Training v1.2

A whole year passed. A very weird year. A very different year. A year of things I wasn’t used to doing. A whole year of strange ass theatre exercises. like holding hands and breathing together, not saying shit for thirty minutes straight. Or playing hot hands with our eyes closed. Or crawling around on stage “being” animals. Or playing soccer for five hours. Or laughing then crying then laughing then crying then laughing then crying, on cue, to some Phil Collins music. Some weird ass, zen Asian shit I was unfamiliar with that some of old friends from the Valley would  probably’ve kicked my ass for even jokingly brought it up. Shit that never, ever, really made sense to me. A whole year, every Saturday and Sunday, eight hours each day, of all that weird shit, shit that I never took seriously. But

“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.”

A whole year of being a part of this theatre company but I never did a show. They’d go on cross-country tours, flying toWashington to Vermont to Rhode Island to Texas to Idaho to Illinois, for two weeks straight. They’d come back, rehearse with us who didn’t go on the tours, and then go back out for another week flying to Florida to Virginia to New York to Tennessee, performing the show, meeting new people, going to new places, performing show after show after show after show. Their luggage gaining new stickers. Their art getting more practice.

Not once did I go. For a whole year.

“That makes sense.” I said to Jaycie, 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 get there?”

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 a 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 two 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. This 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. But somehow intriguing.

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 that Sunday rehearsal.

“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 hamburgers taste good? Why do they taste good to you?”

I widened my eyes. I had no idea what this guy wanted from me. I didn’t know why he asked about my favorite food. I didn’t know what he meant by why they tasted good to me. What the hell did hamburgers have anything to do with theatre?

“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. And that whole year “being” a tiger goat bybrid during rehearsals would’ve been a waste. I needed the right answer and fast. Or else I would’ve blown my chance at really experiencing 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. What the fuck was the right answer?

“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 hurt. I shook my own head.

What the fuck did hamburgers have to do with it? Was I really thinking too much? What did the two have to do with each other? Was this some sort of kung fu training shit?

I sighed.

Jaycie walked up to me. She put her hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “Let’s go eat.”

“Okay.” I said.