Just North of Whoville by Turiskylie, Joyce (free children's ebooks pdf .TXT) 📗

going to do the show, I could actually leave early and be home for the holidays.”

“Why are you leaving New York?” I asked as I kicked Steve under the table.

“Oh, my ex-boyfriend and I have been talking and there’s really nothing keeping me here. I mean, I’ve been here almost two years now and I haven’t been able to get one paying job outside of extra work. It’s just so hard, you know,” she looked to everyone in the room to confirm that this was indeed the case. No one took up the debate, but they nodded in agreement.

The third actor, a slightly older man in his forties named Marc, knew he was the next up.

“Well, I was born and raised in Queens. Where am I going to go?” he laughed a bit at his own misery and fate.

Within minutes, I ended rehearsal, advised Frank Bailey to take his mom up on her offer, wished Candace a happy life with her ex in Atlanta and told Marc that we’d be in touch. Steve was desolate. I was actually relieved.

“What are we going to do?” Steve asked over a pitcher of beer at a nearby bar a few minutes later.

“We can’t go thru casting again. It’ll kill a whole other week, and even then we could be right back in this spot.”

“What happened back there?”

“It’s the damn holidays. Everyone gets depressed. They just want to be home with family and old friends where they feel safe. They’re sick of New York. Sick of banging their heads against the wall. And, with the New Year coming up, they start to wonder if they can take another year of this crap.”

“Why haven’t you given up?” Steve asked.

“I can’t do anything else.”

“Don’t you have a back-up plan?”

“This is pretty much it,” I admitted. “What about you?”

“I got nuthin’. Just this pretty face.”

“Well, that’ll be gone in a few years.”

“Don’t joke about that.”

“Look, it’s the people who do have something to fall back on who drop out. It’s hard. And if they’ve got an engineering degree…when things get tough, they run right back. If there’s a family business and they can’t take it anymore---bam! They’re right back at the company store.”

“So we’re going to succeed because we have nothing else?”

“No. But it improves our chances of not giving up.”

He seemed satisfied with this answer. Our lack of marketable skills immunizing us against giving up too soon.

“Wow. How do you keep going?” he sighed, as if I’d just been stricken with cancer, AIDS and the Ebola virus and was sitting there still planning to sail around the world.

“I’m not dead. I’m just in theatre.”

“So, what do we do now?”

“We rip the script apart. Nate seems anxious to do something different, anyway. How do you feel about a one-man show?”

“Nervous.”

“How about a two-man show?”

“Better.”

“Give Nate a call tonight and let’s get started.”

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of “Feliz Navidad” blaring into my apartment. Then I heard a thud and plaster and sand came crumbling down onto the floor. I got out of bed, walked into the kitchen and opened the door. In the hallway, I saw the little Spanish guys, like a trail of ants, hauling roofing material three times their own body weight up the stairs.

And then, my phone rang. Over the mariachi Christmas music, I heard my mother’s cheery, acapella version of “Happy Birthday” sung into the phone as if I were still six years-old.

“Hi honey, it’s just Mom,” she said, apparently feeling the need to identify the unknown singing caller who just happened to know it was my birthday. “What’s going on there?” she asked. “It sounds like a party.”

Yeah, I decided to throw a birthday party at eight o’clock in the morning.

“It’s just some guys fixing the roof, Mom.”

“Oh, okay. So honey, did you get your ticket yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, your father and I sent you some money for your birthday so if that’s why you haven’t gotten your ticket yet...well, you’ll have some extra money now.”

I thanked her. Like I did every year. Money was my birthday present every single year. Surprise. Not that I wasn’t grateful, but I was a grown woman. I should be getting cookware and a nice sweater by now. Today I am thirty-five, I thought as I opened a can of tuna and looked for the cat. Being my birthday, I thought I’d give her a little treat. But between the construction and the ringing phone, Heidi wouldn’t come out. She’d likely be under wraps for hours. What was the point of having a pet if you never saw it? I went out of my way to provide this cat with a good home, clean litter, fresh water and quality cat food every day and what did I get in return? Nothing. Not even a cat I could see. A phantom food-eater that pooped and peed. Seriously, what was wrong with this cat? It’s my birthday. At least she could rub up against my leg and purr or something.

Down at the coffee shop, apparently Mommy and Daddy were mad. And nobody was getting nothing for Christmas.

“I just made a fresh pot of the Christmas blend!” Sunshine said in her cheeriest voice ever.

“Okay. Sure,” I said, trying to match at least a bit of her enthusiasm. “So… how have you been?” I tried to make conversation.

“Great!” she practically broke my eardrum with her squeal. “Really great! I just got accepted into grad school and I’m so excited!”

“Oh, that’s…awesome. What are you studying?”

“Musical Theatre. I start in January. I can’t wait!”

It took all of my strength not to set up a Reality Booth right there in front of the cash register. Hmmm…Musical Theatre.