(Click here for Part One)
My first day of acting class, we were all told to introduce ourselves, then tell two truths and a lie about ourselves. My lie was that I was one of seven sisters. A young man whom I will call John informed me, "When you're making up a number of siblings, you don't say seven!"
Another guy, Harrison, said that he loved movies. Every single one of us fell for that lie, though for the most part the class was very good at spotting the lies. Here is the reason we fell for it, if others' reasoning is anything like mine:
Harrison spoke in a softer, higher-pitched voice than is normally typical for a man.
I reasoned that a straight man would probably speak in a lower-pitched voice, even if he had to artificially deepen his voice, because of the fear of being mistaken for a gay man, especially by the opposite sex.
Since Harrison was probably an openly gay man, in theater, it would make sense that he would love old movies, since so many are musicals, and theater people sometimes love musicals. Also, some plays are based on old movies, and vice-versa.
I really wasn't sure whether my reasoning was offensive or inaccurate stereotyping, or not, but I was taken by surprise when he shook his head, saying, "I actually don't really like movies."
He's a genius, I thought. Did he do that on purpose? He had played the entire room, based on stereotypes and the ability to keep a straight face. I wondered if he had had any other experience keeping a "straight" face to the world. (In the next class, he would manage to play one half of a straight married couple in a barely-rehearsed skit, and with a Russian accent.)
A few weeks later, one night after class, a girl named Debbi mentioned in passing that she was bisexual, in a conversation in which I confided that I was an atheist. The next day, we struck up a conversation before class about foreign languages and genealogy. Apparently she had had a great-uncle who refused to speak anything but German, unless talking to authorities. I had a great-grandfather who fled his home state and changed his name, the reason of which my family has no idea.
After the class, as I stood talking to some other students, I felt someone standing close behind me, whispering in a creepy voice. I thought I knew what the voice was saying, but wasn't precisely sure. About one second later, Debbi joined our little group, an overly innocent look on her face.
"I think I just heard a ghost," I said.
Debbi shrugged. "No, that was just me, whispering, 'I will eat you.'"
"Oh, no!" I melodramatically acted horrified, offering her food. I imitated my little brother, Cody's, wide-eyed, shocked facial expression, from the time that he was three and trying to convince me that he had cut his leg off with a pair of scissors ("Ow! I cut my weg off!").
I wondered then if she had thought I was talking to her expressively because she was bi. I had to admit that I was a relatively safe bet on her part, since she knew I was an atheist and unlikely to be morally opposed to a mutual lesbian feast.
Last week, as my mom was picking me up from class, I apologized for taking so long. "Sorry I'm late. Harrison and John were arguing over whether 'Why' or 'How' was a better question, philosophically."
"Oh, you think he likes John?" she grinned mischievously.
"He called him a dillweed," I answered. She started laughing as I imitated him. "Why are we having this discussion? Maybe it's because you're acting like a dillweed right now..."
"That John is good-looking," she said. "You should talk to him."
"He said he could manipulate conversations and make people smell walls," I pleaded.
"Walls?"
"Yes, walls. 'You smell that? That smells so weird. Sniff that...And they do!' he said. He does it just for fun!"
Later, as I recounted this bit of fascinating information to my father, Mom added, "But I don't think he said 'walls.'"
"He said 'balls?'" my dad grinned.
"I think it was 'balls!'" she declared.
I had to admit that John was looking at me at the time. I really had thought he had said "walls."
"He wants you to sniff his balls," she laughed.
If this is true, I thought, then maybe he really is a dillweed.
For some reason, though, that didn't stop my mother from wanting me to go out with him...
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