Wild Horses

The morning bell rang out across the sprawling grounds of St Luke’s College, stirring the prestigious Sydney boys’ school into its usual frenetic motion. Swarms of navy-blue blazers and grey slacks flooded the brick-paved courtyard as students bustled towards their first classes, their voices rising in a loud chatter. Christy Peacock stood outside the drama hall, leaning against the doorway as a river of adolescent faces streamed past. She clutched a stack of scripts, her hazel eyes shining with warmth as she called out greetings to students she knew.

‘Morning, Joseph.’ She waved to a lanky blond boy. He gave her a dimpled smile, his gaze lingering a moment too long before his friends jostled him down the corridor. Christy sighed, tucking a stray auburn curl behind her ear. She was used to the boys’ harmless crushes, though they made herself-conscious sometimes. She’d been teaching drama for a little over a year, but already felt she’d found her calling. Seeing the creativity blossom in her students, watching their confidence unfurl on stage – it filled her with purpose.

Christy believed in the power of the arts to change lives. If she could make a difference for even one boy, it was worth all her hard work. Unfortunately, Mr Bradshaw, the principal, considered drama a frivolous subject. For him maths and science were king. Thank goodness he didn’t have ultimate control of the state curriculum.

The bell shrilled again: a final warning. Students scrambled through doorways, and the halls emptied around her. Christy straightened, gathering her thoughts. Two weeks into first term, and her Year Ten class was preparing for a production of Hamlet. This was her chance to prove herself. Until today she’d been working under the watchful eye of Henry Graves, the school’s senior drama master. But Henry had left this week on long service leave, giving her the chance to spread her teaching wings beyond old-fashioned interpretations and the rote learning of lines.

Christy pushed through the double doors into the drama studio, which was spacious and well lit, with a polished wooden floor. Posters from professional productions of famous plays and quotes about acting covered the walls. A stage stood at the rear behind a large open space and a semi-circle of chairs. Fifteen boys sat fidgeting and whispering among themselves.

‘Good morning, gentlemen.’ Christy took her place in the centre of the circle. ‘This is a double period, which gives us an opportunity to really explore today’s subject. Now, are we all ready to dive into the world of drama?’

‘It’s not like we have much choice,’ Jake said loudly to the boy next to him, but of course really to Christy. ‘This is a mandatory class.’

‘Yeah, and a deadly dull one at that.’

‘Ah, I see how it is,’ said Christy with a grin. Jake was the class ringleader. Once she got him on side, she’d have the rest. ‘By the end of this semester I hope you might change your mind about the dull bit.’ She paused until certain of their attention. ‘Today, we’re exploring vulnerability on stage. It’s what makes a character relatable and real.’

‘Oh, fun!’ said Jake. ‘Let’s all get emotional like sooky little girls.’

‘Joke if you like,’ said Christy, ‘but vulnerability equals bravery. It takes courage to show your feelings, especially in front of others.’

‘But why bother?’ said Jake, his interest seemingly sparked despite himself. ‘Can’t we just pretend?’

‘Pretending has its place, but true emotion? That’s what resonates with an audience.’ She paused dramatically. ‘And Jake . . . since I’ve decided that you should play the lead role, I think you should take this seriously.’

‘I’ll be Hamlet?’

She nodded, and Jake’s broad smile said it all.

‘I want each of you to think of a time you felt deeply emotional. Maybe it was happiness, maybe shock, maybe anger. Hold that memory. Now, without speaking about it, show it through your facial expressions and body language.’

The boys looked hesitant, exchanging uncertain glances.

‘This feels weird,’ said Jake.

‘Go on,’ said Christy. ‘It’s a safe place. Show the others how it’s done.’

Jake stood, shoulders hunched, and his face transformed into a mask of pain. He took a deep breath, his eyes distant, and slowly real tears trickled down his cheek.

The room was silent for a moment.

‘You okay, man?’ asked Jake’s friend.

Jake wiped his face. ‘Yeah, it’s just . . . old memories.’

Christy exhaled a relieved breath. Jake could have leaned into the exercise, or turned his friends against it. Things could have gone either way. ‘Thank you, Jake, for having the courage to share that with us. It’s not easy. Who’s next?’

One by one the boys offered up their raw emotions, ranging from amusement to fear, from outrage to joy. Some really hammed it up, provoking peals of laughter from their classmates. Even shy Samuel, a sensitive boy with dark unruly hair, joined in with a display of sadness more poignant even than Jake’s. It struck Christy how powerful this group was when each person felt free to express himself and share a personal truth. A deep satisfaction took hold. This was exactly what a drama class should be.