Last Updated: May 31, 2000
Printer-friendly version
One of six articles in a winning series by Ken Fuson of The Sun,
Baltimore that won the non-deadline writing category of the 1998 ASNE Distinguished
Writing Awards.
Wednesday June 4, 1997
Chapter IV: Romantic Rumblings. Crisis of confidence.
Teen-age angst. Other dramas unfold behind the curtain -- putting a friendship
to the test
On any other night, Brian Forte and his best friend would talk about
anything -- music, school, girls. Tonight they just stare straight ahead.
There's too much to say, so they say nothing. Only the sound of a car
stereo breaks the silence.
Finally, Brian lowers the volume.
"Things are getting pretty complex, aren't they?" he asks.
"Makes life more interesting, don't you think?" his friend replies.
That does it. All the pressure of the past five weeks -- struggling
through the spring musical, preparing for high school graduation, discovering
that he and this friend have fallen for the same girl -- finally erupts.
And Brian Forte, the happy-go-lucky leading man, reacts so strongly
even he is surprised.
They’re all losing it.
"NO!" he screams.
Opening night is one month away -- April 18. And everyone involved in
the production of West Side Story at North County High School knows they
need at least three more months.
Several of the songs are shaky. The set remains unfinished. The big
dance number is improving, but far from ready. And they still have several
scenes to run through.
"Guys, this is in sorry shape right now," Wayne Shipley, the director,
tells the Jets as they work the opening scene.
He hurries to the stage. The 53-year-old teacher is getting about four
hours of sleep a night. After rehearsals end, he lingers in the auditorium,
adjusting the lights, building the set, blocking scenes. The students notice
the dark circles under his eyes.
"You guys don't know your lines," he says. "You can't do this show if
you don't know the lines. I don't see acting. I don't see anything.
"This show is not going on until this scene is ready.
"Take five."
His disappointment stings.
During the break, the Jets follow Eli Senter to the back of the auditorium
to rehearse the scene Mr. Shipley has just criticized.
"Come on, Katie," Eli says.
"I'm not coming," Katie Collins replies. "I know my lines."
"That's because you've only got seven lines in the whole thing!" Eli
shouts. "Shaddup!"
Eli can't do it. That's the running joke at the Anne Arundel County
school. Last winter, during the one-act plays, the 17-year-old Eli portrayed
an impotent character who says, "I'm not physically capable of having sex."
Since then, he hears a variation of the Eli-can't-do-it theme at least
10 times a day.
Usually, the wiry Eli laughs. He's comfortable with who he is -- a poet,
president of his church youth group, a former wrestler and a Boy Scout
close to earning his Eagle Scout stripes. You can tease him; his feelings
won't be hurt.
When Eli wins a statewide science-fiction writing contest for teen-agers,
he appears at a Baltimore hotel to accept the award -- two weeks early.
He hears about it.
"I was misinformed," he says sheepishly.
This musical has him whipped. Eli's inability to sing Riff's part is
affecting his acting. Normally a solid performer, Eli is flubbing lines,
missing stage cues and -- he believes -- disappointing Mr. Shipley. That
bothers him most of all.
As the Jets practice, a boy blows a whistle on stage.
"Don't do that unless you have a damn good reason," Eli yells at him.
"I'm practicing my part," the boy says innocently.
"Go home!" Eli shouts.
For the first time in his drama career, Eli doubts his ability. Maybe
he really can't do it.
Stand here.
Sing this way.
Move over there.
Smile!
It's too much for Brian Forte, the senior who plays Tony in West Side
Story. This is the third straight year he has been the leading man in the
spring musical, but Tony is by far the most challenging role. He's a deep-voiced
baritone singing a tenor's part.
"There's a million things I have to remember," he says. "It's the hardest
thing I've ever had to do in my life."
Neil Ewachiw, the music director, teaches him to pronounce words differently.
Sing tonight as tuh-nut. Sing someday and somewhere as some-deh and some-weh.
The audience won't know the difference, and it's easier to reach the high
notes.
When Brian gets on stage, tonight still sounds like tonight.
"-NUT!" Mr. Ewachiw yells.
"-night," Brian sings.
"The only thing I ask of you is to give me everything I ask of you all
the time," Mr. Ewachiw says.
"Well, OK," Brian replies sarcastically. "Piece of cake."
Later, Brian approaches him.
"I just can't accept the fact that you know my voice better than I do."
