And Nobody Cared
He was the best at imitating voices. He could imitate any actress— just give him a name. Marilyn Monroe? Done. Audrey Hepburn? Perfect. Selma Diamond? No one could tell the difference. He could even do more modern actresses: Kathleen Turner, Meg Ryan, Vanity, Pam Grier, Sigourney Weaver... if you could name her, or give him a sample audio, he could do the voice.
He was most proud of his male voices, though. Those were harder to do, but far more satisfying when he pulled them off. Michael Jackson, George Michael, Tom Cruise, even Ronald Regean and Silvester Stalone went off with rarely a hitch.
And nobody cared.
He could slip into and out of a room with practiced ease— navigate a room full of people without alerting anyone to his presence. He had a talent for acting— he could slip into the skin of any character he pleased, switching between roles as easily as changing hats. He could have blown the theater kids out of the water with his ability to act, and to slip into and out of a scene unnoticed.
But nobody cared.
Not since the accident that had sent him to live with his uncle, his parents unable to care because they were dead, his uncle unable to care because he was drunk, his classmates unwilling to care because he was a loser without parents, without a sober uncle, without friends.
Nobody cared.
He was a fast learner. He learned how to apply makeup and contour to his face to change its shape, making him look more masculine or more feminine or more androgenous as he pleased. He learned well enough to get decent grades— well enough that no one noticed him slipping, that no one noticed the ache in his chest where he supposed his heart once was.
He learned how to unlock his uncle's bedroom door with a bobby pin in 30 seconds flat.
He learned how to tie a noose in the vacuum's wire.
How to tie one end to the door and sling the other end over one of the rafters in the ceiling so it would remain taut.
He learned how to balance on a chair on the bed.
And he learned how to kick the chair out from under him.
Maybe this time, someone would see what he'd done, and consider it noteworthy. Maybe this time, someone would care.
But he doubted it.