Different

    Different

    (Lights come back up. The set has now been changed around to reflect an interior setting. Various pieces of art are on display. There is one taking up residence center stage, hidden underneath a glass box covered in a black tablecloth. A simple bench is located right next to the piece. Clark enters, leading Melody through the gallery.)

    Melody: So… why did you bring me here?

    Clark: Look.

    (Clark pulls off the tablecloth, revealing his artwork.)

    Melody: Whoa. That’s awesome. (Melody paces around, examining as much as she can from every angle)

    Clark: Right? It’s my favorite one so far.

    Melody: It’s really something. I can see where you were going with those contrasting colors. And from this angle it looks really cool, almost like it’s just floating.

    Clark: I definitely put the most work into this one. I feel like… a piece of me is in there.

    (A beat of awkward silence. Perhaps Clark feels self-conscious?)

    Melody: I get that.

    Clark: …you do?

    Melody: Of course I do. I put my heart and soul into my music. I don’t see the difference between my songs and your sculptures. It’s a good thing to be invested in your art.

    Clark: Exactly!... All of my friends think I’m crazy when I say things like that…

    Melody: (smiling) Hey.

    Clark: What?

    Melody: You know what I’ve learned?

    Clark: No, what?

    Melody: Everyone’s crazy, even if they don’t know it.

    Clark: Haha! Yeah, I guess we all are.

    (Both giggle a little.)

    Melody: I mean, who ever decided that there was a normal to begin with?

    Clark: Well, if we didn’t have one, we wouldn’t have the other.

    Melody: That’s true. So I suppose there isn’t a crazy, either.

    Clark: I suppose not.

    Melody: There’s just us, and our short lives, and our music, and sculptures…

    Clark: Yep…

    (Another beat. For a moment they are just looking at his artwork, Clark occasionally glancing up to make sure Melody is still there. Then…)

    Melody: Wanna sit down here? My feet are killing me.

    Clark: Uh, sure.

    (Melody takes a seat, then motions for Clark to join her. He does.)

    Clark: You know, you’re different.

    Melody: What do you mean?

    Clark: (starting to speak more confidently) Like in a good way, I mean. You’re not like the others. You care about people, even people who don’t conform to the strange rules of society.

    Melody: Thanks. Conforming is overrated anyways.

    Clark: And you’re not afraid about what other people think about you- not that people think badly about you, of course!

    Melody: No, you’re fine. I know what you mean.

    Clark: I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re you, and that’s awesome. I feel like so many people just are afraid of being themselves, and they just want to hide and be someone else. They just pop on a mask, and hide.

    Melody: Yeah. It’s generally easier to hide.

    Clark: It seems kind of silly.

    Melody: It is. But we all do it anyway.

    Clark: I just… I hate that people are trying so hard to be someone they’re not. I hate that that’s accepted in our lives, like how guys are supposed to act all macho and chase girls, and girls are supposed to act all sweet and flowery. I hate that I get made fun of for my art because I try too hard, and that I can’t have a serious conversation with a single one of my friends. I hate that people think it’s not ok to express yourself, and that there’s something wrong with you if you try something new. And I hate that I’m guilty of all this. Of trying to be like everyone else. Of wearing a mask.

    Melody: (Putting a hand on his shoulder) Clark, you’re not guilty of anything. Don’t blame yourself. It’s natural to want to fit in.

    Clark: I’m just too afraid to take my own mask off.

    Melody: And you don’t have to. I don’t think I’ve met a single person who doesn’t put up walls. You don’t have to open up to everyone. Just the people that matter.

    Clark: I don’t know…

    Melody: Clark, what’s underneath your mask is what makes you special, and you’ll know who the important people are when they love what’s underneath your mask.

    Clark: Well, I guess I haven’t met anyone important in my life yet then… except maybe you.

    Melody: Well, thank you for making me feel important.

    Clark: Haha, no problem.

    Melody: It’s a confusing time of your life. I understand. I was a freshman once too.

    Clark: Eh, you’ll never know it from this side.

    Melody: You mean as a guy? Or as a boarding student?

    Clark: …probably both.

    Melody: Well, I suppose I can’t say that I do. But… I can try to help.

    Clark: What do you mean?

    (Melody stands up from her seat.)

    Melody: Well, I get the dorms can be really stressful. I mean, you’re away from home most of the time. And away from parents, siblings, good food…

    Clark: I guess so.

    Melody: I mean, I get to go home and cry in my bed and then stuff myself with food later. You can’t do that.

    Clark: That’s true.

    Melody: So… I have an idea.

    Clark: What’s that?

    Melody: How about I adopt you? You can be my little brother now.

    Clark: Haha! (laughs nervously) I don’t think that would work very well…

    Melody: Why not?

    Clark: I was just… you know… I don’t know if I’d make a good houseguest… plus there’s legalities and everything…

    (Melody bursts out laughing. It’s sharp and distinctive, but not demeaning.)

    Melody: I wasn’t thinking of literally adopting you! But I’ll bring you over to my house every week or so and we can hang out every now and then. I’m sure it’ll help you with the stress.

    Clark: It could. That sounds like it could help a lot.

    Melody: Hey, I’ll drive you back home myself. Anything to help out a fellow artist. Wanna come with me right now? Beats sitting in this cold room.

    Clark: Oh, sure!

    (Melody walks stage right. Clark gets up from the bench, and follows her. He then turns at the last moment, and takes a wistful look at his artwork.)

    Melody: (off) You coming?

    Clark: Yeah!

    (He quickly covers the glass box with the tablecloth, then hurries out. Lights dim.)