Look Both Ways(27)

“Oh no,” I say. “Was that in the welcome packet?”

Zoe laughs. “No, of course not. It’s not, like, an official rule. My sister told me about it.”

“And you didn’t think you should pass that along?”

“I wasn’t hiding it from you on purpose! I didn’t even remember it was a thing; nobody’s brought them to rehearsal yet. I don’t think accidental doughnut-buying is usually an issue. I mean, who randomly buys doughnuts for their crew for no reason? Nobody’s that nice.” She looks at me and smiles. “Except you, I guess.”

“And now the entire lighting crew thinks I’m a slut. Fabulous.” I sigh. “Okay. I’ll tell them tomorrow that I didn’t know and that—”

Zoe cuts me off. “No, absolutely not! First of all, hooking up with someone doesn’t make you a slut. And second of all, why do you care what they think? I’d play it up, if it were me. You should bring doughnuts again next week. It’ll make you seem mysterious.”



I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. Nobody’s going to believe I found multiple people to hook up with that quickly.”

She looks confused. “Of course they will. Why would you say that? You’re totally gorgeous.”

I suddenly feel very warm. Is she flirting with me? Or is she stating what she believes is a fact? Either way, I can’t quite meet her eyes.

She’s not flirting with you, I think. Get over yourself. She has a boyfriend.

“Thanks for telling me before I made an even bigger fool of myself,” I say. “People were so nice to me today that I probably would’ve started bringing them all the time. God, I’m so ridiculously naive.”

Zoe puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer. She’s still all sweaty from rehearsal, but I don’t even mind. “You’re welcome,” she says. “Stick with me, and that innocence will be gone in no time.”





Rehearsals for Midsummer are kicking into high gear when we’re called in for our second shot at Se?or Hidalgo’s Circus of Wonders. Since a bunch of our cast members are in both shows, we aren’t even able to gather until ten-thirty at night, after the main stage rehearsal is over. I’ve already been in the theater for twelve hours, fetching gels and moving ladders and refocusing lights, and I’m not looking forward to another useless night of slogging through imaginary tar. But I’m a little heartened when I arrive and see that Clark is carrying a stack of stapled packets that look like scripts. Even having a couple of concrete scenes to read through would make me feel so much better about this production.

But when we settle into our circle of chairs and I look down at the “script” Clark has handed me, I feel the bizarre urge to laugh and cry at the same time.





SE?OR HIDALGO'S CIRCUS OF WONDERS


my mind is a circus of wonders

wonderful circus of the mind

dark matter in three rings, circling, circling


(THE ENSEMBLE becomes a series of concentric circles, pulsing, nesting, pulling apart, linking and unlinking)


rings like a ringmaster

rings like a doorbell


(DING, DING, DING, THE ENSEMBLE becomes a doorbell)


rings on my fingers and bells on my toes


(jingle bells, jingle bells)


rings around my mind

like an iron band squeezing, squeezing, clamped around my brain

until the pain the pain the pain

the pain turns into rings

rings like saturn

my mind is a circus of planets spinning spinning spinning out of control




(THE ENSEMBLE spins out of control spins spins spins EXPLODES)


explosion of light, explosion of the mind

the furious light of a supernova

my mind is a supernova

wonderful supernova circus


(THE ENSEMBLE coalesces into a writhing mass of fury)


I wonder wonder wonder wonder wonder

wonder wonder wonder wonder

wonder wonder wonder

wonder


(THE ENSEMBLE sings)


Okay, seriously, what are we supposed to do with this?

I glance up at our “playwright,” who’s sitting across the circle. He’s looking down at his lap, tapping a pen against his leg with one hand and sliding his glasses up and down his sweaty nose with the other. He looks like the kind of person who would spend his time doing something comfortable and safe, like painting model airplanes alone in a basement. He does not look like someone whose mind is a furious supernova. Russell’s sitting next to me, and I turn to give him a Can you believe this? look. The expression on his face is so horrified, I have to look away so I won’t burst into inappropriate laughter.

“Um,” says the guy with the long hair from across the circle. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but how are we supposed to read this? It doesn’t indicate who says what.”



Clark runs his hands through his hair and heaves one of his world-weary sighs. “It’s not a script. It’s a jumping-off point. These are prompts, not lines. It’s an ensemble piece. That means we create it together. Right, Alberto?”

Our playwright looks up like he’s in the crosshairs of a rifle and nods quickly.