The crow and the jock
Cross posted on ao3
Chapter 5: Last curtain call
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SUMMARY: Things are not getting easy for poor Donovan. After what happened during the lacrosse match, the man feels like something has changed with the way he is looking at Timothy, but he can't really understand what. Lucky for him, only a handful of weeks stand between him and the end of the year, after which he will never see the young man ever again. The only thing he has to do now is to prepare the end of the year play, and surely, in so little time, nothing can go wrong. Right?
*****
Several days had now passed since Tim's incident on the lacrosse field, and if the student was now fine - except for a few twinges in the chest and shoulder area when he made any sudden movements - the same could not be said for Don.
Whenever the teacher saw, heard about, or even merely thought about the jock, a series of emotions swept through him, like a storm, loud and confused, impossible to understand. and always leaving him in a confused and dazed state.
At first he had thought that he had fallen ill, that he had caught some kind of seasonal flu, but all the tests done found that he was as healthy as a horse. But even so, his head continued to ache. He was having a hard time talking, thinking, even concentrating on work, something that had never happened to him before!
Over the course of the days following the fateful match, several times it had happened to him, in the middle of class, to lose his train of thought and force himself to retrace his steps, leaving the students, so used to his professionalism, confused and perplexed.
In addition, several times Jim, Maria and other teachers had found him sitting somewhere intent on staring into space with a dull stare, which caused him no small amount of embarrassment.
Rumors had begun to spread throughout the school that the early warm weather was making him more lethargic than usual, or that the events of the past few months had been so stressful that they had left him completely burned out. and one could attribute all of his strange behaviors to that.
Perhaps it was true, even Don did not know after all why he was acting this way, and part of him probably hoped that the solution was so simple.
Yet part of him was certain that this was not true.
Eventually, after hours of searching to figure out what causes his shortcomings should be attributed to, he declared himself defeated, and forced himself to blame the cause of his moodiness on the one and only Timothy McArthur.
By now desperate and unable to come up with it on his own, he had tried to bring it up - but never mentioning the student's name - even with Jim and Maria, who were concerned about his health. As a precaution, he had also sought advice from people like Sofia or Tristan, Maria's boyfriend. Yet none of the things they had told him made sense to him.
Go figure: Jim had even gone so far as to say that it all had to do with the possibility that he, the upstanding, steadfast Donovan Crawford, had a crush on someone.
When the coach had pointed out this possibility, the professor had almost choked on the sandwich he was eating, then cast a glare in the direction of his colleague and admonished him to stop talking nonsense.
But the biggest problem was that everyone seemed to agree with the blond man's absurd theory, even someone he considered trustworthy and level-headed like Tristan had agreed, confirming that he had felt the exact same way when he realized he had first fallen for Maria.
As was to be expected, Don had deliberately ignored the comments and evidence provided to him by his friends and acquaintances.
Moreover, the second that this rumor had reached their ears, all of them, some more and some less insistently, had tried to ask him who the lucky gal or guy was, receiving as a response a cold stare from the man.
However, their idiocies had convinced him to take a firm course of action: for the rest of the school year he would ignore Timothy McArthur completely.
He would keep interactions with the lacrosse player to a bare minimum, refusing to get involved in any of his antics.
The thought of the jock's reaction to his new approach squeezed his heart for a second, but he quickly pushed those thoughts away.
Only a handful of weeks were left now, then Timothy would no longer be his problem.
He had to hold on and not fall apart, just as he had done for the past three years.
After all, after the last few months he had had, what else could happen?
*******
"Don? Earth to Don, are you there?"
The literature teacher roused himself before looking around and remembering where he was. He was in the teacher's room, basically empty because of the hour, the computer screen now turned off due to inactivity. On the table all around him were half scribbled notes with sentences left in half in such small, cramped handwriting as to be almost illegible. The man blinked a couple of times before turning his face to his left, where Sofia, standing next to him, was watching him with an expression somewhere between concerned and exasperated.
"Oh, so you're here! I was beginning to worry, I've been calling you for two minutes now..."
"Um, sorry. The thing is, we're only a few weeks away from the end of the school year now, and I have a lot of thoughts going through my head...but let's leave it at that. Do you need help with anything?"
"Well, no, but it's almost time for drama class. See?"
The woman pointed to the clock above the front door with a nod of her head, and Don noted that she was right. With a half-uttered curse he hastily took to putting his things away in his backpack, apologizing profusely to the other. The young woman merely reassured him, occasionally handing him some papers a little further away or a pen that had rolled across the table, telling him it was no problem. Thanks to his colleague's warning, the two teachers arrived on time in the auditorium, where students were already waiting for them.
