Page 139 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

“This is a big deal, right?” He hands it back to me.

“Not really.” I lay it on thick. “I mean, it’s just a dream role at a professional theatre in a major market...”

“Congratulations!” He picks up my garlic bread and takes a bite.

“Well, I haven’t gotten it yet,” I say. “I still have to audition.”

He lets out apfftsound. “Details.”

If only I were as confident in myself as he is. Never mind that he knows nothing about theatre or acting or auditions. It’s still nice to have someone tell me I’m great.

I stare at the words on my phone. “I never thought about Chicago. Seems too close to home. I mean, I never really considered anywhere but New York, but they do have a huge theatre community there.Tonsof shows premiere there before going to New York.”

He swallows his bite. “One of the many things to admire about the city.” Then he winces. “Their football team, however...”

I pick up my plate and take another bite. “I’m going to audition. I already have the monologue memorized. I just...” I think about the last time I performed it for the renowned coach who held the master class I attended a few years back.

The performance was followed by probing questions, the kind that sent me running from the room.

But I don’t want to run anymore.

“Booker, do you think I could tell you my life’s story?”

He’s mid-drink, but my question stops him. He coughs as he takes the bottle away from his mouth. “Uh, sure?”

“It’s just... I need to let myself feel some things before I record this performance, and I think it’ll help.”

He takes my hand and squeezes it. “I would love to hear your life’s story. When?”

“Tonight?” I ask on a wince because it’s already dinnertime and we still have to finish rehearsal.

He lets go of my hand and picks up the other half of my garlic bread. “And to think... it’s not even Friday.”

***

I know that cutting my heart open and gushing all over the stage isn’t a requirement for this audition—but I think I need to do it.

It’s time that I finally—finally—let myself connect with the hard feelings.

And also? I really do want to open up to Booker. More than facts and details. More than tarps and pizza.

I want him to know me. Warts and all.

That may be foolish and misguided, given the fact that our summer romance will end with the season, or maybe that’s why he feels safe.

Dump it all, then leave. Clean.

I know in my heart that’s not true.

So I tell him. Unprompted. Unfiltered. And unabridged.

“Booker Hayes,” I say, sitting in a chair at the center of the stage. “Welcome to my life.”

I tell him about my dad leaving and what it did to my mom. I tell him what that in turn did to me. I tell him about the nights I slept on the floor outside her bedroom because I was worried she’d leave me in the middle of the night. I tell him how I’ve spent years chasing after a dream, but I didn’t really know until a few days ago that I’d been chasing it for the wrong reasons. That I’ve been so worried about pleasing other people that I forgot to check in with myself and figure out who I am and what I want out of this one life I get to live.

I tell him I feel like this summer has been an awakening. I’ve opened myself up to possibilities. I’ve begun to see all the ways I’d closed myself off. I’ve woken up. Just like Nora at the end ofA Doll’s House. Her monologue is a realization that she’s lived to please other people but that she is equal to her husband, who only ever treated her like a doll. A plaything.

When I’m finished sharing all of these things, when the feelings are right there, poking through the surface, I ask Booker to record my performance.

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