Ruins of Jealousy

CW: The piece contains some profanity and themes of someone going insane. It also has spoilers for Othello if you do not know the full story. Viewer discretion is advised. 

(Full disclosure, I am not someone who participates in theater, so I apologize if my depictions are inaccurate) 

“Duke, if I hear you say ‘we have’ instead of ‘have we’ one more time, I’m taking you out of the show. You know the line! Say it correctly!”

I bite my bottom lip to resist shouting at Duke as the director chastises him yet again. The sour taste of blood creeps through my lips and onto my tongue. Duke mutters an apology. The director exhales sharply and his face drops into his palm.

“We have to move on,” he grumbles. “If you don’t have that line fixed by tomorrow’s rehearsal, you’re out of this show, you hear? I don’t care if next week is our last week to rehearse; I will not have anybody up here besmirching the literary genius of Shakespeare!” His voice rises to a shout as he picks up his head and locks eyes with Duke.

“Do you understand me, kid?” The director threatens.

“I understand,” Duke manages.

“You better. Go get a sip of water and set up the next scene.” The director shoos us off.

“Goddamnit, Duke,” I hiss when we’re backstage, “how did you manage to fuck that up three times in one rehearsal?!”

“Hey, I know my lines. The wording is just odd! My brain keeps making me think it’s the other way around!” Duke argues, snatching his thermos off the ground and flipping up the cap.

“Tell it to stop!” I snap, finally finding my water bottle tucked into a corner. 

“Act 2, Scene 1!” The director calls. “I need Montano and the two gentlemen onstage. I need the third gentlemen, the messenger, the attendants, Cassio, Desdemona, Emilia, Iago, Roderigo, and Othello on standby. Don’t miss your cues!”

The stage crew runs about onstage, pulling props and scenery in and out of the backstage area to set the next scene. Aren and two other boys hurry to the wings and await their cue. In the darkness, a body bumps against mine and sends me tipping toward the wall.

“Sorry!” Jesse whisper-shouts, grabbing my arm and pulling me back up. “Didn’t see you there.”

“It’s fine,” I mutter, yanking my arm out of his grip.

“From the top of the scene!” The director calls. Montano and his men step onto the stage. We stop talking.

It’ll be a shock if we can run this scene without stopping—scratch that; it’ll be a shock if this whole production goes off without a hitch. Every aspect has been a mess, from near-disasters with setpieces to pulling all-nighters after lengthy rehearsals to memorize our lines. Rehearsals on their own are a “try not to set off the director” challenge that usually fails, but nobody was surprised; the spring production is always cursed.

This year, that curse is Jesse. 

Freshman don’t get lead roles, yet here’s one playing Othello instead of a junior or senior with far more experience. With one piece of paper taped up on the auditorium door, he became the face of the play, his popularity skyrocketing until he was the only reason anyone planned to attend. He overshadows the entire program; it’s selfish.

A firm tap on my shoulder startles me out of my thoughts and I catch Cavan’s last pieces of dialogue as Cassio before I step onstage with Duke, Mallory, Ardella, and a handful of other students to join the others. Under the lights, my thoughts about Jesse’s wrongful rise to stardom take a backseat, kicking my mind into show mode. Unfortunately, it’s not long before they creep back to the forefront when a trumpet blares through the auditorium.

“The Moor! I know his trumpet!” I call and, with a few quick exclamations from Cassio and Desdemona, Othello and his attendants emerge from the darkness. 

“O my fair warrior!” His voice echoes off the old auditorium walls, echoes that yank me out of show mode and send me straight back to anger.

Othello glides easily about the stage, his lines crisp and concise and every interaction practiced to perfection— to think a freshman can do all this is something out of a cheesy teen movie. My lines are sour in my mouth as I recite them through gritted teeth while I fight to suppress my growing anger. This is selfish. This is unfair to the entire department that has worked its ass off for several school years to perform at the caliber it does. Who lets a freshman waltz in and assume an authority he never earned? 

“Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward me 

For making him egregiously an ass

And practising upon his peace and quiet

Even to madness. ‘Tis here, but yet confused:

Knavery’s plain face is never seen tin used.”

I step off into darkness once again, fighting back a grin—madness. Perhaps Shakespeare was more brilliant than I thought. 

~~~

Monday morning, I linger at the stage entrance with the door open.

“Jesse!” I call, and he turns to look at me with the same stupid smile he flashed in his audition as he hurries over to me.

“Hey, Abaddon!” He says cheerfully. 

“Ready for tech week?” I ask.

“I think so!”

“Trust me, nobody’s ever ready for tech week,” I laugh, gesturing for him to head through the door.

“That bad, huh?” He says, a twinge of nervousness in his voice. 

“It can be. Hey, out of curiosity, do you have prior theater experience? Maybe from middle school or a summer camp?” 

Jesse shakes his head and replies, “Not unless you count the days I spent acting in my room when I was bored. This is my first year.” He pauses for a moment and his smile falters as he asks, “Is that bad?”

“Eh,” I shrug. “Depends how you look at it. I mean, out of a bunch of seasoned actors, you got the lead role, which was quite the surprise for everyone.”

“Because freshmen don’t get lead roles?” 

“Exactly. Most of us here have been acting for years, be it at summer programs, our old schools, scattered events— we pretty much know what we’re doing. You’re brave for going through with this, especially when you could’ve backed out months ago.”

“Right…” Jesse’s cheerfulness dissolves into nervousness as we place our bags off to the side. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Just giving you a little perspective. Oh,” I add, “and they’re usually a little harder on the main roles like you and I, so try not to take anything too personally.”

“Are they harder on freshmen?”

“Dunno. Freshmen don’t get lead roles.” 

When we reconvene some hours later, his body is shiny with sweat and he’s gripping his water bottle with two shaky hands.

“Well? Thoughts?” I ask; my own words are a little unstable.

“I get why they call this Hell Week,” he breathes when he takes down his water bottle. “And you were right—I wasn’t as ready for this as I thought.”

“Happens to the best of us. Did you get your notes?” 

“Yeah. I flubbed a few lines— I swear, they were perfect on Friday!— and I need to be more precise about my blocking, but, y’know, could’ve been worse.”

“Could’ve been worse,” I echo. “Think you can hold out for the rest of the week?”

Jesse breathes a long sigh, but ultimately nods his head yes. 

“I’m gonna thrive,” he says with a smile.

“They all say that. See you tomorrow!” I don’t spare him another glance as I walk up and out of the auditorium— his lack of a response says everything.

