Training

It had been two whole years since I joined the Grains of Rice Theatre Company.  And I never did a show. They would go out on tours across the country, meeting new people, going to new places, doing show after show after show after show. And not once did I go. For two whole years. Two whole years of driving to East Los Angeles to practice. Two whole years of doing some weird ass theatre exercises, like holding hands and breathing together. Or playing hot hands. Or walking around on stage pretending we were animals. Or laughing then crying then laughing then crying then laughing then crying, on cue, to some Phil Collins music. Some weird ass shit that some of my friends probably would’ve kicked my ass for even mentioning it as a joke. Shit that never, ever, really made sense to me. Shit that I never took seriously.

After a while, I didn’t even know why I was still wasting my entire weekends with these weirdo Granis of Rice people.

“Maybe you should take it seriously?” said Jaycie, taking a puff of her organic cigarettes. “You know if Tom saw you take it more serious, he might put you in a show.”

“That makes sense.” I said, exhaling my Marlboro light. “He is the director.”

Jaycie smiled, her under-bite overtaking.

“But, I just gotta tell you, I just don’t get what he’s talking about sometimes.” I said. We were standing in the parking lot of the theatre. It was night. Summer. Hot at midnight. 1998. “I mean, he keeps on talking about ‘being honest’ and ‘being real’. And I try. Seriously, Jaycie, I try. I just don’t get it. Am I really that fake when I perform? I don’t know where to start because he’s not telling me anything I can use. This is starting to get frustrating.”

She smiled again, close-lipped. Looked at me with her eyes, which always seemed to sparkle. To be genuine. To make me feel calm. “Xavier,” She said. “All I can really say is that there is no one answer.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s helpful.”

She kept her eyes on me. “Seriously. We’re all different. We come from different backgrounds. What works for one person, most likely, won’t work for another. But the one thing that is true for everyone, is that ‘honesty’ and ‘being real’, an audience will always, always be able to tell.”

I sighed. “So how do I do that?”

She put out her cigarette butt, and pulled out a baggie from her pocket, put the butt inside, closed the baggie, and put it back in her pocket. “You’ll know when you know.”

I just looked at her. Even more confused. And even more frustrated.

“Hello, Xavier.” came a voice behind us. It was Tom, the director. He smoothed up to us. Walked up to Jaycie, held her hand, and then gave her kiss on the lips. “Hello, Jaycie. What were you two discussing?”

She looked at me, winked, and said, “He wants to start doing shows and wants to know why you won’t let him. you tow should talk!” She quickly gave Tom a peck on the cheek, and walked towards her car.

Great. Thanks Jaycie…

Tom turned to me. He looked dominating, yet submissive. Authoritative, yet passive. Thsi Tom character was a strange one. I never could understand what kind of guy he was because he always seemed to be two contradictory things at the same time. It was unnerving.

I smiled an awkward smile, shifted my weight nervously. Breaking the silence I said, “Well, yeah, kind of, Tom. I mean, I don’t mean any offense, and I don’t mean to question your judgment, I mean, I know you’ve been doing this whole thing for over ten years, and that you got way more experience than I do, and I totally respect that, really I do, it’s just that, is there anything you can suggest I do to get good enough to be able to do a show? Because I’d like that very much. Really I would.”

He shifted side to side, a bit uncomfortably. Yet, with poise. He blinked his eyes surprised, but expectantly. He released a deep sigh. Looked over my shoulder. Noticed the twenty or so Grains of Rice members circled in the parking lot, talking, laughing, yelling., proclaiming, declaring some artisitc thing they discovered during rehearsals.

“Well,” Tom began. “Let me ask you, Xavier, what’s your favorite food?”

“Huh?” I asked, taken aback.

“Your favorite food. What’s your favorite food.” He repeated.

“Well,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, “I guess it’s hamburgers.”

“Why?” He quickly responded.

“Well,” I said, thinking fast, “because it tastes good.”

He shook his head. Took one step closer to me and said, “Why do they taste good. Why do they taste good to you?”

I widened my eyes. I had no idea what this guy wanted from me. All over again. two years of rehearsals, all over again. I didn’t know why he asked abotu my favorite food. I didn’t know what he meant by why they tasted good to me. My head was a blank and an explosive mess at the same time.

“Stop thinking!” He yelled at the top of his lungs! He shot his arm into the air, oh so dramatically, pointed to heaven, and with a flourish, repeated the original question with such force, I had to take a step back. “Why do you like hamburgers!”

I stood there looking at him, dumbfounded. What did he want me to say? What did he want me to do? Was I supposed to stand up to him? Was I supposed to tell him about the history of hamburgers? What the fuck was I supposed to do?

“STOP THINKING!!!!” He yelled into the atmosphere. The Grains of Rice members, easily heard his booming voice and turned their attention to us. “WHY DO YOU LIKE HAMBURGERS!!!!”

Tom was on his tippy toes. Both arms flung, dangling in the air. His tense body waiting for the appropriate answer. I felt so much pressure. I had to find the correct answer or else I’d never get to be on stage in front of an audience. I needed my answer to be right or else I would’ve blown my chance at this weird, fantastic, odd, strange, opportunity to do art for a living, with a group of people that looked like me, to travel around the country, acting, singing, dancing, and having fun. I had to get the answer right…

“Because my teeth like them?” I whimpered.

He deflated. The Grains of Rice members in the parking lot shook their heads. Jaycie’s face turned sad.

I failed…

He took a long deep breath. Looked me in the eyes. Eyes of concern and apathy, both at the same time. He smiled. A smile of support and negligence, at the same time. “You need to stop thinking so much…” Patted me on the shoulder and walked over to the rest of the Grains of Rice.

My eyebrows crinkled. I took a gulp. My brain strained to figure out what all of this meant. That night, I never did find the answer.

A year later I did.

It made so much sense. It made so much sense, I had to laugh at myself for being such a dumb ass.

After three years, everything made so much sense. Everything made perfect, simple, sense. Finally.