The Ladder Scene

CHAPTER TWO: DAMN YOU, ARISTOTLE

Will had been reading over his script all night, highlighting and making notes. He wanted to make a good impression on the director, as he was well-known in the area.

Showing up sleep-deprived probably wasn't the best idea, but hey, shit happens.

The subway terminal was filled with the sound of a man singing and playing guitar. A woman sang opera by the staircase. Another man played a saxophone in the corner. It was a strange mashup of Careless Whisper, Lakme, and REM, but Will wasn't paying attention to any of it. All he cared about was being on time–or rather, early. In the performing arts, on time was late.

The cars were cramped. He had to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with a dozen other cityfolk, likely on their way to work. They donned suits and sheath dresses, creating a chaotic murmur as they all talked on their mobile phones. A baby was crying, the mother desperately trying to console it. The volume as diversity of the noise was overwhelming. Will couldn't hear himself think. He wished he could stuff his ears with cotton and make it all go away. He was becoming increasingly aware of the fluorescent lights flickering above him, and the rumbling of the train beneath his feet. The sensation crawled up his legs to settle in his stomach. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, thunder roaring in his ears.

"Not here. Not Now. Please," he thought.

He hadn't had an episode like this in months. Why now? Was it the anxiety of playing a lead role? Was he more worried about seeing Molly than he initially thought?

Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours as he stood there silent and trembling. He closed his eyes tightly and covered his ears, clenching his teeth so hard he thought they'd break. He felt the blood and heat rushing to his face, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, everyone on the train watching him crumble.

He wished Hannibal were there. He always knew how to calm him down in these moments. He knew all the right things to say and do. Will hated doing this alone.

"Young man, are you okay?" an older woman asked, tapping him on the shoulder.

He slowly turned to face her, wiping a tear from his eye. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. It was as if somebody held a vice grip on his vocal chords.

"Where are you getting off?" she asked.

"43rd," was all he could manage in between shallow breaths

"Alright, you've only got a few minutes to go," she said, guiding him to an empty seat in the corner. She helped him down, standing by his side. She reached into her bag and pulled out an unopened water bottle, handing it to him. "Here, have some water. The coldness will help."

"Thank you," Will said, his voice slowly returning.

"You remind me of my grandson," the woman told him. "He never liked the subway, always said it was too loud. He was diagnosed when he was eight, such a shy little thing. He's made lots of progress in therapy, but even now at 16, he still wears headphones." She paused, accepting that there may be no reply. "So, what brings you to this side of town?"

"I...I'm in a play," Will said. "At Westside."

"Oh, you're an actor!" She smiled with delight. She was excited to hear about his career, but most importantly, she was glad he was talking. "Is this a new play? What is it about?"'

"It's called 'Hooks and Antlers'," he began, feeling a wave of calm wash over him. He knew exactly what this woman was doing. She was trying to get him to talk about his special interests, to take his mind off the chaos. It was working. "It's about this fisherman and his wife, who is a hunter. Winter is approaching and they are ill-prepared, so their relationship begins to deteriorate as they blame it on one another."