#and when we got onstage to take our prize the teacher who told me i had played really well said “i KNEW you'd win first place”

[butchkaramazov]

NO WAY WE WON FIRST PLACE IN MUSIC

[stagemanagerssaygo]

Heaven and Hell: or my experience being a person of color in Disney’s Hyperion Theater

by Cooper Howell

Heaven and Hell: or my experience being a person of color in Disney's Hyperion Theater. #holdingtheateraccountable Im just gonna go ahead and be straight up. This is pretty scary to share. HEAVEN: Once upon a time Liesl Tommy cast me as Prince Hans in Frozen: Live at the Hyperion. And I was gooped. GOOPED. There was nothing in my prior history that gave any indication this was possible. Up until then every role I played had to do with my race. Every. Single. One. And even ones where it didn’t (Shakespeare or classical pieces mostly) I was always made aware that the novelty of me being a poc in that role that gave me the part. So much did I not expect to get this part that when I got the callback I rolled my eyes and didn’t take the actual callback seriously. I mean, there was a zero percent chance that Disney would ever let me play a Prince, especially when the dude in the movie is a ginger. But then I got it. And immediately everything I thought was possible about my career changed. My whole life I’ve never inwardly felt black. I’ve never inwardly felt white. I’ve always felt like I was Cooper, you know, on the inside. But whether it was every single white human in Utah reminding me that I was “the whitest person they ever knew/saw” (which DIDNT mean how white my skin was. It was how white I ACTED) or Mr. Johnson, my 7th grade drama teacher, telling me that he “wanted to put Velcro on the ceiling to see if I’d stick” or Mr. Smith, my high school drama teacher, saying “finally we can do black shows” as soon as I entered high school and then not casting me in roles because of the "optics" of it, or even my best friend in high school Tanner Harmon who called me "blackie", I was always reminded that I was an other. So imagine getting paid good money to put on that $10,000 costume and waltzing out to 4000 people a day to play a really amazing part. A fantastic, evil, complicated, person who sings a killer duet and then grabs the show by the throat with a vicious about-face monologue... and not once was my race ever mentioned cuz it didnt matter. What was being prized was Cooper, my talent, not my skin color that I never asked for. Heaven. Liesl MADE SURE, almost overly sure, that the poc’s in the cast felt equal. The kingdom of Arendelle, after all, is a make believe place. It can be whatever. From having Disney executives come and tell us that they were happy to have us there, to side conversations with John Lasseter, we were made to feel overly welcome playing the parts we were playing. She encouraged us to dive deeper into the script of a cartoon that I didnt really think much of until I was in it. We were encouraged to ask why. We felt seen as talent and not commodities. There were, of course, detractors. Gosh, I remember people at a party of cast members from "Mickey and the Magical Map" another show at Disneyland which features a princess and the frog number and many of those casts mates angrily claiming that “if that black girl Tiana Okoye can play Elsa than I should be able to play Princess Tiana” and then looking at me to confirm that was okay to say, not realizing that a) she’s one of my best friends, b) that I’m in the show with her also playing a role that wasn't created to be a poc, c) how racist that sounded, and d) why there's a difference there and why that wouldn't make sense. On Liesls final night I came up to her and said “I don’t know why you did it but thank you so much for casting ME in this part” to which she replied “you mean why would I cast a handsome, talented person in this role?” And I stuttered something like “well, I mean, I’m black. You know...” to which she tilted her head to her side and said “no. I don’t know why. Tell me why that matters.” And I had no answer. Seeing that I had no answer she smiled. That was the answer. There was no reason. On the spot my outlook about myself changed. Windows into what I thought was possible for me opened. -------------------------------------- HELL: And then Liesl went back to NYC and she was replaced by a man named Roger Castellano as show director. Rogers task, he told us on the first day, was to "change the show". We were not told what needed to be changed or even why, but that changes were on the horizon. You've got to understand: to a full cast of actors who had just spent more than three months dissecting a 60 page Disney script with a Tony nominated director like it was Shakespeare, we were initially emotionally/mentally/spiritually resistant to changes. But then it became clear that the spirit of collaboration was over, and the show changes were to be given without the same care, consideration, and thematic explanation of why they were being made. Everyones initial reaction was to push back, but when people who questioned their notes or their changes started getting days removed their schedule or being replaced entirely by a new actor, the Hyperion theater became a place where no one was allowed to speak out. Injustices were happening left and right and no one felt they could do anything for fear of losing their livelihood. And that's when the Frozen: Live at the Hyperion became a living hell. In my first note session with Roger he pulled me into a room with Domonique Paton, my best friend and incredible costar who played princess Anna in the show I was in. She just so happens to also be black. Almost all of Prince Hans’s scenes in the show are with her character and so most of my notes would be primarily based on those interactions with her. Earlier in the day I performed with a different (white) actress but it was the show with Domonique that I had a note session about. Imagine my surprise and dismay when, with how Liesl set up the show experience, we were told this: “WHEN THE TWO OF YOU PERFORM THE SHOW TOGETHER ITS TOO… URBAN.” Urban. What else could that have meant, do you think? He could have said maybe “too contemporary” emphasizing that we were maybe too modern in our speech patterns or movements. We weren’t. He could have said “too lax” or “too loose” meaning that maybe we were being unprofessional and goofy up there because we’re really good friends. We were not. The best me and Ms. Paton could think of was a 8 count moment of improv dance that me and Domonique decided to use as a synchronized moment of unity. It happened to fall on the line “our mental synchronization can have but one explanation” and thought, with the freedom that Christopher (the original choreographer) had given us, was appropriate, especially considering everyone behind us was doing the robot. As in the 80s robot. But he didnt clarify. He just said “WHEN THE TWO OF YOU PERFORM THE SHOW TOGETHER IT’S