4. Ian
4
IAN
“I know not by what power I am made bold . . .” Act I, Scene I
If Seth were a cartoon character, his jaw would be on the floor and his eyeballs would be stretched abnormally out of his eye sockets.
“Close your mouth, Seth, and help me,” I say.
Seth blinks a few times and shuts his jaw. “Dude, I’ll be honest, I’d heard the rumors, but I had no idea they were true,” he says.
I’m trading gossip for labor as Seth helps me take inventory of the lighting gels in the light lab. He’s got a few folders of all the shades of green gels we have, and he’s supposed to be seeing if any of them are burned through, but he hasn’t touched them since I started telling my story. I recounted the one-act rehearsal and then the offer Jade made me at the end, and now Seth is staring at me like a deer in headlights.
“Could you please look through those gels?” I point to the pile in front of him, and he starts to sort.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, shuffling through the small colored squares. “What do these do again?”
“Are you kidding me?” I ask. Now it’s my turn to stare slack-jawed.
“I know you put them in the little metal sleeves . . .”
“You know, it’s a good thing you’re pretty,” I say.
He scowls at me. Seth is not a tech kid—he loves acting too much for that—but he’s been on a lighting crew with me before, so I know he knows what to look for.
“The gels are what make the light change color. You stick them in front of the lens,” I say, gesturing like I’m actually putting the gel in place.
“Oh yeah . . .”
I shake my head at him so he knows I’m disappointed, but it barely fazes him.
“So what are you going to do about Jade? Because if I remember correctly . . . you haven’t slept with anyone yet,” Seth says gently.
He’s right. I haven’t. And not because I’ve never had the opportunity either.
“If you don’t mind me asking . . . what’s the big deal?” he asks. “Like, are you waiting for marriage or something? It’s cool if you are. I’m just wondering what’s stopping you.”
“No, I’m not waiting for marriage. It’s just . . . It’s hard to explain,” I mumble as I open yet another drawer to grab more folders of gels.
I am not a hookup guy. I have no interest in kissing and touching and all that just for the sake of doing it. I do tend to have an interest in those things once I’ve gotten to know someone and formed a connection with them, but every time I’ve explained that to someone in the past, they’ve been less than understanding.
“Are you asexual?” Seth asks.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a sexual orientation for people who aren’t, like, sexually attracted to others. Or just, like, very little.”
I set a pile of folders next to Seth for him to look through—shades of pink this time—but he’s taking his time with the greens, so I might have to help him sort.
“No. I’ve done stuff in relationships before. And it’s not like I don’t want to have sex or that I’m not attracted to anyone. I think Jade is pretty,” I say. And I mean it. Jade is pretty, but in the same way most girls are pretty. They all smell nice, and their hair is shiny.
“But you don’t want to hook up with her?” Seth asks.
“I just don’t know her.”
The idea of getting naked with someone who doesn’t really know me or care about me has always been terrifying. I know that makes me different from my friends, who don’t need any of that to hook up with them. I don’t think Seth would understand, which is why I’ve never talked to him about it. Even now, I shift my weight and chew on the inside of my lip to relieve some of that nervous energy building inside of me. I start flipping through the pink gels just to give my hands something to do.
“Have you only ever hooked up with people you knew? Like, who you were in a relationship with?” Seth asks.
“Pretty much.”
“So what are you going to do about tonight? Are you going to cancel?”
“I can’t cancel. We have to build chemistry for our show,” I say. “But surely you can build chemistry with someone without putting your tongues in each other’s mouths.”
“Probably. I’ve never had bad stage chemistry with someone, so I wouldn’t know,” Seth says.
“Way to brag about it,” I say, and Seth guffaws.
“I don’t have much else going for me. Let me have this,” he says.
I set aside the folder of light pinks I just sorted through and shove the rest of the pinks at Seth to sort. Returning to the cabinets, I start sorting through the drawers and removing the folders with blue gels in them, tucking them under my arm as I find them.
“Okay, I know you didn’t really ask for this, but I have a suggestion, and just . . . hear me out,” Seth says.
I pause for just long enough to give him a suspicious glare.
“What if you just . . . tried it? You’ve never even kissed someone you weren’t in a relationship with, so, like . . . how do you know that, like, doesn’t work for you?”
“In the same way I know dirt would not taste good if I tried to eat it.”
