Watch Us Rise(17)

That’s why I get so excited when Mr. Morrison says, “This year, I’d like you all to write your own theater pieces, which includes creating one-acts and solo performances.”

When he says this, I think maybe I can turn the poem I wrote for Henrietta Lacks into a monologue or maybe write a solo show about black women—our bodies and the stories they hold. And not just poems of sorrow or angst. I want to write a solo show that has monologues where black girls stand up and speak out. Maybe I’ll write something about what happened on the train. But instead of moving to another seat, my character will tell the man to stop licking his lips at women like we’re pieces of meat. She’ll turn to the other men on the train and ask them why aren’t they saying anything, why are they letting a grown man disrespect a girl.

I’ll have my characters say the things I couldn’t say in the moment.

Mr. Morrison keeps talking. “Now, I know writing your own material can sound daunting, so I wanted to get some creative ideas going by doing a few improv exercises. Hopefully we’ll find some inspiration in these spontaneous scenes and can use them to build from.”

We are sitting on the floor in a circle, and Mr. Morrison asks us to open the circle so we can make a stage area at the front of the room. Mr. Morrison tells us, “We’re going to do a few rounds of Freeze Tag.” Most of us get excited about that. It’s an improv exercise where two actors are acting in a scene and someone from the audience calls out, “Freeze!” The actors turn to statues, and the person who called out comes in and tags the actor of their choice. Then, a new scene is created, inspired by the body positions of the actors.

Several rounds go, and then Kyle and Kou, two freshmen who are twins, end up in a scene together. They aren’t identical, so there’s no problem telling them apart. They are working at a construction site, and Kyle is playing a character who is concerned about his immigration status. Both Isaac and I call out “Freeze” at the same time. I tell him to go. Gives me more time to think.

Kyle is frozen as a worker digging a hole with a shovel; Kou has his hands cupped at his mouth. He was yelling that it was lunchtime. Isaac comes in and takes out Kou. He cups his hands in the same way and then starts a new scene. “Yeah, yeah, yeah—here we go, here we go,” he chants like he’s a rapper and moves around the stage hyping the crowd. Kyle turns his shoveling arms into a wild dance.

The theater fills with laughter. This goes on and on, the two of them on stage dancing and rapping when it is clear they are not good at either. I call out, “Freeze,” and take out Kyle, who is frozen with his arms stretched wide. I take on Kyle’s pose—my arms are stretched open, as wide as they can go—and realize I have no idea what to do, so I just go with the first thing that comes to mind and reach out to hug Isaac. “I missed you. Welcome home!” I plan on building a scene where Isaac is my son coming home from college break, but the way he hugs me back, the way he pulls me into him and holds on, I think he is making up another scene in his mind.

He lets go and says, “Baby, I missed you too. I’m sorry this job takes me away so much.”

I wasn’t expecting that. I mean, I’ve never heard Isaac talk like this. I don’t even remember hearing him talk about having a girlfriend. Ever. I have to go along, so I step back from him and say, “I don’t like it when we’re apart.”

“Me neither. I think I know how to solve that,” he says. He pretends to go in his pocket and pulls something out. He gets down on one knee. Isaac and I are frozen, looking into each other’s eyes, my hand in his hand. I have never noticed how brown his eyes are, so big you barely see anything other than his pupils. So serious, like he has something important to tell me. Sad, like he is holding so much in. Isaac proposes to me—well, his character proposes to my character. And when I say yes, he stands, holding my left hand like he is adjusting the ring.

“Freeze!”

It’s Meg.

I hear her voice before seeing her. She walks up to the front of the room and stares at us. “You can let her go now,” Meg says.

Isaac lets go of my hand; Meg takes his position. “Here’s a little piece for you, and the rest for me.” She breaks away from me and pretends to eat something.

I don’t get it. I just stand there.

Meg eyes me, egging me to play along. “Don’t you just love a good cupcake? Splitting was the perfect idea, since we’re both watching our figures.”

I really want to walk offstage, go back to my seat, and replay the moment that just happened with Isaac and me, but I know I have to go along. “Oh, thank you. This is . . . ?this is so tasty. And since we had salads for lunch, this is the perfect reward.”

Someone call freeze now, please.

We go on and on talking about vegan this, and salad that. This is the dullest scene I’ve ever been in. Just when I’m about to call freeze myself, Meg says, “I’m so proud of you for making this choice. Diets are hard, but we’re in this together. And please know that you’re beautiful, regardless of your size. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not.”

Is she serious?

I can’t play along anymore. “Who said I didn’t think I was beautiful? Why do thin people feel the need to give me compliments like my self-esteem needs a boost? Why do you assume people are telling me I’m not beautiful? You’re—”