OUTSIDE the CIRCLE

11:02.

The smell of Blazin’ Hot Cheetos makes me choke. A chubby-faced eleven-year-old is the source, her face an inch from mine. She holds a pistol against my cheek and scowls.

I want to die anyway, who cares?

Hayley’s sparkly, cat-ear headband does not make her look adorable.

“Hayley—,” I croak.

“Get up,” she hisses. She’s a movie villain. Scary.

Presses the gun hard into my cheek. Where did she get—? How the hell did she get into my apartment?

At least she’s not a rapist, right? Lucky. If I’m gonna have my head blown off by an eleven-year-old, at least I won’t be sexually violated first. Cool.

“Get up!” Hayley snarls.

Hurl her to the floor, come on Esther! No, could lose an eye. I don’t even like running out of bronzer. Bullet to the face? I’m not badass enough for that. If she shoots it needs to be clean and I'm gone.

This is why I haven’t been more successful as an actress. Talented, but no real ovaries. That’s how I ended up here… a rapid cycling, bipolar teaching artist with a vengeful 5th grader pointing a gun at me. I deserve this. I deserve it for being such a chicken shit about my dreams.

My thoughts fly by like their on an power-driven Lazy Susan spinning a hundred miles an hour, none helpful, considering the circumstances.

Shoulda had my meds checked last week. Now would be an excellent time for access to rational thought.

“Get up or I’ll shoot you in the face!”

Hayley’s got a mission. A poorly-timed cackle threatens. Not now, Esther. Dirty Hayley marches me to my car as I swallow my body's irrational mirth.

She holds the gun on me as I get in.

"Open the other door. NO funny business." I feel soothed by the Bugs Bunny-sounding demand. She's a kid, this is not a real problem. But then she points the gun at me over the hood as she hustles to the other side, glaring at me the whole time through the windshield.

I could duck, lock the doors, start the--

"Just a flesh wound. Lucky guy." I shoulda booked that part. I mean, shit writing, but seriously. I held it lightly and--

Gun shoved in my side. For fuck sake, Esther! Focus.

There is no sane person in this car, but it's anyone's guess who wins the Most Stable at The Moment Award.

We're on the move. I glance over. Hayley snaps, “Watch the road!” She's a little Goodfella. She squints at me like a mini-hitman. Suddenly I see her in a little Joe Pesci/Tommy DeVito toupée which does not make it easier to hold down the rumble of laughter that threatens.

"Am I funny to you? Funny like a clown? Do I AMUSE you?"

BAM!

Fuck that. Gun or no gun, I'm the adult! This little chump has never even seen Good Fellas. Time to take charge!

“Where are we —?”

“At Junipero turn right!”

“If you don’t want to play theatre games Hayley, you can just—”

“You’re stupid.”

Read the room, Esther!

________________________________________

Won’t even sit in the damn circle. Every. fucking. week.

“Hayley, please join us in the circle.” I'm calm. I can handle a little "Test the Teacher."

Sits outside the circle. Lays outside the circle.

“I’ll wait,” Tra la la la. I see what you’re doing, Hayley. But I am Snow White. You are all my little dwarves. I shan't be moved by antics.

See Hayley, I have leverage. I’m the cool, hip teaching artist, with high boots and cat-eye glasses. I am loved. I get hugs when I walk in the door.

You’ll love me. This is my forest. Where improv, funny scripts, and my determination to never work retail again reign supreme.

Lays outside the circle.

“Come on, Hayley. Seriously groovy fun today."

Little fucker rolls on her side. Giggles from my loyal huggers.

Do what I say you little shit! Breathe, Esther.

“Hayley, girl, come on. We’ll be Kumeyaay and make baskets!” (Had I said both "groovy fun" like I was transported into a production of Hair and called her "girl," like she was my homie? Did I code-switch? She's not even Black.