TOO… URBAN” And when asked what he meant he smiled with a little shrug and said "you can figure that out. You're smart." And thats how I became Black Hans and Domonique became Black Anna. My every moment onstage afterwards became about the optics of being a poc in that show. It was if I was suddenly made aware that I was LUCKY enough to be there and under any normal circumstances, or this new directors circumstances, me getting this part would have never happened. But the message was clear. It was especially clear when me and Domonique Paton shows together durastically decreased and made even more clear when the vast majority of the new hires were not people of color. But no one said anything. And made even MORE clear when, over the next few weeks, both Domonique and I got COPIOUS notes, ten times that of our coworkers that played the same parts. It was almost a game. In fact we did turn it into a game, seeing who would get the least amount of notes from him in a day. Our costars would even joke about it onstage with us, during the ballroom scene, and jokingly whisper "The shows been up 15 minutes. How many do you think you got today?" But no one said anything. And the notes were about all kinds of things. How we held our hand. If our inflections went up or down on a word. Which side of a couch we leaned on… which was fine! When you're an actor, thats the gig... until we started comparing our notes with the actors that played our same parts and none of them, NONE, would get the same notes. Our notes would be outrageously longer, the note sessions sometimes lasting 10/15 minutes. Others would get the “Oh hey, try doing this or that next time, okay bye” walk-by notes. Sometimes I would sneak into the audience and watch as some of the other Han's, some of whom changed lines, changed entire intentions of scenes, some of whom adding in all types of vocalizations and cackles and dance moves and what have you, and would receive ZERO notes. But I was watching them to see what was wrong with me. What was my performance missing? What am I actually doing to feel this singled out. And then I realized that the thing that was wrong with me was that I was a different color than the 5 other white Hans's they cast. And then I started getting notes about my penis. Most of the time these “penis sessions”, as I called them, were given in private rooms without another stage manager present. It was incredibly unpleasant and unprofessional. In fairness, those Prince Hans pants are TIGHT! And yes, Mr. Howell is indeed a party in the front and a party in the back, but so were a lot of those fellas. And thats where I put my foot down. If Disney was going to provide me with a costume it is not my responsibility to fix their problem, especially when other of my (white) costars had been given a dance belt for the same thing. But they never got penis notes. Private session notes about what their penis looked like in that show. Over and over again I was told to fix it, to not make it (my dick) so apparent, and that “if my daughter were younger I wouldn’t want her to come to a show you were performing at" all the more insulting considering his daughter, a cast member in the show, was a friend of mine and the loveliest person. He started demanding that I buy a dance belt. It was “my fault”, “my responsibility” …and thats where I took my stand. And then it really became hell. Penis sessions were now done out in the open. Once, he screamed at me, in the green room in front of all of my costars during lunch, about how incredible unprofessional I was, about how he was tired of seeing my dick, and that if I didnt go buy myself one I didnt deserve to be there anymore. Followed by a huge litany of notes. That doesnt compare to some of what Domonique went through and I invite her to share them if she’s willing. During this time I went to every stage manager in the building and told them about being singling out and about my penis. They all told me to write a complaint report and it would go to some place called "HR". Which I did. Numerously. More months passed. Nothing from "HR". Multiple cast members who witnessed my note sessions encouraged me to go to the HR themselves. I didnt honestly know what an HR was. As soon as it was explained to me by my allies even what an HR was I went to the head of HR at Disneyland herself and waited outside of her door. I asked her if she got any of my HR reports and she told me that she had received no HR reports from the Hyperion. Ever. And then asked me to fill out a HR form. As we went over it, she asked me some questions, and then set up a second meeting. On the second meeting she said that in order for my report to be given credence I would need witnesses to give their testimony. The witnesses, in fact the very people that told me to go to HR in the first place, said no. They didnt want to lose their jobs. In retrospect that might be the thing that hurt the most but, whatever... anyway, I was told "“well… without testimonies we’ll do an investigation and we’ll call you when we’ve completed it.” I never received a phone call. With absolutely zero protection from the stage managers from both the sexual harassment or my obvious racial targeting I (and others) were experiencing, not to mention that HR reports were doing nothing, aka not being forwarded, I thought about quitting. And when a white stage manager made a show mistake and laughed it off to the cast by saying an entirely offensive lynching joke, I quit. I didnt matter to Disney. How I felt and what I was being put through didnt matter. I was a commodity. My departure was unceremonious. Bizarre. 100% un-magical. I hung up my costume one last time and it was given to a new Hans, one who looked very much like me oddly, and stepped out of the theater. The park was playing “every wish your heart desires will come to you” and I remember laughing at how dead that song felt. The director has since moved on but still works as a musical theater director in Southern California. This one time 4 years ago I got to feel something other than my color for the first and only time in my professional career. It lasted from about March 2016 to July 2016 and never again since. I will never forget in those early days looking at all the beautiful princesses I got to woo and thinking “wow. I’m a prince right now.” Im sure that sounds stupid. But it didn't feel stupid. And a Disney prince! Yeah, a shitty prince kinda... I mean, he's a sociopath... BUT still a Prince! Especially special was being able to look in Dominique’s eyes and I could see the same glimmer of “can you believe we get to do this right now” reflected back. We never knew it was in the cards for us. My race always has and will always be part of my career equation and a determining factor of its projection. It will always be a determining factor in how im treated, by creatives, by people, by the those in authority over me, including the government and the police. #wasitmyskin

