Skinny (16 page)

“Do you expect us to go to the zoo tonight?” Chance asks and gets a few laughs.

“You can find anything on the Internet,” Ms. DeWise says. “Find as many different clips of this animal in action as you can. After you watch awhile, begin physically imitating his movements. Be as specific as possible.”

“Are you sure about that?” Chance asks. “I’ve been told plenty of times to stop monkeying around.”

Oh, brother. Why does Chance always have to be a clown?

Ms. DeWise isn’t fazed. “If it’s a gorilla you are studying, and the gorilla places its hand somewhere on its body in such a way that you might not place your hand on your body, especially in public, then you must overcome your inhibitions.”

There is some more nervous laughter as students head toward the door.

Ms. DeWise gives one last set of directions while handing out the slips of paper to the students leaving the room. “Keep the physical and psychological aspects of the animal. Just transform them to the human counterpart in yourself. Study the animal for as long and as often as you can. Then come back to the workshop next Monday prepared to share your interpretation.”

I draw a slip of paper out of her hand as I leave the room, then instantly stuff it down into my pocket. Later, with no one around to see, I pull it out and open it. Elephant. My heart sinks. I couldn’t have picked giraffe, or butterfly, or swan?

“The fat girl gets to pretend to be an elephant. I think they’ll call it typecasting.”

I’m not giving up. Jackson will see me play the role of Cinderella, and I will win him back. Even if I have to be an elephant to do it.

That night, I look at every elephant video I can find on the Internet. Only elephants in the wild, though, because I want to see what they look like when they’re at home — not in a cage. I try to focus on the animal’s eyes. Does it seem intelligent? Tame? Wild? Dangerous? I try to imagine thinking like an elephant. I wonder what I’m thinking when the elephant in one video moves from the spot where she had been standing for quite some time to a tree fifty feet away to pick a few leaves to eat. Why did she move now, and not five minutes ago?

I find this one video where a huge bull elephant crashes out of the brush to charge a camera crew in the back of a truck. The elephant isn’t clumsy. He doesn’t cower. He bursts through the trees large and in charge, ears flapping wildly. He’s perfectly comfortable in his size and knows exactly how to use it.

I watch it again.

I can’t imagine any other animal intimidating him. He moves with a speed terrifying to everyone in the back of that truck watching. Nothing stands in his way.

I watch it again.

Amazing. He relishes every bit of his size. This is the kind of elephant I want to be. I stand up in front of the computer. I watch the video again, but this time I move around the room as I watch it. Now, the elephant has legs and arms. I don’t cower or waddle. I walk like a huge elephant.

And I like it.

“So when the actor becomes aware of being observed by others out there” — Ms. DeWise waves to the seats out in the auditorium — “the tension finds its way into the actor’s life on the stage. The key word here is ‘aware.’ ”

I’m back in drama class and today we’re meeting in the auditorium for the first time. All I can think about is what’s going to happen when I take the stage pretending to be an elephant.

I’m definitely aware.

“When the actor first becomes
aware
of being observed by an audience, it causes the actor to suffer that state of self-consciousness that we sometimes call stage fright,” Ms. DeWise continues her lecture from center stage, her arms sweeping widely to emphasize the importance of her words to everyone listening.

I’m always aware of being observed. Always self-conscious. I’m evidently living my life with stage fright.

“So the trick here is not allowing oneself to become aware of the audience.”

Duh. The idea of that seems completely impossible to me, but oh so attractive.

“Let me show you a little demonstration,” Ms. DeWise continues. “Gigi, if you’ll come up to the stage.”

Gigi flits up the stage steps and joins Ms. DeWise. This week, her hair is all blue with just a streak of pink on the left side and she’s wearing a red-striped T-shirt with skinny blue jeans. Sparkling chandelier earrings wobble wildly from side to side as she waves energetically to the class. A pretty tame outfit for Gigi.

“I’ve asked Gigi to help me with this exercise.” Ms. DeWise steps over to stage left and leaves Gigi standing alone in the middle of the stage. I feel a twinge of jealousy at how effortlessly she faces the room full of people watching her.

“Onstage we have three walls,” says Ms. DeWise. “The one in back and on each side.”

Gigi gestures in each direction as Ms. DeWise talks, like she’s a flight attendant showing the exits.

“The fourth wall, that very important wall between the actors and the audience, is invisible. If the actors don’t acknowledge the audience behind that fourth wall, then everyone watching the action onstage is able to believe they are peering into the secret lives of the people onstage as if they were in their own kitchens or bedrooms.”

Gigi pretends to sit down at a table and eat imaginary food.

“So here you have the actor.” Ms. DeWise points to Gigi, who continues to pantomime eating as though we aren’t watching her. “Then you have the invisible fourth wall.” Ms. DeWise makes a sweeping motion signaling the front of the stage with one hand. Finally, she points to all of us watching. “And the audience.”

Gigi pretends to pick up a phone off an imaginary table and dials, while we all watch.

Ms. DeWise continues, “When we use a fourth wall in a play, the actors don’t acknowledge there is anyone watching them and the audience is able to suspend disbelief and pretend the actors are actually living out their real lives onstage.”

“Hello?” Gigi says into her pretend phone. “Is Cinderella there?”

The audience laughs, but Gigi keeps talking, looking blankly out at the audience as if she is staring absently at a painting on the wall. “I just got my invitation to the ball yesterday. Are you going?” She waits as though she’s listening to the response from the other end of the phone conversation, then continues, “I don’t have anything to —”

“Okay, freeze,” Ms. DeWise commands, and Gigi stops midsentence. “Now as you saw, Gigi was looking directly at the audience, but she made believe the audience didn’t exist. That’s what the fourth wall is all about.”

