My Old Acting Injury

My knee is really bothering me.  I am thinking it is my old acting injury.  I never played sports so I kinda like that I can refer to this as my old acting injury.  And here’s why.

It was the Spring of 1976.  We were preparing a one act for the New Hope annual competition.  The play was some original one act written a few years earlier.  The part was John Mann.  Kind of an every man type who spent the majority of the play ranting about one thing or another.  I remember one part when he discusses they.  The infamous they.  The they that ban blacks, kill Jews, start wars.  That was the kind thing he would rant about.  Lots of monologues.  Not a lot of action.  Well I played Mr. Mann (years before Misery was even written).  As it was a dialogue heavy play there was a lot of pacing the stage.  Some parts were played off the stage and getting into the audience’s face.  Well at one pivotal moment, I had to drop to my knees, in tears over something or other.  Rehearsal after rehearsal I dropped my 145 pound body to my knees and rehearsal after rehearsal was told that I should wear knee pads.  Ha!  I was what, 16 at the time and indestructible (remember how I didn’t play sports?).  So day in and day out I would drop, do my bit, stand and continue.  That was until the day before the performance in New Hope at the Bucks County playhouse.  The rehearsal was going along quite well.  I was ranting my ass off (not that I had much of an ass back then) and I came to the point where I held my face in my hands ad dropped to my knees and . . . click, that’s what I heard and that’s what I felt in my knee.  And as I attempted to rise, my leg, just slightly, buckled under me.  But the show must go one, so with a slight limp I finished out the rehearsal.  I am not actually sure if I told anyone about this little inconvenience at that point.

To make a long story not as long as it could be, I awoke the next day and lo and behold, my knee was fine.   I walked around the bedroom a bit testing it out and all was good.  I was ready for the trip to New Hope and the performance.  I arrived at school and went directly to the gathering area on the stage.  I proceeded to walk into to one of the risers set up with chairs.  Not just walked into, but bumped that very same knee, hard.  But it must not have been that hard because I was fine.  We went to New Hope, performed, didn’t win (the judges didn’t like the fact that the character yelled a lot at the audience, not notice to my amazing, knee pad less, stunt work).  And then I went on with life.

Jump ahead to the late 80’s It was going to rain the next day and suddenly I felt this throbbing in my knee.  No clue why it just started to really hurt.  Swelled up a bit too.  And then I realized, it must have been because of the fall so many years ago.  Seems I have myself an old acting injury.

How They Met -- Inspired by Actual Events

“So?”, her friend asked in that typical, and sincere, sing songy voice, “How’d you meet?”  After over three months it was actually the first time they were asked this together.  She nudged him and gave him a knowing smile.  He squeezed her hand gently.  “Let me guess,” the friend continued, barley noticing their reaction.  “I bet you met at a bar.”  She smiled at her friend and leaned into him, gently rubbing her cheek against his shoulder.  The feel of her against him always brought a warmth to his skin and a slight blush to his face.  He glanced at her with a tender smile then turned to look at her friend, to look past her friend and into the past.  He remembered . . . how well he remembered . . . he played and replayed that night in his mind every day.

 

He was supposed to finally meet someone from a dating site that he had been chatting with for the past week.  Chatting?  He never understood that.  Chatting meant talking.  Interacting.  Not trying to move your fingers fast enough on a keypad to assure you are answering the right questions in the right order.  So, by recent definition, they had been chatting yet never spoke.  They arranged to meet on Saturday night, 8:00, at a local chain restaurant, “You know,” the woman put it, “to see if we are copasetic.”  He was open to it.  He generally had nothing to do on Saturday evenings and the woman seemed nice.  He didn’t usually think much about how a woman looked but the picture she sent showed a cute smile and a rather ample everything else.  So at 7:55 he found himself outside the restaurant, glancing at her picture on his phone, and the single women arriving.

 

She was supposed to meet a friend at a nearby spot.  They had been there a number of times.  As usual she was running a bit late (“I’ll just say I was sure we decided on 8 and I didn’t remember 7:30”) and still patting her lips together to make sure her lipstick was dry as she tried to quickly walk to the door.  Her shoes were designed for a more elegant walk and she nearly tripped as she approached the door.  As she righted herself she noticed someone, a man, quickly get up to help her.  But she was a bit quicker than he and headed for the door.  His bearded face and silver hair registered with her.  His cheeks seemed to flush pink.  And something about his eyes.  His eyes.  Hers locked with his as she turned back to take just a quick peak of him before entering the restaurant.  A tiny smile seemed to play on his lips as he looked back at his phone.  The gentle smile turned to a slight frown. And he was gone as the door closed behind her.