Copied in its entirety here from Cooper Howell’s public Facebook post: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10163696376095054&set=a.10151302685610054&type=3&theater

[nascentesxmorimur]

Her small feet swung slowly back and forth, unable to reach the floor in the chair she was sitting. Hands under her butt, she stared at one of the music posters across the room near the clock. The ticking of the little hand echoed with the voices chattering all around her. It was almost getting too loud for the young girl as her nerves made everything even louder. She shut her eyes for what felt like forever before their chorus director clapped her hands and tried to get the children’s attention. The ceremony was starting soon and the chorus was introducing it all with a song medley. Sky happened to be in chorus and didn’t have a choice. She hated performing in front of people. She was shy and being in the spotlight was never good for her. Any time she had attention on her it felt like she was just waiting for some kind of verbal or physical slap in the face. It was better for her to be unseen and unheard. There was less trouble that way. Somehow trouble always found her and she was extremely tired of it. Tonight was no exception. She already got shoved in the hall on her way to the music room. She was smaller than the other kids her age and looked different which made her the perfect target. Thankfully the teacher was here now and that means the sooner this event started, the faster it would be over. 

The lights in the auditorium were still up as parents filed in with their children, expecting awards. The coveted ‘perfect attendance’ award hung in the balance, after all. The kids who were sent to school sick really craved that piece of paper signed by the principal with a little golden circle on it. Sky didn’t understand the premise of it but it was good to have goals, she suspected anyway. She didn’t ever win awards because she wasn’t overly exceptional at any subject that mattered and she wasn’t a leader by any means. She skated by in most of her classes, spending a lot of time doodling instead of listening to the teacher drone about things she didn’t really care about. She got decent grades, that wasn’t the issue, she just wasn’t overly concerned about overachieving. She heard it from all her teachers. Imagine what your grades could be if you put forth more effort. If you just apply yourself, you could have all A’s. The thing is, the only goal Sky strove for was getting to middle and high school and then getting out altogether. She only wanted to not fail to avoid punishment. One time she got a D in social studies because of her absences from school and her inability to get her homework from anyone and her foster dad let her have it. Even though he was the reason she missed so much school that it affected her grade. Talking about and making excuses for her shitty grades only made her punishment worse. 

