consider theater. Is this a career path for you?” Dad asks.
“Uh . . . I don’t know, Dad. It’s just a school play,” I say.
“I mean, do you want to be an actor? That’s not a real job,” he says with a chuckle.
“I wasn’t planning on becoming a professional soccer player but no one complained about that. And if I were considering acting as a job, so what? What’s wrong with that?” I could be a great character actor. Bag lady with crazy hair, Latina maid, terrorist, I could do it all.
“Only drug addicts and gays are actors. You don’t want to hang out with those people, do you?” the good doctor asks.
That knocks the wind out of me. I understand it’s a cultural thing, and my father is a traditional, conservative Iranian man, but I’ve never heard him explicitly say something like that. I don’t want to hang out with those people. Imagine if he knew I
am
one of those people.
“Daddy, not all actors are gays or drug addicts! What about Clint Eastwood? You love his movies,” Nahal says.
“That was a different time, and you want to see your sister in a cowboy outfit shooting people? Medicine is a consistent profession. No matter what the economy is like, there is always work. How else do you think I could afford to keep all you women in such comfort?”
“You’re right, Daddy,” Nahal says with a smile, and sips from her glass of water.
“I have homework to do. May I be excused?” I ask Mom, who nods. I walk upstairs and lie on my bed, playing a few mind-numbing rounds of Tetris on my laptop, trying to make the pieces fit. I’m always trying to make the pieces fit.
Mom comes up later with a plate of cut-up watermelon and pears. I don’t pretend that I’m working. I’m just in front of the computer, looking at past high scores.
“Eat this fruit. It’s good for your skin.” She puts the plate on the table and sits next to me on the bed. “I’m sure you will get a part. I think it’s good for you to try new things. It shows character, and maybe you’ll really learn more about yourself.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Mom takes a slice of pear from the plate and hands it over to me. I chew on it slowly, and I wish this heavy feeling in my stomach would go away.
“Your father works hard for a living,” Mom says. “He just wants to make sure you have a good life and can support yourself.” I smile a little and take another bite of pear. “I wish you would talk to me more, Leila. These days I feel like you don’t share as much with me as you used to.”
I’m afraid you and Dad are going to hate me.
I’m afraid everyone will hate me.
“If something’s bothering me, I’ll let you know, Mom,” I say.
“I hope so.” She smiles sadly before walking away, and I start a new game.
Eleven
I’m an understudy in the play. Fair enough. I didn’t even finish my audition. But I have to learn all of the main characters’ lines
and
act as stage manager because I need something to do while the regular cast is rehearsing. Not only does Tess have the lead role of Viola/Cesario, but Saskia is playing Olivia, the character who moons over Cesario. In other words, Saskia has to act like she’s in love with Tess Carr in drag, while I wait in the wings. How could this happen? I should be comforted that I am not the only one who wasn’t cast in the play. Tomas Calvin, who poured his heart into his audition, is also an understudy/stage manager. Of course that means we have to work together. Great.
Tomas devotes most of our first rehearsal to complaints. “I can’t believe I didn’t get a part. I mean
you
I can understand, because, well, that was just embarrassing. But me, I have so much talent!” I half listen to him as I look over the binder full of notes and stage-blocking diagrams. I can’t believe I signed on for this.
“I would be a perfect Sebastian,” Tomas continues. “It doesn’t make sense that they cast Nick Fullerton instead of me! He breathes through his mouth and
“Uh . . . I don’t know, Dad. It’s just a school play,” I say.
“I mean, do you want to be an actor? That’s not a real job,” he says with a chuckle.
“I wasn’t planning on becoming a professional soccer player but no one complained about that. And if I were considering acting as a job, so what? What’s wrong with that?” I could be a great character actor. Bag lady with crazy hair, Latina maid, terrorist, I could do it all.
“Only drug addicts and gays are actors. You don’t want to hang out with those people, do you?” the good doctor asks.
That knocks the wind out of me. I understand it’s a cultural thing, and my father is a traditional, conservative Iranian man, but I’ve never heard him explicitly say something like that. I don’t want to hang out with those people. Imagine if he knew I
am
one of those people.
“Daddy, not all actors are gays or drug addicts! What about Clint Eastwood? You love his movies,” Nahal says.
“That was a different time, and you want to see your sister in a cowboy outfit shooting people? Medicine is a consistent profession. No matter what the economy is like, there is always work. How else do you think I could afford to keep all you women in such comfort?”
“You’re right, Daddy,” Nahal says with a smile, and sips from her glass of water.
“I have homework to do. May I be excused?” I ask Mom, who nods. I walk upstairs and lie on my bed, playing a few mind-numbing rounds of Tetris on my laptop, trying to make the pieces fit. I’m always trying to make the pieces fit.
Mom comes up later with a plate of cut-up watermelon and pears. I don’t pretend that I’m working. I’m just in front of the computer, looking at past high scores.
“Eat this fruit. It’s good for your skin.” She puts the plate on the table and sits next to me on the bed. “I’m sure you will get a part. I think it’s good for you to try new things. It shows character, and maybe you’ll really learn more about yourself.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Mom takes a slice of pear from the plate and hands it over to me. I chew on it slowly, and I wish this heavy feeling in my stomach would go away.
“Your father works hard for a living,” Mom says. “He just wants to make sure you have a good life and can support yourself.” I smile a little and take another bite of pear. “I wish you would talk to me more, Leila. These days I feel like you don’t share as much with me as you used to.”
I’m afraid you and Dad are going to hate me.
I’m afraid everyone will hate me.
“If something’s bothering me, I’ll let you know, Mom,” I say.
“I hope so.” She smiles sadly before walking away, and I start a new game.
Eleven
I’m an understudy in the play. Fair enough. I didn’t even finish my audition. But I have to learn all of the main characters’ lines
and
act as stage manager because I need something to do while the regular cast is rehearsing. Not only does Tess have the lead role of Viola/Cesario, but Saskia is playing Olivia, the character who moons over Cesario. In other words, Saskia has to act like she’s in love with Tess Carr in drag, while I wait in the wings. How could this happen? I should be comforted that I am not the only one who wasn’t cast in the play. Tomas Calvin, who poured his heart into his audition, is also an understudy/stage manager. Of course that means we have to work together. Great.
Tomas devotes most of our first rehearsal to complaints. “I can’t believe I didn’t get a part. I mean
you
I can understand, because, well, that was just embarrassing. But me, I have so much talent!” I half listen to him as I look over the binder full of notes and stage-blocking diagrams. I can’t believe I signed on for this.
“I would be a perfect Sebastian,” Tomas continues. “It doesn’t make sense that they cast Nick Fullerton instead of me! He breathes through his mouth and
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