A fourth wall in life. How great would that be? I’d never have to worry what people thought about me again. The wall would keep it all out.

“Now, Gigi’s going to show you how to break this fourth wall,” Ms. DeWise says, and then turns back to the frozen Gigi.

“Action!”

“Have you heard from your fairy godmother lately?” Gigi continues her fake conversation with Cinderella on the phone, still looking out into the audience as she talks. Suddenly, she focuses in directly on Chance Lehmann in the front row, lowers the imaginary phone from her ear, and says, “Excuse me, you there in the audience with the blue shirt, do you mind not yawning? Have a mocha or something and stay awake, will you?”

The audience laughs in appreciation and, just like that, the illusion of a real phone conversation is shattered along with the separation between the audience and the actor.

“Freeze,” Ms. DeWise commands, and instantly Gigi is motionless and quiet on the stage. “Our actor just did a terrific job of demonstrating what breaking the fourth wall looks like, and all of you were able to see the moment when our actor became aware of the audience.”

Kristen is sitting two rows in front of me. I see her curly head bob up and down in agreement.

“Today, we’re going to work on not letting that happen. We want to make our audiences believe the story that’s taking place onstage. One way to accomplish this is for an actor to concentrate on something specific while delivering the lines. If you’re able to do that, it’s impossible to concentrate on the audience,” Ms. DeWise says. “Let’s give Gigi a round of applause.”

Everyone claps politely as Gigi takes her seat.

“Now it’s your turn.” Ms. DeWise moves back to center stage. “For today’s exercise, I will put each of you into a small group. Your homework for this week, and the animal you selected, will be the thing for you to concentrate on. However, I don’t want you to let the others know what your chosen object of attention is. As you will see, the result of this simple, common exercise can be startling.”

“People will be laughing at you. Everywhere. Looking at you.

And you want to make it worse by trying to look more like an elephant?”

Ms. DeWise calls people to the stage. I’m relieved to not be in the first group, but it just delays the inevitable. A bead of sweat rolls down my back.

“Today our framework will be the familiar fairy tale
Cinderella
,” she says in her projecting voice. “But all of you will be applying your homework to your characters. I want you to focus completely on the movements, mannerisms, and look of your chosen animal as you deliver your lines.”

A dark-haired girl named Shelly delivers her lines as the fairy godmother with a short, chirpy voice and quick steps around center stage. I’m guessing her animal is a bird of some kind. Cinderella, a short boy with unlaced tennis shoes that look like they might fall off at any minute, talks with a bit of a whine to his voice. At one point he jumps onto the couch and stretches his arms out over his head, extending each finger carefully like claws. A cat. I can see it now.

The scene is over and everyone applauds. I realize I’ve been so busy watching the action on the stage I’ve forgotten to be nervous. It all comes back the minute Ms. DeWise calls my name. She also calls up Kristen, Gigi, and Natalie Vance, a tall girl I know from my English class. We stand awkwardly at the side of the stage, as Ms. DeWise briefs us on the scene. The two stepsisters (Kristen and Natalie) are talking with Cinderella (Gigi) when the stepmother (me) enters the scene to tell everyone about the upcoming ball. The stepsisters are thrilled, but Cinderella is crushed to discover she won’t be able to go.

Pretty simple. Of course I know the story. I’m living it. It’s just that I usually envision myself as Cinderella, not the stepmother. But it’s acting, right? I move offstage to wait for my big entrance.

“I don’t want to do this.” Kristen is actually talking to me. I glance over at her. She doesn’t look so good, rubbing her hands together and biting her lip anxiously.

“What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t even want to take this stupid class. My mom thought it would help me with cheerleading tryouts,” she whispers loudly. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“No, you’re not.” I gently push her out from behind the curtain. “You’re on.”

I cross my arms in front of me tight against my body, holding in the rising nerves and trying to pull myself together.

Don’t think about the audience. Put up that fourth wall.

“You’re going to act like an elephant in front of everyone? What a surprise. Everyone’s been comparing you to one for years. And the Academy Award goes to . . . the elephant who looks just like an elephant.”

Gigi is a Cinderella monkey, I think. It’s not a good combination, although her wild jumping and shrieking is getting plenty of laughs from the audience. I think one stepsister is some kind of dog, but I have no clue what Kristen is supposed to be. Maybe a mouse? She’s twitching her nose a lot. That might just be her nerves.

It’s time for my entrance. Elephant. Powerful. Awe-inspiring. Not afraid of using my size. I imagine my huge ears flapping in anger, and I stomp out onto the stage to deliver my first line.

The scene is over before I know it and the clapping is loud and appreciative. I was concentrating so hard on being an elephant, I completely lost track of every thing else. Evidently that was the point. We all take a bow at the front of the stage.

Kristen gives me a big smile. I glance behind me, just to make sure, but it’s true. She’s smiling at me. I give her a thumbs-up.

“Very good,” Ms. DeWise calls out. She’s smiling widely and clapping along with the audience. I bow once more, feeling positively giddy with the attention.

“That was great, Ever,” Gigi says as we take our seats back in the auditorium. She sits beside me. Like we’re friends.

“Thanks,” I say. “You were good, too.”

“I never knew you had a drama streak. You’re usually so quiet and . . .”

“Fat?”
Skinny asks.

“And?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” Gigi pauses, searching for the right word. She finally comes up with one. “Angry.”

It isn’t what I was expecting.

“Angry at who?”

“I’m not sure. School? Drama club?” Her voice gets smaller and more hesitant. Her brow wrinkles into deep lines. “Me?”

Gigi thought I was angry with her? Why? I don’t even know her. “Of course I’m not angry at you,” I say.

I don’t have time to talk to her anymore because Ms. DeWise calls out for quiet so the next group of actors can begin their scene. I watch it, but I keep thinking about what Gigi said.