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breakinglight11Forever Captain:
“The Show”
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
Summary: Steve’s teenaged great-granddaughter cajoles him into going with her to see Rogers: The Musical. And like any good theater experience, they’ll laugh and they’ll cry.
Previous chapters:
1. Balcony Seats
Chapter summary: Steve meets his great-granddaughter at the theater, but can’t quite make her get why he’s so reluctant.
“The Show”
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
Summary: Steve’s teenaged great-granddaughter cajoles him into going with her to see Rogers: The Musical. And like any good theater experience, they’ll laugh and they’ll cry.
Previous chapters:
1. Balcony Seats
Chapter summary: Steve meets his great-granddaughter at the theater, but can’t quite make her get why he’s so reluctant.
~~~
2. The Overture
That Saturday, Steve was at Grand Central ten minutes before the appointed time as was his wont, keeping an eye out for Angela. She wasn’t hard to spot in the crowd, with her pink-dyed hair and her bright yellow T-shirt. When he made his way through the crowd to her, he groaned to the see logo on it, the black silhouette with the shield and the name in glittery letters. “You bought merchandise already?”
“Yeah, off of eBay!” Angela said. “You think I was going to pay gift shop prices?”
They set off on the fifteen blocks to the theater, Angie’s nose buried in the map on her phone. “Hmm, we’ll have to pick up the pace. This thing’s popular, we might have to wait in line to get in.” She glanced over at him. “Can you handle the hike, old man?”
Fortunately for both of them, the super soldier serum had kept Steve spry even at his age— whatever that was, given the idiosyncrasies of how he’d experienced time. “Don’t you worry about me. At least— not on the walk over.”
Angela rolled her eyes extravagantly. “Oh, take it easy. This doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
“Hm, not for you, maybe.”
“Jesus, you big baby.” She tossed back her head. “I don’t get what the problem is!”
He snorted. “You don’t? You can’t imagine why somebody wouldn’t want to see somebody else’s song and dance version of their life?”
“We’re just going for the laughs.”
“Oh, that’s it? Well, I’m glad you find your great-granddad so funny, then.”
“It’s not you, Granddad. Everybody knows that they’re going to glitz up the story in ridiculous ways to sell tickets.”
“Does everybody know that?”
“I think they’re going to know you didn’t stop in the middle of fighting Nazis to sing about your feelings about fighting Nazis.” She eyed him sidelong. “Is that what you’re worried about? What everybody thinks about you?”
“Not really,” he said placidly. “Once you’ve been hunted by the government as a war criminal, you learn not to sweat the small stuff.”
“Then I’d think you’d be able to let a little historical inaccuracy roll off your back.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Hell, you should have heard this radio show they did after the war. Called it the Captain America Adventure Hour, where old Cap had to rescue his best girl Betty Carver from bad guys between ads for sewing machines.”
Angie’s eyes bugged out at him. “And how did Grandma Peggy feel about that?”
“She wasn’t a fan, if you can imagine.”
She considered that a moment, then brightened. “Well, this one’s at least got to be better than that, right? Written with a more modern sensibility? I mean, if you could put up with that radio show, this one will hold no terrors.”
Steve shook his head— this show being worse than the previous one was the last thing he was afraid of. But just as he was about to attempt to explain, Angela cried out triumphantly and pointed. Just ahead, they’d reach the theater.
The line was indeed out the door, but it seemed to be moving pretty well. As they took their place at the end, Steve couldn’t help but notice how many people had come in Captain American merchandise of their own. And it wasn’t just with the yellow and black logo of the musical; much of it was the red, white, and blue stuff from his old suit, the star in concentric circles on T-shirts, ball caps, even small plastic versions of the shield itself. And that wasn’t even counting the tributes to the other members of his old team— arc reactor shirts here, winged helmets there, even a pair of oversized green novelty fists. He knew it was something that people did, but it had been a little while since he’d seen it in person— and in concentrations as high as this.
“Let’s move it, Granddad. The show’s starting soon.”
He trailed behind Angela as she consulted an usher and hustled him to their seats. The house was full but not packed, and they dodged around folks headed for the orchestra section to reach the stairs to the balconies. The mezzanine was ringed with them, little elevated boxes each with their cluster of ten or fifteen seats. Their box was the second from house right, not so far to the side as to obstruct the view of the stage, and they sat within the row on the very edge of it. It had a fancy feel— too fancy for his liking.
“Tell me again how much these cost?” he muttered as they settled in.
Angie rolled her eyes, and thrust a program into his hands. “Sorry you can’t get anything for a nickel a pop like they did in your day anymore.”
He grumbled. “Back in my day, when folks punched you in the gut, at least they didn’t charge you for it.”
She threw back her head in exasperation again. “Oh, my God. Are you planning to complain through the whole thing?”
“Probably. Since you’re so interested in my opinion.”
As she so often did when seated, Angie pulled her knees up in front of her nose to get comfortable; the girl was incapable of sitting normally in a chair. “Well, then you won’t mind if I return the favor. Because I’m definitely going to have thoughts and questions as we go.”
“Swell,” he sighed. “Gonna be a great show for anybody who’s got to sit near us.”
