Look Both Ways(72)

“You mean the ‘tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow’ speech?” Russell asks.

“Exactly. The monologue is so short, it doesn’t seem like enough to really let the moment land, you know? I think maybe we should put a song there.”

“I’m not sure there’s an appropriate song from Birdie that we haven’t used,” Russell says. “Did you have one in mind that you’d like us to rewrite?”

“I could write something original,” I say. I have no idea I’m about to say it until it’s out of my mouth, but it immediately feels right. I need a place to put some of these excess emotions that are spilling over my edges like coffee from an overfull cup.

“Sure,” Alex says. “Take a crack at it. Nothing too over-the-top, okay? Just something honest and quiet that’ll get the audience right here, you know?” He thumps his fist against his chest.



“Totally,” I say.

I start to get up, and Russell touches my arm. “Do you want help?”

I don’t want to hurt him, but I also need to do this alone. “Um, I know we’ve written all the other ones together,” I start. “But do you think it would be okay if—”

“It’s totally fine,” he says. “Take all the time you need. I’ll handle stuff in here, under one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“No writing an emo song about how love is a lie and everyone disappoints you,” he says, and I surprise myself by smiling.

I find an empty rehearsal room and lock the door, and the moment I let my fake-happy facade drop, I start to feel much better and much worse at the same time. I sit down on the bench and try to focus on Macbeth. How did he feel when Lady M died? Grief-stricken, for sure. Guilty, probably, that he hadn’t wanted the same things she’d wanted and hadn’t been able to make her happy. I bet he wished she had been satisfied with what she’d had instead of reaching for bigger, more dangerous things.

Or maybe I’m projecting. I try to remind myself that this show isn’t about Zoe and me, but everything is about Zoe and me right now. Maybe I should give in and let my song be about all of us.

I work all day, and by six, I’ve got a decent first draft. I head back to the theater to catch Alex and Russell before they break for dinner, and I find them in the audience, chatting with the Birdie director about the logistics of the banquet scene. “Can I play something for you guys?” I ask.



“You’re done?” Alex says. “Dude, that’s impressive.”

“Don’t say that till you hear it,” I tell him, and they all laugh like I’m kidding, but I’m not joking at all. I’ve never performed a completely original song for anyone before, and I’m even more nervous than I usually am when I sing other people’s work. I sit down at the piano in the orchestra pit, shake out my hands, and try not to care how my voice sounds—the notes and the words are what matter, not the way I execute them. I tell myself this is just like the night Russell and I wrote A Midsummer Night’s Dreamgirls. Maybe I can’t imbue other people’s music with new life the way the rest of the apprentices can. But I can create something out of nothing, and that’s even better.

My eyes scan the auditorium for Zoe, and I find her on the other side of the room, changing her shoes and getting ready to go to dinner with some of the other actors. There are so many things I want to say to her, and I’m not brave enough to say any of them face to face. But if she hears my song, maybe she’ll at least know how upset I am that I couldn’t be everything she wanted me to be. I better play it now, before she leaves.

“Brooklyn?” Alex says. “Are you ready?”

I send the universe an image of my lyrics working magic on Zoe, softening her and healing the huge rift between us. And then I start to play, singing the words loudly enough that she can hear my imperfect voice all the way across the room.



I know that I have failed you, though I promise you I tried.

I should’ve had tomorrow and tomorrow by your side.

I thought you’d always be my braver half, my champion and my friend,

and my love, my sweet love,

I’m not ready for the end.

I wish we could go backward to the way things were before.

I should’ve stilled your quick, ambitious hands before they dripped with gore.

The crowd loved Duncan, I loved you. How will we ever mend?

Oh my love, my sweet love,

I’m not ready for the end.

Forgive me, please; I loved you in the best way I knew how.

I know it wasn’t good enough; it doesn’t help you now.

I thought that we were happy, but you had to have the throne,

and once you did, it drove you mad, and now I am alone….

Life’s but a walking shadow now that your brief candle’s out.

It seems bizarre that I’m still here, still stumbling about.

When your mind consumes you from within, there’s no way to defend,

and my love, my sweet love,

I’m not ready for the end,

no, I’m not ready for the end.

When I finish, Russell and Alex applaud, and I force myself to look up at them instead of at Zoe. “I really love it,” Russell gushes. “You did an awesome job.” It’s possible he’s saying that only because he knows what a terrible day I’m having, but his smile looks sincere.