyone here?
Oh, h-hello.
They called me, I mean, my name,
they called my name
and they said it was my turn
to go, so I thought I was supposed
to come in and here I

have humbly come onto your stage
to speak, from memory, and hopefully eloquently,
and I pray that you give me due credit
for my pains in learning this
and for you to judge whether I am worthy
of a spotlight, or even

a fucking flashlight, ya know?
I mean, I can stand around in tights
as well as the next jerk-off
and spout the bullshit that you theater types
all orgasm over, shitty old poetry and all.
I can do fucking Bill Shakespeare, ya know?
And hey, if the freakin' part calls for it, I can

seduce you, slide sultry across your skin,
leaving salty whispers as my tongue tastes your earlobes,
my body pressed so close to yours that you can feel the pounding
of my blood as my hands convince you that there is no difference
between heaven and hell, and my nails rake you
with barely contained heat until you are begging me to

stop. I mean, really, what's the point?
I don't really care one way or the other about it.
I mean, if I get a part, it's a nice little plug for me and all,
and if I don't, I get all that extra free time to myself,
so really I win either way. But if you

don't give me a part, you throw away your one chance
at discovering the next big Hollywood hit. Oh, and don't think
that I'll forget about this. Oh, no. Refuse me a part,
and when I'm famous I'll do everything I can to rub it
in your slimy little face. I will be everywhere you look - in movies,
on billboards, in magazines, even on the sides of the bus
you take to work every morning. And I can do it all without
ever having to see you

again. I'm just going to be rejected again.
Why do I even bother? I'm no good...you can tell
just by looking at me. I don't even have to open my mouth,
you've already made up your mind, haven't you?
I'm insecure, I don't know what to do with my hands,
and I just keep babbling on because I don't know when to

shut up. Just shut up. Who the hell do you think you are?
You think you can just walk in here and judge me? What
the fuck gives you the right? You know shit about me.
You think you're better than me? I'm the one standing
on the fucking stage right now. And where are you? That's right.
Down there. In the dark. I'm the one in the light
and that's where I'm going to

stay. Please, just let me stay. Just give me a part,
please. Any part. It doesn't even have to be a speaking part,
I just want to be on stage. Or, if it'd be better, I don't even have
to be on stage. I can stay in the back and run props,
or lights or sound - anything, whatever you need, just please, I want to stay
in the

theater. Ah, the glory of the stage! The brilliant lights, the breath-taking sets,
the stirring speeches, the beautiful music, the extravagant costumes,
the famous actors, the intricate choreography, and the quotable lines that
even with just a few words can bring you a standing ovation. Ah, how I long
to be a part of it again! Just one more chance to deliver the performance
of a lifetime, so that when I am done, I can be satisfied
and say to myself

that's it.
Thank you for taking the time
to listen to me.
Farewell.

11/20/2003

Author's Note: An experiment in presenting different personalities/roles/attitudes that one might encounter in the dramatic world. Published in my college's literary magazine, Pulse.

Posted on 11/20/2003
Copyright © 2024 Amanda J Cobb