All apologies…
I’m walking across Lot F, extolling the virtues of the San Gabriel Mountains in my mind, when the opening of “Grease” pops into my ear, the way Rizzo laughs after she says, “We’re gonna rule the school.” And now I’m picturing River and I as Rizzo and Marty, except I’m definitely more of a Danny. I mean, I spent pretty much all of kindergarten and first grade playing “Grease” with either Jenny Bianchi or Simon Fox, this kid my mom used to watch after school. I was always Danny. Always. Whenever Jenny would come over to play, we’d do a number for our mothers when Gabriella came to pick her up. We had one of those pole lamps in the living room, perfect for show lighting. We’d almost gotten through the whole record and then Jenny started complaining that I was too bossy, and then Gabriella started complaining that some of those songs were just really not appropriate for two little girls to be acting out like that, which really started to make the whole thing kind of a drag.
Just trying to keep my mind off of Harry and his bullshit this morning.
Watching college students, here and there, making their way onto campus, there aren’t many classes that start this early. Along with “Grease,” I used to play teacher and going to college, too, from, like, the time I was four. My parents got me a little blackboard on wheels that Christmas, little compared to the size you’d find in the classroom. It was, I don’t know, four or five feet long? I was always Danny, always the director, and always the teacher. And then I went through a phase of tying my schoolbooks with a belt, I’d picked that up from watching “Little House on the Prairie.” I started playing college when Alison and John enrolled at Cerritos, or maybe John was at Cal State by then.
One of the reasons it’s just all so fucked-up and confusing. Harry always laments that his parents never really encouraged him, that what he’d really wanted was to go to law school, but he’d worked at my grandpa’s machine shop instead. He’s always talked about how important it is to go to college, “get that education,” he’d say. I mean, he knows I’m smart. He’s told me that. He’s even said a couple of times that I’m smarter than he is. And, like, clearly I’m into it, four years old playing college. But then he won’t even help with these fees. I don’t even wanna think about what he’s gonna say about paying tuition. I really shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. I mean, jesus christ, I almost got expelled because he didn’t want to pay for my parking pass. I don’t know. I’m starting to feel, like, why even try?
“Oh, my god, you’re a SENIOR!!”
River shrieks “SENIOR” in that dramatic, horror movie way of hers that I love. Her shriek is more surprising than her having come out of nowhere, for some reason.
“You’re not allowed to start bossing me, though. Should we start the school year off right and go for a sandwich? A grilled CHEESE, perhaps?”
And, yes, she shrieks “CHEESE” the same way she did “SENIOR.”
“J.R. Swan!”
“Hey guys.”
“Where’d you go? I heard you were away for, like, a month!”
“How’d you know?”
“I called your house, like, ten times or something, I don’t know…”
“Was it my grandma that answered?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ASK, J.R. Swan.”
“It was probably my grandma. She still has conversations with us, but she doesn’t really know who we are or remember what we talk about.”
“Oh, man. Okay, well, I feel weird now…”
“Oh, don’t, hun. I mean, it’s awful and sad, but what can I do, you know? I stayed for a month with my cousin in New York. What’d you two get up to? Trouble, I suspect.”
“Obvious.”
“Dude. Amanda’s got the hottest boyfriend…”
“Wait, what?”
“Oh, my god, River. He’s not my boyfriend…”
“Do tell.”
“This kid looks so much like Prince, it’s scary. But, with, like, fair skin? Wouldn’t you say that’s accurate, Amanda?”
“Well, yes. We’re just friends, though, J.R…”
“Well, that very well may be, NOW. But, watch you marry him.”
“They do say the strongest marriages tend to start as platonic friendships…”
“I saw that episode of Dr. Ruth, too, J.R. Swan.”
“This whole conversation is just, no…”
“Oh, lord, here comes Richard Best.”
“Ladies…”
“Consider, Richard Best, that one, some, or all of us may prefer you NOT call one, some, or all of us that.”
“Considered.”
“It’s good seeing you, ladies. Amanda, could I have a word?”
“And now you’re gonna ASK for something, my god! If you’re about to ask me for something beyond this time that you are wasting, you’ll have to kneel before me, Richard Best.”
Delightfully. He does.
“I was thinking, you know, Mr. C invited Marion Ross come to speak last year…”
“Isn’t it funny that his name is Mr. C and her character name on Happy Days was Mrs. C? Do you think they called him Mr. C when he was directing?”
“I’ve really never thought of any of that before, River.”
“Back to the matter at hand. Have you considered? How enlightening, enriching it would be to us, as young artists, to have Bette Midler come to speak this year?”
“You’re right. That would be amazing.”
“Well?”
“We’re gonna be late for class, though.”
And I just walk away.
“What is he even talking about?”
“He thinks Amanda’s church friend is Bette Midler.”
“Have you told him she’s not?”
“Of course, J.R. Does she look stupid or something?”
“You don’t have to answer that, though.”
“Do you know when they’re announcing main stage auditions?”
“Not for another, I don’t know, six weeks or something.”
“I don’t want to think about it, quite frankly.”
“Why? You’re gonna be great. You really don’t give yourself enough credit, Amanda.”
“It’s just so uncomfortable, thinking about straight up playing a girl. What if it’s something I have to wear a dress for?”
“Isn’t that the whole acting part, though?”
“I mean, but you are a girl.”
“Okay, and I really hate to be, like, THAT guy or whatever. But you totally freaked out about playing a guy, too.”
“I’m really just more of a writer.”
“Clearly.”
It’s just after lunch and I’m fucking exhausted by all of this talk of Bette Midler and playing girls and playing guys and Marc possibly being my boyfriend. I mean, I guess you could say I have a crush on him. But then I said the same thing at first about my boyfriend for a week in ninth grade, Jake. Who ended up making me sick to my stomach whenever he kissed me. But then, I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like there’s really something there. In my friendship with Marc. Something unseen and unsaid, something electric between us. Like my friendship with Sarah. It’s all just so fucking confusing.
Look down at my watch, not enough time to sneak away for a smoke at Lot F. If River doesn’t get here soon we’re gonna be late, not acceptable by any stretch of the imagination to Bloom, second years though we may be.
“Oh, my god. Oh, my god, oh, my god. I’m so sorry…”
And then she does this exaggerated, winded breath act.
“Let’s just get into our blacks.”
The whole conservatory, mandatory black clothes in all theatre classes.
Into the music building bathroom, my second year peers in various states of undress with no stalls available, of course, as I’d feared. Hang my bag on a hook on the wall, slip off my shirt. Just a tee today, vintage, Prince Lightstar. I have no idea who he is or what he’s even from, but I thought it was cool and it was only seventy five cents at CHOC. Reach in and pull out my black mock turtleneck and hear Laurel’s voice behind me.
“Oh, my god, Amanda. Did you just flex?”
“Wait, what?”
“Are you, like, flexing?”
“No, I’m not flexing.”
“It looked like you were.”
“I wasn’t flexing, Laurel.”
“Dude, Laurel. What even is this? Like, chill.”
“You were totally flexing.”
“Look, my muscle might have flexed. But I. Did not. Flex IT. ”
“Well, whatever it was, you look like a dude when you do that.”
my debut novel, “a f*cked-up fairytale - raves & rolling, my journey down the rabbit hole,” available here or direct.
I'm loving this, keep going!!! :)