 

His mind drifted as he glanced at his phone for the 5^th time.  “What the hell am I doing?” he heard his voice in his head.  “I stink at meeting people and I’m not dressed right, and she’s not going to find me interesting since I’m not going to talk, and . . . damn, I should be at home in bed watching DePalma and eating sauerkraut!  Why do you do this to me?”

As he glanced down at the picture again he heard the sound of rushing feet on the pavement and an almost indistinguishable “I’m sure it was eight, I’m sure it was eight,” whispering behind him.  He turned to see where that voice was coming from and saw a woman about to trip over the sidewalk.  He jumped up to help her but she gained her balance quickly.  For a moment, just the briefest of seconds, their eyes met.  In that moment he felt his stomach drop.  His face felt like it was on fire.  Her eyes.   They penetrated him.  Regaining his composure, he looked back down at his phone to see if in the wildest of possibilities, it could be her.  He realized though, he had only seen her eyes.  He looked up again to see her as she opened the door.  Again their eyes locked.  This time he saw her.  His mind could not assemble the correct letters to form the appropriate words to describe her.  Beautiful?  Adorable? Gorgeous?  Stunning?  None seemed to do justice to her delicate dark features, her piercing eyes, the genuine smile that played on her lips.  He smiled to himself, a knot formed in his stomach, he was sure she was the one.  His phone revealed true disappointment.  He looked up again.  Just to catch one more look at her.  But she was gone.

 

As she scanned the restaurant for her friend, she realized that she couldn’t get a particular smile out of her mind.  She smiled, just a little to herself.  And to the world.  From a brief glimpse she felt she saw tenderness, kindness, things she never believed she would see in a man again.  But her friend wasn’t there.  Her phone chimed.  It was a text from her friend.  “Sorry,” the letters appeared, “I am having a bit of an emergency and I won’t be able to make it.  Nothing to worry too much about.  Just not going to happen tonight.  You free tomorrow?  Maybe lunch?”  She scrolled through the message a couple of times, debating calling.  “Emergency?”, didn’t seem like something she should take lightly.  She tapped the phone icon and held the phone to her ear.  They spoke briefly.  It wasn’t really as much of an emergency, in the life threatening sense, but things needing attending to.  Made sense.  She hung up and placed the phone back into her purse.  “Well, guess I can get a drink, as long as I’m here.”  She looked to the bar which seemed awfully empty for a Saturday night, found a group of 5 or 6 empty stools, climbed up on the one in the middle and ordered a drink.  A nice Chardonnay.

 

It was 8:19 and his neck was getting sore from looking up and down to his phone.  He checked their chat site and she wasn’t there.  “Might as well get home,” he thought as he placed his phone in his shirt pocket.  He stood, yawned and turned to the parking lot.  “Hell,” he thought, “Might as well get a quick drink while I’m here”.  He was never one to just go out for a drink but he was out, he had dressed for the supposed occasion.  He might as well have a bit of an outing.  He went in.  The hostess asked him how many were in his party or if was expecting anyone.  He glanced at her, gave her a bit of a smile and told her he’d just get a drink at the bar.  There were a lot of empty seats.  Not a busy night, but that seemed to be the case in some of the restaurants so close to Christmas passing.  He sat down, pulled a bowl of pretzels close to him and began to nibble.  When asked, he ordered a Dewar’s Rocks with a twist of lemon.  It was a drink his dad used to order and had become a staple for him after his father’s passing. When the glass arrived, he held it up as if to toast.  “Miss you Dad”, barely escaped his lips.  As he brought the glass down to his lips he looked around the bar.  There she sat, sipping a glass of wine and, it must be his imagination, she seemed to be avoiding seeing him.  He had his first real opportunity to see her.  And yes, she was indescribable.  But he saw more than just “another pretty face.”  How to describe it.  There was an intensity; an intelligence; a certain sense of compassion.  He saw this all just in her expression.  The way she held her glass.  He had never experienced this before.  Never thought it was possible to see so much just by looking at someone.  She glanced his way and he quickly turned as he took too big of a gulp from the glass.  The liquid burned at the back of his throat and he coughed.  He could see an amused smile on her face from across the bar.  She wasn’t looking at him but he could almost tell she was sensing him.  “I cannot believe what I am thinking right now.”  He could feel the knot in his stomach tighten.  “But I so want to meet her.  Just hear her voice.”  He took a final drink from his glass and motioned for the bartender to refill it.  “But what would I even say.  I just can’t do this.  It isn’t me.”  The drink arrived and he stared into it.  Deep in thought.

