double update because I felt motivated today :)
"sure. why not?"
"are you being serious right now?" I feel my lips turn up in an excited grin. my fingertips tighten around the strap of my backpack, despite the chilled air causing them to go a little numb.
"yeah. I mean, it's not like, a bunch of work, is it?" Tia looks between the two of us for a moment, her eyes traveling over Matthew's stature once again. I don't blame her.
after we decided to visit the record store, we coincidentally ran right into the woman who runs it. her hair is in two long braids, falling over the material of her suede jacket and the fluffy scarf bundled around her neck. she was locking up right as we arrived.
"no, no. it's a short script to memorize. that's it." I wave it off.
"and you'll have to be willing to deal with her directing." Matthew playfully rolls his eyes and I nudge his shoulder, prompting his little giggle. she smiles at him, then at me.
"let me give you my number, then." she extends her hand to place my phone in. we exchange information and then she repeats the process with Matthew, which I find to be kind of unnecessary but don't say anything about. right as I'm about to say goodbye, she offers to show us around the shop.
"do you have time?" Matthew asks me quietly, waiting for my permission.
"yeah, definitely." I feel in my bones that I need to get home to talk to Ren, but I am ever non-confrontational. so I will, again, put it off. we head inside and I'm immediately hit with a wall of warmth and the smell of old wood. she flips on the lights.
"I'm surprised you guys are open this late." I observe.
"we're not. I normally close at around seven, but I had to get some paperwork done." she makes a half-hearted sweeping gesture to the rows upon rows of records. "welcome to the Electric Eel." immediately, Matthew starts shooting off questions about where she gets her records, how she keeps them in good condition, and how she got into the business in the first place. she answers all of his questions with a saintly patience.
"usually we play some music to set the ambience, too." she points to a fancy record player in the corner of the room, right behind the counter.
"cool stickers." he gravitates toward the surface, checking out the different designs. some of them are faded or half-covered by other, newer stickers, although somehow it comes together in a really satisfying way.
"thanks. my dad started it when I was a little girl. I'm just continuing the tradition." she scoots in beside him. I'm rifling through some classical records and trying to ignore the definite energy in the room. they're talking quietly, but when she starts to shrug off her jacket and picks out something to play on the storewide player, I feel a new kind of flame ignite in my stomach.
"you know, Matthew, I just remembered," I grip onto the side of a milk crate full of Vivaldi vinyls. "I need to help Ren with something."
he straightens up from the counter, in which he has obviously been engrossed. Tia turns around and folds her arms across her chest. "Ren?"
"Phelia's roommate." Matthew replies. "it's getting pretty dark, I'll walk you home." he smiles at me, then turns to his new castmate. "thanks, Tia. it was nice to meet you."
"definitely." she smiles when she turns to me. "you'll let me know when you guys start shooting?"
"for sure. I'll send you the script when I finish polishing it this week." I have to keep from looping my arm through Matthew's as we head out of the shop and into the street. shuddering at the cold and tightening my coat around me, I walk briskly ahead of him. he jogs to catch up.
"hey, hey." he touches my arm gently to slow me down. "you okay? you ran out of there pretty fast."
"huh?" I feign a confused face. "yeah, I just remembered that. sorry. I'm fine."
a wall of snowflakes hits our faces, temporarily blinding me and causing even more frustration to bubble up in my stomach. I have no idea why I'm in a bad mood now, but all I want to do is curl up in my bed and sleep forever.
"oh. I thought you were avoiding Ren." he frowns.
"she still needs my help." my tone is curt and I only realize its sharpness after I've said it. immediately, I feel a guilty pang in my heart. he's just trying to understand.
"okay." he seems to read my response, though, because he holds back the question I know he wants to ask. what does she need help with? instead of apologizing like I should, the words get caught in my throat. I feel bad but I'm still annoyed. I shouldn't be surprised that she was so obviously flirting with him; he's gorgeous and she might have recognized how famous he is.
that said, I can't help the way I feel. I'm not jealous or anything. just protective over my friend. and now I'm wondering if I made a mistake by selecting the coolest, prettiest person I could find for her role.
we ride the subway in silence, though I feel Matthew's eyes on me every once in a while. I pretend to be focused on keeping my hands warm and watching the smattering of strangers along for the ride with us. the screech of the train car is deafening. I try to settle the anxiety in my stomach as I realize in what direction I'm heading.
there's nothing to be done about it now, I suppose.
when we head out of the train car and up the stairs to the street, he finally says something.
