Page 122 of Intermission
Their expressions aren’t exactly open, but they’re listening, so I continue.
I explain how esthetics is a growing field, even pulling a spreadsheet from my pocket, listing the average incomes of estheticians in all the cities where I’ve applied to colleges. I explain the length of the program and why it makes sense.
“So you see?” I say at last. “It’s a solid plan. I can still have a viable career option in the theatre, if—” I cough and take a drink from my water glass. “WhileI’m establishing myself as a performer.”
“Faith.” Dad takes off his glasses. “You don’t have to support yourself through school. We helped pay for Ryan and Gretchen’s undergraduate degrees, and we’ll help you, too.”
“If,” Mom butts in, “you pick a course of study that isn’t a complete waste of our money and your time.”
“I know you want whatyouthink is best for me.” I silently pray for patience. For fortitude. “I’ve been drawn to the stage all my life. It’s who I am. I can accept that you won’t pay for my schooling. I’m willing to pay my dues in order to follow my dreams.”
“You’re very talented, Faith. No one will argue that.” Mom’s tone is her version of tender, I guess, but the prevalent Faith-directed chill I’ve grown accustomed to is not entirely absent. “But you’re so young. You have too much potential to waste it on a long-shot like show business.” She sighs. “I know you feel grown up and wise now. Everyone does when they’re eighteen. But you don’t realize how sheltered we are here in small-town Iowa, honey. We all know you are, inarguably, the most talented singer and actress in your high school of five hundred students. Here, you’re a big fish in a tinypond. But it’s an ocean out there in the real world, full of other, possiblymoretalented, fish and a good many sharks. The odds are stacked against success before you even start.”
“I know it won’t be easy, but I’m not a coward. I won’t quit just because it’s scary or competitive.”
“Naiveté often masquerades as bravery when you’re young,” Mom says, her voice taking on the tiniest bit of condescension—at least to my ears. “You’re a small-town girl from Iowa, not some worldly-wise urbanite.” She nods. Agreeing with herself? “Your dad and I don’t want to punish you for being talented. We want to protect you. To make sure you’re safe and that you’re preparing yourself to have a good life and a career that can support you.”
“If I try to live the life you want, it will kill the part of me that makes me... well...me.” I take a breath and remind myself to keep my cool. “I believe God has given me the talents he has for a reason and that I need to develop those talents with proper training and education—not smother them with practicality.”
Mom opens her mouth to interrupt. I hold up my hand.
“No, please. Just listen. Yes, I’m young,” I say. “And yes, I’m probably pretty naïve. But I only get one shot at being young, and I don’t want to waste it being afraid. Don’t you understand? If I don’t pursue the dreams God has put in my heart, I’ll not only be letting myself down, but God, too.”
“You believe God wants you in show business?” Mom scoffs. “I imagine most of the stuff that happens backstage on Broadway would make Jesus Christ roll over in his tomb.”
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing he’s not in there anymore, isn’t it?” My tension spills, staining my words with angry sarcasm. I close my eyes.Breathe, Faith. Breathe.“Sorry. That came out a little strongly. What I mean is... maybe he wants me there for that reason.”
“So you want to be a Broadway missionary?” She snorts. “Or an evangelical makeup artist?”
I sigh. “I want to live the life I’ve been called to live, in the way I’ve been called to live it. I want to use the gifts God has given me, recognizing that the most important of those gifts is himself. No, I don’t know what that’s going to look like yet, but I know I need more training—professional training and experience—to be ready when Ifigure it out. If I’m accepted into a musical theatre program at a university, I can get that training. And by working as an esthetician while I’m doing it, I can also have a job to support me through the hard times after I go to New York.”
“You’ve obviously given this a lot of thought, Faith.” Dad puts his glasses back on, only to pull them off again. “I’m proud of you.”
He’s . . . what? I blink. “Really?”
“Yes, I am. But I still have to agree with your mother. Spending thousands upon thousands of dollars, not to mention several years of your life studying something in which the odds of finding success are slim seems like a waste. Not just of our money and your time, but of your potential.”
Mom nods. “I know your head was filled with a lot of religious stuff over the past couple of years, Faith. And that worries me. You’re young. You’re vulnerable. You’ll be surrounded by all these volatile, artistic people who are going to find out your dad’s a doctor and you come from a family with money. What if you go off to college and get dragged into some cult?”
Like Aunt Becca did at my age. Minus the college part. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, Faith, I’m not. You don’t know what kind of crazy stuff is out there in the world. I do. My sister ran off to California to be a rock star, and she ended up making jewelry for Jesus while she bounced in and out of rehab clinics. Now, she’s a Denver pothead, barely making enough money to stay alive.”
“I’m not an idiot, Mom. And I haven’t bought into a cult. I’m a Christian.”
“But you’re basing your future plan on”—Mom makes air quotes—“‘God’s will.’ Do you know how many times I heard that from my sister? I will not—” Her fist slams into the table, and I jump. “—let the same thing happen to my daughter.”
“Janet.” Dad puts his hand over Mom’s clenched fist. Mom closes her eyes, inhales through her nose, and lets the breath out slowly through her mouth before opening her eyes again.
“We want you to get a good education,” she says, her voice calmer. “To use the brain God gave you—yes, God—to live up to your potential. I know you think you’re a better Christian than I am,Faith. And maybe you are. But my parents dragged me to church enough when I was a kid that I at least know the Ten Commandments. And one of those commandments says ‘honor thy mother and thy father.’”
“Following my dreams does not dishonor you.” I close my eyes for a moment to tamp down the defensive arguments that tease the back of my tongue. “I cannot pretend to be something—or someone—contrary to what God created me to be. That doesn’t honorhim. And it doesn’t honor you, either. It only appeases you. And that’s not the same thing.”
There’s no immediate rebuttal, so I continue.
“This isn’t some wild dream. It’s what I believe I’mmeantto do with my life. I’m applying for scholarships. I’m going to work really hard to be ready for my auditions. And... I’ll be happy with whichever school wants me enough to offer a financial aid package I can live with.”
“But why beauty—er, cosmetology school?” Dad asks. “You’re already burning the candle at both ends with your community college classes in addition to the high school requirements. And you’ve never talked about wanting to be an esthet—” Dad clears his throat again, “amakeup artistbefore.”
