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“Isaac.” Benny stopped walking and looked up at me fearfully. “You’re going to leave Harmony soon.”
Honesty. Both onstage and with Benny. These were the talismans I held onto.
“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”
Benny swallowed hard, swiped a hand over his eyes, and then nodded. “Good.”
Willow
That afternoon, Angie helped me pore through plays and books of audition monologues. While she searched, I flipped through Hamlet itself, scanning Ophelia’s scenes. The words were English, yet I needed a translator. What the hell was Shakespeare saying? I couldn’t connect to anything in Ophelia’s lines.
“Focus,” Angie said, pulling the play away from me. “You can’t audition for Hamlet with Hamlet. It’s bad form. Find another Shakespeare monologue to show you can handle him.”
“I can’t handle him at all,” I said. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing or what this play is even about.”
Angie took on a fake Spanish accent. “Let me e’splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up: Hamlet’s the prince of Denmark. His dad, the king, died and though it’s only been two months, his mom married his dad’s brother, Claudius. Now Claudius is king. Hamlet thinks that’s whack.”
“Sounds just like Shakespeare.”
“One night, three guards see a ghost and they tell Ham. Ham sees it too. It’s Dad. Dad says Claudius poured poison in his ear and killed him. Hamlet’s mind is blown. But hold up, he’s been dating Ophelia, daughter of Polonius. Polonius is Claudius’ right-hand man. Polonius tells Ophelia that Hamlet’s losing his marbles and she has to break up with him.
“Ophelia and Hamlet are in love but, like, the fucking patriarchy, right? She caves to her dad’s pressure and agrees to break up with him. Ham’s devastated and rants that all women are traitorous bitches, and Ophelia should go to a nunnery and never reproduce. Then Ham confronts his mom while Polonius eavesdrops and—whoops!—Ham kills Polonius.
“Ophelia, having lost her man and her dad, proceeds to lose her mind. She goes nuts, sings a bunch of dirty, sexy-time songs, and drowns herself in the river. Then a bunch of other shit happens until pretty much everyone else in the cast is dead. Curtain.” Angie sucked in a breath, her smile bright. “Got all that?”
I stared a moment, then begun a slow clap. “Angie, I can’t even…”
“I know,” she said, laughing. “I amaze myself sometimes.”
Even with Angie’s verbal Spark Notes, Shakespeare still looked like a foreign language. I was certain to crash and burn if I tried to audition with one of his monologues.
I was ready to scrap the whole endeavor for the millionth time when I read a synopsis for a play called The Woolgatherer. The lead characters were Rose, a shy young woman and recluse, and Cliff, the lonely truck driver she brings home one night.
Tears stung my eyes when I read Rose’s climactic monologue, a recollection of a night at the zoo. She went there to watch the elegant cranes stand in the still, dark water. A group of rowdy boys came through the zoo one night, blaring music and talking loudly. They threw rocks at the birds, breaking their legs and killing them while Rose screamed and screamed…
I read it again. Then once more, my heart aching.
I had my audition piece.
Dinner silverware clinked against dishes. Dad held a fork in one hand, his phone in the other. Mom picked at her soufflé, then exchanged her fork for the wine bottle and poured herself a third glass. I ate more of my dinner than usual. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this hungry, not just for food but for the days ahead. I had something to look forward to, even if it were only making a fool of myself in front of the director of the HCT.
But I’m going to try. That’s something.
I smiled a little, thinking Grandma would be pleased. For the first time since X marked the spot, I wasn’t sitting in a block of ice, merely trying to get through dinner so I could make a half-ass attempt at my homework, then curl up on the floor of my room in my comforter and hope for a decent night’s sleep.
“So, I decided what I’m going to do for an after-school activity.”
My parents’ heads shot up with comical sameness.
“Really?” My dad chewed his food slowly and swallowed. “This is encouraging.”
“A tad too late,” Mom muttered. “College deadlines for the best schools have come and gone. The best she can do is community college—God help me—and try for a spring enrollment.”
“What’s so terrible about community college?” I asked. “Besides, I’m not sure I want to go to college in the first place.”
She looked stricken. “Of course you have to go to college. Why wouldn’t you go to college?”
“Regina,” Dad said in a warning tone. He looked at me. “We can talk about college later. First, tell us what you’ve decided to do. Debate? You were always quite good at debate.”
