Page 102 of Sweet T

Sebastian was on the throne, and others were speaking. Tucker felt lost. The meter and rhythm of the language was so foreign, throwing him off. Three women entered the stage in shimmering gowns of green, blue, and red. Cassie was the one in green. All three were beautiful.

This initial visual, the pop in contrasting colors, reminded Tucker of what Barb had said that morning.

Go with the flow. Enjoy it visually and everything else will follow.

So, that’s what he did. He sank deeper into his chair and immersed himself.

And it worked.

He understood that King Lear was divvying up his kingdom between his three daughters and that the two in dark red and green were fawning in order to gain more. Cordelia, in blue and his favorite, did not follow suit, which confused and angered Lear. Enraged, and a little loopy, he divided Cordelia’s inheritance between her sisters, leaving her with nothing.

The lights went out after scene one and Tucker was struck with an odd sense of déjà vu. Before he could dwell on it, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.

The lights came up for the second scene and he continued with Barb’s advice of losing himself in the story. The phone could wait. Shelly could handle anything at the bar, and he couldn’t imagine anyone else would be calling. She was probably just checking to see that he got the flowers. That’s all.

Over the course of the production, Tucker found himself enveloped in the story. There was a subplot of The Earl of Gloucester and his two sons, one sincere and one treacherous. Tucker saw the parallel between the two families and sympathized with the different reactions of both fathers.

Near the end of act one, when Evan took the stage as the Fool, Tucker’s heart leapt. He had been so engaged in the story that was close to forgetting his reason for being there.

Evan wasn’t dressed in bright colors, but browns and blues, echoing the fabric of Cordelia’s dress. If Tucker had to describe the look, it would be similar to that of a woodsman, like Robin Hood. Brown suede with blue trim and, instead of a multi-pointed headpiece, this fool’s cap had just one long one, its tip ending with a tiny gold bell. White makeup divided Evan’s face in half, Gemini-esque, accentuating the duality of his role.

Tucker watched, mesmerized, as the man he was sharing a bed with commanded the stage. He played comically at times, but, quick as lightning, he was whispering truths to Lear, surprisingly bold for a servant–the same truths Cordelia had attempted to convey earlier in the act.

As the play progressed, Tucker felt the ominous dread that often accompanies Shakespearean tragedies. He saw the flaws in both fathers and sympathized with them, wanting so badly for the play to end happily, but knowing deep-down that it wouldn’t.

In Act 3 came the storm. Lights flashed, thunder boomed and, though they couldn’t have rain, Lear and the Fool entered wet, hair matted and stringy as if long-battered by the elements. Tucker watched as the Fool tried to comfort Lear, now realizing the mistakes he’d made resulting in their banishment. Similar to Lear, Tucker felt his heart breaking, too.

By the end of the Act, the plots had intertwined and come to a head, resulting in Goneril (Cassie) demanding Gloucester's eyes to be plucked out, which was very effectively done with the actor playing Gloucester on his knees, facing upstage and away. Cornwall, executor of the horrific deed, gruesomely pantomimed the extraction, holding up the bloody orbs in clenched fists for the audience to see.

With that, the lights went out, and the curtain came down for intermission.

Tucker felt lightheaded and a little nauseous, overwhelmed with emotion—sadness, humor, insight, and outright horror.

He needed some air. Hell, he needed a drink.

He went out to the lobby, where there was a small gathering of people already. Lance was there with a tray of canned soft drinks and bottled water. Tucker took a bottle, but didn’t slow as he continued out the front door.

“How do you like it so far?” Lance shouted behind him.

“It’s good–very good.” Tucker hollered, not bothering to turn.

The fresh air was much needed, but there was something else he wanted and he knew where to get it.

On his way to the truck, his mind kept replaying aspects of the play—the misguided fathers, ambitious children, tragedy, and madness. When he reached the truck’s bed, he opened the saddle box and found what he was looking for. The bottle had been there a long time, half empty, and the label faded. He’d never been much more than a beer drinker. But sometimes, on those lonely nights when Emmett had stood him up, nothing soothed his aching heart faster than a sip of Evan Williams on a lonesome dirt road.

Tucker opened the bottle, took a large swig, and chased it with the water. His throat burned, then the heat rose to his head and dispersed, quelling, leveling, placating.

He took a deep breath and leaned back against the truck in the parking lot. Only two other people were outside, over by the Black Sheep’s entrance, smoking. No wonder. It was hot as hell. Only those seeking relief would endure this kind of heat.

Tucker thought about the relationship between himself, his Daddy, and Javy, wondering if by any miracle Evan had truly mended the fences. He hoped so. Because the parallels in the play were far too close to home. He now recalled that the words on the script Evan had been studying for weeks were The Tragedy of King Lear. The story he was watching was clearly not going to end happily.

His thoughts turned to Evan and how great he had been. A natural. Overall, the show was fantastic, especially considering it was Shakespeare à la middle Georgia. Sebastian was perfect as the crazed king, and Cassie was downright disturbing as Goneril. But Evan was by far the star. Every time he set foot on the stage, all eyes went to him. He had that certain quality and confidence that just radiated, drawing, capturing, and embracing you with every syllable of every word.

Maybe you’re a little biased.

He was. It was true, But deep down, he knew there was more than that, and trying to keep Evan from his dream of acting would be as much of a crime as caging a wild bird or, perhaps, disinheriting a devoted daughter for not professing her love.

He looked at his watch. It was almost ten. Time had flown by and he hadn’t even noticed. He’d seen in the program that there were five acts, two to go. The second half should be shorter.

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