"I'm 10 years older than you and I work with the same instrument," Mr.
Ewachiw (pronounced e-WALK-q) says. "I've had years of professional training.
Some things you're just going to have to trust me on."
Brian drifts away, frustrated.
As Brian struggles, his best friend flourishes.
Junior Adam Mehok has embraced his role as a Jet since that night when
Mr. Shipley explained his character.
"A-rab is just plain crazy."
"All riiight!" Adam shouted, slapping hands with a friend.
Tall and lean, with a ponytail that hangs halfway down his back, the
17-year-old Adam is more class wit than class clown. "He's the most right-brained
person I've ever met," Brian says. They became friends about a year ago
and have been inseparable since.
One night, during a tense rehearsal, the Jets practice the scene in
which they physically attack one of the Sharks' girlfriends.
"This is sexual," Mr. Shipley tells them. "It's obscene. It's not playing
in a sandbox. Guys, you're looking too much at her face."
"I'm not," Adam says, and Mr. Shipley joins the laughter.
Life is good.
And then it gets better.
Adam invites Anna Schoenfelder, the cute senior who plays Anita, to
the junior prom. She says yes.
"I was feeling so high," he says.
The crash will come later.
Two weeks to go.
Starr Lucas, the senior who calls herself the Drama Queen, enters the
nightly rehearsal on crutches.
"Every now and then, everything caves in for her," Mr. Shipley says.
Starr has cerebral palsy. She's serving as the student director instead
of performing because she hopes to someday work in the theater and believes
she will have more career options as a director than as an actress who
limps.
Every night, she stays up until 2 a.m., finishing homework and her chores
as senior class president. Before tonight's rehearsal, she took a nap,
"and when I woke up, it felt like my legs had snapped in two. It was the
worst I have ever felt."
She can handle it. Nothing gets to Starr. While everyone else loses
their composure, she's the ever-smiling rock.
"I've wanted to be Starr since I was a freshman," says Sarah Huizinga,
a junior cast member. "Starr's perfect."
Starr is still waiting to discover if she'll receive enough financial
help to study theater next fall at Shenandoah University in Winchester,
Va. She has been accepted, but the $18,000-a-year tuition is too steep
for her family.
It would be cheaper to go to an in-state school, she says, but "I need
a small campus because of my legs."
A breakthrough.
After weeks of Mr. Ewachiw's pleading and pushing, the Jets and the
Sharks are beginning to sing their parts in the quintet -- the song that
leads to the dramatic rumble -- as if they mean business.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I think that's the first time I heard the right
notes," Mr. Ewachiw announces.
The cast cheers.
She said yes, but what does it mean?
Adam Mehok decides to find out. Late one night after rehearsal, he calls
Anna Schoenfelder, the senior who agreed to be his date at the junior prom.
We're just friends, Adam.
"It felt like the ground came out from under me," he says.
Anna doesn't tell him everything. She doesn't tell him that the high-school
boy she has romantic stirrings for is Brian Forte, Adam's best friend.
The next night, riding home after musical practice, Brian turns to Adam.
"I think I know how you're going to react to this, but I really like
Anna."
Adam sits silently.
"I didn't know how to handle it," he says later. "I didn't handle it
very well. I was trying to figure out where I stood and where I should
stand and where I will stand tomorrow."
When he gets home, Brian calls Anna. He needs to tell her how he feels;
they have danced around the issue long enough. Anna will never forget the
conversation.
"We have a problem," Brian says.
"What?"
"Adam."
"I know," Anna says.
"We have a bigger problem."
"What?"
"I really like you, too, Anna."
Like the last lap in a track relay, the pace accelerates as the final
week approaches.
Pieces of the set appear on stage as if by magic. The costume rack is
getting full. Several of the scenes crackle -- good to go, as the students
put it. There are moments when Mr. Shipley believes the dance number will
actually create a willing suspension of disbelief in the audience.
"We've almost got a show," he says.
Mr. Shipley is all business now. He paces on stage, wearing his trademark
cowboy boots, denim shirt and bluejeans, his work gloves waving hello from
the back pocket. He always looks like he just finished rustling cattle.
"Characters, guys, characters," he implores, and, slowly but noticeably,
the students respond.
Angela Brown is not playing Maria anymore.
She is Maria.
Angela looks so young and innocent on stage in her Mickey Mouse shirt,
but she sings with the confidence of someone much older.