~~~

It’s been a while since I’ve heard someone frantically mutter their lines to themselves like they were summoning a demon, yet that’s what Jesse’s doing as we prepare to open the show.

“Nervous?” I ask nonchalantly.

“More than I thought I’d be,” he answers, laughing airily.

“You’ll be fine,” I say. “They’ll clap for you anyway. You are the only freshmen with a lead role in this school’s history, after all.”

Jesse makes a noise somewhere between a dry laugh and a squeak of fear. His hands are shaking more noticeably, though I can’t help but wonder if it’s the nerves or the absurd caffeine intakes he’s been telling me about all week. It’s probably both. 

“You don’t seem too nervous, Abaddon,” Jesse offers.

“It comes with time and a lot of extra training in other programs. I can recommend some to you for this summer, y’know, so you’re not so nervous next year.”

“That’d be great,” Jesse smiles. 

A new, cheery voice joins us, the voice of Mallory clad in all of her Desdemona glory.

“It’s a full house!” She squeals. “I love when it’s a full house! Really brings up the energy here to 200!”

“Full house! That’s great!” I agree.

“Oh god…” Jesse mutters under his breath. 

“Two minutes to showtime!” Our stage manager, Nicole, reports. 

“The audience reactions are the best when it’s a full house! It’s like watching a TV show with all the audience sound effects, but you’re live on stage. Aren’t you excited, Jesse? Your first high school production and you’re the lead!”

“Yeah, I haven’t been able to sleep all week!” Jesse laughs, though it’s no joke— the bags under his eyes are hidden under a thick coating of makeup. 

“I just want everything to go well,” he says.

“It will! They’re gonna love you, don’t worry!” Mallory quickly adjusts a piece of Jesse’s costume. 

“I told you,” I say, “even if you don’t think it went well, they’ll clap for you anyway.” 

“Thanks, guys. You know—”

“PLACES!”

The auditorium lights wink out and the audience promptly hushes.

“Break a leg!” Mallory whispers before hurrying off to her place.

“Good luck,” I whisper in Jesse’s ear before turning away. I fight off the smirk off my face as the “no filming” announcement plays. I assume Jessie moves to his spot, though I don’t hear a peep from him. 

I finally snap my grin away as the music begins and I step under the lights, Roderigo stepping on across from me. For once, I eagerly await Jesse’s time on the stage. 

——

“The immortal Jove’s dead clamours counterfeit,

Farewell! Othello’s occupation’s gone!” 

The show runs shockingly smoothly— not a technical or blocking error in sight— and the audience is radio silent. It’s too perfect. 

“Is’t possible, my lord?” I recite. 

“Villain,” Othello answers, “be sure thou prove my love a whore.”

In a frightening turn of events, Othello’s hand seizes my throat and his nails dig into my skin, an action that’s not supposed to be done. His voice is dangerous, more dangerous than any rehearsal prior to this. 

“Be sure of it; give me the ocular proof:

Or by the worth of man’s eternal soul,

Thou hadst been better have been born a dog

Than answer my waked wrath!”

Othello’s voice rises with anger, yet another thing I hadn’t seen in rehearsals.

“Is’t come to this?” I choke out, which seems to remind Othello to loosen his grip.

“Make me see’t; or, at the least, so prove it,

That the probation bear no hinge nor loop

To hang a doubt on; or woe upon thy life!” Othello continues on as if he didn’t almost choke me out for a full auditorium to see. It’s frightening.

It’s perfect. 

Through scenes, the stage lights showcase the genius of my plan; Othello’s increasingly erratic movements and dramatic speech draws the audience in, though some of the viewers’ faces twist into expressions of concern. As we come to the end, I can no longer tell if he’s acting— the cries of agony as the reality of his actions dawn on him sends chills down my spine; his smiles stretch too far; his body twitches like a rabid animal; his voice is constantly fighting hysterical laughter, yet he holds it all together.

“Soft you; a word or two before you go.

I have done the state some service, and they know’t.

No more of that. I pray you, in your letters

When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,

Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate…”

Jesse’s voice is heard through the auditorium, yet holds only the unstable remains of the strong, confident voice that charmed the audience in Act 1. His shaking hands barely grip his sword. He smiles like he’s watching the world go up in flames.

“And say besides, that in Aleppo once,

Where a malignant and a turban’d Turk

Beat a Venetian and traduced the state,

I took by the throat the circumcised dog,

And smote him, thus.”

Jesse plunges the sword into his chest, ceasing wild laughter (or is it crying?) as he slumps onto the wooden floor of the stage. His smile doesn’t fade. The show concludes with a burst of applause as the actors and crew join together for curtain call. Jesse takes a moment to stand up. His wild laughter is audible over the cheering and he shakes violently. 

“My god, he’s gone mad,” Mallory whispers beside me, and my grin refuses to hide any longer. Mad like Othello, but how would anyone have known?

Freshmen don’t get lead roles.