Sky stopped looking at the doors at the proud parents waltzing in with their kids. She was happy for them but at the same time, it made her sad. She knew it was stupid to be sad about, it was inevitable at things like this. The young girl couldn’t quite help feeling hurt by the circumstances though. For once it would be nice to be a normal kid with a family out there waiting to see if their kid would get noticed for something they were good at. But Sky wasn’t a normal kid. And she wasn’t overly good at anything. She was just ready to sing their group song and go wait out the night in the back of the auditorium so she could leave right at the end and wait outside to be picked up. 

Eventually, the lights dimmed and the principal came onstage to introduce himself, the event, and the chorus who would be singing a song for them this evening. Sky sighed, trying not to look out at the people who were staring at the kids on the risers in front of the stage. She hated being stared at -- although she knew the parents were only looking at their kids, their eyes were staring in her direction and it made her uncomfortable. As the piano started playing, she nervously swallowed the lump in her throat and began singing with her classmates. She sang quietly, still trying to avoid looking out at the audience until something colorful caught her eye. She saw a big bouquet of flowers a few rows in but when she saw who was holding them, she froze with wide eyes. Her mouth kept singing on autopilot but the rest of her was in shock. It was Rye. And on either side of him was Cass with a camera and Ash beaming and waving excitedly to her when she made eye contact. They were..here? Was she imagining this? She blinked a few times and looked back at them to see if they were just an illusion of her own mind but they were still there. They were actually truly there. For me. Her chest tightened and she became a little more nervous yet not nervous at the same time. Almost emotional as the three smiled in the crowd. She couldn’t believe it. The first time she had someone out in the crowd and there were three of them...all there for her. She could’ve cried but she was still confused and a little scared that she was just imagining them there. She was also weirdly happy to see them. It was strange but she felt happy. Almost normal. And then, just for a moment, Sky smiled and sang a little bit louder with her excitement. 

When their song was over, Sky couldn’t stop blushing knowing that her new family witnessed it all, but she was happy to see them regardless. She wanted to sit with them but had to sit in the designated student area up front to make it easier when they were called up to get their awards. Sky would’ve rather just sat with Cass, Rye, and Ash because she knew she’d just be sitting there watching the other kids get paper achievements for the next hour. 

Eventually, Sky began tuning out the announcers onstage like she usually had when she pulled out her sharpie and started drawing on her wrist. It wasn’t until she heard her name called that she was snapped out of her doddle trance. “Huh?” she looked up at the stage, where her art teacher was smiling proudly. “Skyler, come get your award! For outstanding performance and talent in the subject of art!” Sky couldn’t believe it. She was so stunned she didn’t even cringe at her full name being called out loud. Hesitant at first, she quickened her pace when she realized that all eyes were definitely on her now. Her art teacher handed her the award and wrapped her in a hug. “Congratulations, Sky.” “Th-thank you.” She whispered and smiled back shyly before hurrying off the stage and back to her seat. She heard loud cheering and knew it was from the three familiar faces and the only ones who would be cheering that loudly at a fourth grade award ceremony. She was both excited and a little embarrassed but she smiled at the floor anyway. They were yelling and cheering for her. It was astounding. It was a foreign feeling but she couldn’t stop smiling even as she stared at the paper in her hands in disbelief.She actually won something? She actually won something. Not for a real subject like math or science or english, but it was something. And it was her favorite subject too. The teacher signed it at the bottom and her name was right there in bold calligraphic lettering. The girl clutched it throughout the whole rest of the show, basically clinging to it as if in fear that someone would try to take it back because of some error. It was hers. And she was proud of it? Yes. Yes that was the feeling, right? She was proud of this piece of paper tonight. It wasn’t a nobel peace prize but it was important to her. And she loved it. Maybe that was dumb but it was the only award she’d ever received and it was for something she loved. She may never get the holy perfect attendance award, but this one was way cooler to the 9 year old. 

