My Life, the Theater, and Other Tragedies

by Allen Zadoff

“Do me a favor, would you, Z?”

  “What is it?”

  “Take the knife out of my back.”

  Was Derek eavesdropping? Did he hear what Mr. Apple said to me?

  “Is this how you repay a kindness?” he says. “I put you on spot. I entrust you. And what do you do? You change my lighting plot.”

  “That was a mistake,” I say, secretly relieved. I’m still in trouble; I’m just in trouble for something else.

  “So the gel changed itself?” Derek says.

  “No, it was me. I was testing something out, and I forgot to put it back. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s little mistakes like that which have me reconsidering your position in the grand scheme of things,” he says.

  “It worked out pretty well for you,” I say.

  Derek raises one eyebrow.

  “Is that a challenge?” he says.

  I didn’t mean to challenge him; it just popped out. Is that what courage does?

  I always thought you had to decide to be courageous, but what if I was wrong? What if courage is just a reflex like fear, and it can come out anytime it wants to?

  Anything could happen.

  “You’re upset because I took credit for the color of the spot. Is that it?” Derek says.

  “A little. Yes.”

  “You feel like I stole it from you.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well, guess what? I did steal it,” Derek says. “You work for me now. If I look good, you look good. That’s what it means to work for someone, to be a team player. We rise or fall together.”

  Derek’s speech is so convincing, I almost believe him. ut something bothers me about his idea. If he takes credit for people’s successes, shouldn’t he take the blame for their mistakes? That’s not what he did after the blackout.

  Then again, I wasn’t on his team then. Maybe things are different when you’re on the team.

  “Rise or fall,” I say.

  “That’s right,” Derek says. “Speaking of rising, how do you like being on spot?”

  “I like it,” I say.

  “And you’re good at it. Even better.”

  “I love light,” I say, and immediately wish I hadn’t. “That sounds pretty stupid, doesn’t it?”

  “It doesn’t sound stupid at all. Remember who you’re talking to. I’m a designer,” Derek says.

  He glances both ways down the hall to see if we’re alone.

  “You know what I love?” he says. “Fog.”

  “Like in London?”

  “Stage fog. You hit it from the side with a bank of light—boom. Instant mood. I’m thinking we should do Wicked as the spring musical next year, just so I can fog the hell out of everything.”

  “That would be fun,” I say.

  “No kidding,” Derek says. “Lights, fog, a strobe, a couple flash pots. We’d blow these people’s minds.”

  “Like high-school theater on steroids.”

  “Now you’re getting the idea,” Derek says. “So I can count on you, right? You’ve got my back with Apple?”

  “I do,” I say.

  He gives me a wink, then starts to go.

  “Incidentally,” he says, “that girl, Grace—she’s quite a character, isn’t she?”

  “What do you mean?” I say.

  “Don’t believe everything she tells you,” he says.

  He studies me for a minute.

  “What did she tell you?” he says.

  “Nothing.”

  “Just in case, I want you to hear it from the horse’s mouth. We went out a couple times. That much is true. But my God, she acts like we were married or something. You know how women are,” he says.

  “I know,” I say, even though I don’t know.

  “Point is I want you to stay away from her. She’s not techie material. We need to get rid of her before we have another Mindy incident.”

  I think Derek has it wrong. I’ve watched Grace building sets the last two days, and she’s better than most carpenters. She might even be the best I’ve seen.

  “Are you with me on this?” Derek says.

  I check the hall, hoping someone will come along and end the conversation. But there’s nobody.

  Derek is standing a foot away, waiting for my answer.

  “I’m with you,” I say.

  THOUGHTS AND DREAMS AND SIGHS.

  I go upstairs to the third floor to get my books out of my locker.

  I think about what I said to Derek. Am I really with him now?

  The whole thing is confusing.

  I throw my backpack over my shoulder and head downstairs to the front of the school. I need some time to think, and there’s less chance of running into anyone if I go out the front.

  “Wait up!” Grace calls.

  Less chance. But still a chance.

  “What are you doing in front?” I say.

  “Avoiding Derek. What are you doing?”

  “Avoiding everyone.”

  “Can I walk with you?”

  “I need to think.”

  “You can’t think and walk at the same time?”

  She smiles at me.

  “Come on,” I say.

  And we walk out together.

  It’s past eight and traffic is light. We walk for a couple blocks in silence.

  “I smell smoke,” Grace says, tapping my head.

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I cried and blew snot on your shoulder,” Grace says. “I think I owe you one.”

  “Were you really Derek’s girlfriend?” I say.

  “What kind of question is that? You saw me crying over him.”

  “Girls cry for a lot of reasons.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Grace says. “What did he tell you?”

  “How do you know he told me anything?”

  “Because I know him. He’s like the devil. Only with better cologne.”

  “He said it was never serious between you.”

  “I hate guys,” she says. “I swear to God.”

  We cross the street together. Grace picks at a zit on the side of her nose.

  “Take it easy,” I say. “You’ll make it bleed.”

  She stops walking.

  “Do you believe him?” she says.

