Yeah, well, I’m used to that by now.
I scramble to keep up with him. “You can’t blame yourself for this. Seriously. She had a drug problem.”
“Which she developed after I fucked her up.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do, because she sure as hell didn’t have one while we were together.”
“It’s college. A lot of people do a lot of stupid stuff. At least they found her in time. She’s going to be okay.”
He stops and turns to me, his expression fiery. “You really wander through life looking through rose-colored glasses, don’t you, Taylor? She’s not going to be all right! Didn’t you see her back there? She’s barely alive! I know your life has been peaches and fucking cream, but not everyone is like you. Some of us live in the real world where shit happens that you can’t take back, and no matter how much you wish things could change, they just fucking don’t. Wake up!”
When he storms off, I tell myself he just needs time. That this will blow over, and we’ll go back to normal. But I have no idea what normal is for us. I hate that we’re becoming more and more undefined every day, and I’m powerless to stop it.
He doesn’t call me that night, and when he shows up for his final mask assessment the next morning, he looks like he hasn’t slept.
“Mr. Holt,” Erika says, as he struggles through the first test. “How are you supposed to express the truth of this mask when there are so many barriers between it and the real you?’
I can see him really trying to get to the place of vulnerability that has eluded him for weeks, but he fails, again, and again, and again.
“Let go, Ethan! Strip away all the garbage you think is protecting you!”
He grunts in frustration and tears off his mask before throwing it across the room. “I can’t fucking do it, all right?! Fail me!”
Erika looks around at the rest of the class. “You’re all dismissed. I’ll see you tomorrow. Mr. Holt, you stay.”
There are cautious looks as everyone grabs their belongings. I loiter outside the door. Yesterday with Olivia, and now this? I have no idea how to help him. Or even if he can be helped.
I press my back into the hallway wall and eavesdrop.
“Mr. Holt, your behavior in this class has been unacceptable. Explain yourself.”
“Okay, how’s this? Masks are fucking stupid. I want to be an actor, not a two-bit mime. How the hell is this going to be relevant to me outside of this classroom?”
“An actor’s job is to share himself with his audience. These masks challenge you to open up fully. That’s how it’s relevant.”
“I’ve tried to share and be open and vulnerable! Every fucking lesson, I’ve tried. What more do you want?”
“I want you to just be. Stop trying to show me a sanitized version of yourself. Show me the guy underneath all of that crap.”
“Don’t you fucking get it yet? Under all my crap is just more crap. You think that somewhere in here is some magically well-adjusted individual, and all I have to do is find him? He doesn’t exist! Believe me, I’ve looked! All I am is endless layers of shit. I thought that would be obvious by now.” I hear him exhale. “So go ahead. Fail me. I don’t fucking care anymore.”
His voice cracks on the last word, and I so badly want to put my arms around him.
He struggles so hard with his self ettem, but knowing what he’s gone through, I understand why he finds being open so tough. He was a foster kid who wasn’t adopted until he was three, and when he found out about the adoption at the age of sixteen, he didn’t know who he was anymore. His rocky relationship with his dad didn’t help. Charles turned parental disapproval into an artform.
If all that wasn’t bad enough, in his senior year, Ethan discovered his high school sweetheart had been screwing his best friend for the better part of 12 months. I can’t even imagine coping with all of that.
Clearly, judging from what’s happening right now, neither can Ethan.
I chance a peek into the room. He’s sitting in a chair, head in his hands, staring at the floor. Erika is opposite him. She leans forward as if trying to reach him with her words.
“Ethan, listen. I think we both know this isn’t just about an acting exercise. You think you’re the only one who’s scared to let others see you for who you truly are? Everyone wears metaphorical masks during their lives. We all have different faces we show to our work colleagues, or friends, or family. Sometimes we wear so many masks, we forget who we are underneath it all, but you have to find the courage to drop all that bullshit and reveal your true self. That’s all I want from you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”
He shakes his head. “What if my true self is … shit? Just defective and toxic and unlovable. Why would I ever let someone see that?”
“Because in the end, that’s the only version of you that’s real. It’s the only one you can truly give to others. Everything else is just pretend.”