 

She sipped at her wine and looked through her phone.  No missed calls.  No new texts.  Nothing interesting on Facebook.  She leisurely looked up and saw him sitting on a stool at the bar.  She watched as he ordered a drink and then seemed to offer a toast to, well, to someone.  Someone not with him.  She took a really good look at him for the first time.  His silver hair and beard seemed to hide a younger person, maybe not in years but in spirit.  She had seen his smile earlier.  Felt it was a genuine smile.  And accompanied by a seeming sparkle in his eyes.  As he offered the toast to who knows who, she saw a hint of melancholy, loss on his face.  But still a gleam in his eyes that seemed to hold . . . wait, he’s turning his head.  She looked away quickly and took a sip of wine.  She tried to spy him from the corner of her eye but was concerned that he might see her.  See her? He almost seemed to be staring, but not at her.  Past her.  Through her.  She decided to confront that gaze and turned her face directly to his.  He looked away as did she.  She heard a cough and smiled, amused at his reaction.  “I have got to stop this.  I don’t want to give him the wrong impression, “She thought, yet deep down, some where she hadn’t been to in a long time, she was hoping he would approach her.  Just to see him closer, to hear his laugh.

 

And he approached her.  “Hi,” there was more confidence in the word as it sounded than he had behind it. “There is nothing I can say to you that isn’t going to sound like a line so what the hell, uhm, heck, I saw you sitting here and told myself I need to meet her.”  He smiled.  Just the right amount.  And the sparkle reappeared in his eyes.  “And,” he continued, “that sounds exactly like a line.”  He feigned a more serious, ashamed look.  Nothing overboard but just enough to let her know that he wasn’t taking it that seriously.

She smiled back.  A real genuine smile.  A heartwarming smile.  She seemed to glow.  His stomach twisted, “What am I doing?” He did everything in his power to not let his self-doubt show on his face.

 

“Well,” how sweet was her voice, “I’m glad you did.”  The smile continued and she placed her hand on his.  They connected.  He could feel the sense of electricity coursing through ever part of his body.  It was a touch he had never felt before.

 He sat on the stool next to her and they talked.  And they talked.  And they laughed.  And she touched his hand, his arm, even a gentle hug when something he said struck her as funny.  Her not too high laugh matched his deeper chuckle the way two voices do in a choir.  They spoke of family and children.  Likes and dislikes.  And they talked.

 

Before they knew what time it was the bartender was asking them if they wanted another drink as it was last call.  He glanced at his phone to see the time, 1:45 AM.  Wow!! 

 

He took her coat from the stool next her (where she had left it earlier) and placed it on her shoulders.  They left together and he walked her to her car, her hand holding his arm.  Is that just a slight lean towards him?  Was that her head just grazing his shoulder?  When he got to her car, she unlocked it and he held the door for her to get in.  She turned, about to sit, and turned back to him, giving him a hug.  He held her.  Just long enough.  Just tight enough.  He drew back from the hug and looked into her eyes.  She looked back.  He saw the glow in hers; she the sparkle in his.  Nothing else crossed either of their minds.  They were in the moment.  They broke from the embrace together.  He held the door as she sat and then closed it for her.  She put the key in the ignition and rolled the window down.  “Goodnight,” she said with a smile, “It was certainly a pleasure to meet you.”

 

He put his hands awkwardly in his pockets and stared down at her.  “I’d, well I’d like to see you again.”  The nervousness, the twist in his stomach returned for the first time since he had first considered talking to her.  He knew the moment was ending and wanted to find a way for it to be continued.