"I've seen this show several times," Mr. Shipley says, "and she's the
best Maria I've ever seen."
Today they'll work on the scene in which Tony and Maria first meet.
Brian and Angela meet at center stage and hold hands. She gently touches
his face. They say their lines.
"There's a kiss in there, isn't there?" Mr. Shipley reminds them.
Angela and Brian gulp.
"Uh, what kind of kiss?" Brian asks, stalling.
A boy in the back: "The kind of kiss where you shove your tongue halfway
down her throat."
Mr. Shipley laughs so hard his face turns red.
Angela does not laugh. After rehearsal, she says, to no one in particular
but loud enough to be heard, "That whole kissing thing -- yuck!"
"Was is that bad?" Brian says, sounding hurt.
"I didn't like that," she says in her best little girl voice. She's
rehearsing. Undoubtedly Angela will use the same voice later, when she
tells her jealous boyfriend what happened.
On a Sunday afternoon in April, Angie Guido pulls into the parking lot
at Holy Trinity Catholic Church in Glen Burnie.
She thinks her band is playing here. Angie, Brian Forte and some other
friends formed a band they called Ground Zero. After growing tired of the
name, they changed it to The Artists Formerly Known as Ground Zero.
But this is no gig.
"SURPRISE!"
Angie jumps. About 30 family members and high school friends are here
to celebrate her 18th birthday.
The surprise is on Brian, too. His 18th birthday is fast approaching;
the party is for both of them.
Angie is Angie again. She cried when the cast list was posted and she
lost the role of Maria. Now it's as if she has moved through the stages
of grief -- including shock and anger -- to grudging acceptance.
"It was really hard for me," she says. "I didn't realize -- whoa --
how good Angela is. I was just so disappointed. I don't want people thinking
I was looking for a pity party."
She was so close. When the cast list was compiled, Mr. Shipley first
wrote down a different name for Maria:
Angela Guido.
Realizing his mistake, Mr. Shipley slowly traced over the capital "G,"
transforming it into a capital "B," and he did this with each letter until
the name "Guido" became the name "Brown" and Angela Brown had the part
instead.
So you can understand the pain in Angie Guido's voice when she sings
a sultry rendition of Who Will Save Your Soul? at her birthday party.
And you can understand why, when her friends and family reward her with
applause, she smiles and says, "I feel really good right now."
The spotlight is hers.
Adam Mehok sits by himself at Angie's birthday party, saying little.
"What's wrong with him?" a boy asks.
"It's me," Anna Schoenfelder says.
"Go talk to him."
Since that night when Anna uttered the two words that have scarred many
a teen-age soul -- just friends -- Adam quit talking to her.
Anna approaches him in the church parking lot. Adam says something funny,
and Anna cries because she realizes how much she misses him. She holds
out her hand -- come back to the church with me. Maybe later, he says.
It's confusing to Adam. One day Anna agrees to go with him to the junior
prom. The next day he finds out that his best friend, Brian Forte, likes
her, too. The day after that, he discovers that Anna likes Brian.
"I was basically destroyed by the whole thing," he says.
After the birthday party, Brian gives Adam a ride home. It is then,
during the awkward silence, that Brian reaches over and lowers the volume
on the car stereo. It is then that Brian loses it.
"NO!" he screams.
He hates what's going on. He pounds the steering wheel. He doesn't want
to lose Anna or Adam. He begins to cry.
Adam: "He just erupted. I was taken by the emotion. I really envy him
for that."
Brian: "I've always held my feelings back. For some reason, this time,
I couldn't. My feelings were just too strong."
Instead of taking Adam home, Brian drives to
Anna's house. They need to talk about this. The three of them sit on
her front porch.
"Brian was scaring me," she says. "He was really upset. I didn't know
what he was going to say."
The next night at practice, Brian sits in the second row of the theater,
his legs dangling over a chair. He watches Anna as she sings on stage.
"Isn't she wonderful?" he says. "I get goose bumps."
He describes yesterday's meeting with Anna and Adam as "the purest thing
in the world" and says the experience "will go down in history as the weirdest
day of my life."
He and Anna are together. He and Adam still are friends.
"It's amazing."
In his nightmare, he falls off the stage.
A piece of the set collapses and smacks him in the head.
Instead of pretending, another cast member actually stabs him during
the rumble.
And when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.
Eli can't do it?
Less than a week before opening night, he can't even sleep.
