In Harmony(27)

When the words ended, the passion flowing out of Isaac shut off like a faucet. A brief bow, a muttered thanks, and he grabbed his jacket. He strode offstage, back up the aisle to reclaim his seat next to me.

His body was calm, yet it crackled a little. I could sense the last vestiges of his energy dissipating like steam. I stared as he laid his jacket over his knees. Stared at the bare bicep that was inches from me.

He kept looking straight ahead, then finally glanced at me.

“What?”

“Sorry,” I whispered back. “Can’t hear you over the ghost of Marlon Brando crying his eyes out.”

A tiny smile crooked Isaac’s lips. Twice I’d made him smile now. Come to think of it, the only other time I’d seen him smile was taking his bows after Oedipus.

“Willow Holloway?”

I froze.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I have to follow that?

I swallowed the lump of raw nerves in my throat and started to rise to my feet.

“Any last words of advice?” I whispered.

I wasn’t expecting an answer and so had kept moving out of my seat, but Isaac’s hand wrapped around my arm, gently but firmly holding me back. A jolt of electricity rocketing through me again, settling warm in my belly. His hand was warm through my sleeve, and instead of feeling trapped, my nerves were growing quiet under his touch.

“Don’t think about the words,” Isaac said. “Even if you fuck up or forget the lines, keep going.” He let go of my arm. “Just tell the story.”

Martin called my name again, and the audience started to look around for me. My eyes still held in Isaac’s.

“Tell the story,” I whispered. “Thanks.”

He nodded, and his gray-green eyes flicked toward the stage. Go.

I reluctantly broke away and walked down the aisle between the seats.

Tell the story.

That’s exactly what I didn’t do. I never did. I never could.

I took the three stairs to the stage and stood under the spotlight. Martin Ford, his stage manager, and the assistant director—the woman with the thick glasses who’d been signing us in—sat behind a table facing me. Behind them, the audience blurred into a sea of faceless spectators.

My own nervousness came roaring back on that stage with so many people watching me, rattling along my limbs, making my left leg tremble.

Fuck it, my character Rose was a nervous gal. I’d use the fear instead of fighting it.

“Hi, I’m Willow Holloway. I’ll be performing a monologue from William Mastrosimone’s The Woolgatherer.”

I bowed my head, took another breath and when I raised it again, I stopped pretending I knew how to act. I forgot about the “scene beats” and “breath technique” from the acting book I’d grabbed at the library. I took off the invisible jacket that was Willow and did what Isaac said.

I just told the story.

I told the audience my favorite thing was to sneak to the zoo at night and watch the elegant cranes stand in the still water. I put myself there, with the birds and their gentle quiet. My heart pounded as the loud boys with loud music came and threw rocks at the birds. I watched in horror as the birds’ legs “bent like straws”, and I shouted to make it stop, but the boys couldn’t hear me. They kept throwing rocks and tears streamed down my cheeks as I told the story of blood staining white feathers—

(blood on my white sheets)

—red, and of dark water growing still and quiet.

I told the story of how I ran to get the guard but when I came back it was too late. They were all dead. I told how I’d screamed and screamed—

(X threw the stone of his body against mine, and I broke, while inside I screamed and screamed)

—and didn’t stop until they took me away, stuck a needle in my arm and then I slept.

I finished the story of how they never caught the gang, my voice trembling in Rose’s soft, shy lilt, and how even if they did, it wouldn’t make the birds come alive again.

(I never told anyone because it won’t make me come alive again.)

Silence. I came back to myself, on that stage. I wiped my cheek and bowed my head to show the monologue was over, and when I looked up, they were all staring at me, mouths agape.

“Okay…thanks,” I said.

I hurried off the stage, not looking at anything but the nearest way out. I pushed through the side emergency exit, into the cold, bracing air.

I did it.

I didn’t care whether I got the part or not. All that mattered was that for the first time, I’d told the truth. Cloaked in other words, but still my truth.

I slumped against the wall. Tears streaked my cheeks and I couldn’t tell if they were mine or Rose’s.

Maybe it didn’t matter.





Isaac



Holy shit.

Willow exited the theater, her long hair flying behind her. I grabbed her forgotten coat and hat and got out of my seat. My goddamn legs felt weak as I shouldered out the front of the theater and circled around to the back. I wanted a cigarette and she’d want her coat. She was probably freezing out here.

Not that I care.

I could practically see Martin rolling his eyes at that line delivery and telling me to try again.

I found Willow in the narrow alley between the theater and Nicky’s Tavern, leaning against a wall. Shoulders rising and falling and clouds of breath around her head. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and she wiped her sleeve over her face.