 

“Of course,” she said with a smile in her voice that matched the one on her face.  “You have my number, call me.  Or text me.  I’d love to.”  He stepped back as the window rose and she backed out of the space.  He stood there for just a minute after she left.  Staring towards where her car had driven away.  The wind blew.  There was a slight nip in the air and for the first time in hours he could feel it.  He rubbed his arms and walked to his car.  No, he strolled, with a definite lightness in his step.

 

“. . . and then he texted me that same night when he got home.  He said something like I know this is too soon but I just wanted you to know that I had a really fun night.  Didn’t you?”  She looked up to see him gazing at, well, nothing, just gazing.  “Hey, are you with us?” she said with a chuckle in her voice.  He turned back to look at the two of them.

 

“Yes, yes indeed I am.” He wiped something from his eye.  He smiled at her as if no one else was in the room.

 

“Wait,” the friend shouted just a bit too enthusiastically.  “Wasn’t that the night I needed to get that plumber in because my washing machine was overflowing?”  As it all came together for the friend she looked first at him then her then him again, an increasing smile on her face.  As the friend spoke, he made a realization.  He embraced the friend, a tight sincere hug.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear as he released the embrace and they all began to laugh.

The Kiss (2)

Julie looked into his eyes.  What was he thinking?  The room seemed to be quiet for a very long time though she knew it was barely a few seconds.  She seemed to see Andrew differently.  She wanted him to move closer.  She wanted his lips to touch hers.  She wanted to . . . and without thinking she leaned closer to him.  She could feel his presence.  Her eyes began to close, just a small amount.  She saw Andrew’s eyes slowly close as well.  He was moving closer, as was she. So, so, close . . .

 

“Oh wow,” his words broke the silence.  “I am so very sorry.  I don’t know what I was. . .”  He leaned back and rubbed his forehead with his right hand.  He felt a warmth permeate his cheeks. 

 

Julie stiffened just a bit too noticeably.  She looked away from him, to the TV, to the kitchen, to the plates on the table.  “Here,” she said quickly as she reached for a plate and started to rise, “let me help you clean this up.” 

Andrew’s mind cleared and he reached for her hand to stop her.  “It’s okay,” he said, “I’ll get it later.  Don’t worry about it.”  As his hand touched hers he felt her soft skin and the tightening of the muscles as she grasped the plate.  But that was it.  No chill.  No electricity.  The change surprised him so much he pulled his hand from hers.

 

Julie put the plate down awkwardly.  “You okay,” she turned a concerned face to Andrew.  Was she more concerned about his quick release or was it that she did not feel the same tingle she had the last time their skin touched?  He didn’t react to her question; he was just looking at his hand.  Flexing his fingers.  “Really, it’s not that much stuff, I insist.”  She picked up both plates and headed to the kitchen.

 

“Sorry,” seems that word had come up a bit too often tonight, “I must have a bit of a cramp or something.  Age sucks, huh?”  That last with his usual touch of sarcasm.  All spells had been broken; he was back to his usual self.  He heard her chuckle in the kitchen.  Andrew picked up the rest of the dishes, flatware, and anything else that was laying on the table and brought it to the kitchen.  As he placed it in the sink, his arm brushed hers again.  Neither of them even responded.

 

“Well,” she yawned, it’s getting late.  Julie moved from the kitchen to retrieve her bag and jacket from their resting place beside the couch.  “I have to say, I had a really fun night.  Next time, my place.”  You could hear her usual smile and sincerity in her voice.

 

“It was really nice,” Andrew said, but not out loud, just to himself.  “It’s a date.”  This aloud but not with the recent nervousness he had felt when that word was used before.  He sighed with relief, a little too hard. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious to Julie.

She had gotten to the door.  At the sound she turned casually back to him.  “This feels so much better,” she thought to herself.  “Where was my head earlier?”  She gave him a gentle smile.  “I’ll let you know when I get home.”

