I bowed my head, took another breath and when I raised it again, I stopped pretending I knew how to act. I forgot about the “scene beats” and “breath technique” from the acting book I’d grabbed at the library. I took off the invisible jacket that was Willow and did what Isaac said.
I just told the story.
I told the audience my favorite thing was to sneak to the zoo at night and watch the elegant cranes stand in the still water. I put myself there, with the birds and their gentle quiet. My heart pounded as the loud boys with loud music came and threw rocks at the birds. I watched in horror as the birds’ legs “bent like straws”, and I shouted to make it stop, but the boys couldn’t hear me. They kept throwing rocks and tears streamed down my cheeks as I told the story of blood staining white feathers—
(blood on my white sheets)
—red, and of dark water growing still and quiet.
I told the story of how I ran to get the guard but when I came back it was too late. They were all dead. I told how I’d screamed and screamed—
(X threw the stone of his body against mine, and I broke, while inside I screamed and screamed)
—and didn’t stop until they took me away, stuck a needle in my arm and then I slept.
I finished the story of how they never caught the gang, my voice trembling in Rose’s soft, shy lilt, and how even if they did, it wouldn’t make the birds come alive again.
(I never told anyone because it won’t make me come alive again.)
Silence. I came back to myself, on that stage. I wiped my cheek and bowed my head to show the monologue was over, and when I looked up, they were all staring at me, mouths agape.
“Okay…thanks,” I said.
I hurried off the stage, not looking at anything but the nearest way out. I pushed through the side emergency exit, into the cold, bracing air.
I did it.
I didn’t care whether I got the part or not. All that mattered was that for the first time, I’d told the truth. Cloaked in other words, but still my truth.
I slumped against the wall. Tears streaked my cheeks and I couldn’t tell if they were mine or Rose’s.
Maybe it didn’t matter.
Isaac
Holy shit.
Willow exited the theater, her long hair flying behind her. I grabbed her forgotten coat and hat and got out of my seat. My goddamn legs felt weak as I shouldered out the front of the theater and circled around to the back. I wanted a cigarette and she’d want her coat. She was probably freezing out here.
Not that I care.
I could practically see Martin rolling his eyes at that line delivery and telling me to try again.
I found Willow in the narrow alley between the theater and Nicky’s Tavern, leaning against a wall. Shoulders rising and falling and clouds of breath around her head. Her eyes widened when she saw me, and she wiped her sleeve over her face.
“What do you want?” she said. She hugged her elbows, not looking at me. Her body shivered in jeans and a soft pink sweater.
“You left these.” I held out her coat—heavy, expensive wool—and her pink knit hat.
“Oh. Thanks.”
I turned to go.
“Wait a sec.” She drew on her coat and hat. “Thanks for the advice. It worked. I wasn’t expecting what happened up there. Or maybe I was,” she added, almost to herself. “Maybe it was exactly what was supposed to happen, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready for it.”
“I get it,” I said. “You mind if I smoke?”
She shook her head. I lit a smoke and the flame from my lighter lit up the side alley where we stood. The only other light came from the tavern next door. I took a drag and exhaled, struggling to find words.