  I look at the place under her chin where she showed me the mark. It’s faded, but it’s still there.

  “No,” I say.

  “Good.”

  “But things are really confusing right now,” I say. “I’m getting pulled in a lot of directions.”

  I think about my last year of junior high when Josh gave me a tour of the high school. He didn’t want to, but Dad kind of forced him. We walked through the halls and Josh introduced me to everyone, and after they passed by, he gave me their status—who was in, who wasn’t, people you had to avoid, and the ones you should get closer to. He said it like it was obvious, but I couldn’t see any of that by looking at them.

  When I asked Dad about it later, he said Josh was obsessed with stuff like that, and I should do my best to ignore it.

  “If you get into that mindset, it never ends,” Dad said. “Even when you’re an adult. I can measure myself against every painter in the world, living and dead, and what does it get me?”

  I wanted to believe Dad was right, but I couldn’t deny that Josh had some secret knowledge that I didn’t have. I just wasn’t sure if you needed knowledge like that to be successful in high school.

  Right now it feels like you do.

  Am I a techie?

  Derek’s flunky?

  A rebel?

  If I talked to Josh, maybe I wouldn’t be so confused. We could sort it out together.

  “Are you still with me?” Grace says.

  “I’m here,” I say. “Just thinking about things.”

  “I have to stop at Enzo’s and pick up a pizza for my mom,” Grace says. “How about
if I distract you with some Italian food?”

  “Will that solve all my problems?”

  “You’ve got two choices: a slice or Ritalin.”

  “I’ll take a slice. We’ll leave the Ritalin for Ignacio.”

  SPEAK THOU NOW.

  Enzo’s is the pizza place down the street from school. It’s like a giant Italian restaurant cliché—red plastic tablecloths and a wall of old wine bottles stacked in rows—but the food is really good. During the day kids come here to get a slice for lunch, but in the evening it’s a whole different crowd, families from the neighborhood and couples on dates.

  And techies.

  When I walk in, the crew is sitting around a big table, laughing and talking loudly with pizzas in front of them. I start to back up, but it’s too late. Reach sees me.

  He jumps out of his seat and rushes over, a huge smile on his face.

  “You made it out!” he says. “To what do we owe the honor?”

  He looks over my shoulder. Grace is ordering at the front counter.

  The smile disappears.

  “What am I seeing?” Reach says. “Are you on a date?”

  “It’s not a date. I told you I’m not interested in her.”

  “Then what’s she doing here?”

  “She’s getting her mom something,” I say.

  “Not cool, dude.”

  Grace sees us and waves.

  “Please be nice to her,” I say. “She’ll make a great techie.”

  “Is it that important to you?” Reach says.

  Before I can answer, Grace walks up.

  “Hi, Reach,” she says.

  Reach looks at me, upset.

  “The crew is here getting some food,” I tell Grace.

  “Are you going to stay?” Grace says.

  “I guess I will,” I say. “Want to sit down with us for a minute, Grace? While you wait for your pie?”

  She looks to Reach. He forces a half smile.

  “Whatever,” he says, and goes back to the techie table.

  “Forget it,” Grace says. “He doesn’t want me here.”

  “He wants you. He just doesn’t know it yet. None of them do.”

  “I don’t want to cause trouble,” Grace says.

  “We’re already here,” I say. “Let’s go break the ice.”

  I drag Grace to the table where the techies are in mid-conversation.

  “Hey, guys,” I say. “You know Grace, right?”

  Nobody says a word.

  “Pull up a couple chairs,” Reach says.

  That eases the tension a bit. I sit down and put Grace next to me.

  “We’re playing Worst Accidents,” Benno says, bringing me up to date. “I was just talking about a time my screwdriver went into an electrical outlet.”

  “One-ten volt?” Half Crack says.

  “Yeah,” Benno says.

  “Ha! That’s nothing,” Half Crack says. “Once I was working on my mom’s dryer, and I went right into the two-twenty line by mistake.”

  “Did it get you?” Reach says.

  “Sure did. And let me tell you, you feel that shit. When I came to, I was lying across the room with all the hair standing up on my arm.”

  “What about your johnson?” Reach says.

  “That did not stand up,” Half Crack says.

  “I was referring to pubic hair,” Reach says. “If all the hair on your body reacts, it stands to reason that your pubic hair would, too.”

  “You’re assuming he has pubic hair,” Grace says.

  “Whoa,” Benno says.

  The table goes silent.

  “Maybe you didn’t get the memo,” Half Crack says to her, “but I’m known for my pubes. I’ve got a long-haired dachshund between my legs.”

  “You’re sure it’s not one of those Egyptian dogs?” Grace says. “You know, the little bald ones?”

  “Slam!” Benno says.

  The techies laugh.

  “I like this girl,” Benno says.

  Half Crack gives her a dirty look, but then he laughs, too.

  “You’re pretty tough,” he says.

  “Of course I’m tough. I’m a techie,” Grace says.

  That earns a roar of agreement from the guys. This is going better than I had hoped.

  The waitress brings a fresh pizza, and the techies dig in.

  “Hey Z, when’s the last time you came out with us?” Benno says.