After the ceremony was over, Sky moved hastily into the hallway where a sea of people were all pushing and shoving to get to their kids and go home. She was being moved in the opposite direction that she intended to go when she felt a hand on her shoulder before being embraced in a tight bear like hug. She didn’t realize who it was at first, but the familiar smell of Cass’ perfume wafted the air before her little lungs were crushed by the woman’s hug. Sky smiled anyway and hugged her back. She was happy to see them and she was excited that they were there to see her award. Each of them took turns hugging the small girl and she hugged them back just as happily. “Thank you for coming.” She told them, embarrassed again slightly. “You didn’t have to..I hope you didn’t feel like you had to come.” Although she was happy that they did, the realization that they all probably had much better things to do that night hit her in the face like a fly baseball. “You guys probably had more important things to do tonight... I’m sorry if--” Ash was the first to cut her off, the smile never leaving the wolf’s face. “Hey, nothing is more important than this. We all wanted to be here tonight for you. We made sure to keep our schedules cleared to be here.” Rye nodded and added, “Yeah, there’s no way we’d miss out on seeing our little jedi sing for the whole fourth grade and get her art award!” Sky was holding back tears as they spoke, when Cass grabbed her hands and lightly poked her nose. “Kiddo if you thought we were gonna miss this, then you need to get to know us better. We love you and we waited all month to see you get this award. We’re so proud of you baby girl. So crazy proud.” Sky thought Cass might start crying but instead she hugged the child again tightly and Sky buried her face in the woman’s hair. “Thank you,” she clung to Cass as her emotions went haywire. “Thank you all..so much. I love you too. A lot.” And she did. She truly appreciated their presence and their effort. When Cass finally let go of her, Rye handed her the flowers he’d been holding onto. “And these, young padawan, are for you.” Sky took them slowly, smiling as she brought them to her nose. She inhaled the floral scent and held them close to her. “Thank you. They’re so pretty.” “Prettiest flowers for the prettiest girl.” The wolf grinned, ruffling her hair. “How about we go get some dinner and ice cream before we go home for movie night? Sound cool?” Rye asked, holding his arms out as if opening the question up to the floor. “I’m in.” Ash agreed and Cass nodded. “Sounds great to me! You in?” She asked Sky. Sky looked at them all and nodded too. “Okay! Yeah, that sounds nice.” “Sweet!” “Awesome.” “Let’s do it then. Let’s roll ladies.” 

Later on, they all spent the rest of the night eating celebratory pizza and ice cream and watching movies with popcorn and milkshakes. There was debate of framing Sky’s award versus putting it up on the fridge and which was better versus more traditional. It was decided that they’d frame it and display it proudly to keep it safe from kitchen accidents. The three praised the little girl, all so incredibly proud of her, and Sky felt loved and dare she say, somewhat normal, for the first time in her life. Even though their little family was anything but normal. She loved these people and they loved her and that was more than enough. More than anything she could’ve ever wished for on birthday candles or shooting stars. She had a real family now. And she loved them more than anything. 

[bitsy83]

Sing 2 - Duets

(Just the first chapter of my fan-sequel to my new favorite movie. I just hope I can get this posting down ok.)  

Chapter 1 - A New Day

“I remember when I was a kid, my dad always told me to never let failure stop you from achieving your goals. After all, if all roads to success were easy, then everyone would be a winner. And you have to know how to lose in order to know what winning is really all about.

“Less than a year ago, I was an optimistic, but struggling, theater producer who barely had two pennies to rub together. My shows were failing, money was practically nonexistent, and I had more death threats than an Internet troll. My best pal, Eddie, told me time and again to just give up and let the theater go so I could move on to bigger and better things. What he didn’t realize was this was my bigger and better thing and I wasn’t letting it go for anybody. So, in a last ditch effort, I decided to do the one thing I knew would pack my theater to the brim: a singing competition! I won’t go into too much detail, but let’s just say this was both the greatest idea I ever had and the biggest mistake I ever made. I may have stretched the truth here and there about the prize money and maybe have put a bit too much pressure on my contestants and myself, which eventually led to the collapse - both figuratively and literally - of my beloved theater.

