Aftercare Instructions Page 11
“Why? You want to come?”
“Me? I couldn’t.”
I couldn’t? It’s not like I haven’t done it. Maybe this is exactly what I need right now. Maybe this is some sort of ticket out of this rut. A ticket to a place that I forgot about when I was with Peter.
He heads back to the bathroom, and sings along with the music. He didn’t answer my question, but what do I care anyway?
He runs into the living room and jumps up on the coffee table that’s actually a big old dusty trunk and dances around while lip-syncing the lyrics to the song.
“There’s a smile, my lovely Genesis. I knew I could get one out of you.”
“I smile.”
“Not too much.”
That’s what Rose says too. That I don’t have to be so tough all the time. Not to think so much about everything. It’s a hard thing to let go of. So I let my mouth curl up. Like I’m testing my own smile to make sure it works. And I feel lighter. Like I want to jump into this air current that Seth floats around in.
“I smile.”
“I know you do. I can tell.”
“You can?”
“We did spend a little time together last night, you know?”
“I wish I could remember.”
“You ever performed before? Acting? Music? Whatever?”
“Yeah, I’ve been in some plays.”
“I knew it!”
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t, really. I was acting.”
“Oh.”
“You should come tomorrow.”
“I can’t.”
He squeezes in closer to me on the couch than should be allowed. Then he takes my face into his hands, like he’s examining my skin and eyes. His face gets so close to mine that I can smell the mint on his freshly brushed teeth, and then he drops it. “Confirmed. You’re a living, breathing human being. Which is exactly what they are looking for in this play.”
“Come on.”
“I can tell you’re considering it.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Look, this is how I see it. Two people meet randomly on a roof ledge one night. A roof ledge! So, do they jump off together or do they just retreat back into their holes?”
A roof ledge was the perfect place to meet this guy.
“And then you left your phone here, and then I just happen to be going to an audition. Too many coincidences. I can tell you’re a jumper. Not a retreater.”
I look at the dead phone in my hands.
“What’s the play?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Seriously?”
“I told you, I’m throwing caution to the wind. I’m taking the jump. I don’t need something established. I want something totally off the wall. Totally off the beaten track.”
“I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
“Well, don’t decide now. But if you’re still thinking about it when you wake up tomorrow, you should just go for it.”
Something deep and buried inside myself is starting to scratch its way out. What am I so afraid of?
“If you’re not thinking about it, then we can just forget anything ever happened. Deal?”
I’m smiling again. Like he’s turned me upside down.
“Deal.”
ACT II
SCENE 2
(This scene takes place in Genesis’s living room. Lights rise to GENESIS reading on the couch. There is a knock on the door. She isn’t expecting anyone, but when she looks out the window to see who it is, she doesn’t seem surprised. She starts to sneak out of the room, but another knock makes her think twice.)
PETER
(Speaking through the door)
Gen! I know you’re home.
(She opens the door. PETER moves toward her, and she doesn’t react. He puts his arms around her. She lets him but doesn’t move. She’s rigid, unresponsive.)
PETER
Genny Penny.
(They continue to embrace, and PETER kisses her head and ad libs sweet, soothing words until she finally moves her arms around him too. When they separate, we can see that GENESIS has been crying into his shoulder.)
PETER
I was afraid to come here. Afraid you wouldn’t answer the door. Afraid you wouldn’t let me touch you. You disappeared, Gen. Where were you?
GENESIS
It’s been really hard around here.
PETER
You’ve missed the whole week of school.
GENESIS
I know.
PETER
And you haven’t responded to any of my calls or texts.
GENESIS
My mom has needed me. There’s been a lot to take care of this week. It’s a lot to put on someone else.
PETER
You shouldn’t have to do everything.
GENESIS
No, I mean I don’t want to put any of it on you.
PETER
I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, Genesis.
GENESIS
I know.
PETER
You have to let me in. Whatever it is. I can handle it. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to leave you.
GENESIS
I know.
PETER
I think I can handle a lot more than you give me credit for.
GENESIS
Everything is so perfect for you. Believe me, you don’t want to see what happens around here sometimes.
PETER
Is that what you think? That everything for me is perfect?
GENESIS
Isn’t it?
PETER
Seems we have a lot to learn about each other. Both ways.
GENESIS
I’d take strict parents and threats of grounding and total support and encouragement over a dead dad and a mom who was too scared to be alone all week.
PETER
I love you, Genesis.
GENESIS
What?
PETER
I do. I love you. Let me in. Let me be here for you.
(She nods.)
You want rules? Here’s one: Don’t ignore my calls. You have to respond to me.
GENESIS
And if I don’t?
PETER
Then you’re grounded.
GENESIS
I wanted to respond.
PETER
I thought you were gone. I should have come sooner.
