You Never Leave the Stage

Driving further down, Lillian found the Southern California Theater and the smile that had been growing on her face suddenly faded. She had never been a part of this level of theater, but Arwin had. Several times in fact, but it was one of his shows that rose above the others. The first time she had seen Arwin cry was onstage in this theater, not just as an actor but as a person. He had forced himself to cry on stage during one of his scenes, and he went on to claim that he did it without the use of memories. It just came to him, he said. Whatever that meant.

Eager to distance herself from these unusually pessimistic thoughts, she prodded Arwin once again. "I've never been able to take a hint."

She leaned forward slightly out of sheer curiosity of his response and saw the intensity drain out of his face. He resumed it once more but only after what seemed to be an attempt at composure. "No, you haven't," he agreed, "If you stop talking so much you'll make this easier." She could tell he was still maintaining character, but a lack of a response prevented her from continuing. Arwin granted her the favor, "Are you cold?"

"Yes"

"Good, I was going for that"

No smile, but he couldn't be serious.

"Do you know where we are going?"

"As long as there is another place there will be questions, and as long as there are questions there will be other places"

A line maybe? It sounded forced....

Their conversation continued for the next couple minutes, and as it did Arwin seemed more and more distant. Exasperated, Lillian decided to take a more direct route in her investigation.

"Arwin?"

No answer, but it only took a motion of his eyes to know he had acknowledged her.

"Who are you?"

Arwin stopped the car. Lillian only now realized that he had been slowing down prior to her question. He swung open the door and burst outside, only remaining in view for a few seconds before disappearing behind a building.

She slumped down in her seat, anxious for him to return, even though she wasn't sure if he would. They were still a ways off from the theater and he had never shown any signs of violent intentions with her even when they had argued before, so she dismissed this as merely an outbreak. But he had never done that before. Several minutes passed by and he finally came back, telling her that he was under a lot of pressure and that he needed to get to the theater as soon as possible.

On the remaining minutes of their drive, instead of anger or frustration Lillian could see Arwin adopting a more disheartened expression, as though he had lost something he could never get back. She wondered if this would impact his performance, but refrained from saying anything as soon enough they came to a stop in the back parking lot of the theater.

One last string of memories crossed her mind, as she stared at the broken figure leaning over the steering wheel. She had seen that expression on him before, or maybe she just imagined it on him every time he was calling her from out of town on his rare adventures abroad. He didn't talk about his shows as often as he used to, and his behaviors had less and less consistency. Some weeks he would frequently make jokes with her and other times he seemed too moody or busy to talk. But either way, he always was the one who ended up talking the most, and was nearly always the one to decide when the conversation both started and ended, often cutting himself off.

Lillian pulled her gaze away from him and looked at her watch, they had taken less time to get there than she had thought. Or at least less time than it felt they took to get here.

"Isn't it a bit early?" she asked, forgetting about his episode further back.

"I need the extra time" he replied.

Awrin exited the car and slowly began rummaging through the contents of the truck. Meanwhile, Lillian fumbled with the ring on her finger, which she has snuck on to every performance she had done since the beginning of high school. Even when her directors had ordered her to remove it, she found a way to smuggle it on her. Over the years it had solidified itself as a symbol of independence just as much as control. To be able to control one's emotions took years of training, years that Arwin had definitely invested in his profession, but she was still worried. Worried that he either lost his control over the years, or worse. Maybe he was in complete control.

Arwin jumped the last few steps leading to the entrance that all of the actors used to access backstage. Sometimes this passageway would be used in the middle of a performance in order to prevent messes of ensemble members trying to come backstage through the front of the stage. So basically, a more pretentious way of hiding people.

He propped open the door and shuffled inside, locating the familiar shape of Proctor, the stage manager, approaching him.

"You're early," Proctor shot at him, sounding as if this was what he expected, "Nobody else is here yet."

"I know," replied Arwin, as if in an attempt to conserve his words.

Proctor led him to the stage, speed walking a few paces ahead of what was necessary. He opened the costume room and pointed towards what Arwin immediately identified as his costume.

"I don't want to use it yet," he quickly told Proctor.

Proctor looked surprised. "Alright, whenever you want to get into it go on ahead, no one's stopping you."

"My props?" asked Arwin.

Proctor drifted over to the prop closet and gave a vague gesture to the contents inside, but it was enough for Arwin to locate his belongings. Grabbing what he needed, Arwin began walking towards the stage.

Proctor's face crumpled in perplexity. "What's the deal? Most of the actors I know do something before a show to get into character."

Arwin hauled the belt of plastic knives that went with his costume and answered the man without turning around,

"I already did"