“I was a failure. A washed-up clown. A loose cannon, I believe someone stated. I had hit rock bottom, which meant one thing: the only place left I had to go…was up. But I didn’t do it alone…

“While I still had Eddie and dear Ms. Crawley in my corner, the competition introduced me a lively group of characters I would later on call my friends and close knit theater family. Johnny, Rosita, Gunter, Ash, Meena, and Mike. (Well, Mike when he wasn’t avoiding the loan sharks and killer Russian bears).  With their help, I was able to not only put on a fantastic show, but my theater was restored to its former glory, thanks to the illustrious Nana Noodleman.

“I swear, I’ve never seen this place so popular, not even when I was a kid! Obviously, I had to make some changes if I was able to make this second chance last.  Dear Mrs. Noodleman oversees the productions and gives insight on what should and should not be performed. We still put on various plays and concerts, but we’ve even gotten requests to use the stage as a wedding venue and other private events.  This is always good for a little extra spending money for any future shows we have, especially for my little theater family.  They still put on their shows and even help out backstage when their talents are not required onstage.

“For example, Rosita has offered to help out with prop and set design.  I guess when you are raising twenty-five children and one husband, organization and good imagination just come naturally to you.  Gunter has offered to be our official choreographer.  He’s an excellent teacher, though sometimes his students get a bit embarrassed when he breaks out the sequenced leotards.  While Meena has finally gotten over her stage fright and does occasionally perform, she happened to take quite a shine to working as a stagehand.  She’s hoping that it’ll help beef up her college resumes.  Poor girl’s been stressing herself out in getting into a good school so she can major in music and maybe even theater (a girl after my own heart).  

“Our up-and-coming rock star, Ash, has set an all-time record for rebounding after her ugly breakup with what’s-his-name.  Not only has she written countless new songs since her first solo performance, she reunited a few old schoolmates of hers and started a new band: Nature’s Rejects. (Not my first choice for a band name, but what can you do?)  This girl’s been getting gigs all over the city and has become a local celebrity.

“Last, but not least, Johnny.  I knew the second I looked at him that this kid was going to be a whiz on the piano and I was right.  He still gets lessons from Ms. Crawley, but he’s such a pro now that I think he only does it to have access to a piano.  Hearing him sing while tickling the ebony and ivory just melts your heart.

“The hands of fate has given me a new beginning. I may have taken a final bow at my old theater, but this revival will live on for generations to come! Or my name isn’t Buster…”

A knock on the door interrupted Buster’s monologue. “Good morning, Mr. Moon,” said Ms. Crawley as she shuffled into his office, holding a cup of coffee.

“Hold that thought, Ms. Crawley,” said Buster and quickly went to his camera tripod, turning off the recording button. “Looks like my auto-documentary will have to be put on hold. So, what is on the agenda today?”

“Well, let’s see…” With a shaky hand, Ms. Crawley pulled out her notepad. “Meena and Eddie will be working on the new sound system and lighting fixtures we ordered. Johnny will be in for his usual piano lesson. Oh, and Ash and her little friends will be using rehearsal room A for practice until about one, and then we start rehearsals for the new play. Rosita will be here early to help with the set design.”

“Excellent!” said Buster, sipping his coffee. “Just like a well-oiled machine.” He walked over to his window, taking a deep breath. “It’s gonna be a good day, Ms. Crawley. And there will be plenty more to come after that!”

***

“Honey, have you seen my car keys?” asked Norman as he was wiping Casper’s face with a paper towel.

“Coat pocket,” said Rosita, pulling an action figure out of Hannah’s mouth. “Ok, where did I put my binder?”

“On the counter near the coffeemaker.”

It was just another chaotic morning at the breakfast nook for Rosita and family, though the morning routine has had some upgrades. Ever since Rosita performed her song with Gunter, Norman saw her in a whole new light. After a long, heartfelt talk, he realized that he had been taking his wife for granted and should have been helping her with the kids as well as her new job at Moon theater. So now, Norman gets up with Rosita and together they help the kids get ready for school and getting their own schedules on track. Rosita was never one to complain, but she was so happy to finally get a little extra help in the morning as well as around the house. Although they still kept up her strange contraption to get the kids out of bed and do the cleaning while they were both at work.

So, after giving the kids their backpacks (Rosita did the girls while Norman got the boys) and sending them on their way, Norman and Rosita took a moment to fix each other up.

“Bye Norman,” said Rosita, straightening his tie.

“Bye bye, Rosita,” said Norman, handing her her purse. “Tell Gunter I said…what’s hello in German again?”

