“Mom, come on, don’t do this.”
“You’ll be happier where you’re going, it’s for your own good.”
“But-...”
“Maybe now some of that talent you have won’t go to waste.”
She smiled after saying this, and touched her son benignly on the cheek. Dust kicked up, spewing gravel like sparks; she was gone. Emmery stood in the middle of Waverly’s diving drive way, watching her go. At long last the load grew cumbersome upon his back, and the gaunt brute began ambulation, steadily for the large gaping doors of the main hall. He checked himself in and followed the secretary’s directions to the boy’s dorms, helping himself by towering clocks and gilded tapestries. Curiosity brewed and boiled beneath the apathetic facade, urging him to take steps towards said artwork - to inspect and analyze, as all good artists do. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop, for fear of all those unreasonable apprehensions and bouts of sadness catching up.
At long last the room appeared, varnished and embellished by the touch of some forgotten architect. It seemed his roommate was out, and thus a feeling of relief induced, deeming him relaxed enough to lie back amidst the pool of throw pillows whose loose fringe extended in greeting. A great sigh was heaved, throwing warmth and insecurity into the air. For the longest time, the boy just lay there, prostrate, thinking about everything that had happened in the last week. His dad hadn’t even come or sent a letter of congratulations for making it into Waverly. Then again, it’s not like he wanted this. The whole thing had been his mother’s idea, a ramification of her nosiness as it had one day explored his room out of boredom. She’d stumbled across all the paintings and sketches he’d done, all the songs he’d written and vain stabs at poetry. He still remembered the exact words of her praise, “Boy, there’s talent in you and you have idea do you? Not one little idea.”
A wry smile and a roll of his eyes later, Emmery had decisively flopped over onto his belly, now brave and stable enough to look around. There was but a single window that existed by the corner, looking vacant and alone, just a single crystal pane. Two paintings (smaller, duplicated versions of the originals) hung on the gold-trimmed walls, hardly there to see. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for the beau to get sick of his new home. So he rose and threw on a mud-colored blazer, topped it off with his favorite striped scarf, and headed out - pausing only to check his reflection in the mirror and fuss with a few strands of unruly hair. Back down the dormitory steps he went, wan digits tracing along the sleek contour of the railing. He headed on down the hall, wondering what on earth was here to do.
He found a door, a formal-looking door, and tentatively pulled it open. The sign read ‘this way to theater’. Into the stomach of the beast Emmery went, traipsing quietly, still tracing the aisles and aisles of seats. He chose a seat up front and sat, just gazing in awe at the amplitude of the stage. Every scuff was counted, and every spotlight held to insatiable wonder. With wide-eyes did the shy being stare, shameless because this wasn’t a person - this wouldn’t chastise him for being a silly little boy. Now would it?
