Inevitable and Only(39)
“How come I’m so religious if my mom was a hippie?” she interrupted.
“Well, yeah.”
She breathed out a long, smoky exhale. “My mom was raised Catholic. But she rebelled and ran away from home when she was sixteen, changed her name to Sunshine, and hitchhiked up and down the East Coast, lived on a couple of communes, finally ended up in Takoma Park. When she got pregnant with me, she freaked out and went home—my grandparents still lived in Ohio.”
“Wow. And they took her back in?”
“Of course. They were amazing people. Gram died when I was five, and Grandpa went downhill quickly after that. Mom said he just couldn’t face life without Gram. But I do remember them.”
“So your mom went back to religion when she came home?”
“Yeah, Mom figured God had punished her for turning her back on Him, and it was time to return to His good graces.”
“Elizabeth. You don’t really believe that you were sent to your mom as a punishment?”
She grimaced. “Well, no. That was what Mom thought back then, though. She was in rough shape for a while. But Gram and Grandpa helped her get her GED, find a job. They had enough money to put me into St. Joe, and they left us enough to live on after they were gone.”
“Wow,” I said again. “You were really lucky.”
“We were,” Elizabeth agreed. “And God was very good to us.”
“Until the end,” I muttered, before I could stop myself.
She shook her head. “He calls us all back to Him someday. I just have to be grateful for the time we had together.”
How did Elizabeth manage to say things that sounded both pathetic and pompous at the same time? She made me want to put my arms around her and also put my hands around her throat.
“And I have to trust that He has a plan,” she added.
“I don’t get it,” I said, against my better judgment. “I like the ritual. I like the prayers. I like peace and love and treating thy neighbor as thyself, but how can you still believe in a God who would do that to you? What kind of benevolent power would take a mother away from her child?”
She paused for a long time, long enough that I thought she wasn’t going to answer me. Finally she said, “We’re all given crosses to bear. Some of us have more strength than others. And the rest of us just have to find that strength. Somehow.”
I had rehearsal Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday after school that week. So far, so good—we’d discussed the Shakespeare Theatre production, but Robin hadn’t mentioned any stage kissing. We started working on our blocking, even though we were still on book. He said it would help us internalize our stage directions along with the words we were speaking. “Your movements must be inevitable, people,” he said, “just like every line you speak. Remember, every line is the inevitable and only continuation of the line that came before it. Every response to a cue is the inevitable and only response.”
In class, too, we were working on blocking for our Crucible scenes. Robin had moved us from Meisner repetitions to Uta Hagen’s “object exercise.” And, thankfully, we were working on whole scenes now, not just partner exercises. I kept telling myself there was no reason to be awkward around Sam, but couldn’t seem to convince myself that “awkward” wasn’t the inevitable and only way to behave around him.
“What are the given circumstances?” Robin kept saying, walking from group to group. “Don’t just move aimlessly around the room and flail your arms when you speak because that’s what actors do. Think, people, don’t act. Think given circumstances. Where are you, what time is it, what surrounds you? What do you want, what’s in the way of getting what you want? What is your objective?”
He paused to watch my group run through our scene, but we didn’t get more than five lines in before he waved his arms and yelled, “Cut! What did I say? We’re doing, not acting. Rina, what are you doing in this scene? What’s your objective?”
Rina was playing Abigail in the scene where she and John argue in front of the court. “Um,” she said. “I’m—trying to make John feel—”
“No!” Robin cut her off. “Making someone feel something is not an action. It’s not a doing. Unless you’re literally taking his hand and running it over something to make him feel a texture.”
Rina rolled her eyes. “And if I’m doing that,” she muttered to Sam, “then I’d hope we were in the back seat of your car, not in drama class.” A few students standing nearby snickered.
Robin raised his eyebrows. “Next time you try to imbue my innocent words with innuendo, please remember that I am not hard of hearing,” he said mildly. “Now, what is your action in this scene?”
So drama was good, school was good, but every night when I climbed into Micayla’s car after rehearsal, I wished I could go home with her or Heron. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday were all the same—either everyone was still sitting around the table when I got home, savoring dessert and telling funny stories, or else Dad and Elizabeth would be reading next to each other on the couch, while Josh practiced and Mom worked at the kitchen table. The house felt full, complete, before I even walked in.
Thursday, since I didn’t have rehearsal, I took the bus to Fine Print. I should’ve waited for Elizabeth, but I just didn’t feel like it.