Squeak, Squeak, Squeak
I watch as my teacher writes out the group assignment on the board with a musically talented dry erase marker.
My teacher stops talking and disappears into a tiny pot hole office. I remember our group assignment: devising theater. I glance over at my friends and we sit there for a moment.
What’s the best thing that three teenagers could devise for a 12 to 15 minute improvised theatrical performance?
A heart breaking, jaw dropping, tears falling, story about being a crack addict, as we are super experienced on how to roll blunts, and deal “kitty bags,” as my soon-to-be pastor friend called it.
We decided to make a song about the life story of three struggling individuals, two of them being drug addicts and one of them being a dealer on the street…
The song went like:
Me: “I’ve been a crack addict since I was 9”
Pastor Friend: “I’ve been a crack addict since I was E – Lev – en”
Friend 2: “And I’m a dealer on the streets”
Cue-(cue) the beats
Me and Pastor Friend: “The times were tough”
“The streets are rough”
“I’m tryna get through it but it aint enough”
“I’ve been playing games, and I got shame”
“That’s why I smoke the weed, to ease the pain”
Friend 2: “Crack Addict Avenue.”
This song felt so natural for me to sing, I felt like I was really the perfect singer for this beautiful song. I could feel a foreign memory in my mind each time I sang, “crack addict.” My hands were grasping for something, my tongue itching as if it had personal experience with drugs. Is this what it felt like to crave crack? Not actually, for legal purposes I have to confess that this is completely satirical.
Squeak, Squeak, Squeak
“Y’all need to have more than just a song, right now all of y’all are sitting at a failing grade,” says my theater teacher, while she writes more notes on the board.
I looked at my groupmates, surprised, I thought we were making great progress, I guess not. I’m not sure what I was expecting, my group had spent the last 3 classes goofing around. Not a smart choice. Now we had to make something out of thin air, and what was that?
Therapy. A long painful scene of therapy. Did it carry us to the 12-minutes-or-more mark? Yes.
Surprisingly it fits. Some of the people in my school need therapy. A lot of it. Especially fashion therapy, you thought jeans and a regular shirt was “bad,” wait until you see the horrendous outfits of Richland Northeast High. Good gosh. Make a photo gallery on that.
