"Let's Make A Wager"

"Inspired by the artistic talents of Troy Bolton and a T-shirt"

It was a clear day, many recalled, and correctly so. The grass was sickly green, forcing one to avert their gaze to the sky, only to find a similar sight. The world was set at its brightest setting, as though there a were a man…no, perhaps an entire team of people controlling the picture we saw to the finest detail.

A golf course, we begin to understand and visibly relax now that the sharp green is given explanation. A clear day, a blue sky and green grass. Our recollection would end there if not for a pounding rhythm, footsteps. A figure clad in black, stomps on the manicured lawn, the first and much welcome sign of chaos in the scenery. Coming to a pause on the hill, the figure begins to sing, “Everybody’s always talking at me, everybody's tryna get in my head…”

We find we already know the words. Granted, we can’t rule out the possibility that we’ve recollected the scene one too many times. Still, there’s the adamant feeling that we knew the words even before we knew them. That the minute we saw the young man trample the picturesque lawn, his black outfit a defiance of his bright surroundings, we knew. That all was not what it seemed. That something was about to shatter, a curtain was falling and how eager we were for the reveal. That truth would remain standing. And there he stood on a hill, singing, “I wanna listen to my own heart talking…” Thus we leaned in, wondering what it would say. Or maybe we already knew, because our hearts were speaking too. 

Troy Bolton, his name was, danced and flew across the green, the mouthpiece for all our hearts. We found him intriguing and inspiring, or maybe even boring. Even so, he was rocking the boat, shaking the pillar and oh how we wanted it to fall. And fall he did, several times… As if to demonstrate that he would never stop taking a stand. We didn’t quite argue with him, but perhaps desperate for our understanding and trust, he makes a wager with us, or maybe himself. “Bet on me!”

It becomes clear that Troy is both performer and audience. We are eavesdropping on a private conversation between himself and his inner self. No, an argument. He’s reprimanding and demanding better from himself. I imagine passers-by watching in confusion as he wrestled with himself. However, the show is lost on them. All they see is a figure in black dancing in a frenzy across the green and beneath the blue. They don’t see the collision of two worlds, heated and hasty. The rubble left ash in its wake – the death of a passive coward– and no certainties except for one:

A wager, a challenge emitted across the cosmic space and unto a distorted lake reflection. 

Bet on it! Bet on it!” Chimes as consistently as a heartbeat, and we imagine continues to echo in his heart long after the song has ended. Troy has already succeeded in one thing, listening to “his own heart talking”… and if his heart just so happens to sound much like his girlfriend, we’ll reserve judgement for a more suitable occasion. Perhaps their inevitable separation?

“Bet on me! Bet on meee!” he echoes passionately. Why exactly is a wager or bet, Troy’s redemption of choice? Well consider the events preceding the cosmic battle on the golf course. Troy had built himself a house of flimsy promises, which soon came crashing down around him. Some might say a blonde devil was responsible for the fall, but let’s not get carried away with delusions. Paving a road forces no one to drive down said road or path. And so your Honour, the members of this jury find the defendant Miss Sharpay Evans, not guilty! Denying Troy Bolton his guilt undermines his redemption altogether. He is his own villain, ultimately giving him the power to reclaim himself and alter his story. But if you would prefer it, reaching into the screen and serving Sharpay a well-timed slap on the wrist very well might’ve prevented the end of Troy Bolton’s world as he knew it…but what would it say about his character?

Do we trust someone whose word is good solely because it hadn’t been tested? Promises are weak substitutions for trust, as they’re made solely to placate the inquiring party. Enter the wager: Leaving Troy with something to gain and something to lose. If kept, he gains firm grasp on his identity and if lost, he loses his integrity. The young man on the lawn is done with promises and pressure, he’s moving entirely on principle. See how steady his movements are? This man’s path holds purpose, aim and direction…as illustrated by his near perfect form wielding a golf club.

And so it happened, that the figure in black finished his song and retreated. But it’s no matter. The green was no longer quite so green. We knew that it really was a stage, a perfectly manicured illusion. We won’t avert our gazes now. For a fleeting moment, truth had stood on that lawn and showed us how it’s done. Truth struck a wager with us, and we were already kicking off our shoes and dressing in black…running to follow its lead.