GENESIS
I do too.
PETER
I’m not psychic.
GENESIS
No, I mean. I do too. Love you.
(PETER embraces her again. They kiss.)
PETER
I love you.
GENESIS
I can let you in. I just hope you’re ready.
PETER
Let’s do this. Let’s jump in. No retreating. Only jumping. One … two … three …
(Blackout.)
CONTINUE YOUR NORMAL ROUTINE WHEN READY
As we’re heading into the station, we hear the train coming, and Seth flies down the stairs. I chase after him, and we’re through the closing doors just in time.
We take two seats next to each other, and I can see our blurred reflection in the window across the way. Seth taps his toes and drums against the metal pole in front of us. He points out a man wearing one orange sock and one polka-dotted, while another man, weathered and tired, plays a familiar tune on his harmonica.
“I have an idea,” Seth says suddenly. “How about I skip my first class, and we go get something to eat?”
I search for every excuse not to go with Seth. Must plug in phone. Must call Rose. What else was on my list?
“We’ll get off at Third Avenue. One of my favorite spots is near there. What do you say, Genesis Johnson?”
I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. Part of me is already in his current, but part of me wants to just push forward, go home, carry on with my plan.
“Don’t answer.
We’ve still got the river between Brooklyn and Manhattan to travel through,” he says. “That’s underwater. But don’t worry, you can still breathe.”
I may be able to breathe, but before I can exhale, an automated voice tells us we’ve made it to First Avenue. Getting closer. I watch the light behind our reflections streak and flash.
One more stop to decide. No time for a pros and cons list. No time to weigh one thing against the other. I just shouldn’t go. I can stay on this train and transfer at Eighth Avenue to make it up to Port Authority. Don’t I have things to do?
Then I hear the voice again on the speakers. “This is Third Avenue. The next stop will be Union Square.”
We’re here.
I stand.
Seth’s off.
Another, more authoritative, voice takes over. “Stand clear of the closing doors, please.”
I’m still on the train.
A warning bell chimes, and the doors start to close.
Seth faces me. His expression doesn’t change. I look for encouragement or annoyance or something that could propel me in either direction, but he’s left me here on the ledge to make my own decision, and the doors are literally closing in front of my face.
But then I slip through and let them close behind me. I hear the train screech and squeal, and the world spins in front of my face. I blink and see Seth with his hand raised.
“Right on,” he says with his hand still in the air. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging here.”
Oh, a high five. I press my hand into his and hold it there. He grabs it and leads me up the stairs, out into the city.
We wind through the streets of the East Village. It’s an unusually warm day for winter. We still need our coats and scarves, but the sun is bright. We walk to St. Mark’s Place, where the sidewalks are cluttered with bright-framed sunglasses and feather boas, striped stockings and wallet chains. We pass a place called Bowery Poetry Club, and I imagine Delilah at the microphone, zigzagging her way into the audience’s hearts.
“Are you sure you don’t have to go to class?”
“Don’t worry about that. Shouldn’t you be in school yourself, young lady?”
“Long story.”
We aren’t far from the Planned Parenthood. Half a mile, I would guess. Maybe less. So much can happen in the span of three days. The world can lurch and halt, then spin in the other direction, apparently.
“Do you like ramen?”
Truthfully, the only ramen I’ve ever eaten comes dried in a pouch with a spice pack in foil, but somehow I don’t think that’s what he means.
“I think so.”
“There’s no better time for ramen than a winter afternoon. Especially after a night of drinking. Trust me.”
He opens a door for me, and we duck into a storefront with fogged-up windows, taking two seats at the counter. The walls are peeling white paint and sweating. My face instantly fills with heat. There is no music playing.
Seth orders us two bowls of miso ramen and a pot of tea. There is one other person in the restaurant sitting at a table in the corner. Postcards with varying levels of light damage cover one wall. Anywhere from Kentucky to Tahiti.
He props his elbows on the counter and leans sideways to face me. I look straight ahead to the cooks in the kitchen.
“So,” he says. “Tell me everything.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I already told you. Everything!”
Everything sounds like more than I can stomach right now.
“You can start with the long story about why you’re not in school today, if you want.”
“The short answer? I’m suspended.”
“Oh, wow! A bad girl. No wonder I like you.”
He likes me? This is not good. Someone in the kitchen rings a bell. I watch our server carry a steaming bowl to the man in the corner doing a crossword puzzle in a newspaper. He tucks the pen behind his ear and folds up the paper.
“I’m really not, though.”
“I know. I know. So why are you suspended, then?”
The story that leads up to the suspension pricks at my tongue, but I haven’t had a chance to make any sense of the order of events. What am I doing here, having lunch with another guy? What am I doing here when I have so much to figure out? “Can we talk about something else, actually?”