As soon as they passed through the doors, Don kept his head fixed in front of him, trying to ignore the figure of Tim in his visual periphery. The lacrosse player, now fully restored, had brightened at seeing him and raised his hand in a greeting, a wide smile filled with enthusiasm on his face. Don reached his usual seat, put his things in their places, closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm the heart that was beating wildly.
"Focus. Do your job," he forced himself to think, before stepping onto the stage - followed by Sofia - and clearing his throat, clapping his hands to draw attention to himself.
"Guys, come up here, please. There are a couple of things I'd like to talk to you about."
The students gathered around the two teachers, some more and some less enthusiastically, and again Don made an effort to ignore Tim, who had practically snapped as soon as he heard his voice. The young man was now staring at him insistently, like a dog patiently waiting for a treat from its master.
"So - Don began, deliberately giving his back to the jock to focus on the rest of his audience - As you well know, the show is now only two and a half weeks away. In case this is your first year here, then let me just say this: the intensity and commitment will now increase dramatically, however both Miss Guerrero and I will try to limit the stress on your shoulders as much as we can. You have put in a lot of effort, and because of that I know you would like the show to come out the best it can be, and it is good to think that way, because it means you care. However, one thing I want to emphasize is that you should not fixate on this thought and get trapped in your head because of it. There will be an accident, there will be the poorly delivered line or the late entry. This is normal. Don't let this idea of unattainable perfectionism that you have imposed on yourself prevent you from enjoying this great achievement, making the memory of this experience something absolutely negative. You are here to have fun. To be able to treasure what you have experienced in these months. Commit to it. Smile. Do not beat yourselves up. Remember this, and I'm sure the show will be absolutely brilliant"
A round of applause spread, first shy, then more intense. The students looked at each other, exchanging fiery glances, energized by the teacher's words. Don only nodded, pleased.
"Well, having said that: everybody go backstage now. We'll rehearse the more complex group scenes first, complete with scene changes and actor entrances. It is possible that we might notice something wrong, but all the pointers and notes we take will be reported to you only at the end. You guys, for now, just think about acting, all right? Then if we have a little more time left, we will concentrate on going over the key scenes of the play as well. Come on, into position!"
The teenagers hurried to their positions, with some even having to stop halfway and turn back because they were heading to the wrong side of the stage. Don was already heading toward the steps back to the audience - Sofia who had already preceded him - when he heard his name called, “Mr. Crow!”
Despite his rational part telling him to ignore it and continue on his merry way, his body acted on instinct, stopping suddenly when he had walked down the first step and causing him to turn around, one eyebrow raised questioningly. Tim's figure - wearing the obligatory jeans, a dark T-shirt that was perhaps a bit too tight since he was pretty sure he could see his nipples, and the ever-present cap - approached him, until he stopped practically in front of him. The two were now at the same height, and could look comfortably into each other's eyes. Don's eyes unintentionally dropped and, with a lump in his throat, the teacher could not help but notice how perfectly the pants wrapped the young man's trained legs and how the shirt must have been a size too small, because raising his arms exposed his lower stomach and his treasure trail and belly button.
Steeling himself and miraculously managing to keep his voice from shaking, he looked up at Tim and asked, “Is there a problem, Timothy?”
The other gave him a cheeky smile, shrugging his shoulders and putting his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, "That was quite a speech. You should give lessons to Coach Adams, maybe then his pre-game pep talks would be a little more captivating."
The professor nodded stiffly, "I appreciate it. Is there anything else you wanted to ask me?“
”Oh, just one thing“
”That is?"
Tim's smile grew sharper as he leaned forward slightly and beckoned him with one hand to come closer. Although reluctant, Don, followed his directions. When their faces were practically attached, the student whispered, “Besides being so good with words, tell me: what else can you do with such a skilled mouth?”
Don, caught completely off guard, began coughing violently, straightening up in a huff. He aimed his furious eyes at the young man, his face now a few shades of pink brighter, ready to scold him for his cockiness, when he saw that Tim was smiling at him. This smile, contrary to what he had expected to see, was devoid of any trace of malice, replaced only by pure happiness and cheerfulness.
He fist-bumped the air and exclaimed, "Yay! I finally managed to distract you a bit, eh, Mr. Crow?"
The man only stared at him, perplexed, “What are you talking about?”
