In Harmony(41)

I could become the storyteller…

Except I couldn’t. My own story had to stay locked behind my teeth. Unfair, but how could I tell my acting partner what I hadn’t been able to tell my own parents or best friends? Risk a mental breakdown in this cute little coffee shop?

No, the time to tell the truth had long passed. What happened to me could only manifest through the words and acts of a character written more than four hundred years ago. The safest way to tell my story was to cut, distill and refract it through the prism of Ophelia’s madness.

“I’m still trying to find the connection to Ophelia,” I said, not looking at him. “I haven’t done this before. Dialed deep into a character, I mean.”

“Yes, you have,” Isaac said. “Your audition piece.”

“That was three minutes. A single moment. Hamlet is so much bigger.” I arched a brow at him. “I distinctly recall you telling me as much at the audition.” I tapped my chin. “How did you put it? Ah, yes. You politely requested I not fuck this up for you.”

A small smile ghosted over his lips. “It’s my standard request,” he said. He crossed his forearms on the table and leaned on them. “Start with the basics. What do you and your character have in common?”

“I don’t know.” I sat back in my seat, thinking. “You could say my father’s an overbearing ass, like Polonius.”

Isaac nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It was his idea to move you out here in the middle of your senior year?”

“Yeah. Well, no. His boss transferred him. Even though my dad’s a senior VP, he obeyed without question. My mom loves Manhattan but even that wasn’t enough to keep us there.”

“Do you miss New York?”

“Not really.” I swallowed hard. This was veering a little too close to a spot marked X. “Turns out I like it here,” I said. “Something about Harmony feels secluded, and I think that’s what I need right now.”

“Why?” Isaac asked, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

I can’t tell you that, Isaac, I thought. Not ever.

I shrugged, as if a flick of the shoulder could disperse the weight I carried. “Manhattan’s busy and kinetic and I guess I got tired of the pace. Things move slower here. Maybe that’s why you don’t like it?”

Ball back in his court. Good. Except Isaac didn’t answer. He only looked at me for a long time. And I knew. I knew he could see right through my pathetic segues and my clumsy subject changes. He knew I wasn’t telling the story. Yet I sensed he respected the not-telling. The kind of respect for silence only someone who hadn’t spoken for an entire year could have.

“Yeah, I’m leaving Harmony,” Isaac said finally. “Martin has some talent scouts coming to the opening night of Hamlet.”

I set down my coffee mug hard. “He does? Oh my God. Isaac, that’s amazing.”

He shrugged. “We’ll see. I keep thinking it’s like a guaranteed ticket out but…”

“It will be,” I said. “They’re going to shit their pants over you.”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe. There will be much shitting of pants.”

He smiled with one side of his mouth. I had yet to see a full-blown grin or hear a hearty laugh from this guy. I wondered if I ever would before he moved out of Harmony.

He’s leaving Harmony, I thought, as if test-driving it. I didn’t like it.

“The theater won’t be the same,” I said, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “Martin will miss you.”

“He’ll be okay.”

“Won’t you miss it here? Even a little?”

Isaac met my gaze steadily. “No,” he said, and stared hard at something over my shoulder. I turned to look.

Outside, two Plastics and their boyfriends walked past the window. They slowed when they saw us, snickered to each other and continued on.

“Great,” I muttered. “Commence milling of rumors.”

Isaac’s expression darkened.

“Not about you,” I said. “Me. Jessica Royce and Company is under the impression I auditioned for the play just to follow you around.”

Isaac’s eyebrows went up. “Oh?”

“It’s total bullshit,” I said. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

Not anymore.

I straightened and drank the last cold dregs of my latte. “Anyway, I don’t give a shit what they think. Do you want to get out of here?”

Isaac frowned. “And go where?”

“I don’t know. Let’s get out and walk. I didn’t see much of Harmony when it was under the snow. You can show me the highlights.”

“Harmony has no highlights.”

“Impossible. Every place is famous for something.”

Isaac nodded. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said. “I know a place.”





Isaac



Willow and I stepped out the coffeehouse into the chilly air. As I blinked under the bright sun, it hit me how I’d told this girl—a virtual stranger—everything about my mother. Without feeling like I should be choking it all down. Telling secrets was part of Marty’s assignment, I supposed, but it didn’t explain why the words fell easily from my mouth. As easily as they did when I was performing. No acting this time. I’d been myself for a few precious minutes and it didn’t suck. It was bearable.