The Me You See (8 page)

“Yeah.”

“So, that’s kind of what I’m involved in now. Getting the
theater up and running.”

She had suddenly grown quiet. She looked off out my front
window towards her house. Towards that tree I saw her sitting by and searching
underneath a week ago.

“Sorry,” I said. “Here I am babbling along, telling you
boring stories about old friends and silly dreams. Let’s talk about you for a while.”

She smiled. And for an almost fourteen-year-old, it seemed
to be a smile that showed wisdom beyond her years.

But it also showed something else: ambition.

“I want to be an actress,” she said, suddenly.

“Oh?” I said, surprised at the irony in her confession.
What were the chances?

“Yes.”

“You’re interested in the theater?” I could hardly breathe,
my heart was beating so fast. Stefia…an actress?

“I take that back,” she said, seemingly involved in a
conversation more with herself than with me. “I don’t want to be an actress.
I’m
going
to be an actress.”

Her announcement changed everything. There was a conviction
in her voice; a conveyance of eagerness. An unquenchable zeal. A ravenous
appetite for something just out of reach. Something I could tell she would pull
into herself and accomplish.

“You like to act?”

“I do. Doesn’t everybody?”

“Only the crazy ones,” I said with a smirk. “How many shows
have you done?”

She looked straight at me and answered unapologetically.

“None.”

“What?”

“None.” Her serious, defiant eyes made me believe that it
almost didn’t matter. “But don’t worry. The fact I’ve never been on stage makes
no difference. I’m going to be an actress.”

“There’s an audition coming up in a month for the first
play that the Crystal Plains Theater is putting on,” I said, hardly believing
my luck. “I could help you prepare an audition piece. I mean, if you wanted.”

“Really? You could?”

“I’ve been around theater all my life. I could give you
some pointers.”

“Really?” Her voice turned upwards into a squeal that
brought Magpie back over to her feet.

“Sure,” I said. “Not a problem.”

“Okay! When can we start?”

“How about in two days. I can start with helping you find a
monologue.”

“Sounds awesome,” she said. “Thanks, Niles!”

“Anytime.”

Stefia was so excited she bolted out of her chair, and went
for the front door.

“This is gonna be great!” she said to Magpie. “I’m going to
be an actress and people are going to come from miles around to see me
perform.”

“You think so?” I said.

“People are going to remember my name, Niles. I’m gonna
prove it to you. People will not forget me.”

And something about the manner in which she moved, the way
the light soaked into her face, and how her rich voice wrapped around the words
she spoke, made me believe what she had said. People wouldn’t forget Stefia. Of
that I was absolutely sure.

**

Two days later, Stefia was on my front step with a Kindle
full of monologues, wanting me to help her choose which ones were best. I told
her not to go with something the director would have heard a hundred times at
every audition he held.

“Find something different. If do the same thing as everyone
else, the director will assume you’re like everyone else. And you’re not.”

“Okay.”

“That goes for the audience, too. You have to give them
something different, otherwise you just fade into their memory as being in a
show that was just like every other show they have ever seen.”

She looked through the monologue books and couldn’t find
anything she liked so I went through my stash and gave her a copy of a piece
from
Patient A
.

“Try this,” I said. “It’s pretty deep. It will set you
apart. And they will never guess you are only thirteen.”

“I’m almost fourteen.”

“Yeah,” I said, tasting the saliva that had collected in my
mouth.

She skimmed through the paper I’d handed her.

“What’s it about?”

“A young woman who gets diagnosed with HIV.”

“Oh god, really? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

So she started reading it. Her voice shook with nerves
through the first paragraph.

The first time I was tested for HIV, the test
wasn’t conclusive. So I had another one. That was inconclusive, too. So I had
one more. Five days after I turned twenty-two, the results came back positive.
The doctor gave me some time alone, before my folks came in. I began to cry. I
looked out the window, and the clouds were moving against the sun, swirling.

 But the farther she read down the sheet I had handed her,
the better she sounded.

My mother was the first to come in. She knew as
soon as she looked at me. She came around and just lunged onto the bed and
cried and hugged me and pushed my hair back and...comforted me. She talked
about her own parents, who’d been killed years before in a car accident and how
they’d be waiting in heaven for me, along with Grandma Zebleckas and even their
dog that died, too. I think if she could have put everything that had ever
lived into heaven for me at that moment, she would have.

By the time Stefia had reached the end of the monologue, I
was completely captivated by her voice, her face, the way her mouth formed the
words that others had written, the way she conveyed a meaning beyond what the
author had known.

When we’d calmed down, my father came in. That
was harder... He shook, and he cried... I said, “Put your head on my shoulder,”
and he did. And I... petted his head, and said, “It’s going to be ok. We’re
going to get through this.” And Mom was rubbing his back, and he just kept
crying and crying. He kept saying it had to be a mistake, that he didn’t
believe it, that it can’t be. It just can’t be. And I said, “Dad, it is.”

After a full ten seconds of silence and multiple deep
breaths, she asked, “Well, how did I do?”

Oh. God.

