I'm Glad My Mom Died(20)

Are my rituals coming from the Holy Ghost? If they were coming from the Holy Ghost, wouldn’t I have booked Princess Paradise Park like He said I would, back two years ago when I first heard Him? Instead, the movie lost funding. Would the Holy Ghost have let the movie lose funding? Is it possible that this voice in my head isn’t the Holy Ghost, and that instead it’s OCD? Would Mom be able to handle that? Would she be okay if I wasn’t perfect?

The commercial break starts. Grandpa gets up to get a bowl of ice cream and Mom gets up to pee.

Holy Ghost? I ask internally. Are you the Holy Ghost, or are you OCD?

“Of course I’m the Holy Ghost,” the Still Small Voice answers back in my mind.

So that settles it. I asked him directly, and He answered me right back. There you have it. That voice in my mind is the Holy Ghost after all.

“Now squint your eyes five times fast, fold your tongue, then tighten your butt cheeks for fifty-five seconds,” my Still Small Voice tells me. So I do.

I know he means well, but sometimes my Still Small Voice can get a little loud. And sometimes, as much as I hate to say it, I wish my Still Small Voice would shut up.





18.


I’M SCREAMING AT THE TOP of my lungs. Hysterical. I’m yelling that my stuffed animals are gonna kill me, I know they’re gonna kill me. I’m rolling around on the floor, bruising my sides as I thrash around, bumping into couch legs and edges of dressers. I’m screaming, screaming, screaming until…

“And cut!” Mom says intensely, the same way she does whenever we finish practicing my sides (scenes selected by a casting director) for an audition.

“Wow, Net,” Mom says while she looks at me with a fierceness that almost scares me. “Where did you learn to act like that?”

“I don’t know,” I say, even though I do. I know exactly where I learned to act like that.

But I know better than to tell Mom that I got my character inspiration from her erratic and violent behavior. That would only invoke more erratic and violent behavior. I want her calm. I want her steady. I want her happy.

“Well, wherever you learned it from, whatever TV show or movie it was, it’s working. That was the performance of a lifetime,” Mom says, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t want to burn you out, I want you to save that magic, keep it bottled up, so let’s not run this one again.”

I nod. I will save that magic.

My audition for the little girl with bipolar disorder in an episode of Strong Medicine comes the next day.

Mom heads to the east lot even though I gently tell her three times that, per the directions attached to the sides, I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to go to the west one.

“Come on, we’ll be really quick,” Mom says to the bland-faced east lot security guard. “She has an audition at two ten and we don’t wanna run late. It’s a bad first impression.”

“The east lot is only for series regulars and producers, people who are here every day.”

“Is there any way to make an exception? I’m a cancer survivor, stage four, and sometimes my bones—”

“Fine,” the guard interrupts Mom. It’s embarrassing when Mom rattles off her cancer story to people we don’t know who don’t seem to care, but I’ve gotta say, sometimes it’s pretty effective.

We park then run to the proper bungalow, and Mom signs me in while I pace the hallway nervously.

“Don’t be nervous, Net,” Mom says as she walks over to me. “You’ve got this.”

I believe her. I always believe her. My body language shifts immediately. Mom has a way of doing that to me. Just as she can set my body on edge and make me rigid with fear or anxiety, she can also calm me down. She has that kind of power. I wish she’d use it this way more often.

The audition goes well and I get a callback for later that day. Mom and I go to the local mall to walk around and kill some time, then we head back to the callback around six p.m. I’m the only one there for my role. Everybody else there is an adult, and they’re trying out for other guest and co-star roles in the episode.

My name is called quickly, so I go into the room and do the lines. I scream and kick and roll around intensely. I get lost in it. There’s a part of me that almost feels good doing it. Like this has been waiting to come out for a long time. Like I’ve been stuffing this down, shoving it down, and finally here it is. This is how I really feel. Like screaming.

The director stares at me and says he’s blown away and doesn’t know what to say. I’m proud. I did a good job kicking and screaming.

I leave the casting office. The grown-ups in the seats lining either side of the hallway all start clapping. I wonder what’s going on, then I realize they must’ve heard me through the walls. They’re clapping for me. Mom’s sitting at the end of the hallway. Tears are welled in her eyes. She’s so happy. And in this moment, so am I. Yes, it’s nice to make Mom feel good, but it’s also nice to feel good at something. Even if that thing makes you very uncomfortable at times. Even if that thing puts a lot of pressure on you. Even if that thing is very stressful. Sometimes it’s just nice to feel good at something.





19.


“USE THAT CLIP, THAT ONE right there, where she’s got the fire in her eyes,” Mom says, pointing to the big monitor in front of the editor.