Eternity Now

(Blogger dot com is still a piece of shit. Sorry for the delay.)

It was a three-act play. Sara was done this time. No one showed up to the opener. No one showed up to the Saturday matinee, and no one showed up to the last night. It was a three-act play and for four consecutive shows, they performed for an empty room.

Steadily on they went. After the first show, Sara and the rest of the actors stayed backstage, superstitiously not wanting to secure the same fate as on Friday night. After Saturday afternoon’s performance, they stayed backstage because they were afraid of the sure truth that no one was coming in. On Sunday they were hiding from the people who werent there, embarrassed and sad.

But steadily on they went. They remembered their lines. It’s possible they got better at each successive performance, although their readings became slightly more rushed, and definitively more loud.

The stage manager remained upbeat. On Saturday night before they started he galloped into the dressing room, clapping his hands and shouting. Sara tripped him on his way in, intentionally. Either he didn’t realize it was intentional or he was too embarrassed at the logic of it to say anything, but he didn’t say anything, just got up, clapped his hands a couple of times, and said, “Let’s get ready and go nail it, everyone!” and left.

The premise of the play wasn’t bad. Carl, the writer, had been working on it for months. At his worthless temp job in midtown he spent hours each day writing, rewriting, examining plot, digging into characters, and finding theme. He used the office printer to make copies for everyone – 53 in all. They fired him for it, but at the time he didn’t mind, because he was finally a playwright and was on his way to off-Broadway infamy.

After Sunday’s final show, no one ever saw Carl again.

But Sara couldn’t give that easily. Quickly, yes, but not so easily. She had to give it a lot of thought first – complex, firm and drunken thought, which she gave on Sunday night through Monday morning, at her apartment on the lower East Side with her co-star Kevin.

By 3 a.m. things werent looking good. They had figured that Carl had surely committed suicide, tempered the sadness with more alcohol, and started really getting angry.

“It’s his fault anyway,” said Kevin. “This thing is horrible. There isnt a good line to be found, no plot, nothing.”

“It has nothing to do with Carl,” said Sara. “it wasn’t because of bad reviews. No one ever came at all. No one knows if it’s good or bad. I feel terrible for Carl. I also feel terrible for you and mostly for me, because I cant take this anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m done with this business. I’m not an actress working as a waitress until my ship comes in, I’m a waitress working as an actress until I get my head out my ass, and now my head is out of my ass.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Or the truest.”

Sara took another drink and fell asleep.

A week later she was on her way to another audition. She passed a torn flyer for Carl’s play stapled onto a plastic newspaper box. Her heart filled with a coldness and her pace slowed. She did nothing but think about the last weekend until she got to the small theater where the auditions were being held. She labored up the narrow staircase and waited.

When she was called, her tears had dried and she had composed herself. She walked into the tiny room proud and determined.

“What was your last work?” the director asked her.

“A play called ‘Eternity Now.’ No one came.”

The director looked her over and nodded. “Well, let’s start with scene 2.”

- posted by seanmh @ 3:04 PM