Breakfast Served Anytime by Combs Sarah

Author:Combs, Sarah [Combs, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780763670474
Publisher: Candlewick
Published: 2014-04-08T00:00:00+00:00

Glo. Spent the day apartment-hunting, just for the hell. All the good places are in Brooklyn. Saw this one with a garret-like thing where you can be all Virginia Woolf with a Room of Your Own, Señorita Luddite. I know you’re sentimental about graduation (Don’t deny it. Denial doesn’t become you) but I’m thinking sooner rather than later. This city is crawling with assholes (i.e. people at checkout counters don’t bless your heart, etc.) but it’s magnificent and breathtaking. Never felt so alive. Anyway there are assholes everywhere you go. If you want to act and I want to dance, this is it. This is where we need to be.

Are you in?

Love,

Carol

P.S. Bless your heart, byotch.

Carol’s letter made me feel sort of ill. All along I’d been counting the days until we could move away and start our adventurous artistic lives together, but my shifting attitude toward acting was new — I wasn’t used to it and didn’t know what to do with it. I hadn’t yet revealed to Carol that I was growing nauseated by the whole theater business, and somehow the not-telling her, even though I hadn’t fully figured it out, felt like a betrayal.

I tried to pinpoint in my mind the exact moment when I decided to bail on the one thing I’ve ever been halfway good at. Was it when the Mad Hatter appeared beneath my dorm window in all his theatrical glory? Maybe. Maybe it was that moment in the Mystery Machine when Mason and I had a little chat about All’s Well That Ends Well. Or maybe the moment happened months before that, when GoGo died. She was the one who had taken me to plays, even from the time I was little. We’d go to Actors Theatre and afterward have grown-up espressos in the brick-walled basement bar, and the whole thing would be magic from beginning to end. GoGo volunteered at the theater and was close personal friends with the actors — she’d sometimes even have them over for Sunday or holiday dinners, the ones who were broke (they were all broke; it was part of their mysterious, tragic allure, as far as I was concerned) and far away from their families. So if it was anybody’s fault that I had fallen headlong in love with the stage, it was GoGo’s. She was the one who encouraged me, said I was a natural, said I should “honor my gift.”

Gift. That’s hilarious! I’m not gifted at all. I’m just an ordinary girl who once-upon-a-time loved to go to plays with her gifted grandmother. A girl who loved to take the stage and bow before her gifted, proud grandmother when the curtain came down. After the gifted, proud grandmother was gone, none of it was the same. It wasn’t the same at all.

Anyway! God. Who knows when the moment happened? All I know is that I had officially instituted an all-new, no-drama policy that I swore would extend to every area of my life. It lasted about four minutes.

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