Love Me Deadly

I'd never really thought about acting, even though I'd faked my way through school, and had the gift of gab at social events. So, how did I get where I am now? All I can say is, things can be really weird sometimes. And, I'd give anything for this one particular part in this play. So this is me now, standing in a long line of others, moving ever so slowly toward the casting room. Rehearsing in my mind, just how I would be when it was my turn to take the floor. I would be behind curtain, stage left. She would be behind curtain, stage right. Between us, a desolate city street, devoid of life. Suddenly she rushes hurriedly out across the stage, carrying a bundle of flowers in news-wrap. Coming right toward me. I walk slowly out, my head down, reading a book. We collide. Her flowers go flying. She runs frantically to pick them up. I run after her, and say, "Here, l'll get them for you." I run around picking up flowers. I hand them to her. She hands me my book. We smile, and nod at each other, then continue on our respective ways. We each take once glance back as we exit the stage.

So, basically, why I am standing in this line is to get this part. In the play, this one small part is the entire life of my character. That walk on. The collision, and I say, "Here, I'll get them for you." It's agonizing. I have one brief impossible moment in a romantic play, with the girl who is starring. As the story was written, I was just an incident in her life. Her story would unfold without me. I don't even know why I want such a part. It's torture, when you think about it. But, a walk-on with a line to say, is paid more than other wordless walk-ons. Plus, I was very into the existential angst I would have to muster up in such a hopeless moment. To, in one split-second collision, find, and then lose, love. To make that moment real. Oh, the humanity!

Well, it pays 150.00 dollars per performance. Not a lot of money, but then I am unemployed. And besides, you can sleep late in the mornings, and still pay the bills. So, this is why I am standing in line. Rehearsing my one thing to say. I don't even know if I will get the part. The part about the random guy who almost got the girl, but didn't. They ought to be paying more to anyone sincerely stepping into such a character. Such a character should get combat pay. But, with the economy the way it is these days, no one really cares about post traumatic girl syndrome. It's a job, for crying out loud. But, if you want the job, you are going to really have to act. Or, you are going to have to actually experience that moment. So, getting my simple line down was the easy part. The hard part was to really fall in love, and then lose it, in a split second. But I've been working on that. I've been meditating for several days. So, I feel ready. And, I really need the money.

So, finally they call my name. I was walk-on applicant # 134. It was basically an empty room except for the couch. A man and woman were sitting on the couch muttering things to one another as they examined my head shots. I cleared my throat as the woman looked up at me. She hands me a book, and directs me to an 'x' on the floor. The man stands up. He holds up his fingers. "Three...Two....and Action." I bury my head in the open book and begin slowly walking across the floor. My heart was racing. I felt unsure about where, exactly, I am supposed to be bumping into the girl with the flowers. So, I peeked quickly over the top of my book to see where I was going, and there, walking toward me, was the most beautiful young woman I have ever seen in my life!

I froze. I dimly heard the man's voice. "Cut. One more time. This is your last chance, Daryll,...ummm....Ackerman." I nodded and looked back at the girl as I returned to the 'x' on the floor. Last chance.....last chance....My heart was pounding. I took a deep breath and stared down at the book in my hands. "Three, Two, ....and Action". Somehow, my feet actually began moving. Dragging me across the floor to collide with destiny. "I can do this. I can do this." I said to myself, my eyes fixed in an intense stare down to the pages of words I could not read. In but a few seconds, I would smash into the girl of my dreams. My feet kept dragging me. Dragging me. Any second now, any second now. I am forgetting my line. Something about helping her. What was it? What was it? I shot a sudden uncontrollable glance up over the book. She was still 4 feet away. I fainted.

I awoke on the floor with the most beautiful girl in the world kneeling over me and slapping my face. It was pretty embarrassing, and of course, I didn't get the part. I was dejected for days. Not only was I still unemployed, I was a failure. Too scared to bump into the girl of my dreams. And, I did dream about her. Dreams that gave me goosebumps. In one dream she told me I could call her Phoebe, and that she was a descendant of Annie Oakley. And in another dream she appeared wearing a holster and a Colt six-shooter.

I went to several performances of the play. It was called "Love Me Deadly". It was agonizing to see the scene where the stupid extra crashes into my almost momentary girl-friend. I was sorta pleased to watch the final act. She finds out her 'Prince Charming' (the leading man) was cheating on her. She pulls a gun from her purse. The lights go out. In total blackness, you hear the shot, you see the flash of fire from the gun's muzzle, and then a final 'thud' on the stage floor. At first, I was a bit panicky. Maybe she shot herself! But then the house lights came on, and she is there standing over the body of the lifeless leading man. I stood and applauded loudly until I realized I was the only one doing so.

I waited over an hour in the alley by the theater's back door. Waiting for her. Numerous cast and crew members stepped out, even the leading man! Alas, she wasn't using real bullets after all! But, no Phoebe. I went night after night. I mean, not to the play, that is too traumatic. But to the back door in the alley, hoping to catch a glimpse of Phoebe, my dream girl. And she never showed. It became an obsession to hang out by that back door in the alley. I would go there at all times of day. Even at times when the play wasn't being performed. But, I never saw her again.

Until last night. As usual, I was leaning on the garbage can next to the door, patiently watching cast and crew exit, and disappear into the night. But, no Phoebe. I was just about to head home again, when suddenly, I heard a shot. The door swung open. It was thrown open, actually. So hard as to crash against the old brick wall. It was Phoebe! Frantically running down the steps. Throwing her coat over herself. Then, just as I was about to call her name, she tripped and fell to the ground. A small box she was holding fell from her hand and spilled out onto the asphalt. I ran towards her. "Here, I'll get them for you." I shouted. "...Daryll?" I heard her say. I picked up the box she dropped, and looked at the shells strewn about the alley. They were bullets. Live rounds. Not blanks. I turned to Phoebe who was getting slowly up. "Phoebe?" I said. She nodded. "Yes, I actually killed him this time."

So now, as I write, me and Phoebe are on the lam. So, I got the part after all. But it was for a different play. A play in which I got the dream girl. I have to go now. I must awaken my sleeping beauty. "Time to hit the road, baby." If I have the opportunity, I will update you once we cross into Mexico. She is so cute sitting up in bed and yawning. She swings her little bare feet down to the floor. "Ooh, Where are my slippers?" she said. "Here'" I replied. "I'll get them for you."
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