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My coach returns. “Okay, my dear, let's go,” she says. I hand her the paper and take my place on stage. I start with my previous life. I'm walking in from a meeting with the ex-boyfriend, and I'm tired and a little tipsy. I try to stay in character, finding the anguish and anger and misery in my words. I am acutely aware of the bright lights in my eyes, but I manage to slip back into character, and I don't come up for air until I finish.
I know what she will say. She will say I need to have my actor brain working. She always says that.
“How do you think you did?” she asks.
“Okay,” I say.
“What would make it better than okay?” she asks.
“I wasn't sure how she felt.”
“You only had an hour,” she says. “This scene would usually require four or five hours of rehearsal. For an hour, you did great, but you're right. You weren't sure what she felt and I wasn't sure what she felt either.”
I nod.
“But you were confident and you had a lot of great moments. ‘He's mine.' That was brilliant. That was honest. But when you said his name. What was it?”
“Zack,” I say.
“Did you personalize Zack?”
“I tried.”
“I know you're engaged, and it can be your fiancé if you want, but it doesn't have to be. It needs to be someone you care about a lot. You don't have to love him. You can hate him, but you need to have loved him once. You need someone who still stirs you up inside, because this character, she's stirred up.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“So put someone in mind. Your fiancé, an ex-boyfriend, a boss you hate. Get someone.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Tell me, this person, do you still love him?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Now, imagine this. Imagine you were with him, and he left you, and he suddenly came back into your life. He's playing with your feelings. How does that make you feel?”
I catch myself frowning.
“See,” my coach says. “I understand how you feel here. I understand that you're torn up, so think about him. He's perfect.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Now, let's go through the monologue a bit. Your character talks about her plans for the future. Did you have something in mind?”
I shake my head.
“Think of this guy again. What future did you see with him? Did you see wedding bells? Did you see lots of hot sex? Did you see this exact thing—this painful breakup? How is the future you saw different than the present?”
There was never a future, and the present is a big fucked up mess.
“Remember,” she says. “Playable choices. A big difference between what you envisioned and the present is something you can play. Everything being happy and great and meeting your expectations—that's boring. So, let's try it again, and this time, really think about the future you wanted with him. Maybe it's the future you still want.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, take another 15 minutes,” she says, and I try to run through my lines again, but all I can think about is Luke. What kind of future did I see with him? What kind of future do I want with him? Will I really be happy, will I really survive, if I let him go?
Do I have a choice when he will be so much happier without me?