How could I even attempt to describe how she’d done? Even
if my throat wasn’t completely dry I would not have even known the words to
explain the passion, the intensity, the emotion. All from an almost
fourteen-year-old girl.

She was a natural.

Oh. God.

“Really, really well,” was all I could get out before I had
to swallow.

And that was the understatement of the year. People always
talked about actors who were naturals, people who were just born with the art
in their blood. I had never believed it was possible. I figured talented actors
took a ton of classes and honed their art through mentors who had done the same
thing. Have a love for the craft? An interest in the art? Sure. But to be a
complete stage virgin, cold read through a monologue…and totally nail it?

I’d found a diamond. I’d struck gold. And this girl was
going to bring the Crystal Plains Theater to life.

“You should audition for the part of Candace in the
upcoming show,” I said, calmly.

“Why?”

“Because you look the part.”

I handed her a copy of the script, and she thumbed through
the first few pages scanning for Candace’s lines.

“But…Niles, it says Candace is the lead female.”

“Yes. You can handle it. I have faith in you.”

“But…it says here that Candace is seventeen. I’m only
thirteen.”

“You’ll be fourteen in a few days,” I said. “And besides,
people always mistake you for way older. Look, this is acting. It’s all about
appearances. It’s all about what you can make people believe.”

She pondered that, letting it swirl around in her brain and
take on whatever meaning it needed to have for her.

“I can make people believe a whole lot,” she finally said.

“Good. It will make things a whole lot easier.”

**

She was so nervous. She was sweating buckets and her hands
were shaky. I told her not to be so nervous, that she was wonderful at what she
was doing and she’d practiced.

“But look at everyone else who is here!” she said.

“Don’t worry about them. Focus on yourself.”

It seemed weird to say something like that. It’s counterintuitive
to how we are brought up. Think of others. Think of how you can help. Think of
how they might feel. But in the theater, it’s different. It’s cut throat. It’s
every man for himself. It’s push yourself forward and say why you’re the best
person for the part.

It’s drama.

Stefia was called up on stage for her audition. And while
she weaved her tale, the director looked up. He set his pen down and relaxed in
his seat and actually smiled. Then he looked at my friend, James Harper. And
James looked at me.

And mom was rubbing his back and he just kept
crying and crying.

He kept saying it had to be a mistake, that he
didn’t believe it, that it can’t be.

It just can’t be.

And I said, “Dad, it is.”

The audition panel erupted into applause and I knew she had
the part. She deserved it.

She stood on stage, surprised but soaking in their
applause. I waved her off stage and she bolted down the side stairs and wrapped
her almost fourteen-year-old arms around me.

Oh, God.

Don’t.

I patted her back and smiled.

“Now what?” she said.

“Now you wait for a phone call or an email to tell you if
you got a part.”

“I think I will die waiting!”

“Anticipation is good,” I said. “It makes the prize
better.”

**

Two days later, on her birthday, they called to offer her
the part of Candace.

I heard her screams all the way over in my yard.  She came
flying out the front door of her house

“I got the part, Niles! I got the part! It’s for real!” She
jumped at me with a hug.

Please.

Don’t.

Just stop…

I hugged her back.

“That’s great!” I said. “Congratulations!”

“Oh my god, Niles,” she said, excited and out of breath,
“I’m a real artist now. A real artist!”

I couldn’t wipe the smirk from my face. She thought she was
the artist, but she was actually the art. Like a masterpiece forgotten in an
attic that I’d stumbled upon at a yard sale and knew the world needed to see.

Now, let’s be honest. Stefia would have gotten the part
even on her own merits, but between you and I, the part of Candace had been
secured for her. James Harper owed me a favor, and seeing Stefia play Candace
in the show was something I wanted more than most things in my life.

Yes, James Harper had owed me a favor. And his granting of
said favor opened a floodgate that changed Stefia’s life forever.

And mine.

**

After the first run was done and the cast party had ended,
I drove her home from the theater. As her commentary whirled around on the
ecstasy of completing her first official role, I pulled my olive green classic
Cutlass into my driveway and parked.

“Thanks for driving me home, Niles. You’ve been such a huge
help to me. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

“It was worth every minute,” I said. “Totally my pleasure
to be of assistance.”

She got out of the car and headed down the driveway to her
house.

“Oh, hey,” I called after her, like it had been an
afterthought and not a plan. “Do you want to come in for a second? I have this
new piece that I think you should take a look at.”

“A new piece? For what?”

 “Just come inside for a minute,” I said. “Take a look at
it. I think it will be perfect for your next audition.”

She nodded and I unlocked the front door of my house.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I said, motioning to my red
leather couch. I went to get the scene that was still sitting in the printer.
She sat down, checked her phone, and laughed as she returned a text.

“Someone sending you jokes?” I asked as I walked back into
the room.

“No. Just another
you were so wonderful in the
production
text. I still can’t believe how awesome it all is.”

“People love you. You’re a natural.”

She smiled.

“Now,” I said, sitting down next to her and handing her a
copy of the new scene, “this is a piece for two people. I know your last
audition you only had to give a monologue, but there might be callbacks for
this next show and you’ll probably be asked to read against someone in a scene
before they make their casting choices.”