Well, once I'd had an ingrown toenail removed because my mother thought it was ghastly. The procedure didn't bother me all that much. I nodded very slightly.
“I'm glad you're all here. You're going to make this a dynamic and diverse group.”
As soon as all eyes were off me, I let myself breathe and inventory the splotching. Everything about me felt hot, so it was hard to know whether the splotches had made their way up my neck or had completely taken over my entire body. But at this point, I didn't really care, because just sixty seconds ago I thought I was going to see death by handbag.
I took a moment and tried to calm myself with the thought that at least tonight I could breathe easier. The worst part was over, thank the good Lord.
Then Marilyn said, “And now, we're going to rip each other's hearts out.”
[She eyes the exit longingly.]
T
onight, we're going to let other people tell us what they think is fake about us.”
Splotching usually stopped at midneck for me, but this was sure to send it up to my nose.
Beside me, Carol was mumbling, but I couldn't hear anything except hissing sounds every time she said something with an
s
in it.
A little comfort came my way when I realized nobody liked the idea. And then another comforting thought floated by. How much could people really know about us? This was only the second class.
Marilyn said, “One of the most conflict-causing situations in the universe stems from people feeling they've been insulted. Today we are going to focus on handling ourselves when we are insulted. Now, I am going to break you off into pairs.” I actually reached out and grabbed Carol's arm. She clung to me. We would be perfect for each other. But Marilyn said, “I am going to pair you with your complete opposite.”
Carol's clinging turned to clawing. I tried to pat her arm, but my hand was shaking so badly I missed and patted my own arm. I suddenly noticed that all the while, I was smiling pleasantly. Well, this was an impressive trick I never knew I had. Smiling pleasantly. Huh. Maybe that would be a distraction from the large welts that were surely engulfing my face by now.
“Another point of this exercise is to learn to be forthright, which is actually an attribute when done with the right attitude and in the right circumstances. So you're going to be given permission to tell someone what you think is fake about their personality. For some of you, this may be harder than receiving the criticism. For others, it will be as easy as chewing gum. Let's begin.” She glanced down at her clipboard. “I'm going to pair Glenda and Carol, Cinco and Ernest, and Robert and Leah.” I looked over at Robert. Then glanced at Cinco. I was actually relieved not to be with him, but I wasn't sure why. Cinco caught my eye and smiled. I didn't have to smile back, because I was already pleasantly smiling.
“You'll stay where you are. No need to sit by the person, because we're going to be doing this in front of the class.”
I knew I was in even more trouble when a lump formed in my throat. Was it the lack of sleep? The emotional evening I'd had with Elisabeth? The fact that Edward thought I should be here?
The idea someone might think I was fake? Faking what? The fact that I didn't want to be here?
“Cinco, we're going to start with you. Why don't you tell Ernest what you think is fake about him.”
Cinco stared at the ground for a moment. He didn't appear to relish the task. After all, Ernest was a pastor. In the Old Testament, bad things could happen to those who insulted a man of God. But Cinco also didn't look nervous, even though everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to start.
Ernest was surprisingly calm, like this was the most natural thing in the world. I had the sudden urge to go to the bathroom, but then that would probably be seen as an attempt to escape. And it would be. But I sat still and crossed my legs. In the short time Cinco required to think through his answer, I planned on escaping by other means: urgent cell phone call, smelling smoke, or gagging on my pen and making myself throw up.
Cinco looked up at Ernest with a gentle, apologetic look on his face. Then he said, “Ernest, I think that you're not as peaceful on the inside as you look on the outside. I think in reality you're really angry.”
Ernest's docile eyes flickered as we all watched his reaction. He met Cinco's gaze for a moment, then looked down at his feet. His hands were clasped together like he might be praying, but then he looked up and said, “Thank you, Cinco. And I think your on-air persona is a bunch of bull.” Everyone's heads rotated back to Cinco, who stared right at Ernest. Cinco maintained steady, expressionless eyes. There was a cold silence except for a strange noise I couldn't at first identify. I suddenly realized it was my grinding teeth, and I stopped immediately.