The jock scratched his cheek with a finger in an almost embarrassed way as he responded by keeping his gaze down, "Well, I couldn't help but notice that you seemed more miserable and brooding than usual in recent weeks. I couldn't bear to see you like that, so I wanted to help you in some way. Of course, I'm not among the smartest kids in school, but I figured one way to distract you was to create a violent and unexpected reaction in you , to divert you from your problems. I had this line ready for months that I never got around to using, and I thought it would do the trick. And hey, it looks like my plan succeeded in the end, didn't it?"
Don stared at him for about thirty seconds. Tim shifted slightly uncomfortably under the teacher's indecipherable gaze, making him fear he had gone too far this time. Eventually, however, Mr. Crow merely sighed, shaking his head and letting strands of dark hair fall over his forehead, his shoulders relaxing. Then a hand went to the front of the younger man's cap and lowered it, covering his eyes.
"Go and join your classmates, come on. And make sure to save your energy for your lines rather than for such jokes, understood, wiseguy? And... thank you."
The last word was almost whispered, but Tim must have heard it, as he brightened, before nodding vigorously and heading, almost skipping, toward his friends. Donovan, left alone, merely shook his head as he descended the stairs and settled into his usual seat.
Once seated he lifted his face and met Sofia's gaze, confused and curious, but she turned her head sharply away.
Don froze, the smile freezing on his lips. Slowly, his mind reprocessed the brief exchange he had just had with the student. The teacher huffed as he smacked his palm on his temple to silence the little voices of Maria and Jim repeating in his head their absurd theories about his feelings for the young man.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the stage, where the actors had already entered and started acting, convinced more than ever that his friends were wrong.
*******
Tim was pumped for the end-of-the-year play.
Sure, he was a jock to the core and would always love the smell of cut grass from the field and the feeling of sweat and fatigue after the exertion of the game, but theater fascinated him in a totally unique way.
He didn't deny it: he initially joined the theater class because Mr. Crow was running it, fascinated since his first year there by the teacher with a kind voice and patient smile. However, soon - aside from the bonus of being able to shamelessly ogle that hunk of beef for a couple of extra hours a week as he moved up and down the stage in a pair of tight pants and with his sleeves rolled up to show off his beefy arms - he had learned to appreciate the subtle mechanisms and engaging prose, as well as the impossible and elaborate scenarios that were woven on stage. Soon he had begun to get involved in organizing the shows, too, and had made some good friends, too.
That day he was sitting on the edge of the stage,legs dangling, next to Miguel, another senior who, for that play, would play the male lead in the story. They were chatting about nothing in particular, or rather, Miguel was venting his nervousness to him, giving him account of all his anxieties and paranoia about being given such an important role for the occasion and his dread at the idea of making some kind of blunder during the premiere. Tim merely nodded and gave him the occasional pat on the back, thus perfectly fulfilling his role of emotional support, when the auditorium door was opened.
The teenager turned around, a smile already on his face at having instantly recognized the typical cadence of his favorite teacher's footsteps - and there was absolutely nothing weird about that, Tim had merely been paying close attention to the way people walked so he could tell when Mr. Crow was near, that's all! - but the smile froze as soon as he saw him.
Something was wrong. Mr. Crow's usually calm expression was replaced by a brooding one. His brow was furrowed and his shoulders were hunched forward. To make matters worse, the tone in which he was addressing Miss Guerrero was low and tense, as if he purposely did not want to be heard by them.
The jock looked around, trying to see if he recognized on the face of any of his classmates a guilty expression, to see if the teacher's discontent could be attributed to something one of the people present had done. However, they all seemed to be either as confused as he was or completely disinterested and unaware of the adults' emotional state.
Eventually Tim noticed the man set his things down and bring both hands to his temples to massage them, his mouth letting out a deep breath, his shoulders drooping. A warning bell rang in the young man's head as he stiffened. Ouch, whatever it was that was bothering Mr. Crow was serious!
Finally the man nodded grimly and raised his head. Perhaps it had only been a prank of Tim's lovesick mind, but the student almost had the impression that Mr. Crow at that moment had been looking for him in the crowd specifically, as if to find some kind of comfort or security in him.
Tim's heart began to beat hard in his chest as he felt his fingers tingle with a pleasant sensation.
Mr. Crow cleared his throat and stepped forward, " Guys. Come here, please."
The low tone in which he spoke caught the attention even of the few who were not yet paying attention to him, who now all gathered around him.
“So, there is no way for me to sugarcoat this, so I will get straight to the point: Brody will not be there for the premiere”
Tim's eyes widened as around him his companions exploded in exclamations of amazement and questions in which they demanded more information from him.
