Young Turks
The revolution had
begun.
It caught me by
surprise. I was cleaning out a box containing
clutter from a previous work area. You
know, that exquisite combination of the precious and pedestrian. I was almost finished cleaning it out when
suddenly an old photograph slipped from a pile of faded papers. The shock of color amidst the black and white
marked the beginning of a flood. A
deluge drawn from a myriad of memories began to wash over me. Though the casual observer might see only the
celebration of three, I was able to see so much more. Under the simple photo a seminal moment
existed. The surging pulse began.
Memories came
flooding back…
We were brilliant.
To begin with, our
meeting seemed unlikely. Though we had
passed in the halls, our freshman and sophomore years consisted merely in nods
of recognition. No, our true friendship
didn’t arrive until our Junior year at U.T. .
That was the year that preened and primed our class was prepared to be
molded under the forge of production classes.
By this time most of the chaff had been burned away and the remaining
students were ready. From the freshmen
class numbering in the who knows how many, it had been weeded down to about
twenty. What joined us together? Perhaps it was our wiliness to confidently buck
the status quo. It could have been the tumultuous
talent waiting only to hear a promise of
liberation to burst forth . Or maybe it
could have simply been the fact that this talented group trusted me with their
trust.
It mattered little.
We were brilliant.
Mad to save, mad to be saved …we had each
other. In a world made deaf and blind
through their apathy, we had each other.
Combined the triumvirate was determined to shout our barbaric
yawlp. The world was out to destroy us—to
strike us down as we stood out. But we
had a plan, we would strike first. We
would shout life to an audience deaf and blind in apathy. We would use our talents to amaze and
inspire. If the audience only knew the
power they held to make change, to dare, TO BE… if they only knew.
The headquarters of
the rebellion was a house that Russ and his roommates rented. Located someplace near fifth street and
Lamar, its dilapidated white exterior resembled so much of the surrounding housing. Despite expeditions elsewhere, the night would usually end with a gathering
at the house. Though conversations
flowed all over the house, the most serious and seditious talk took place on
the second floor. On the creaky planks
of a wooden deck which supported a ramshackle hand built bar, ideas, skits,
ideas for shots blended seamlessly into ideas for life.
We were brilliant.
Conversations with Russ
always were invigorating. He had a very
cosmopolitan wit. Gritty insights
combined with a restless spirit fueled his muse. Like minds that saw things just a little
differently increased the sight of both.
As metal sharped metal, Russ pushed my talents, expanded my skills, and
challenged perspectives.
Kelly, she carried
a different curse: the curse of beauty.
Sounds like a curious affliction?
Not really. Most of her
classmates judged her first on her exterior, neglecting a pensive observation
of her incredible skill, a huge mistake that could have disastrous results for
some. Outer beauty can actually kill a
weak inner spirit. Kelly, however, was
strong. If one isn’t strong, beauty can
actually kill you on the inside. Truth is
difficult for many to see, especially when it hides right before our eyes. Kelly, however, was strong. Not only did she possess strength of
character and exceptional talent—she was also brilliant. But then again…
We were brilliant.
As for me… well I
was talented as well. My problem: one
section of my life was crumbling. Maybe
that was my reason to push for excellence; to rage at the moon. Like I said, in the big scheme of things it
mattered little. United, we had a way of
bring out the best of each other. Just
as we shared our triumphs, we also shared our pains. In supporting each other…
We were
brilliant.
At school we
constantly stove to push the boundaries.
Chafing at all constraints, primary attempts made to surpass the
professors expectations were quickly replaced by attempts to surpass our own
expectation. Rather than excluding, we
called all to join us in our revolution of independence and excellence. We even took our skills out of the classroom
producing and shooting shows and skits for cable. Awards were won, appellations: but more
important, we were doing it. At our last
production, a carefully orchestrated and demanding Live production that ‘could
not be done’—got done. To memorialize
our achievement a photo was taken and an enlarged print was given to each
member of the triumvirate.
Then… I did something…
well… not so brilliant. I had an
accident. The triumvirate was
broken.
What followed? Well you might say… life happened. Years passed, the triumvirate no longer walked in
syncopation. Regardless, I kept the picture. Regardless, I remembered the picture. Regardless, I lived the picture. Remembering Russ and Kelly as precious friends. Comrades born out
of a shared experience of walking through the fire. I saw the photo and wanted to get back in
touch with them. After some
research on both Kelly and Russ, I was able to find them on Facebook. Both Kelly and Russ look fantastic and appear
to have wonderful families. Elated at
their joy, reality rushed back…
We ARE brilliant!
Long live the
revolution!