After the rest of us finished gawking at the two, we looked to Marilyn for continued guidance. She had the luxury of focusing on her notepad while jotting notes. I thought maybe I should jot down some notes.
Finally she looked up and smiled. “Good. Both of you. I sensed some tension, which isn't unexpected. But let me assure you that when you're in that kind of situation, the tension is noticeable. You may be talking in a normal, nonthreatening voice. You may be making normal eye contact. You may even be smiling, like Leah's illustrating so perfectly.” The smile dropped off my face. “But when there's tension, there's tension. There's nothing wrong with tension, let me clarify, but let me also say that nobody is fooled by practiced body language. If you're going to resolve the conflict, you're going to have to be genuine about your resolve, or else there will still be underlying tension, which can be just as damaging as conflict itself.” She looked at Carol. “Carol, why don't you go ahead.”
Carol whimpered. She looked at me. Her eyes actually brimmed with tears, magnified by her gigantic glasses. Carol couldn't even manage to look at Glenda. She was fumbling around with her words, making slight gestures with her hands, which wasn't helping in the translation. This went on for a good minute and a half, and Marilyn looked content to wait patiently, but Glenda suddenly shouted, “Carol, for crying out loud, get it out! I don't want to sit here any longer than I have to!”
I gasped, Carol gasped, and the other faces froze with shock. Glenda looked around the circle. “What? This class is obviously going to take some guts. I'm not sure Carol is cut out for this kind of thing.”
I looked at Carol, and a big tear rolled down her left cheek. Now I could hear apologies rolling out of her mouth. I looked at Marilyn, but she was jotting down notes again. I was about ready to go over and snatch them out of her hands.
“Well?” Glenda said, folding her arms and staring hard at Carol. “What's it going to be?”
Carol tried to control her tears. She swiped at them and after a deep breath, looked right at Glenda and spoke. But nobody, including me, could hear her. Marilyn looked up and said, “Carol, you're going to have to talk a little louder.”
And to her credit, each of the three attempts was louder than the previous one, but still inaudible to the rest of the class.
Except me.
I swallowed and watched Glenda, who was becoming more and more irritated by the minute. Carol tried again, in the best voice she knew how, but it sounded like a morning breeze, and that was it.
“Come on, Carol! Let's get this over with!” Glenda tapped her foot against the concrete. “What are you waiting for? Speak up! Don't be such a mouse!”
Carol probably wished she was a mouse. She still couldn't make her voice any stronger. But what I'd heard her say was, “You're nicer than you seem.” I looked at Carol, whose lips were trembling as she watched Glenda's fuming expression. She was nicer than she seemed? Surely Carol could come up with something better than that. But as I watched Carol, I realized that was quite possibly the best she could do.
Glenda threw up her hands like a mad cook on a wild cooking show and aimed a frozen expression of disgust right at Carol. I looked at Glenda and, without further hesitation, said, “Carol said she thinks you wear your makeup heavy to hide the fact that you look older than you are.” My pleasant smile returned. I couldn't will it away.
I patted Carol's knee. Her eyes were so wide they were almost bulging. We both looked at Glenda for a reaction.
Glenda's mouth was clamped shut, but her lips were doing a little wiggle across her face. Then she said. “Yeah? Well I don't think there's anything fake about you, Carol. I just think you're pathetic.”
I felt my heart freeze. I took Carol's hand and stared hard at Glenda. Words were forming in my mouth, at the tip of my tongue, and ready to be unleashed, but Marilyn said, “Okay, Robert, Leah, it's your turn. Robert, go first.”
My anger toward Glenda shifted to my fear of Robert. I'd already seen Robert get mad, twice, and I wasn't so sure the second time was really acting. How could a person get his face to turn that red while acting?
Robert wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the ground. I wanted to look at the ground, but I suddenly felt myself paralyzed. Except for one hand, which managed to climb to my neckline and feel for splotching. My gaze came to a rest on Cinco. To my surprise, he gave me a reassuring nod and a wink. I didn't want to wink and I didn't want to nod, so I think what I gave in return was a scowl. He looked away.
