Scene I:
It opens up to the theatre, the spotlight following a young boy in a wheelchair up the aisle, the rips in his jeans and tears on his face visible to the members of the audience, and towards the stage. As he approaches it, he cries out, sobs wracking his entire body. He begins to ram himself into the side of the stage, his cries only growing louder and louder. Gently, a chorus begins to sing a ballad, drowning out his sobs in A minor. Soon they become muffled and he, like the audience, only gazes at the stage, its props, and curtains beyond his reach. He turns to a decrepit stairwell and back to his chair, and repeats the cries and resumes slamming his chair into the stage. The noises summon the security team and onlookers and, along with them, the stares and the constant pity in their eyes. He knows it’s there. He hates that it’s there. A mother is summoned, and gently, she guides him back up the aisle, away from the stage, away from his misery, away from his absolute joy. The theatre goes dark.
Scene II:
A screech and a crash ring loud and clear throughout the theatre and the single spotlight returns. The light shines on his fallen body and battered wheelchair, a crying mother standing over his body. He explains the broken ramp on the street curb and how he glided over the icy, decrepit cracks as he did a thousand times before. He whispers to her, I did not want to stop myself this time. She cries in C, stroking his head while he thinks in G of how he doesn’t want her to hurt for him. Slowly, she picks him up and places, confines he thinks, back into his chair and pushes him up and down the aisle, making sure to stay far from the stage. He mustn’t go there. A second light on the decrepit staircase, with its cracks and bumps, deny his presence. His spotlight darkens first and after the light lingers on the staircase, all in the theatre goes dark again.
Scene III:
An angelic voice breaks the silence in theatre and she descends in a heavenly aura until she calls for the lighting director to cut it out because it is a ridiculous cliché and she was just humming. Honestly, she tells him, I’m nowhere near an angel and you all know that. After that, she walks over to the wheelchair, takes her bionic hand, and smacks him across the face. She yells at him; WOULD YOU LIKE MY PITY AS WELL? She takes the look on his face for a no. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and offers him a hand. Her literal hand. She takes it off and tells him, I don’t have time to tell you my sob story and I don’t want to hear yours, but you and me, we’re pretty similar. She looks at the staircase and tells him she can’t get up there either. A light leaves her eyes as she says, the people do not favor our abilities buddy, they dis them, huh? But she’s seen him at the stage, she tells him, he’s pretty good. Maybe good enough to change those people. He raises an eyebrow and before he knows it, her hand is back on and she’s pushing him down the aisle at the speed of light.
Scene IV:
They find themselves at the back of the theatre watching the dancers prance across the stage. In her hand, she holds a wooden panel; “don’t dis my ability,” it reads. She turns to him and gives him the go ahead. Suddenly he is moving and rolling faster and faster with the staircase in his direct path. Yet, he seems to not be stopping. The dancers have stopped to look, the security has done the same. In the chaos, they forget to stop him, and he collides with the staircase. Its cracked wood has shattered and its steps are spread across the floor. Slowly she marches past the people and approaches the stage, coming closer than they have ever been allowed. She looks back at him and flashes a grin, takes the wood, and leans it on the stage. He wheels over and, hand-in-hand, she guides him up the wobbling plank. For the third time, the theatre goes dark.
Scene V:
Pulling out all the dramatic stops, the curtains of the stage open. His silhouette takes center stage for an-all out musical phenomenon. The audience is not only hearing him, they are listening to him. He flies across the stage, feeling the beat, feeling his pulse rushing, but suddenly stops at the impromptu ramp. He rolls down through the cheering crowd towards her smug face. Not a bad job buddy she tells him. He asks for her hand, something he instantly regrets because she takes it off and puts it in his with an eye-roll. Funny, he tells her, but he pulls her arm and sits her with him and heads back towards the stage. He brings her up there too. Before she can tell him to knock it off, he pushes her off his lap; this isn’t a tacky romance, he reaffirms with a wink. Like most good endings, they come together for a final performance but this time all the lights and theatrics are gone. It is just them two under one spotlight pleading with the audience; listen they beg. We are all the same, they sing. Include us, build that ramp.
Reflecting
Looking back on this piece, as well as the curatorial one, I think of the importance of the issues regarding the inclusion of people with varying abilities. I chose not to include names of the characters or specifications so that everyone can fill in the blanks themselves, so-to-speak, and find a way to relate it to their own lives. Music is a great medium for connecting people to current issues and raising awareness and in a modern opera, it truly brings others’ reality to life. The topic of inclusion is not one that is spoken about, yet it affects the lives of millions daily. Often, it does not require a major change to accommodate those with different needs; it can be as simple as smoothing over the cracks on a street curb or lending a hand, or a heart, to those in need. We are all trying to make it in this world, some may need a bit more help, though, getting there. I think this piece emphasizes the importance of teamwork in creating a society that can come to love and embrace everyone, regardless of their abilities.