  “A month maybe?” I say.

  “It’s been, like, a year,” Reach says.

  “No way.”

  “You’ve been very standoffish since you got leprosy,” Reach says.

  Could it be a whole year? I try to remember the last time I was out so I can prove to Reach that it wasn’t so long ago. I search my memory, but I don’t come up with anything.

  That gets me thinking about how long it’s been since Dad died. I count the months on my fingers under the table.

  Twenty-two and a half.

  Almost twenty-three.

  A long time. And no time at all.

  “Why don’t you ever go out?” Grace asks me.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “He’s like a Cirque du Soleil performer,” Reach says. “He prefers to be alone in the air.”

  “I’ve got a leotard on instead of underwear,” I say to Reach. “Should I take off my pants and show you?”

  “I’m allergic to sausage,” Reach says.

  The techies laugh.

  “I think we should get him out more,” Grace says.

  “That we should,” Reach says with a nod.

  He spins the pizza tray so an available slice comes up in front of her.

  “You want a slice, Grace?”

  “I can throw in a couple bucks,” she says.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you covered,” Reach says.

  Grace takes the slice.

  “Is this your kinder, gentler side?” I say to Reach.

  “Don’t get used to it,” he says.

  “Check it out. We’ve got company,” Benno says.

  He points towards the front door where the actors are entering in a big group. Summer is with them.

  Reach says, “Check your ammo, gentlemen.”

  Conversation dwindles to nothing as the actors pass by.

  There’s an uncomfortable moment when it seems like nobody is going to say anything. We’re going to pretend we don’t know each other.

  Then Johanna breaks the ice.

  “How’s it going, techies?” she says.

  “I prefer the term stagehands,” Benno says. He twirls a mutton chop and stares at her boobs.

  “Don’t even talk to her,” Reach says.

  “Screw you, Reach,” she says. “I’m trying to be decent.”

  Reach glares at her. While it’s true we don’t get along with actors, Reach and Johanna are mortal enemies. I’ve never understood why.

  I look at Summer. I don’t want her to see me hating actors with the rest of the techies. I smile so I seem a little different than everyone else.

  “Are you laughing at us?” Jazmin says to me.

  “I wasn’t laughing,” I say.

  She looks at the pizza in front of me.

  “You know cheese is bad for acne,” she says. “All that oil.”

  I cover my face, embarrassed.

  “At least we’re buying the pizza and not serving it,” Reach says. “Like you’ll be doing after you graduate.”

  “I’ll be acting,” Jazmin says. “On Broadway.”

  “Right. There are, like, three roles and three million actors,” Reach says.

  “If we’re not working, you’re not working,” Johanna says.

  “That’s why God made puppets and animatronics,” Reach says. “Because he loves techies and wants us to work, even if you’re not.”

  Wesley snorts. “Let’s not waste our time,” he says, and he puts his arms around Johanna’s shoulders.

  “I can walk by myself,” she
says, and she shrugs him off and stamps away.

  “You’d better go tame your shrew,” Reach says to Wesley, “and leave us to enjoy our dinner.”

  Wesley flips him the finger, then runs after Johanna. The rest of the actors follow. I try to make eye contact with Summer, but she’s carried away by the group.

  “You were a little hard on them, weren’t you?” I say to Reach when they’re gone.

  “Seriously, Reach,” Grace says, “why do you hate actors so much?”

  “I don’t hate them,” Reach says. “They’re an annoyance. Like jock itch. With good diction.”

  Grace laughs.

  “Besides, they think they’re better than us,” Reach says.

  “We think we’re better than them,” Half Crack says.

  “But we are. They’re delusional,” Reach says.

  While the techies argue with each other, I lean back, glancing across the room at the actors’ table. Summer is in the middle of the group looking a little uncomfortable.

  Grace leans over and whispers to me.

  “Why don’t you speak to her?”

  “Speak to who?” I say.

  “Come on. I see you staring,” she says. “Talk to her and get it over with.”

  “I don’t know how to talk to women,” I say.

  “News flash: you’re talking to me.”

  “But you’re a techie.”

  “I’m a female techie. Remember these babies?”

  Grace sticks out her chest.

  “Remember them? I almost lost an eye,” I say.

  Reach notices Grace’s chest, gives it a quick once-over, then goes back to talking with the techies.

  Grace says, “This whole story about not being able to talk to girls? Old news.”

  I look back at Summer. She’s sitting in a booth with actors all around her.

  I try to come up with some excuse for walking over to the table and pulling her away. What would I say? I think of different plays I’ve seen, the way men talk to women in those plays. But I can’t imagine myself saying any of those things.

  I stand up.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” I say.

  Grace looks disappointed.

  I address the table in a fake Shakespearean accent.

  “Gentlemen, I will away in haste to the can.”

  That’s a techie tradition. All matters pertaining to the bathroom should be discussed loudly and often.

  “Get thee to a lavatory!” Benno says.

  “Give the toilet my regards,” Reach says. “The way this pepperoni is hitting my gut, we’re going to be spending quality time together in the near future.”