Robert said, “Okay, look, Leah, I think you choose to be around people who are completely safe.”
Strangely, the anger lifted. Mostly because I wasn't even sure what Robert meant. I was contemplating that when Marilyn said, “Leah, your turn.”
My turn. My time to hurl the insult. My chance at a small piece of justice. I focused on Robert, but what came out of my mouth stunned me. “I think you're the one with the conflict problem and that your silly outfits and your calm, collected, caring voice are just a front for the fact that you're unable to stand up for what is right. Your hairstyle is unflattering too.” I blinked. That didn't even sound like my voice. I looked at Robert, and he looked a bit puzzled. He was smoothing his hand over his bald head.
I glanced around the group, and everyone was staring at Robert's hair . . . or the lack thereof. But Marilyn said, “Good, Leah, but you're actually supposed to be talking to Robert, not me.”
Had I said that to Marilyn? I rewound my brain and played back my exact words. I realized that while I'd meant to address Robert, every hateful thought I was having about Marilyn came out instead. I began to feel light-headed.
Marilyn smiled. “It's okay, Leah. Don't worry. In a couple of weeks we'll be discussing misplaced anger.”
Sitting on my wooden apartment balcony that was barely big enough to hold both a chair and a plant, I couldn't stop thinking about the evening. I'd made myself a hot cup of Sleepytime Tea, made more sleepytime by the two Tylenol PM I plopped in and stirred to dissolve. I wasn't fond of using sleep aids, but Elisabeth swore by them, and if ever there was a night that sleep might elude me, this was it. I was comfortably warm in my pajamas, and I had a nonmagnificent view of the Boston skyline twinkling against the black sky. I could see about two inches of it, because another building blocked the way. But I could see a bright, illuminating halo hanging above, and as I sat there I thought I might look like a casual observer who was at peace with the world.
On the contrary. I was distressed to the point that my organs were hurting. I had managed to horrify myself beyond my usual expectations, which were pretty lofty to begin with. No matter how many times I played events over in my head, I couldn't understand how I'd gotten so confused and insulted Marilyn instead of Robert.
Worse, my splotching had eventually become evident to everyone by the time Glenda handed me two Benadryl, and I had to explain I wasn't having an allergic reaction. If I'd taken the Benadryl, it would've rendered me unconscious, which, looking back, might not have been a bad option.
I was certainly having a hard time losing consciousness now. I gulped my tea and stared into the night.
Marilyn had ended the evening talking to us about conflict. She asked us to identify the parts of our lives with the most conflict in them and write them down. Thankfully, she didn't want us to share this information with anybody, because I couldn't identify anything in my life that caused conflict. Besides the incident with Edward and maybe the recent conversation with Elisabeth, I couldn't even remember the last time I'd had a fight with anyone, which began to confirm my suspicions that I shouldn't be going to this class in the first place.
I could only consider conflict in a theatrical manner, the thing that drives the story arc and the character arc.
I thought about how I'd been avoiding Edward. I'd left him a message on his answering machine at home, knowing full well he was at his yearly chess tournament. I'd acted casual, making up something about a busy schedule this week but suggested we connect over the weekend.
I finished my tea and used my fingers to scoop up the leftover Tylenol granules. I wasn't feeling a bit sleepy and started to get aggravated. What was so special about this medicine, anyway? Licking my fingers, I decided to go inside. If I wasn't going to sleep, then I would have to work.
As I sat down in front of my computer, I glanced at the clock. It was after ten. I pulled up my play and stared at my slim beginnings to Act Two. If sleep wouldn't come, maybe something creative would.
Act Two is the most daunting of all the acts. Act One is exposition, which is difficult to write in that you have to make a whole bunch of facts and backstory sound interesting and entertaining. But Act Two, that is where most people bail on their story. It's the hardest to get through, because you must write your character into a corner that seems impossible to climb out of.