Page 47 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“I…”
“Do you look for patterns in the language? Or are you just regurgitating words?”
“I can be random.”
“But can you be neutral? Can you hash out choices? Because there’s running lines before rehearsal, and then there is running lines after rehearsal.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning can you keep me from getting locked in, or can you hold me to a choice that’s been made?”
“What choices? You’re reading words that are already written.”
Mike smirks. “See?”
I still don’t understand how this insufferable man is the same one who underlined every gorgeous line of poetry in the volume of sonnets in my bag. It’s the only explanation I have for the play ticket that is still taunting me in my inbox. “See what? That you’re self-absorbed or needlessly complicating a beautiful sunset?”
“You never watch the sunset. You read your book until the light fades. Which one is it tonight?”
I should be irked by that barb, but actually I feel a curl of pleasure to find out that Mike has noticed. “The audiobook ofCrime and Punishment.” I pull out my headphones. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I make a point of sliding them over my ears and turning to face the setting sun.
“Are they on this time?”
I shoot a glare at Mike, but he’s already up and headed for the house.
“It’s not just that I have more time, I have more freedom to explore,” I explained to Stephen during our walk the next day. “I get to find out what makes meme. I haven’t done anything fun in years, so I’m collecting data. Trying new things, like live theater, and objectively looking at the results without judgment.”
This is the reason I’ve shown up to see Mike’s production ofMacbeth. This is the reason I find myself in a small auditorium at SDSU on a Friday night. I may have bought the ticket because I was desperate to reconcile my two opposing opinions of Mike Benedick, but ultimately, I came because I’m curious if live theater—even uninspired student productions—might spark something inside me.
If I can rib Mike about his performance the next time I see him, so be it.
They went with a ’90s grunge setting, which means a lot of men in unbuttoned plaid flannel shirts. Mike’s bleached-blond hair with grown-out roots is right at home in this setting.
As much as I’m looking for cannon fodder, I’m not finding any. Mike’s Malcolm is solidly supporting the leads of the play. Then along comes act 4, scene 3, where Malcolm gets the spotlight for a bit, and I am not okay.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t believe what I just saw.
There’s this scene in an iconicStarship Cruiserepisode that has become a meme: A distraught Pathfinder captain demands, “Get him back! Bring him back!” when her second-in-command time-travels into another dimension. When act 4, scene 3 ofMacbethends, this meme comes to mind. That bewildered desperation is exactly what I’m feeling.
Get Mike back, bring him back onstage. I need to see more of him. At the very least, I need to understand why my heart melted when he said the line,What I am truly, is thine and my poor country’s to command.
How does a man dressed in ’90s grunge say a few words and convince me he is the future king of Scotland after pretending to be a reprehensible villain? It’s not only bewildering, it’s arresting.
I thought I might see evidence of the Mike who uses the margins of great literature as a journal—while also getting to ogle the man onstage. Because even with ratty bleached-blond hair, he is gorgeous.
I was not prepared to find him alongside a villain. Because that’s what happened in this scene. He was a noble king, and then a villain, and then a noble king again. And he exuded grace, humor, charisma, and that crackling intensity from the first time we met in the escape room.
I spend the rest of the play angry that Shakespeare didn’t write more lines for Malcolm.
I drive home confused that any director would take all of Mike’s talent and potential and stick him in a supporting role. Was it a fluke? Was it a trick? Some sort ofStage Door“the calla lilies are in bloom again” scenario playing out where tragedy and other extenuating circumstances create lightning in a bottle when there was only hot air before?
What I am truly, is thine and my poor country’s to command.
It’s Tuesday, and even though it’s been a few days, that line still makes me shiver every time I think about it. I can’t stop thinking about it, which is the only excuse I have for nearly plowing into my mother in downtown La Jolla.
“So how was the play?” she asks as I untangle Bailey’s leash from her red-soled heels.
“What play?”