“Oh, hush up and read your program, then.”
The lights flickered up and down then, just as he was opening the booklet. Angela grabbed his arm. “Oh, my God, it’s starting. Buckle up, Pap!”
Here they went. With a deep breath, Steve crossed one leg over the over and leaned back in his seat, as the strains of the overture began to swell.
~~~
Next chapter: 3. Kids From Brooklyn
2. The Overture
That Saturday, Steve was at Grand Central ten minutes before the appointed time as was his wont, keeping an eye out for Angela. She wasn’t hard to spot in the crowd, with her pink-dyed hair and her bright yellow T-shirt. When he made his way through the crowd to her, he groaned to the see logo on it, the black silhouette with the shield and the name in glittery letters. “You bought merchandise already?”
“Yeah, off of eBay!” Angela said. “You think I was going to pay gift shop prices?”
They set off on the fifteen blocks to the theater, Angie’s nose buried in the map on her phone. “Hmm, we’ll have to pick up the pace. This thing’s popular, we might have to wait in line to get in.” She glanced over at him. “Can you handle the hike, old man?”
Fortunately for both of them, the super soldier serum had kept Steve spry even at his age— whatever that was, given the idiosyncrasies of how he’d experienced time. “Don’t you worry about me. At least— not on the walk over.”
Angela rolled her eyes extravagantly. “Oh, take it easy. This doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
“Hm, not for you, maybe.”
“Jesus, you big baby.” She tossed back her head. “I don’t get what the problem is!”
He snorted. “You don’t? You can’t imagine why somebody wouldn’t want to see somebody else’s song and dance version of their life?”
“We’re just going for the laughs.”
“Oh, that’s it? Well, I’m glad you find your great-granddad so funny, then.”
“It’s not you, Granddad. Everybody knows that they’re going to glitz up the story in ridiculous ways to sell tickets.”
“Does everybody know that?”
“I think they’re going to know you didn’t stop in the middle of fighting Nazis to sing about your feelings about fighting Nazis.” She eyed him sidelong. “Is that what you’re worried about? What everybody thinks about you?”
“Not really,” he said placidly. “Once you’ve been hunted by the government as a war criminal, you learn not to sweat the small stuff.”
“Then I’d think you’d be able to let a little historical inaccuracy roll off your back.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Hell, you should have heard this radio show they did after the war. Called it the Captain America Adventure Hour, where old Cap had to rescue his best girl Betty Carver from bad guys between ads for sewing machines.”
Angie’s eyes bugged out at him. “And how did Grandma Peggy feel about that?”
“She wasn’t a fan, if you can imagine.”
She considered that a moment, then brightened. “Well, this one’s at least got to be better than that, right? Written with a more modern sensibility? I mean, if you could put up with that radio show, this one will hold no terrors.”
Steve shook his head— this show being worse than the previous one was the last thing he was afraid of. But just as he was about to attempt to explain, Angela cried out triumphantly and pointed. Just ahead, they’d reach the theater.
The line was indeed out the door, but it seemed to be moving pretty well. As they took their place at the end, Steve couldn’t help but notice how many people had come in Captain American merchandise of their own. And it wasn’t just with the yellow and black logo of the musical; much of it was the red, white, and blue stuff from his old suit, the star in concentric circles on T-shirts, ball caps, even small plastic versions of the shield itself. And that wasn’t even counting the tributes to the other members of his old team— arc reactor shirts here, winged helmets there, even a pair of oversized green novelty fists. He knew it was something that people did, but it had been a little while since he’d seen it in person— and in concentrations as high as this.
“Let’s move it, Granddad. The show’s starting soon.”
He trailed behind Angela as she consulted an usher and hustled him to their seats. The house was full but not packed, and they dodged around folks headed for the orchestra section to reach the stairs to the balconies. The mezzanine was ringed with them, little elevated boxes each with their cluster of ten or fifteen seats. Their box was the second from house right, not so far to the side as to obstruct the view of the stage, and they sat within the row on the very edge of it. It had a fancy feel— too fancy for his liking.
“Tell me again how much these cost?” he muttered as they settled in.
Angie rolled her eyes, and thrust a program into his hands. “Sorry you can’t get anything for a nickel a pop like they did in your day anymore.”
He grumbled. “Back in my day, when folks punched you in the gut, at least they didn’t charge you for it.”
She threw back her head in exasperation again. “Oh, my God. Are you planning to complain through the whole thing?”
“Probably. Since you’re so interested in my opinion.”
As she so often did when seated, Angie pulled her knees up in front of her nose to get comfortable; the girl was incapable of sitting normally in a chair. “Well, then you won’t mind if I return the favor. Because I’m definitely going to have thoughts and questions as we go.”
“Swell,” he sighed. “Gonna be a great show for anybody who’s got to sit near us.”
“Oh, hush up and read your program, then.”
The lights flickered up and down then, just as he was opening the booklet. Angela grabbed his arm. “Oh, my God, it’s starting. Buckle up, Pap!”
Here they went. With a deep breath, Steve crossed one leg over the over and leaned back in his seat, as the strains of the overture began to swell.
~~~
Next chapter: 3. Kids From Brooklyn
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