be my stereo soldier? {CASPAR<3}

[EMILEE STRICKLAND]

Dance.

How could Emilee begin to explain it to someone who hadn't experienced it?

As Emilee Strickland sat in the middle of the empty music room stretching, she pondered over how to explain the art. Dance was like...an extension of herself. It was acting, really, just a lot more difficult because it was without words. You used your body to express the emotions and story of the music, and it was usually a hard message to convey. Dancing was like a drug to Emilee, and not the nasty ones she had to take that fogged up her brain. You could dance when you were happy, or sad, or anxious or any emotion! And Emilee knew dancing was just as much for the dancer as it was for the audience. There was an extra thrill for bringing the story of the song to a crowd through your dance that you couldn't experience dancing alone. Or, that's what Emilee had heard, at least. She had never truly performed because, well, she was terrified of it! The thought of getting up in front of a large group of people made Emilee dizzy and short of breath. Just the simple notion nearly brought a panic attack on!

Yet, for some reason not even Emilee herself understood, she had entered herself in a dance competition.

And it wasn't even just a regular old dance competition, it was a partner competition. Emilee didn't even know anyone who danced! But thanks to a fateful exchange and a promise made on her part, Emilee found someone. Caspar Crane. He had musical talent but no dancing background...needless to say, Emilee was a little daunted by the task at hand. But she was going to try her best because now, she was in this; there was no backing out (especially since the entry fee was a nonrefundable thing). And now Emilee sat in the music room, a little after dark and a good deal after the time students were actually allowed in the classrooms, stretching her calves and hoping to god that Caspar would show up. If he stood her up, well, he would be sorry! Not like Emilee would actually do anything, just be sad. It wasn't like she was a newbie to the whole "important people in your life at the moment completely bailing out on you" thing. Nope, no biggie. She would probably still help him with the poetry slam thing if he asked. Emilee liked poetry, but she'd never been to a poetry slam. So they were both learning new things out of this deal, Emilee appreciated that. It was a pretty decent trade off, right?

Done with her stretching, Emilee got up to walk over to the piano in the corner. It was a daunting instrument; large and imposing, and almost condescending. Like, if you didn't know how to play, you should just GTFO. Sitting on the bench, Emilee started at the beautiful, off-white keys just asking to be played. With a bit of nervous apprehension, Emilee placed her fingers blindly on the keys and stared, willing herself to magically know piano. Instead, her fingers just sat on the keys and waited for a command that wouldn't come. Emilee didn't even want to hit a note in case she played it wrong or it sounded horrible, which was feasible in her case. Maybe one day she could learn the ins and outs of the piano; then again, that would be the day after she managed to learn how to read the music.

Completely absorbed in thought, Emilee didn't notice the soft creak of the door opening and closing. She was just staring at the piano, thinking now of what her's and Caspar's dance would be like. Would it be slow and powerful, or fast and vivid with bright, loud emotions? What kind of story would it tell? Love, hate, unrequited romance? She would have to see what kind of chemistry they had around each other, utilize that, and run with it. When was he going to get here anyways? Oh well, Emilee wasn't that concerned yet.

outfit

[CASPAR CRANE]

Dance.

Right, well. This was going to be an absolute shitshow, wasn’t it?

Caspar had never participated in any sort of physical activity, and didn’t intend to be blazing any trails today in that regard. His father had pressured him to join various sports teams throughout his freshman year, but Caspar had never been interested. If there was one place in the world where sexism, ableism, and classism ran rampant, it was definitely the athletic world. Where else was a person’s self-worth determined entirely by how well he could reach a little white ball and on how much money he had on his hands to spend on equipment? And he wasn’t super comfortable supporting an institution that held women and the disabled as inferior. He’d taken it upon himself to fail gym class on purpose during his two years of school in Colorado. It was simply a statement of principle. Sometimes, doing the right thing required sacrifices.

But it wasn’t like he’d had any sort of GPA to ruin to begin with. Caspar didn’t believe in confining human beings to arbitrary numerals. He knew he was more than a number. But he knew he was also a very deep thinker. Not everyone could have as profound insights as he could. It was a shame that the Baum Academy admistration wasn’t quite on his level of intellectualism. But what can you do?

Sighing, Caspar entered the dance studio. He hoped this girl Emilee wasn’t expecting much. He imagined that his darling brother would probably be a spectacular dance partner. Curtis had always had a more…smooth way of moving. He kind of just did things more…nimbly. Caspar wasn’t really sure how to describe it. But if there was one thing Caspar Crane absolutely wasn’t, it was nimble. His movements were rather jerky, he’d always felt, and he tended to trip and stumble over anything humanly possible. So this dancing experience was sure to be an interesting one. But whatever. It wasn’t like he really knew anything about this girl anyway. He’d do her dance, however terribly, she’d be his partner for the poetry slam, and that would be the end of it. No harm.