The fact that Brody was not going to be there was a big problem for the show: the role he played was certainly not on the level of Miguel's, but he was still a key character in the plot, with even some monologues and scenes centered entirely around him. It was not possible to merge him with other roles, let alone cut him out completely without basically changing the whole plot.
If he couldn't be there, there was nothing to be done: they were screwed!
Mr. Crow easily managed to restore some peace, " Quiet down. Brody is fine, however due to an unforeseen event he will remain indisposed for a long time. There is no chance he will be present for the opening day“
”So the show will be canceled?!"
That question from Miguel, so full of dread, could only make Timothy smile slightly. Actors: always so dramatic.
Mr. Crow could hardly hide a smirk in turn, and in a calm tone he managed to reassure the shaken senior: "Don't worry, the show will take place. However, some changes need to be made, the first of which is as follows."
The professor turned unequivocally toward the jock. For a couple of seconds grave silence reigned as the two looked each other straight in the eye, before the teacher exclaimed, “Timothy: the role is yours.”
The lacrosse player took a couple of seconds to register the meaning of those words, before turning to be sure there was not another Timothy behind him and finally wading back to the man and pointing confusedly at himself with his finger. Finally a hoarse chuckle escaped his lips as he tried to come up with a joke that might ease the tension. Something like “wow, mr. Crow, I always knew you liked me, but I never imagined so much” or “for you, mr. Crow, I'm willing to be anything, you just have to ask me.”. But no matter how much he opened his mouth the words didn't seem to want to come out.
In the meantime, the teacher had raised his hands - thus stifling the protests that were on the verge of erupting - and continued, "Before you have any objections: I've talked it over at length with Miss Guerrero, we've gone through every single possibility we could think of together. We lost literally the whole morning on it, we got to work on it as soon as we got this news, and we are both of the opinion that Timothy is the best choice. Also, I want to remind you that back in the day he also auditioned for the role that we later assigned to Brody."
Tim winced. He had completely forgotten! Earlier that year he had decided to audition for that part, but rather than out of genuine interest and desire to play the part, he had done it to try it out, to put himself out there, not believing that he would be taken. In fact, he had been happy when he had found out that Brody had been given the role, glad thus to be able to focus only on lacrosse. Now, however...
As in a dream, he shifted his gaze all around him and barely suppressed a shudder. He could clearly sense the hostility emanating from the stares of some of his schoolmates, people certain that he did not deserve that role, that they would be a hundred times better than him in Brody's place. He could already hear the cutting and sarcastic comments that would be made behind his back, but always at such a distance that he could hear them, as well as the half-jokes that would be directed at him, such as “it seems that finally being a kiss-ass for so many years has served you well” or “it must be nice to have the professor as a sugar daddy”.
Tim clenched his hands a few times to restart circulation as he closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten and then opened them again. He straightened his back and kept his shoulders straight, casting around him a defiant look. It was not the first time he had been the victim of hateful stares - he was a black, gay men, for fuck's sake! - and he wasn't going to let even this unforeseen event break his spirit!
Before he could make any comment, Mr. Crow's voice, unexpectedly ice-cold and firm, resounded through the room, "And if I find out that any of you, in any way shape or form, have had the unhealthy idea of harassing McArthur over decisions that we teachers have made, please know that that person will no longer be welcome within the drama class. If you are convinced that you are the victim of an injustice, you can come and talk to me or Miss Guerrero about it or make sure that you let us know your doubts about why our choices were made. If your arguments are valid we will be more than willing to change our minds. I think we have always shown ourselves to be open to dialogue and ready to respond to your concerns, and I guarantee you that we will not stop now. But, until then: Timothy will have the role of Brody. Do we understand each other? Now: everyone on stage. We will start with the first scene, so we can figure out what changes are to be made to the script. Come on, come on."
All in all, rehearsals went well. Tim often needed help with lines and stage entrances, but all in all he knew enough about what he had to say and how to move on stage.
Finally, after practically everyone had left, Tim was almost at the doors when he was called back by a voice: “Timothy, can we talk?”
The jock turned, confused, and approached Mr. Crow, who was waiting for him under the stage, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The rest of the actors walked out, not without casting an intrigued - and sometimes malevolent - glance toward the pair, with Miss Guerrero hurrying to send them away so that professor and student could have some privacy.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Crow?”
“I'm the one who should be asking you,”
Tim frowned, generating an affectionate - or at least, to Tim it seemed affectionate - smile from the teacher.
