Dogwood

Chapter 4. Day One Jitters

In the few weeks before class started, Maria had come to learn a lot about Emily. Some things were quite mundane—Emily was a morning person, she went on hikes, she smoked about once an hour. Some things were problematic—Emily didn't go to bed until late in the night, she said whatever she was thinking, and she didn't know what personal space was. She was a very handsy person. That revelation came one night when she suddenly hugged Maria, and in response, Maria forcefully shoved her away.

"What the hell?" Emily had said.

"I don't like being touched," Maria explained in a quiet voice that permitted no room for debate or argument.

"Oh, okay. Sorry."

Other than the one incident, they were getting along fairly well. Maria would even go so far as to call her a friend, the first real friend she'd ever had. They hung out day and night. They went to the movies, out to eat, and bummed around campus.

In their time together, Emily told Maria about her old school and how the people there used to bully her. That's what had led her to seek out a major in psychology. She wanted to understand people better. She wanted to help the misunderstood.

Maria lied to Emily about how she'd had plenty of admirers in high school, but she was already smitten—that was the word she had used—with a boy named Zach. Why she had told this lie, Maria still wasn't sure. It didn't seem to impress Emily any, and while there was some truth in the matter, most of it had been meaningless. The only sole fact about her lie was that she was dating a guy named Zach, but she would even struggle to label it as dating. It was more like they would text each other sometimes, and whenever there was a high school dance, they would automatically be the other's date unless one of them were sick. Which Maria used to pretend to be quite often.

There's a part of Maria that she keeps hidden away like a shadow. An aspect of her personality that feels things, really feels them. This façade she puts on every day, the one capable of lying for no reason at all, feels more like an external twin than an actual version of herself. It's a mask that she dons to keep herself safe, to keep the world at bay. Of course, she would never openly admit this to Emily who often asked her in the last few weeks why she gets quiet sometimes or why she doesn't like touch. Both questions received consistent neglect.

Maria thought about that other version of herself as she sat in her Intro to Acting taught by Professor Christopher Heart. He was a short and handsome man with graying hair and silver eyes. But beneath that handsome face was something off-putting and cold. Something that Maria recognized.

Currently, he paced back and forth while giving a big introductory speech: "Welcome class, it seems that all of you have had the good sense to show up on your first day." He spoke with an accent she couldn't quite place. Possibly German or Austrian. "Now, before we officially begin, let me ask you all something: why are you here?"

The crowd was silent until one girl raised her hand.

"It's a rhetorical question, dear." He strolled across the stage, his black loafers clicking with every step. "I assume you're here to learn about acting, about theater and cinema. I assume you're here because you want to be here, and not because someone is forcing you to be here."

Some people nodded their heads, a few even gave a light-hearted chuckle.

"Do you believe acting is your passion, that it's a natural calling? Do you live and breathe acting? Were you born to act?"

Again, some of the class eagerly nodded their heads in response. Maria felt herself withdrawing.

"That's good! That's very good!" The professor clasped his hands behind his back, turned, and walked the other direction. "Is acting everything you could want, and if you don't get it, then you will absolutely die? Is it your sole purpose on this planet? If so, please raise your hands."

About seventy-five percent of the students raised their hands. It was dark in the seating area, but Mr. Hearst made sure to look at each individual person for confirmation.

"Well, class, there's something you should know. Passion is meaningless. It's bupkis. If you are ever to do anything in life solely because of passion, you are doing it for the wrong reasons. Now, that's not to say you shouldn't have passion or that you shouldn't be passionate, but passion alone will only take you so far in life. Does anyone know what it takes to become an actor, to become anything in this world?"

This time, no heads nodded. No hands raised. No one said anything. The teacher received a crowd of fearful gazes. He smiled in response.

"There will be a lot of rejection and failure down this road. If you truly wish to pursue a career in acting, whether it be on stage or on the big screen, you will meet a lot of disappointment. This is not the kind of job for the average person. It is a tough business to break into, and even harder one to succeed in. So, what you need is not passion. What you need is determination, perseverance."

Someone raised their hand. Mr. Hearst scoffed at them and waved them off. Maria found it to be quite a harsh reaction, but she also found the interruption to be in itself disrespectful.

"You were not born to act; you were not born to do anything but breath. However, you can learn to act. You can learn to do anything as long as you are determined. And if you feel that I am being harsh or over the top, or if you find yourself disagreeing with my methods, then you can walk down to the advisor's office and drop my class. Better yet, you can transfer to Mrs. Barnes Intro to Acting instead. She's a lovely woman, and guess what, she won't teach it any damn different than me."

He took a bow and descended from the stage. All at once, the class seemed to exhale.

"Now, I believe we had a question in the audience," he said.

***

It was his first class of the day and already an obtrusive weight settled on his chest. Ever since he was a kid, the first-day jitters got to him. The night before school started, he would rack his mind with endless scenarios that his mother would declaim as nonsensical, always telling him to go back to bed before he worried himself sick. But even when he went back to bed, sleep continued to evade him. He was caught in an infinite loop of panicking. Even now, as a young man, he still found himself plagued by those churlish thoughts of what if?

The anxiety came to him early last night as he anticipated his first day of university. It started in his heart and flowed through his body. By midnight, he was struggling to breathe and kept telling himself everything would be alright. Like a broken record, he repeated this mantra over and over and over until he wanted to believe, but ultimately, he couldn't find the conviction.

What if he got made fun of? What if he was late? What if he never became an animator? What if? What if? What if?

These are the things he thought to himself as he cradled his body in bed. These are the thoughts that snaked through his brain whilst everyone else around him slumbered like babies. No one to talk to. No one to confide in. Rory was completely and utterly alone.

So, he did the only thing he could think to do. He drowned his worries, doused his thoughts with beer. He drank until he felt tired, and when he woke up in the morning, he was overcome with a tremendous headache that paled in comparison to the constriction of his intestines. Even now, as he sat before the teacher with full knowledge that college wouldn't be as bad as he had predicted the night prior, he still couldn't rid himself of these demons.

"Your dad was the same way when he was a kid," his mother used to say as if that were some helpful. As if that in some shape or form gave Rory comfort over the madness of his mind. "Always stressing out over the most ridiculous things."

Always stressing.Always worrying. Always thinking. And look how daddy dearest turned out. Rorycouldn't stave off the incidental thought that he may never get better. Thatthis anxiety constantly fuming through him might always be apart of him, like atumor or a boil. An internal appendage stitched to his soul. The only thing hecould be sure about in that moment was the indisputable fact that he couldreally use a beer.