 

“Please, “mock sincerity, they had played this scene out numerous times in the past, “You know I worry.”  They smiled at each other.  There was a brief moment.  No other way to describe it, just a moment.  She reached behind her for the door knob and turned it.  The door didn’t move.  “Oh yeah, I locked it,” Andrew reached behind her.  They were so close again.  His arm rubbed her back as he turned the lock.  Their eyes almost, yes almost met, but the click of the bolt shattered the moment.  He took his hand from the lock, she turned the knob and opened the door in one motion.  He held it open for her as she exited, a brief turn, a brief exchange of goodnights, and she was headed down the hall to the exit of the complex. The main door opened.   Andrew turned to reenter his apartment.  “Why didn’t I walk her to her car?”  He flew out the door and down the hall, leaving his apartment door open.  As he reached the exit, he heard the familiar chirp of a car alarm being disarmed and the opening of a car door from the street.  He stopped to catch his breath.  “Maybe that’s not her.” He exited the building in time to hear a car door close, an engine start, and see the rear lights glow red as the car, her car, slowly pulled away.  Away from his building.  Away from him.  Away from this night.  He stood outside, a bit of a chill in the air, and watched as the red lights grew dimmer as they disappeared into the distance.  He stood, still watching for a small eternity.  Turned to open the door, turned back, just one last look, and then into the building and back down the hall to his apartment.  He walked a bit slower than his usual gait.  His head just a little bit lower on his shoulders.  His mind unclear.

 

Julie closed the door and started the car.  “How odd,” she said out loud to no one in particular.  She put the car in drive and started to head off.  “Andrew is always so diligent about walking me to my car.”  She thought she saw a glimpse of someone at the door to his apartment building but it seemed it might be just a trick of the light.  It was night and she felt it was better to keep her eyes straight ahead and not worry about what she saw.  And then, as she knew she would, she looked back into the mirror, but the complex was just too far away to see.  She turned on the radio, an 80’s station that she liked to listen to.  Cyndi Lauper was in the middle of explaining to her that she, as well as many of her gender, really only wanted to enjoy themselves.  She began to hum along and then joined in singing as the chorus repeated.

 

Andrew’s apartment door had closed and he immediately feared the worst, that it had locked itself and he didn’t have the key.  Luckily, that wasn’t the case.  He turned the knob tentatively and it opened easily.  He stood in the doorway, looked over his apartment.  “Not too messy, gotta get to the dishes, “which basically translated to rinsing them off and transporting them to the dishwasher.  He’d worry about wiping down the table in the morning.  He let the door swing closed behind him and locked it.  He took the bucket with the wine bottle into the kitchen, removed the towel, drained out the melted ice, and held the bottle up to the light. “Why don’t they call it Pink Zinfandel,” this aloud, attempting a southern accented falsetto but his voice cracked when he stressed the “Pink” and it made him laugh.  He moved towards the trash can in the corner to deposit the bottle, thought again, and rinsed it out in the sink.  “Hey,” this in his normal voice, “It’ll make a nice candle holder.”

Julie was enjoying the music on the radio, it was a clear night, and there wasn’t too much traffic, so she decided to drive around for a bit.  Not go straight home.  She turned the music louder as Boy George quizzed her on her thoughts of causing him pain.  She knew this one, oh too well, and sang right along with him.  She continued to drive, mindlessly but with her eyes clearly on the road, and let the car take her where it wanted to go.  She was just enjoying this time.  With her music, with herself.

Twenty-seven minutes later everything was pretty well cleaned up.  He even opted to wipe off the table and rinse off the place mats.  Andrew was over by the player.  The disc was removed, wiped down, and placed back into its case.  The clock on the player glowed 12:13 (and a little AM just left of the number).  “Wish it displayed seconds,” he grinned to himself.  “And so sir,” in his head but with a bad stuffy British accent, “What were you doing this morning at twelve thirteen fourteen?”  He smiled.  The smile faded.  It was almost quarter after twelve and he had not heard from Julie.  At this time of night, it shouldn’t have taken her more than ten minutes to get home.  Should he be worried?  Might she have stopped at the store for something?  Did she forget to call him?  Was she really so upset with how the evening had (or is that hadn’t) ended that she wasn’t going to call?  He picked up his cell phone and considered calling her but, wait, no.  If she was upset, probably best they didn’t speak.  Would his calling send an odd message to her?  He had never once called her in a similar instance.  Even the time it took her over an hour to get home from that theatre downtown, he always waited for her to call.  This night should be no different.  He looked at the phone and placed it back down on the table.  He would wait.  But if another 15 minutes go by, I’m call . . .  There was a knock at the door.