But Seth is making a point that’s tapping into a long-running insecurity of mine. Before my first girlfriend and my first kiss, there was a girl, Carmen, who had a crush on me. We were both involved in a production at Red Barn Playhouse the spring of my eighth grade year. Carmen would hang around me a lot, coming to find me in the tech booth at each rehearsal, where even the tech director would point out her crush. It wasn’t mutual, but I was always nice to her. After the show, I was at a cast party at the director’s house, and all the kid actors and kids of actors were hanging out in the basement while the adults hung out upstairs. Carmen and I started talking, and at some point, she leaned in like she was going to kiss me. I leaned away and told her I didn’t want to.
“Why not?” she’d asked, clearly offended but also curious.
“Because I don’t like kissing people I don’t know,” I’d said.
“But how do you know unless you try?”
I’d just shaken my head and told her, “No, thank you.”
She respected my refusal, but her words haunted me for years. I couldn’t shake the feeling there was something wrong with me. All my friends kissed whoever, whenever, and it didn’t matter to them, but I couldn’t imagine doing that, so I just . . . didn’t.
Seth’s now bringing up the exact thing I’ve been considering for years. Maybe I should just try it once to make sure. When am I going to have an opportunity like this again?
“Listen, there’s no pressure, okay? You’re allowed to show up to Jade’s apartment tonight and just ask to talk or have a couple beers and play Monopoly, whatever you’d rather do instead. She’s not going to make out with you against your will. Just . . . keep an open mind and try not to get in your head about it.”
I nod and take an armful of folders to the table, where Seth has made it through three shades of green. I withhold any comments about his working pace—he is doing me a favor, after all—and instead flip through the folders myself.
Seth is right. I do get in my head about—well, everything. My dad says overthinking is under-feeling, and I try to remember that when I start to mentally spiral. Which I’m not doing yet, but I am in my head running through all the possibilities.
What if I show up and ask her if we can just talk or play a game?
What if we make out just so I can see if my need for a connection is real?
What if I cancel?
What if I pretend like it’s a method-acting thing? Jade and I could pretend to be our characters and kiss as our characters. Would that be weird?
“I can see you thinking,” Seth says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yeah, I’m just . . .”
“I know what you’re doing.” Seth reaches for the folders of pinks I brought over, finally done with the greens. “And stop it. Just go over there tonight and trust yourself that you’re going to be able to make a decision once you’re there.”
It’s a good idea in theory, but trusting myself has never been easy. Trusting someone else to decide is a much safer path. They probably know more than I do and can make a better decision.
That’s why I was hoping Seth would help me make this decision today, but Seth thinks I should hook up with her because that’s what he would do.
Maybe Seth is onto something. He knows way more about acting and scene partners than I do, and he’s definitely hooked up with a lot more people.
I might not know how to trust myself, but I do know how to trust other people—and even though I’m not totally convinced hooking up is the best way to build chemistry, I’m willing to be wrong. Seth said to have an open mind, and of all the things that have been asked of me recently, this sounds like something I can actually do.
I should have grabbed a basket. But now I’m standing in front of the flower section of the grocery store holding a box of condoms with no way to hide them. I try to tuck them under my arm, but now I look really awkward, so I hold them in my hand again. I don’t want to put them in my pocket, because then it’ll look like I’m stealing them, and the last thing I want right now is for someone to accuse me of stealing condoms. The imagined horror of the scenario makes me anxious enough that I have to wipe a line of sweat off the top of my lip.
As for the condoms, I said I’d keep an open mind, but even this feels a little too far. Kissing someone I don’t really know or care about is one thing. Sex is . . . off the table. But Jade said “bring condoms,” and even if she doesn’t need them for me, maybe she just needs them. In general. For other people. If she needed tampons, I would have gotten those too.
I want to pick up some beer too, as Seth suggested some liquid courage could help, but as I passed by the flowers on my way to the checkout, my dad’s voice practically screamed at me, “ Never show up to a woman’s house without a gift. ”
I don’t know Jade at all. I’ve heard her name in the theater, I’ve heard the rumors, and I spent roughly ninety minutes next to her the other night at rehearsal, and then maybe two minutes in a one-on-one conversation, but I can’t even begin to guess what flowers she might like, if she likes them at all.
But I am nothing if not logical and methodical, so I can figure out what kind of flowers might be an acceptable choice for this moment. Process of elimination.