“Guten Tag. And I will.” Rosita chuckled and gave her husband a loving kiss. “See you tonight, honey. Have a great day at work.”

With that, Norman went to the car while Rosita hummed down the street in the opposite direction. It was gonna be a good day; she could feel it.

*** Meena hummed to herself as she was preparing the pancake batter. Since she was plugged into her tunes, she didn’t hear her grandfather come up behind her, trying to steal a few extra chocolate chips. His attempt was thwarted thanks to Meena’s mother smacking his trunk.

“No dad,” she scolded. “You remember what the doctor said about your blood pressure: cut back on the sweets!”

Grandpa just harrumphed and went to sit down at the breakfast table. “I still think I need a second opinion. That doc’s a quack.”

“He’s a duck, dad…”

“So I got a bit of a sweet tooth,” he continued. “I’ve been eating like that since I was Meena’s age and I still made star quarterback on the college football team.”

“Well, you’re not her age now, so you’re gonna have to follow doctor’s orders. Besides, I made you a nice bowl of oatmeal instead.”

“I can make something else,” said Meena, who had taken off her headphones.

But her mother shook her head. “You finish up on the pancakes, sweetie. You know how you grandma loves them. Speaking of which, I better go see if she’s having trouble finding her glasses again.”

After placing the bowl of oatmeal in front of her disgruntled father, Meena’s mom left the kitchen to head upstairs. Once the coast was clear, Meena picked up the bowl of chips and went over to the table. She held a finger to her lips and sprinkled a few chips on his oatmeal. Grandpa chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

“Mom does have a point though,” she said. “I don’t want you getting sick.”

Grandpa laughed as he took a bite of his breakfast. “Aw, I’m as fit as a fiddle, Meena. Don’t you worry about me. Or should I say ‘Don’t you worry ‘bout a thiiiing!”

Meena giggled. “Very cute, Grandpa.” She gave him a small kiss on his head, then went back to the stove.

“That reminds me, baby girl. Did you ever hear back from that dream school of yours?”

“Lincoln?” Meena shook her head. “No, not yet. Although I’m starting to wonder if I still have a shot…”

“Of course you do! So the other schools you applied for turned you down. So what? If they had half a brain, they’d have taken you in a heartbeat! Once you become a world-famous singer, they’ll be kicking themselves to their graves.”

Meena rolled her eyes. Once again, her grandfather was promoting her as a superstar singer. “Grandpa, I know you want me to make it big, but I want to do more with my life than just sing. I wanna learn everything I can about music. The history, the styles, the impact it has on different cultures. And thanks to Mr. Moon, now I’m kinda interesting in theater production.”

Grandpa coughed. “You mean, you’d rather go back behind the curtain again? I thought you were over your stage fright.”

“I am!” she said, placing the fresh batch of pancakes on the table. “I just want something to fall back on, that’s all. I can’t put all my eggs in one basket.”

Shaking his head in both admiration and frustration, Grandpa took another bite of his oatmeal. “Well, I can’t argue with your logic, baby girl. Just don’t deny the world your gift, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Who says I only have one gift to give?”

Grandpa laughed. “That’s true, that’s true. Nice to finally see some backbone growing outta you. Make me some coffee, baby. I’m gonna get the paper.”

***

Ash grumbled as she dragged her feet to the kitchen. She hated mornings, whether they be the crack of dawn or eleven o’clock. She was strictly an afternoon, evening, and night kind of girl.  She was about to start the coffee when she saw a cup for her was already made. Ash smirked and reached for the creamer. “Thank you, Olive,” she said over her shoulder.

Ever since her breakup with Lance, Ash wasted no time in moving forward as much as possible. One step forward including patching things up with her old friend, Olive; a raccoon Ash knew back from the third grade. Olive was loyal and friendly, though gifted with a sarcastic wit that she wasn’t afraid to unleash. They had been very close in the past, but once Ash started dating Lance during their junior year in high school, their friendship faltered.  Once the breakup happened, Ash contacted Olive again and the two of them were finally able to talk things over.  Everything connected to Lance (including music posters, clothing, old CDs, and his weird collection of bottle caps) was successfully removed from the apartment, Olive moved in and they got along swimmingly.

Olive chuckled as she sat at the table with the morning paper. “Figured it was either that or break out the air horn. How is it that I’m a nocturnal animal and still get up before you do?”

