Page 34 of Cat's Outta the Bag

I've never shared this with anyone, and even though I love her and know she'd be nothing but encouraging, my insecurities rear their ugly heads.

She waits patiently, not pushing for my answer, just running her hand up and down my forearm.

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage, and tell her.

“I’d be a writer.” I pause, waiting to see if she laughs or reacts negatively. When she remains silent, I push on. “I’ve always loved writing, and my English teachers growing up always encouraged me. They said I was good, and one even urged me to enter a writing contest. But I don’t know. By then I knew acting was what my parents expected me to do, so I just never pursued it.” I shrug, trying to sound casual about it. Like it doesn’t bother me.

“And now? How do you feel about writing now?”

I should have known she wouldn't let it go. Alexis knew she wanted to be a doctor at a young age and made it happen. For her, pursuing your passion is the most important thing a person can do. And I don't disagree, I just feel like some passions aren't meant to be.

"I've written a few short stories and tried longer-form works. But I'm so busy acting and traveling that I never finish most of them. It doesn't really matter; it was just a childhood dream."

She sits up, turning to face me. She has the cute little furrow in her brow she gets when she’s frustrated, but trying not to show it.

"But, Jason. You're thirty-one now. You've had an incredibly successful acting career, and I know your parents are proud of you. Don't you think it's time for you to at least try? You said it yourself, you aren't feeling very inspired by the projects you've been offered. Maybe it's a sign that you need to try this?"

It takes all of my self-control not to roll my eyes and scoff. I know she is coming from a place of love and support, but she doesn't understand. Acting is all I'm good for.

"Lex, thank you, but no. I'm just in a bit of a slump right now. The right project will come along, and I'll be fine."

“But.”

"Alexis, I'm sorry. I know you just want to help and be supportive, but I really don't want to keep discussing this. Please drop it." I feel like an ass, but I'm starting to feel clammy and anxious. If she keeps pushing, I might say something I don't mean, and I don't want to hurt her.

Every time I think about leaving acting and trying something new, the old feelings of inadequacy start to creep in. Growing up, I knew my parents loved us, but it was a distant kind of love. They were traveling constantly, leaving us at home more often than not so we could be in school. It wasn’t until I started acting that it felt like my parents saw me. They became so invested, so quickly, that before I even realized it, my career was taking off and the idea of doing something different felt impossible. I finally had the attention that I craved from my parents, giving that up was out of the question. Now that I’m in my thirties, making a major shift seems even more out of reach than ever before. And talking about it now will lead nowhere.

She sits there for a moment, studying my face. I can tell she doesn’t want to stop talking but seems to decide to drop it. At least for now.

She lays back down, letting me pull her close again. I can feel her body start to grow heavy as she relaxes. I know she’s about to fall asleep.

"I hope you'll trust me enough someday to let me read your work." She sighs sleepily, nuzzling deeper under the covers. "I just know you're amazing at it."

I don't say anything back; my emotions are stuck in my throat. How does she always manage to disarm me completely? For maybe the first time since I was in school, I actually want someone to read my work. The thought is terrifying.

***

It's very early when I force myself to leave her bed. Shooting starts later this morning, but it's a long drive, and I need to get out on the road soon if I want to make it in time. I look down at Alexis, who has pulled my pillow into her arms and is clutching it tight. Slink has also shifted from the bottom of the bed to the crook of her knees. I snap a quick picture, wanting to preserve this memory forever. I'm going to miss the crap out of her for the next two weeks.

During the entire drive up the coast, my mind keeps tumbling over the conversation. Is she right? Should I try to do something with my writing? It's not like I don't have plenty of money and a fair amount of passive income. I could keep myself going for a lot longer than most if needed. But even as I try to imagine what it would be like to write, complete a project, and get it published, my mind just rejects it. Sure, I may be an ok storyteller, but that doesn't mean I have what it takes to write a book and actually get it published. It doesn't mean anyone would actually want to read it. And if they did, what would they think? That thought is positively terrifying.

Hours later, I am still in my own head. I'm so out of it I actually startle when the director calls "cut" at the top of his lungs.

“Jason! What the hell are you doing? Did you not realize we were rolling?”

Fuck, no, I didn't. I look around the lights and camera equipment to where the director and other crew are all standing, staring at me like I've grown two heads.

"I'm sorry, guys, I need a minute. Can we take fifteen?" I don't even wait for a reply, I just get out of the area we're filming in. Without entirely thinking about it, I pull out my phone and text Alexis.

Jason: Hey, beautiful. How are you feeling so far today? I miss you.

She takes less than a minute to reply.

Alexis: Doing ok. The first 24 hours are always the worst. I miss you too. How is filming going? Are you guys on a break or something?

Jason: Yeah, we're in between scenes. Can you send a pic? I'm missing my two girls.

A minute later, I’m graced with a picture of Alexis and Slinky all snuggled in our bed. What I wouldn’t give to be there right now.

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