Roses are too romantic, so those are out.
Carnations seem cheap, so I’ll skip those too.
Lilies have a strong smell, so something milder might be safer.
An assorted bunch seems like the way to go. But which colors? Don’t flowers and their colors have some kind of special meaning? Maybe I should check the internet for that.
I’m mid-search when my phone rings. Now is not the best time to answer a call from my dad, but he doesn’t usually call without an objective, so I answer anyway, despite the gnawing in my stomach that I still haven’t picked any flowers and I’m on a time crunch.
“Hey, Dad.” I tuck the phone between my ear and my shoulder.
“How’s my favorite son?”
“I’m your only son.”
“And still my favorite.”
I’m the youngest child and only son in a family with three girls, so my dad was thrilled when I was born. The best part about him is that the thrill never expired. Not when I quit nearly every sport I started because I was an epic failure. Not when I joined theater and showed not just an interest but a talent for crew work. In fact, Dad joined right in. Every time I tried a sport or a hobby, so did he. He didn’t love being on the crew, but he found that he enjoyed acting. He’s still involved at the Red Barn Playhouse community theater.
“Everything okay?” I ask, trying to move the conversation to the point.
“I was just calling to see if you wouldn’t mind your old man coming up for homecoming weekend in November.”
Not only was this school and its theater program a top choice for me, but it was also my dad’s top choice for me, because this school is his alma mater—a fact that only made me more eager to attend. My dad has been my biggest role model my whole life. I love that we share this school too.
A smile steals my anxiety momentarily. “I don’t mind at all. You don’t need my permission to do alumni stuff.”
“I didn’t want to surprise you by just showing up.”
“I appreciate that.”
And I do. I don’t really like surprises. But I do like hanging out with my dad.
I check the time. 6:30 p.m. I’ve got to get going. I still have to go to the beer store since Pennsylvania doesn’t let you buy beer in grocery stores, and if I stand here any longer I’m going to be late.
“What are you up to tonight?” my dad asks, and I grab a random bouquet of pink and white flowers and head to the checkout.
“Uh . . .” I scan the condoms and the flowers, bagging them and hoping my dad doesn’t somehow know what I’m doing and this question is actually a test, not just curiosity. “Rehearsal.”
“Rehearsal? For what?”
“That one-act I told you I auditioned for.”
“That’s right! Did you meet your acting partner yet?”
I’m still trying to juggle the phone and pay for my groceries when a line starts to form behind me. For some reason, there’s only one working self-checkout station right now.
Can people see the condoms through the plastic bag? Does everyone in line behind me think they know what I’m doing tonight based on what I’m buying right now? The temptation to tell everyone I’m not actually going to have sex and overexplain the situation makes me feel hot and uncomfortable. My denim jacket feels too heavy and suffocating. I gotta get out of here.
“Hey, Dad? I’m gonna let you go. I’m sorry. I’ll call you next week, okay?”
I don’t know if he can hear how frazzled I sound, but if he can, he doesn’t mention it.
“Sure thing. Have fun at rehearsal tonight. Knock ’em dead.”
My face heats and my knees get a little weak. He doesn’t know what he just said, but I sure as hell do. I hang up and practically sprint to my car, clutching the bag to my chest.
I’m halfway to Jade’s apartment when I realize I never stopped for the beer. I consider my options: arrive late or arrive empty-handed. The flowers sway in the passenger seat with the movement of the car. I guess I wouldn’t be totally empty-handed. Plus, I don’t want her thinking I’m the kind of person who’s always late or almost late. The only reason I was almost late to that first rehearsal was that I almost didn’t go at all, and I had to do Dallas-Cowboys-cheerleader levels of pep-talking to convince myself to leave my apartment.
Even now, I’m blasting music to pump me up for the evening: Coldplay’s “Something Just Like This” is turned up so loud I can barely hear my own thoughts. I can’t do anything for the sweat pooling under my arms, but I wipe my palms on my jeans, hoping Jade won’t notice how sweaty I am. Is it normal to be this sweaty? Oh god, that’s not attractive at all. I wrestle my jacket off while I’m driving, turning the AC on full blast and rolling down the windows.
Somehow, I make it to her apartment and park by 6:58 p.m., arriving just in time. I leave the box of condoms in the car but take the flowers, gripping them like they’re liable to fly out of my hand. I make my way to her apartment with shaky knees and knock on the door.