"Ophelia, did I do something wrong?" his voice is soft and apologetic. even as I bound up the steps ahead of him, I turn around to look him in the eyes. the fluorescent lights reflect off his glasses lenses, so I can't really see his irises. instead, it's the set of his mouth that tells me how genuinely confused he is. I didn't know I could read him like that.
I exhale through my nose, bite my tongue. "no, not at all." I turn back around and step out into the world. a street lamp pours a yellow glow over us, undoubtedly washing me out even more. I probably look like I've just seen a ghost.
he doesn't pry further, but I can feel the silence crackle between us like its own lightbulb. he waits for me to tell him how I feel. I just can't. I can't even make up an adequate excuse, can't even pretend that I'm thinking about Ren. because I'm not. I'm thinking about how much I hate the fucking knot in my stomach and the way it affected me within five minutes of him being around another woman. and for what?
he's allowed to flirt, date, whatever. I'm his assistant. how pathetic is that?
"I think I'm just tired from all the work I did today. you know?" I stare down at the footprints we're making in the snow. his feet look so much bigger than mine.
"yeah, I get it. sorry I kept you out late." he says it so sincerely. I pause in the snow, in the middle of the sidewalk, partially blocking a couple walking their dog. they make their way around. Matthew glances at me cautiously.
"don't apologize." I tell him. I open my mouth to say more, except there really isn't more for me to say. instead, I turn on my heel and keep walking. he takes a second before following. there's an energy radiating from me so strong, I can feel it. it's muddled with irritation, guilt, and maybe a little nervousness as well.
luckily, we turn onto my street and I practically speed walk to the front stoop.
"thanks for walking me." I thank him with a polite smile.
"sure." his brows draw together and he shoves his hands into his pockets before looking up at me. "you would tell me if I did something wrong, right?"
"oh, you would know." I reply with what I had hoped would be a lighthearted laugh but is really a grimace. he nods slowly.
"okay, good. have a nice night, then." he watches as I pull out my key and slide it into the lock, only glancing behind me once before heading inside. it's so awkward that I press my back against the closed door when I get inside. what in the fucking fuck is wrong with me?
here I am in the middle ground between Ren and Matthew, No Man's Land. part of me wants to run back outside and hug him just to let him know that this isn't his fault that I have a school-girl crush on him. except I know I can't do that.
instead, I climb the flights of stairs to my apartment, the sound of my steps echoing throughout until I finally reach the floor. I can do this. everything will be fine. she's the one who messed up, not me.
when I walk in, Ren is sitting at the table with a spread of open magazines, uncapped glue sticks. an enormous poster-board sits on the floor, covered in cut-up papers and swatches of fabric. she's got her earbuds in and only notices my arrival when I loom over her.
"hi!" she greets way too loudly. I force a smile.
"hey."
when she notices my less-than-pleased expression, she pulls out her earbuds.
"what's up?"
"nothing. are you free to talk?"
"sure, but I have to get this mood board done for my boss by tomorrow, so I'm gonna multitask."
it's all she knows how to do, setting her brain on several different things, sometimes half-assing all of them. a chaotic job works for her, but the scraps she leaves behind are everywhere, literally and metaphorically.
I sit down across from her at the table and she slides a glue stick between her teeth, using her brand-new scissors to slice a smooth circle around something in her magazine page.
"we need to talk about the other night." I state.
"what happened the other night?" she glances up with a frown at my tone of voice.
"when you called me and told me that you had a question about film to ask Matthew? and then you proceeded to invite him to our apartment?" I can't keep the hostility out of my voice. I feel like the problem is pretty self-explanatory.
"so? I thought it would be fun." she runs her fingers over a sample of blue, velvety fabric. it catches the light like a glacier, cool and aloof.
"it doesn't matter that you thought it would be fun. you didn't ask my permission, Ren." I lean forward onto my elbows and lower my voice a bit to convey how serious I am. "in fact, you outright lied to me because you knew that I would be uncomfortable."
"no, I did it because I knew you would refuse to put yourself out there. you told me that he wanted to hang out outside of work so that you guys could get to know each other better. I was just expediting the process--" she shrugs, but I cut her off.
"that isn't your job. I'm an adult. I don't go around inviting your boss to our home."
"that's because Sylvia is a stone cold bitch who would probably hang up on you before you got the invitation across." she scoffs and pastes down a cutout of a leggy swimsuit model. part of me wants to snatch that stupid glue stick out of her hand.
"jesus christ, can you take one thing seriously?" I raise my voice a little. she looks up at me. those dark, mysterious abysses that are so beautiful hold mine for a moment.