“You got messed up DNA?” said Ash. “So, anything about zombies in the paper?”

Olive shook her head. “Not yet, though apparently a piece of sand covered in oyster mucus is touring the country.”

Ash looked over Olive’s shoulder to see what she was referring to. The front page of the paper said Priceless 600 Year-Old Pearl To Be Displayed at City Museum. Below the headline, a picture of a large white orb was displayed on a velvet pillow in glass box. Ash let out a low whistle. “Wow, imagine having that on your eBay page.”

“Seriously. Hey, we rehearsing at the theater today?”

Ash’s second step forward was working on her music career and Olive was just the boost she needed. Olive was already great at the bass and was friends with a drummer named Brandy: a sweet, bubbly teenage skunk who was addicted to all forms of social media.  This actually wasn’t a bad thing since Brandy was in charge of the band’s Facebook page and Twitter account.  

“Yup,” said Ash as she downed the rest of her coffee. “Be sure to text Brandy.  I don’t want her missing the warm-up again.”

“Don’t worry; she’ll be there,” said Olive, wiping her glasses on the corner of shirt. Especially if she wants to see Johnny…

***

“Thirty-six…thirty-seven…thirty-eight…”

Johnny blinked away the sweat in his eyes as he finished up another set of curl-ups while hanging upside down.  He kept catching glimpses of the news broadcast during his sets.  

“The pearl will be displayed at the Cornea Museum for exactly one month before continuing its global tour,” said the cat announcer. “The pearl has been in the Mundabi family for nearly ten generations and is part of a very important tradition.  Whenever the current owner of the pearl passes away, the pearl must make a global voyage to various cities in the world before being handed down to the next heir. The pearl is said to be worth over five-billion dollars in American currency. Mayor Olsen has promised the Mundabi family that the pearl will have only the best security protecting it. Mr.  Mundabi almost rejected the city of Cornea after learning about the botched gold heist that took place last year.  The culprit was none other than Marcus “Big Daddy” Greystone, who is still currently serving time…”

Johnny turned off the TV and sighed heavily. He hated it when the news brought up his dad’s gang. Sure, his dad was a criminal, but he only stole money. He had never broken into homes or stolen personal items, even if the item in question was beyond priceless.

Thinking of his father led Johnny over to the collection of pictures he had sitting on the makeshift shelf in his room. All the pics were of happier times when he still lived in England and before his father had become “Big Daddy Greystone.” Most of all, it was when he still had his mother. His eyes fell upon his favorite photo of her.  Unlike Johnny and his dad, his mother was brown-furred gorillia.  She had a kind face and hazel eyes that always eased Johnny’s heart.  In the photo, she was wearing her favorite pink sweater and was holding Johnny when he was a toddler.  The young ape in the picture wouldn’t look at the camera, but kept his eyes on his mother, who returned the gaze with a beautiful smile on her face.  But what Johnny remembered the most was her voice.  Her passion for singing matched his own.  Every night before bed, he would sit on his father’s lap while she played the piano and sung him a lullaby, her melodious voice lulling him to dreamland. She was the exact opposite of his dad: kind, gentle, soft-spoken. She really brought a sense of balance to their family, until…

Johnny shook away the memory. Don’t think of that now, Johnny thought to himself.  He then looked over at the picture of him and his dad.  He must have only been about three or four and was propped on his dad’s shoulder, smiling and waving to the camera.  His dad had a large smile on his face as he looked up at his son, every bit of him shining with pride.  Next to the photo was the newspaper article of his father getting arrested, complete with mugshot.  It was like they were two different apes.  The news would always see his father as a notorious, heartless criminal who didn’t deserve a second chance.  But to Johnny, he’d always be his dad.  

Johnny picked up a marker and scratched another day off the calendar.  “Almost there, dad.”  Flipping ahead, he saw that there were only six months left before his father’s parole.  The prison visits had been helping him cope with the absence.  It was the first time he and his dad actually sat down and really spoke to each other as father and son and not gang leader and henchman.  Marcus promised Johnny, over and over, that things would be different once he got out.  Johnny believed him, but was still worried.  He knew that having a criminal record meant it’d be difficult to get a job.  Still, he couldn’t afford to give up hope.  

Looking down at his watch, he saw that it was time for him to get cleaned up and head to the theater.  After a quick shower and breakfast, Johnny grabbed his skateboard and locked up the garage.