"You have never been good at hiding your emotions, Timothy. You are an open book. When I made the announcement, it was clear that you were uncomfortable, and for that I want to make a heartfelt apology. Believe me, it was not our intention to put any of you in such an uncomfortable position. However, it was also the only thing Miss Guerrero and I could do - he sighed, and for a second to Tim he looked older than usual, but instead of having a repulsive effect on him, it only caused a lump in the young man's throat - Timothy: I know that you have all the makings of a fantastic replacement for Brody. You are a good actor, but most of all you are a responsible guy. If I entrust you with this role, I know you will work to make sure the show goes well. And you won't be doing it for yourself, but for others, and this, this Timothy, makes you the ideal candidate. I trust you."
The jock was screaming inside. Ever since he had met him, he had dreamed of the moment when Mr. Crow would speak such words to him. He was certain that when he heard them, he would greet his teacher's words with a wide smile and a feeling of joy, confidently exclaiming a phrase like “I promise I will not let you down,mr. Crow!” Instead, in the silence of the auditorium, he lowered his gaze and let all his insecurities come out, whispering in a rough voice, "What if I don't live up to your expectations? What if I screw up and let everyone down?"
The second after the words left his mouth he felt himself dying of shame. He hated feeling so vulnerable. He could not bear the thought that he had just revealed his most fragile side to the man he most admired and did not want to disappoint.
He was already about to put on a smile and pretend it was all a joke, perhaps downplay it with a quip that would upset Mr. Crow, thus reassuring him that it was all right and that he was okay, when he sensed the professor's hands resting on his shoulders and his comforting voice whispering, “Timothy, please look me in the eye.”
Tim, struggling, managed to lift his head, and for a second he was breathless: he had known Mr. Crow for years, he was convinced that he had every single detail of him printed clearly in his memory, but it was the first time he had noticed how intense and unique was the blue hue of the teacher's eyes. It reminded him of the color of the sky at sunset after a particularly violent downpour, so beautiful that it looked fictional.
Once he was sure he had his attention, the man continued, "Don't let these thoughts win. You are an absolutely phenomenal guy. No matter how the play goes, because I know you will have given it your all. Will it not be perfect? Will you miss some lines? Will you enter late? Who cares! I only want one thing for you and your classmates: for you to have fun, because that's what this class is all about. Please, if you continue to have these thoughts let me know, because I will keep repeating these words to you until they completely replace the lies that your fear is trying to sell you, until they are carved into every part of your brain."
Tim nodded with glazed eyes, his professor's words penetrating inside him, dispelling his doubts and fears.
He wanted to cry from joy and relief, but he merely nodded and croaked, “Thank you, Mr. Crawford”
Don nodded... then a look, like a flash of understanding, passed over his face. He hurriedly pulled his hands away from him, as if suddenly Tim was scalding, backing away and almost risking tripping and falling to the ground.
He loudly cleared his throat and hurriedly grabbed his backpack, "W-Well, I-I'm glad that's all cleared up! Now, ahem, now is the time for me to go! H-Have a nice day, Timothy!" and, without even looking back, sprinted out of the auditorium, leaving a very confused Tim behind.
*******
Hours became days and days quickly turned into weeks, to the point that, on the day of the premiere, Don woke up with the impression that it had all been a dream.
The day went by without too much of a fuss, and before he knew it, the man found himself driving his car through the sleepy city traffic, the windows rolled down to let in the sweet evening air that heralded the now imminent arrival of summer. The man parked his car in its usual spot, and then lowered his mirror and gave his black hair a rough fix, raking it back with his hands until he arrived at a result that was somewhat satisfactory.
Once he was done he took a deep breath, thought "It's now or never", and walked out, fastening the button on his jacket and making his way toward the auditorium.
Along the way he saw and greeted several of his pupils and some parents, until he arrived in front of the open doors of the theater. Standing there were several scattered groups of people, all busy chatting and laughing, trying to take advantage of the chance to still be able to move and stand before being forced to remain seated for the next two hours.
The teacher was already about to enter when a voice called out to him, "Yo, Don! We're here!"
The man paused, looked around until he located the source of the voice, and finally turned, heading toward the small group consisting of Jim, Maria and Tristan, who greeted him with a smile, all three of them dressed up for the evening - although Tim's pastel blue jacket and pants and salmon-pink tie generated some bafflement in the older man, but he said nothing.
The coach greeted him by punching him on the shoulder and turning one of his infectious smiles toward him, "So, how are you feeling, old man? Nervous? Agitated? On the verge of fainting?" he teased him, receiving as a response a shove from the older man who muttered "shut up a little..."
"Maria told me you had a last-minute problem with the arrangements. Did everything turn out okay?" asked Tristan as they exchanged a friendly fist bump.