"I'm sorry, Ophelia. I thought it would be fun and I really didn't have the intention of making you uncomfortable." she says exasperatedly, like I'm the one bothering her.
"you're impossible." I stand up and go to leave the room. I don't think I'll be able to contain my anger much longer if she keeps acting like this.
"what? I apologized. what else do you want me to do?" she throws her hands up and then I spin around at the last second.
"I want you to actually think through your actions is what I want you to do." I spit out. "you always say you're sorry and then you just keep pulling this shit, trying to get me to do the things that you would do."
"because you never do anything yourself! you obviously like him, Ophelia. and I know that if I don't do something about it, you never will." she's standing now, too, glue stick hanging limply in her hand. my chest rises and falls as I try to process everything she's saying. all I want is to completely let loose on her, to cut deep.
"I don't 'like' him. we aren't in eighth grade-- you don't need to lock us in a closet and declare Seven Minutes in motherfucking Heaven!" I yell. she just stares back at me, jaw clenched. her hair is starting to fall out of her bun. with her silence as an invitation, I keep going. "you don't get to pry into my life and call my boss. in fact, I kind of wish you would just stay out of it for a while."
"you want me out of your life?" something in her deflates. her voice drops to a normal register and then she's just staring at me.
"until you learn how to respect my boundaries, then yeah. I do." I'm not yelling anymore, but my voice fills the room. she shifts in her spot.
"I bought you a plane ticket to visit my mom with me, but I guess I'll just return it."
"what?" I make a face.
"you obviously weren't going to visit your mom, dude. I'm not fucking blind. it was supposed to be a surprise."
"Ren--" I start to say, then stop myself. how do I even finish that sentence? I'm not going to apologize for everything. I set boundaries and she's repeatedly ignored them; my anger is justified.
"you know what? I think you're right. maybe we do need some time apart." she caps her glue stick and starts to clean up all her supplies. it takes her about twenty seconds of silence to get her things before she walks toward me. I'm blocking the door to the hallway, I realize. too stunned. she stands in front of me, her poster-board creating a wall between us. "I'm leaving tomorrow night. I hope you enjoy your holiday."
I move out of the way, instinctively, and she brushes past me before disappearing into her room. the door shuts behind her and I stand there, jaw dropped.
...
my mom used to make me help her get ready before her shows when I was tiny-- like, six or seven. I've said it before and I'll say it again: she doesn't trust nannies. it was like a routine, the way school melted into evenings in her dressing room.
her mirror was always dusty and at least two of the lightbulbs that ringed it were consistently burnt out or flickering. it smelled of stale cigarette smoke and stress sweat, of generations of community actors. the people that passed in and out of here had day jobs; theatre was a hobby.
it was my mom's whole life. she was here every day, organizing plays that she would inevitably star in, then rehearsing when her projects were ready to be shown to the world. she wore a corset for performances, too, which I didn't realize was weird until middle school when my role had migrated to the audience and I was already able to tie the knots with one half-hearted hand.
she would practice her scales with me, tongue twisters (I can still say "Unique New York" with alarming agility), like they were a game. she tried to make it fun, even though she knew I hated being stuck back there while she performed. there was nothing for me at home but an empty house. my dad was barely ever home. he never cheated on her, though-- he could have, but he didn't. sometimes I think about how pathetic it is that I respected him for that. I set the bar so low.
my mother has always had dark circles under her eyes and I inherited them from her. she layered on concealer and it never worked. she never gave up on trying; I had given up by senior year of high school. I was just doomed to look exhausted, even when I had slept for ample hours.
I think there was something admirable in the way she organized those plays. she could really pull the actor out of anyone. it didn't matter what career you thought you had: Mary would make you find your inner Macbeth, the same way that she had found her inner Ophelia. that's why I'm named that-- my mother's breakout role, the one that caught the eye of a Broadway director and landed her right on the main stage.
I'm not stupid. I know all about Ophelia because I am the extension of my mother that she will never let go. New York chewed her up and spat her right back out. she became the character who had launched her to fame, and, instead of being swallowed by her insanity, poured it into me. I don't like Shakespeare, needless to say.
Ren reminds me of my mom a little. I think that's why I gravitated towards her when I got to college. her persistence, her slightly unhinged manner, brings me back home.
Matthew's analysis of Ophelia hit a little too close to home for me. I was curious what he thought, and he delivered strongly. the problem is that Ophelia is a character in a play. my mom is a real person. she has ups and downs and she has me. I should call her.
sitting in my bedroom in the early hours of the morning, with hooded sunlight stretching across the old love seat, I start to feel a little homesick. I could still tie those corset knots with my eyes closed.