I'm different, and my manner invites questions. I'm never afraid

Host: The theatre was empty except for the echoes. Rows of velvet seats stretched out beneath the fading spotlights, and the faint smell of dust, makeup, and memory lingered in the air — the scent of stories long told.

A single light hung above the stage, pale and solitary — the kind actors call the ghost light, left burning so the room never forgets its voice.

In that halo of light stood Jeeny, her long black hair tied back, the sleeve of her denim jacket rolled up past her elbow. She stood barefoot, centered on the wooden stage, gazing into the darkness where an audience used to be.

From the shadows of the auditorium, Jack emerged, his hands in his pockets, his coat hanging loose. He stopped at the edge of the stage, his grey eyes catching the light.

Host: The night outside pressed against the tall windows, but in here, the silence had a pulse — an intimate stillness that asked to be broken.

Jeeny: “Marlee Matlin once said, ‘I’m different, and my manner invites questions. I’m never afraid to answer.’”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “Sounds like courage wearing lipstick.”

Jeeny: “No. It sounds like truth refusing to whisper.”

Host: Her voice carried softly through the vast, empty space, every word landing with precision. Jack walked closer, his shoes tapping lightly against the old wooden floor.

Jack: “Different. People love that word until it walks into the room.”

Jeeny: “Then they realize difference isn’t decoration — it’s defiance.”

Jack: “Defiance gets you noticed. But it also gets you lonely.”

Jeeny: “Only if you confuse being seen with being understood.”

Host: The spotlight hummed faintly above them, its light warm but unyielding. Jeeny walked across the stage — slow, deliberate — her footsteps echoing like punctuation.

Jeeny: “You know what I love about her? Marlee didn’t just live differently — she listened differently. In a world obsessed with noise, she turned silence into language.”

Jack: “And people turned it into curiosity.”

Jeeny: “And she answered them. Every time. Without apology.”

Jack: “You think that’s bravery?”

Jeeny: “No. I think that’s ownership.”

Host: Jack climbed the few steps onto the stage, his figure now illuminated beside hers. He looked out toward the empty seats — hundreds of them, each one a potential pair of eyes, each one a judgment waiting to form.

Jack: “You ever get tired of explaining yourself?”

Jeeny: “Never. Because every question is a chance to teach someone how to listen.”

Jack: “You make it sound noble.”

Jeeny: “It is. Every person who chooses authenticity over approval keeps the world honest.”

Host: She turned to face him, her eyes fierce but tender — the way light meets steel.

Jack: “You talk like difference is easy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not easy. It’s earned. Every day. You wake up, look at the world that tells you to shrink, and you decide — again — to take up space anyway.”

Jack: “And when the world pushes back?”

Jeeny: “You push back quieter — but deeper.”

Host: The faint buzz of a distant streetlamp seeped in through the glass, mixing with the sound of rain beginning to fall outside. The droplets tapped against the windows like an unseen audience applauding softly.

Jack: “You think people like Marlee — the ones who live unapologetically — ever stop being questioned?”

Jeeny: “No. But that’s what keeps them necessary.”

Jack: “Necessary?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because every answer they give chips away at someone else’s ignorance. Slowly. Patiently. Until there’s space enough for both understanding and pride.”

Host: Jack looked at her for a long moment — the stage light casting half his face in shadow, half in illumination.

Jack: “You ever feel like you’re performing?”

Jeeny: “Always. But not for applause. For truth.”

Jack: “You make difference sound like an art form.”

Jeeny: “It is. To be yourself, when the world scripts you differently — that’s art in its purest form.”

Host: The rain grew heavier, drumming against the glass like rhythm. The light flickered, stretching their shadows long across the floorboards.

Jack: “You know, I think people fear difference because it reminds them of their own masks.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We spend so much time blending in that anyone who stands out feels like a mirror.”

Jack: “And mirrors make us uncomfortable.”

Jeeny: “Only until we start recognizing what’s in them.”

Host: She stepped closer to the front of the stage, her voice rising slightly — not loud, but resonant, like she was speaking both to him and the invisible crowd.

Jeeny: “Being different isn’t rebellion. It’s declaration. Every quirk, every flaw, every deviation from ‘normal’ — it’s all part of the same truth: that no one’s meant to fit into a single frame.”

Jack: (softly) “And yet, we spend our lives trying.”

Jeeny: “That’s because conformity feels safer than authenticity. But it also feels smaller.”

Host: Her words lingered in the air, mingling with the sound of the storm. Jack moved beside her, both of them now facing the dark sea of empty seats.

Jack: “You think the world will ever stop asking questions?”

Jeeny: “No. And I hope it never does.”

Jack: (turns to her) “Why?”

Jeeny: “Because questions are bridges. Curiosity is where empathy begins.”

Jack: “You mean… the questions themselves are proof of hope?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Every time someone asks instead of assumes — that’s evolution.”

Host: The spotlight dimmed slightly, fading into a warmer, golden hue. Their reflections merged faintly in the polished stage floor, imperfect but beautiful.

Jack: “You know, I envy your certainty.”

Jeeny: “It’s not certainty. It’s peace.”

Jack: “Peace with being misunderstood?”

Jeeny: “No. Peace with knowing I’ll never stop explaining.”

Host: The rain softened to a whisper. Outside, the city lights blinked like a thousand quiet questions against the night.

Jeeny turned to him, a calm smile on her lips.

Jeeny: “You know what’s funny, Jack?”

Jack: “What?”

Jeeny: “You keep calling difference difficult. But really — sameness is exhausting.”

Host: He chuckled softly — the kind of laugh that admits defeat but feels lighter for it.

Jack: “Maybe being different isn’t about standing out. Maybe it’s about standing true.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: She reached over, turning off the ghost light. The stage fell into soft shadow, but their voices remained — steady, human, luminous.

Jeeny: “You don’t conquer the world by blending in. You change it by showing up as yourself — over and over — until the questions stop sounding like judgment and start sounding like curiosity.”

Host: And as they walked offstage, side by side, Marlee Matlin’s words seemed to linger in the darkness — not as defiance, but as grace:

“I’m different, and my manner invites questions. I’m never afraid to answer.”

Host: Because in a world afraid of silence, the bravest thing you can do
is to keep speaking —
even when your voice sounds different from everyone else’s.