"Hmm? Oh, more or less, let's say yes.... One of the main actors got the.shingles He's better now, but of course he can't act. We had to ask his understudy to fill in for him."
"And how did he do?" interjected Maria in curiosity. Donovan had been particularly barren of news about the understudy's identity, not wanting to give them even the name.
Don mussed his hair with one hand and sighed, "Well, he seems to be getting by with both his lines and his stage presence. But as you well know, rehearsals are one thing, opening night is another. Sigh, I confess I can't help but be a little worried..."
"Hey, buddy, take it easy. Everything will be fine, I'm sure of it. Think positive!" tried to reassure Jim, squeezing his shoulder with one hand comfortingly.
At that moment they were joined by a nervous Sofia, who was greeted with a chorus of cordial greetings.
"Good evening Miss Rossi, Mr. Costas. Hello, Jim. Mr. Crawford? The kids are all backstage waiting for the pep talk."
Don half-heartedly cursed as he looked at his watch, "Shit, better hurry up.... Enjoy the show," he hastily waved them off before heading inside the theater at a brisk pace.
The two teachers quickly passed the audience seats and made their way behind the curtain. The atmosphere of lazy expectation among the spectators was replaced by an electric, palpable frenzy, so much so that it made the hairs on their arms stand up.
The actors, all already perfectly made up and with their stage costumes on, moved nervously in all directions, like caged animals, going over lines and consulting their scripts.
Sound and lighting technicians were making final checks so that everything was working and there were no last-minute snags, giving peremptory recommendations to anyone within reach not to break the delicate equipment.
Props masters were going over the lineup, arranging all the items so that everything was organized as quickly and efficiently as possible.
In an automatic gesture, Don's eyes went over his students, one by one, to make sure that none of them were so anxious that they were in danger of feeling ill, until his eyes fell on Tim. The young man was busy finishing reviewing a scene with Miguel, and perhaps Don lingered a couple of seconds too long on the young man, studying his face contracted into a concentrated expression. He reflected how strange it was to see him dressed like that and without the ever-present cap on his dark curls. Finally he shook his head and walked toward the center of the stage, clearing his throat and drawing the students to himself.
They gathered around him, and once he was sure he had their attention, the professor spoke, "Well, guys, it's been a difficult few weeks, challenging from both a physical and a mental point of view. You have put in the hard work, and tonight your effort will finally be rewarded. First, though, I just want to tell you that I am proud of you. You ran into obstacles and setbacks, but you managed to overcome them with courage and without ever letting them get you down. You have shown that you are a strong group, and I don't think either Miss Guerrero or I could have asked for a better team. Once you are on stage, remember to smile, spell your words well and present yourselves properly on stage. Most of all, remember to have fun. Good luck, guys. Leave them breathless."
Obviously the students could not clap or make any other sound without being heard from the audience, but the determined looks they exchanged were proof enough for Don to know that his purpose had been achieved. The students started to take their seats, invigorated, and Don was about to return to the audience when a voice stopped him: "Mr. Crow"
The man stopped and saw Tim coming toward him. Once in front of him the young man swallowed a couple of times before opening his mouth wide, as if trying to say something. Finally he managed to spit out, "I promise I won't let you down"
Don gave him a smile, "You never did" before walking away without dwelling on the young man's reaction.
The next few minutes were a confusing whirlwind of noises and sounds in Don's memories: first he was exchanging polite formalities with parents and former students who had finished the previous years; then he was on the stage giving the introductory speech, giving the proper thanks as he did every year; then Principal Jenkins had appeared at his side, busy giving the usual long, monotonous speech about how much the school was doing to promote the arts and the activities for the younger generation; until he found himself sitting in the audience, Sofia at his side, the lights dimming and the stage opening with a slow, solemn swish.
The voices from the audience were reduced to a low background murmur until they died out altogether, as the magical silence of the theater filled the auditorium.
Don only half paid attention to the first scenes, unable to hold back a smile of pride at seeing how much Miguel and Cindy had improved. They were advancing naturally on stage, moving with a grace that seemed natural, taking the space they deserved. But the real challenge would be the third scene, when Tim's character would finally make his entrance.
Cindy had just finished “plotting” with the other characters, unveiling her goal for the play, when the lights went out and the creaking sound of sets being changed and the heavy footsteps of the actors could be heard. When the lights came back on Don held his breath, finally seeing Tim, leaning quietly against a small brick wall, engrossed in observing the other characters walking in front of him. The audience members saw him lower his sunglasses as two girls passed by and cast them a clear look of appreciation, generating a couple of chuckles from the crowd. At that moment, Miguel's character entered in a hurry and called out to him, addressing him. Tim turned to him, opened his mouth ... and Don felt the doubts and fears leave him as the young man's words flowed calmly and reassuringly, punctuated with clarity. He took Miguel under his arm and walked him toward the front of the stage, taking the scene completely.
