One Teen Story - Stories [ Issue #68 ]

The Seymour theater beneath the high school chapel is strange. The stage is too deep but not wide enough. The two Doric columns that stand on the edge of the wings always seem anachronistic. The three doors upstage are eyesores in any production, and you need to go through another three doors backstage before arriving at the dressing room. On the walls of the theater foyer, light blue frames wait to be filled with pictures. But I love the Seymour. The Seymour was where I presented my work to an audience for the first time. There’s a saying that if you can’t hear the audience breathe during the performance, you’re doing something right. So I held my breath on opening night, observing the actors just as much as I was observing the audience. I remember one night during a show in the Seymour. My senior year. F came back to campus to surprise C and me—he had a long weekend from his first semester of college. C, F, and I left the theater midway through the show and drove to McDonald’s be

The Seymour theater beneath the high school chapel is strange. The stage is too deep but not wide enough. The two Doric columns that stand on the edge of the wings always seem anachronistic. The three doors upstage are eyesores in any production, and you need to go through another three doors backstage before arriving at the dressing room. On the walls of the theater foyer, light blue frames wait to be filled with pictures. But I love the Seymour. The Seymour was where I presented my work to an audience for the first time. There’s a saying that if you can’t hear the audience breathe during the