He spotted a slender form over on the piano and his heart leaped briefly, before he realized that her hands were at her sides, and that the strings were silent. He cleared his throat. ”Hello,” he called, a bit awkwardly, and probably more loudly than necessary. He walked over to the piano, and had to actively restrain himself from drooling when he saw the beautifully polished keys. They looked like they hadn’t been played in years, and they certainly weren’t made from the exploited tusks of helpless elephants.

”So. Dancing. You wanna, uh, do a quick demonstration so I can, uh, see, sorta, what you’re thinking of? And I’ll just, uh, play you a little accompaniment. Whatever song you want. Name something.” His rhetorical skills had abandoned him completely. He’d practically forgotten why he was here. He needed to get his hands on that piano. At all costs.

Outfit

[EMILEE STRICKLAND]

Emilee couldn't stop herself from startling when Caspar's "hello" echoed across the room; she was not used to people in general, let alone people showing up while she was in dance-mode. Staring longingly at the piano, Emilee made herself get up and give a little stretch. While in dance clothes and when her head was in that mindset, Emilee was nearly a whole new person. Her movements were lithe and graceful, full of poise, even. Normally, her gait was awkward and closed off, but not now. Looking at Caspar, Emilee gave a shy smile. "Uh, hi, Caspar." With the room's acoustic's, Emilee's voice actually came out at a normal volume.

So, he wanted a demonstration? Emilee thought for a moment, tapping her fingers on the top of the piano. "Skinny Love. The Ed Sheeran version." Moving away from the piano and into the center of the room, Emilee prepared herself to dance. Skinny Love was one of her favorites, and Emilee swore by the Ed Sheeran version. God she loved British singer/songwriters that were still undiscovered by the greedy American masses. Maybe she would move to London one day, they seemed a lot cooler than grubby New Yorkers. As Caspar began to play the piano, Emilee began to do what she did best: dance. She leaped and twirled and told the song's story. Her face took on the emotions of the song, and occasionally her eyes would even close just so she could feel the music even more. Get rid of all distractions and be the song. Emilee's body spoke of fear and caring and love as the piano accompanied her.

It was heartfelt and emotional, and as the song came to the end, Emilee struck her final pose. Only then did she allow herself to take a deep breath and let her mind register that she just danced in front of someone. But no worries, he was just concentrating on the piano the whole time, right? Yes, Emilee would think about that so her hands would stop shaking with anxiety. "How was it?" Wringing her hands, Emilee bit her lip and awaited Caspar's assessment. It wasn't so much knowing how she did, it was knowing if he believed he could do something similar. "I already have a few ideas for our choreography, if you're still committed." Sitting in her bag in the corner of the room was Emilee's notebook that was actually filled with many ideas, not just a few.

Emilee hoped Caspar wouldn't bow out; where would she find another partner? With her amazing luck, though, he would just say that there was no way he could dance and leave. God, if he did that Emilee would probably break down and cry. She would just dissolve into a puddle of tears in the middle of the room, no big deal. To hide the fact that her hands were shaking horribly now, Emilee reached up to pull her hair back into a ponytail and clamped her jaw shut to prevent teeth chattering. She had to have nerves of steel. If her (hopefully) partner saw how nervous she was, he would definitely back out!

Emilee sat down and waited for the verdict.

outfit

[CASPAR CRANE]

Caspar had started this encounter uncomfortably, as he tended to start pretty much every encounter with which he involved himself. But he was behind the piano now. He was behind his shield. He was where he belonged. He was where he’d been born to be. Nothing else mattered. He was so engrossed with this sudden new feeling, one he hadn’t felt since the last time he’d sat behind the grand piano at his Dad’s house, the ashes of which were probably still under the floorboards somewhere, that he barely head the song she ultimately requested.

Skinny Love. ”I don’t listen to that mainstream garbage,” he blurted automatically. Oh. The Ed Sheeran version though. Ed Sheeran was far enough removed from the auto-tuned artificial music that so stringently defined American society today that he could probably accept that. Had he ever heard the song, though? He gritted his teeth as he tried to remember, mentally rifling through his stores of songs he’d listened to in the past few months.

Oh. Skinny love….come on…skinny love…just last the…Aha. Alright. He could suddenly recall the tune of a song that had begun with that phrase, blaring from the radio the last time he’d been in the car with his Mom, on the way home from the grocery store. The music she listened to never failed to be shallow and corporate-inspired, but she was almost never receptive to his protests, vehement as they were. Oppressive little hag. She’d never understand him.