It did not appear that Tim was an understudy, and he had only received the green light two and a half weeks earlier. It seemed that the jock had trained his whole life for that role.
Tim no longer existed; there was only his character. His figure exuded a magnetic charisma that made viewers hang on his every word. He was able to naturally engage them and make them laugh. He had created a sense of complicity with which he could also bring out Miguel by his side, accentuating his rightful role as the male lead.
Don smiled: there was nothing to fear.
The teacher had not been the only one anxious about Timothy's debut. Since that scene it was as if a new energy had taken to running through the rest of the cast. Throughout the rest of the play they did not miss a beat, scene changes went smoothly, and sound and lighting were always perfect. The two-hour show passed between laughter, suspense, and even a few tears. As soon as the curtain closed on the last scene, the entire audience erupted in one of the most thunderous rounds of applause Don had ever heard, which was joined by the teacher as well, with Sofia by his side, the same proud smile on their faces.
After due bows, when the lights in the hall came back on, the actors invaded the audience, stopping to talk to family and friends, asking their opinion and receiving their due compliments.
Without realizing it, Don's eyes had automatically gone scanning the messy tide of people in front of him, until they stopped on the figure of Tim, as if that had always been their target. The boy's back was to him, and Don took a step forward, as if to head toward him, but he froze as soon as he saw that he was busy being happily hugged and kissed by Dorothy, who was showering him with compliments, while at his side his sister Ruth with her girlfriend were observing the scene, smiling, intervening, and occasionally adding what Don imagined to be either compliments or typical teasing between siblings.
Don stood entranced for a couple of seconds watching them, before a sad smile passed over his face. At that point he spun on his heels, heading instead for the stage.He climbed on top and politely asked the audience to head for the exit so they could start dismantling lights and cables.
After 10 minutes only he, Sofia, and the theater group remained in the auditorium, with the technicians checking that everything was okay and the actors removing their makeup and changing their clothes, with those who had finished helping out as best as they could. After another 20 minutes or so the kids were left free to go out for a pizza to celebrate the success that the show had been, and after another five minutes Don finally managed to convince Sofia to go with them as well, thus leaving him completely alone in the silence of the auditorium.
The teacher let out a long sigh, before taking off his jacket, loosening his tie and pulling up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. thus uncovering his forearms. For a second his eyes fell on the tattoo and a sad smile passed over his face. He shook his head and took to moving the various boxes with the materials and the sets.
Donovan was not one to shy away from heavy work; it gave him a way to think and reflect. His mind took to thinking back to the last few weeks, the efforts and commitment shown, all culminating in the great success that had been the play.
He still had not been able to talk to Tim; even when only members of the theater group were left, the young man had been constantly surrounded by his peers, all of whom kept complimenting him, not giving him a chance to congratulate the young man on a job well done.
Don moved a trunk containing some cables backstage and wiped his arm across his forehead to wipe away the sweat. It was starting to get hot, and there was a bit of a lack of air inside the auditorium...
He looked around and nodded, his hands propped on his hips. Well, it seemed that everything had been secured, at this point he might as well finish the work in the next few days.However, instead of picking up his things and also going to join the kids for dinner or go home for some well-deserved rest, the teacher walked to the edge of the stage, where he sat with his legs dangling, his gaze lost in observing the audience seats in front of him.
The end of the play always left him with a feeling of sweet melancholy. For him, it was the last major commitment before exams and the long summer break, the last thing to do before fully immersing himself in the frenzy that was the end of the school year.
The play closed the cycle.
Mentally, he took to listing each and every student who had walked the stage that night or helped make it special, dwelling on those for whom it would be the last time, and whom in the fall he would never see again walking the halls of the school.
A sad smile passed over the man's face as he thought about how much they had grown, wondering what the future would hold for them.
Until he came to the last person left: Timothy.
Don had expected that, once this moment arrived, he would feel some sense of unease, a lump in his throat and some ill-concealed relief at the idea that in September he would no longer be haunted by the hyperactive jock. Instead, a strange feeling of calm invaded his chest as the clear image of the student's smiling face made its way into his head.
He could still feel inside him that storm of emotions that he always associated with the other and that reigned inside him even before the show began, but for some reason it was as if it had turned into background noise. The emotions were still there, if he focused on them he could feel them coming back to invade him like a tidal wave, but the impression he had was as if the worst was over and he could already see the end of the storm, the blue sky peeping out from beyond the clouds.