“Anything you want,” he says, and unzips his hoodie. It is getting warmer in here the longer we sit. “What are you thinking about right now?”
“I’m thinking about how I don’t know how I got here.”
“That’s easy. The L train.”
“You know what I mean.”
His mouth is edible when he smiles.
“My parents used to live in this neighborhood.”
“Where?”
I don’t answer. I wish I knew more about their life here. I know they had an apartment on East Seventh and Avenue D. I know they had to walk up three flights to get into it. I know they covered their ceiling with twinkle lights and one wall was painted like a cow. There aren’t many pictures. Just a scattering of stories.
“My dad wrote plays.”
“It’s in your blood, then.”
“I guess it is.”
I try to ignore the feeling that my dad is watching me now because that seems so corny, but yeah, it kind of feels like that. Kind of like he sent this guide to take me here, to the place he once found inspiration. I feel him sometimes. His spirit. I never told Peter that. Never told anyone that.
But then I look at Seth and he’s just a guy. That’s it. A stranger, really. And maybe he’s here to take me somewhere, but he wasn’t sent from the worlds beyond. “I haven’t acted since he died.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
I fold my hands in my lap.
“How did he die?”
I haven’t been faced with this choice in a long time—to tell the truth or the story. Everyone in my world already knows how he died (thank you, Vanessa!), but this is the first time a stranger has come to this crossroads. His eyes are locked into me.
“Heroin.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah.”
We let those words settle between us. The server drops two bowls of ramen on the counter. There are slices of pork and half a soft-boiled egg, and scallions and kernels of corn swimming in the bowl. Seth doesn’t touch his. He waits for me to continue.
“I stopped doing any theater because I didn’t want to look into the audience and not see him there.”
“What did you do instead?”
“I guess I fell in love.”
I press my spoon into the bowl, and the contents swirl around each other. I fill it up with broth and sip the warm saltiness.
“Are you still in love?”
“I don’t think so.”
Seth opens his package of chopsticks, rubs them together, and picks up his half egg first.
“Have you ever been in love?” I ask him.
He rests his chopsticks across the ledge of the bowl. “Yes, I have.”
“Have you ever had your heart broken?”
“Completely crushed.”
We stop and look at each other again. It’s easy to open up to him, and I’m not exactly sure why.
“So,” he says. “Is your heart broken?”
“I guess it is.”
“And it’ll heal in three weeks?”
“Three weeks? Oh. Well, part of me will.”
“Okay.”
I decide to try the noodles now, and there is no graceful approach. I manage to get a bite off the chopsticks before the rest slips into the bowl and splashes both of us. He laughs and asks the server for forks.
“I’m not too proud to use a fork.”
My skin feels cracked open. My heart seems to have pushed itself outside of my body right now. We slurp our soup.
“Why do you want to do a play away from school?”
�
��That’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
Seth shakes hot sauce into his bowl and then hands it to me. I splash a couple drops into the bowl and watch the red streak through the broth.
“Okay, so I’m in my second year now, right?”
“Okay.”
“And last year, it just all seemed too easy.”
“How so?”
“Like, within the walls of NYU, there’s definitely competition, but it doesn’t feel real to me. It doesn’t feel like there’s any kind of struggle behind what we’re making there.”
“And you want the struggle?”
“I think I might.”
“Why isn’t there a struggle there?”
“I’m not exactly sure. Maybe because everyone has money from their parents or something. Too much security.”
“Do you?”
“I do.”
“Where are you from?”
“Indiana. The Hoosier State,” he says, laughing.
“What’s a Hoosier?”
“I’m a Hoosier!”
“Okay.”
I wonder if I pried too much. But then I remember what I just shared.
“Do you ever want to move here?” he asks.
“To New York?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not sure.”
“No?”
“I’m not sure of much of anything right now.”
“Are you sure that you’re eating the most delicious bowl of ramen you’ve ever had?”
“That I am sure of.”
“Bringing you back to life?”
“Thankfully, yes. I really did it to myself last night.”
He smiles and drinks the last of his broth from the bowl.
“I am very sad to report that I have to head to my next class. This one I can’t miss.” Seth pays for our lunch and we bundle back up. The man has returned to his crossword puzzle. He nods good-bye to us.
“Can I walk you to class?”
Seth holds out his elbow, and I latch on.
As we walk, he tells me about moving to New York, and how he never would have come here if he hadn’t caught his girlfriend cheating on him. He was going to stay and they were going to move to Indianapolis together. But then he caught her and that pushed him enough to get out to New York and leave it all behind.
We stop in front of a building with a purple flag flying, across the street from Washington Square Park.
“Come to the audition tomorrow. There’s a reason why our paths crossed last night.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready.”