Anyways, he remembered the chords now. ”It’s just A minor, F, C, G, and then adding E minor in the middle, right?” Well, he’d pick it up. He always picked it up.

He closed his eyes and brought back that day in the car, which had been hellishly hot, as he recalled, and let the chords wash through his body. He felt them consume his hands, and he let his fingers take over, drawing the first few chords from the piano. Once they were out, the rest was a breeze. All of a sudden he wasn’t Caspar Crane anymore; he was Skinny Love, by Ed Sheeran, and he was the melodies, and the musical notes were dancing, and he was waltzing with them, and he finally opened his eyes he saw Emilee there, dancing across the floor and…holy hell, she was beautiful.

His photographic memory with regard to music didn’t give him the same knack for lyrics, so he sat silently, watching Emilee dance as he played the chords to the first verse. But when the chorus came, he felt his voice rise. He could recall the words because he remembered being very moved by them. He wasn’t sure why. He’d never had a girlfriend, or really any sort of meaningful relationship with another human being. He really had no reason to relate to the song. And yet…he could. He felt like the words were him, for some stupid reason.

And I told you to be patient
And I told you to be fine
And I told you to be balanced
And I told you to be kind

And in the morning I’ll be with you
But it’ll be a different kind
I’ll be holding all the tickets
And you’ll be owing all the fines.

He had to admit that it felt good to be singing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really let his voice go. He’d missed the tremors of vibrato in his throat, the deep breaths before each new pulse of melody that seemed to come from the center of the universe.

By the time he released the final chord, Caspar was panting like he’d just run a marathon. God, she was good. She moved like…a waterfall, or a cloud, or something else that moved really gracefully and magically. Her dancing was…”Wow,” he said, trying to keep his eyes from popping open like those of an obsequious teenage girl caught up in the blandly commercial music of a rich, white boy band. ”Just…that was…hands-down…incredible. I…” Caspar Crane was rarely at a loss for things to say about other people’s musical performances, and yet, here he was, completely unable to formulate his thoughts. ”My…my piano playing was not worthy of that. You should’ve like, stolen a Steinway or something. And hired Elton John. I…wow, I suck.”

He tried to imagine himself dancing again. Tripping was definitely going to be a thing that happened a lot. Wow, how could she possibly want him as a partner?

skinny love piano

[EMILEE STRICKLAND]

There was no feeling that could compare to how Emilee felt while she danced. Emilee had never been in love, but she believed it wouldn't quite come close to this. The music glided over like a soft silk curtain and Emilee just felt free. With the piano playing and Caspar singing, Emilee could escape from all her own oppressive habits. Any ounce of shyness she felt had melted right off, and Emilee finally felt like she could take a deep, full, breath.

Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who will fight far behind?

Just like the music had, Caspar's compliments washed over Emilee like a cool breeze. She had never felt so relieved before; he thought she was good. Emilee felt like she could just cry out of happiness, which was something she'd definitely never done before. "T-thank you," her voice was a little quiet and shaky, a mix of emotions and adrenaline from finishing the dance. "I think you did a, uh, really fantastic job." And Emilee was being truthful. Once she had a moment to think things over, she realized how amazing Caspar was at the piano, and at singing. It was beautifully ironic; they made a perfect pair, a perfect musical duet. That fact alone set butterflies loose in her stomach. "You shouldn't define your talent by how many, uh, people recognize it. Or how much you, uh, get paid for it." A blush crept up onto Emilee's cheeks, but she surprisingly kept talking. "Just because he's, uh, Elton John doesn't mean you'll never be as talented as he is." Emilee wanted to add that she would rather listen to Caspar sing any day, but she felt that was a little too far.

Since she was already on the floor, Emilee quickly did a little stretch-out to let her knees crack and pop. It was a little embarrassing, and Emilee had no clue why her knees acted like they belonged to an old lady. Just like her knuckles, though, her knees just popped all the time. At least they didn't give her pain, because Emilee didn't know what she would do if dancing caused physical pain. Just the thought alone made her shudder.

Clearing her throat a bit, Emilee looked up at Caspar. "Are you, uh, ready to start? You'll need to stretch some." She wasn't going to let her dancing partner pull a muscle the first practice. A fresh panic set in; how was Emilee going to teach him? What was she going to teach him? She didn't even have a dance completely planned out; Emilee guessed the basics would have to do. How did she learn to dance, all those years ago? Emilee could vaguely remember watching movies and sneaking into large dance studios, but for the most part, she was self-taught. Maybe that was why she suddenly felt so lost. She would wait till Caspar was ready, though. Emilee drew in her legs and rested her chin on her knees, thinking and waiting.

ugh ugh ugh this post sucks