Timothy McArthur... It seemed to him that it was yesterday the first time he had crossed paths with Etaan and Ruth's younger brother. As soon as he had seen him he had thought he was nothing more than an adorable troublemaker, like his siblings, but neither of his two predecessors had ever caused him as many migraines as he had. However, looking back at it now, they were almost pleasant memories. All his absurd advances and exaggerated displays of affection ... they only could make him chuckle.
A humorous smile passed over the teacher's face at the memory of the first day that had kicked off their strange relationship: the Valentine's Day declaration.
Huh, funny. Up until a few months earlier, thinking back to that episode filled him with a sense of annoyance and dread, mixed even with a good dose of discomfort, and now instead ... now instead he could only smile at that memory, laced with that feeling that he still could not fully recognize or name.
The teacher was so absorbed in his thoughts that he reacted with a few seconds delay when he heard the voice calling him.
“Mr. Crow?”
Donovan turned with a lost expression. Standing still by the stage's curtain, Tim watched him in curiosity. For a couple of seconds the teacher merely looked at him in silence. He was again wearing only a pair of simple jeans and a light-colored T-shirt, the shape of his muscles perfectly accented. His cap was again lowered backwards on his black curls, but even at that distance he could make out on his face the faint traces of makeup that had been applied for the play.
The two stood looking into each other's eyes for a good ten seconds before the professor shook his head and exclaimed, "Timothy, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be celebrating with your friends?"
The boy raised a hand and pointed with his thumb behind him, "I realized I forgot to put away a prop. But what about you, Mr. Crow, though? What are you doing here, alone, in a completely empty theater? It's very “Phantom of the Opera”, if you must know"
As he spoke, the young man had approached him, and now only a few feet separated them.
Don merely shrugged his shoulders, "I was thinking, that's all. The moments after the play are a way for me to review and evaluate what you guys have been able to accomplish during the year"
“Oh, I see..."
Silence fell again between the two of them.
At one point Don exclaimed, “Hey, Tim?”
“Yes, Mr. Crow?”
“Sit with me, will you?” and patted his left hand a couple of times besides him.
The student brightened and, barely containing his happiness, settled down next to the teacher. Don smiled at his enthusiasm.
It was strange to see them there, sitting next to each other. They created a strange contrast, young and old, teacher and student, formal and informal. Neither of them spoke or moved, both just savoring that quiet atmosphere that had formed between them, as if they were in their own personal bubble, and no one else existed outside of it.
It was Don finally, after an indeterminate amount of time, who broke the silence, “You did well today, Tim, during the play”
An embarrassed, smug smile passed over the jock's dark face, "Thank you, Mr. Crow. I was absolutely terrified, however, as soon as I started acting everything became much more...peaceful. It was like when I step onto the lacrosse field for a game. Everything else disappears and it's just me, my teammates, and the opposing team. No noise. No distractions. Just a group working together to achieve a common goal.“
Don nodded, ”You were very convincing. I admit that part of me was reluctant to give you the role because of the, ahem..."
"Because of the love story with Donna's character? - Tim burst out laughing, a rich, deep laugh that filled the entire theater, making Don smile - Come on, Mr. Crow, you said it too! It's just acting, I was playing a part, a role. Kissing a girl for me is not the end of the world. Exactly like kissing another man doesn't turn straight men gay, kissing a woman won't turn me straight. And even if it did, I'm sure the endless love I have for my Mr. Crow would break this vile curse," the jock concluded dramatically, bringing the back of his hand to his forehead and the other to his chest, before turning a lighthearted smile toward the older man.
Don merely nudged him by the shoulder, “Better get your feet back on the ground, McArthur, before you fly too close to the sun and get burned.”
"Aww, you're clipping my wings. You're cruel, Mr. Crow“
”Always, no matter what, with you"
The two had turned their torsos toward each other, and now they were face to face, the exact same challenging grin on their faces.
Don was lost for a second: he could notice every tiny detail on his student's face, from the traces of makeup to the faint patina of sweat, from the slight regrowth of his beard to the shaving cuts, from the frown lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth to the smell of deodorant he exuded that, however, did not completely cover the smell of sweat.
And then there were his eyes: of the richest and most varied shade of brown he had ever seen. If he moved his head slightly, the light from the theater even turned them golden.
Tim opened his lips, as if to say something, but before he could speak Don leaned toward him, closing the small distance that still separated them, and kissed him.
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