The Blog Propellant · writing

Morgan Reginald Hollingsworth III

Cubing the Stories #11



Morgan Reginald Hollingsworth III was nervous. He had butterflies in his stomach. His mother had told him it was normal and if the lights were set right he wouldn’t even see the audience. It would be just like when he practiced in his room or in the garage. “Nuttin’ to worry about, Reggie,” she said, “easy peasy,” she assured him, “piece o’ cake! Now go break a leg!”

She put her hand in the middle of his back and shoved him out onto the stage and into the spotlights. He stumbled forward and squinted out at the crowd. Mom had been wrong. He could see everyone in the  audience, in great detail. He could see his Aunt Fiona’s mustache and the large mole Uncle Alfonso wore so proudly in the middle of his chin.

Nervously Reggie tried to smile and wave at the crowd. He opened his mouth to begin his well rehearsed line of patter but nothing came out. He screwed up his face and tried again with the same results.

Why had I agreed to this? He asked himself. What had I been thinking?

He tried to picture everyone in the crowd naked, he had heard that this technique worked to lessen stage fright, but then his eyes fell on his cousin, Elsie and her fraternal twin Edgar. Just the thought of those two naked was enough to make him a bit nauseated. Looking down at his feet he studied the worn oak boards of the stage.

His grandfather had performed on this stage; Harry Houdini had performed on this stage. Blackstone had trod these boards. Even Claudio and Evangeline had gotten their big break here. He took a deep breath and reached up his coat sleeve to pull out his wand. This was the part of his act where he would always say “Abra Cadabra” but he found that his voice was still missing so he simply pointed his wand at the audience, waved the tip ever so slightly, and a shower of stars flew out over the entire theatre.

Oohs and aahs echoed towards the stage from the seats.

“Catch one if you can,” Reggie said, “Catch one and put it in your pocket. You never know when you’re going to need a light.”

He smiled and watched the audience reach upwards, as one, to capture the tiny lights and secrete them into their pockets and handbags. He glanced to the side of the stage and watched his mother pluck one of the stars from above her head. She placed it gently on the palm of her hand, held it up to her mouth and blew it, like a kiss, towards her son, Morgan Reginald Hollingsworth III, tonight’s headliner.

He smiled and knew it was going to be OK.


 

Daily Prompt · Random Scribbles · writing

Daily Prompt; Sandwich

Daily Prompt; Sandwich



Butch waited for Gerald to get close then stepped around the corner, “Gimme yer fuckin’ lunch money, Twink!”

“I don’t have any money, sir.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ll smash you. Turn yer pockets out.”

Gerald set his things on the linoleum floor and did as he had been asked. All he had was a small pocket knife. Butch took it.

“How are you gonna eat without lunch money?” Butch asked. He poked Gerald in the belly and sneered, “Yer obviously not missin’ any meals.”

Gerald pointed at the paper bag stacked atop his books, “I brought my lunch.” He said and looked Butch in the eye.

“Wadda ya got? Gotta boloney sammich? Got some o’ them wavy tater chips? Maybe some chocolate chip cookies? I like chocolate chip cookies.”

“No sir, I don’t eat a lot of sandwiches. I have grilled chicken and roasted vegetables wrapped in a flour tortilla with a garlic aioli. I brought some of those new Goldfish crackers, and I have apple slices for dessert. I have a lot. I’d be happy to share with you.”

A puzzled look crossed Butch’s face, “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“No sir, I’m on my way to the Cafeteria now. Come with me.”

Butch thought for a few seconds before nodding his head, “OK, let’s go.”

Gerald picked up his stuff and they two boys continued down the hall towards the lunchroom. “May I have my pocket knife back sir?”

“Don’t push yer luck Twink.”

“Sorry, sir. Could you call me Gerald instead of Twink? My name is Gerald.”

Butch slapped him on the back, “Gerry, I ken call you Gerry, but I’m not gonna call anybody Gerald.” They got to the lunchroom and paused to look around.

“There’s an empty table over there in the corner,” intoned Gerald.

“I don’t like that one. Let’s go take that one over there,” Butch pointed towards a table by the window where three or four of the Student Council members were sitting.

“There’s no seats over there.”

“Come on Gerry, we’ll chase em off.” He grabbed Gerald’s jacket and pulled him along.