And Goddammit! I told them I would NOT teach that "Native Americans were happy-as-fuck to have us" shit again! Come over and steal their lives and wives and kids, slaughter them... All "Need a blanket? It's a little... uh, used, but happy to share"...bullshit lying curriculum. But I needed the money!

"Make the light! Go, dumbass," Hayley barks.

I step on the gas without even looking at the light.

Someone else is driving as I attempt to decipher which sin I am paying for... trying to get her to sit in the circle... unintentionally appropriating when I tried to make her my home-girl... for not honoring the Kumeyaay... or just being one more damn broke-ass, dysfunctional actor in LA who--

“I SAID TURN RIGHT!”

Slam on the brakes, whip down Junipero Boulevard. Burst into tears, which quickly turn into a hyena laugh.

Yeah, baby, it's happening! Mama’s cycling!

“What’s wrong with you?” Hayley asks, the way kids do to make other kids feel like shit.

“What’s wrong with YOU?!” I snap back, the only child in the car with no ammo.

She glares at me. “Turn in at that sign with big lips.”

Laughter lures me again. I bite my cheek, try to understand why Little Bonnie Parker has compelled me to drive to a strip club.

Keeps the gun on me. Pulls a cell phone out of a little purse slung over her shoulder, like a soldier’s semi-automatic.

The purse is not cute.

There is nothing cute about Hayley, except her chubby face and the headband, and Alanni.

Alanni who always sits in the circle.

Alanni, who remembers last week’s theatre terms and raises her hand to answer my questions. Alanni, who makes really specific gestures when asked to pantomime weaving a basket from grasses like a Kumeyaay.

Alanni doesn’t seem to mind that her bestie is mini-mafioso.

Hayley checks the time on her phone. “She’s coming out soon.”

“Who?”

“My Mom.”

I’m suddenly depressed. Crying is imminent anyway, but knowing this kid-gangster’s mother is a stripper doesn’t help.

“You’re going to tell her to not take her clothes off for money.”

“Ummm—“

“And DON’T tell her I’m here.”

“You don’t seriously—“

“If it doesn’t work I'm blowing the place up and killing myself.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding—“

She points to the back seat.

A package, wrapped in brown paper. No way! How could she even—? But then, here we are. And how did that happen? Fuck!

“There she is!”

I look toward the club. A tall blond woman. Tight jeans. Tighter tank top. Hayley pushes herself to the floor.

I remember myself at 13, on the roof of the high school. Desperate, giving no fucks.

“I can just run away,” I say.

“Blood on your hands.”

“Blood on my hands? Where did you even learn that — ?”

“GO!”

“What do I — ?”

“Last week’s theatre word!”

“Wha — ?”

Gun to the knee. Ow!

“Improvise, dumbass!”

Fling the door open, slam it shut, hurl myself across the lot at Hayley’s mother.

“Uh, excuse me, Miss — “ No idea what Hayley’s last name is. “Hi. You’re Hayley’s Mom?”

“Do I know you?”

“I’m one of Hayley’s teachers.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, I — “

“I don’t know who you are, but if you taught Hayley I’d have already met you, because it’s the middle of the year, and all of them have already given her shit and called me in for meetings to give me shit. So who the hell are you?”

“Oh, not the normal… I mean regular… I’m a teaching artist… I do drama. We integrate the curriculum — “

“Oh, you’re the actor, with the Indians… and the baskets. She told me.”

I do drama, alright. Ugh. Where’s a high school roof when I need one?

“Nice boots, but these guys aren’t hiring right now.”

“Huh?”

“Leave them your number they’ll call you if a girl leaves. Some guys like that whole bad girl-librarian mash-up you got goin’. You’re a little old for it though.”

Aaaaaand cue suicidal ideation.

“Look, it’s none of my business, but I think your job, um… might be having a negative effect on Hayley.”

“What?”

“I just think — “

“What the hell do you know about my job.”

Mania takes mouth.

“Uh, Hayley won’t sit in the circle. I mean, anything you ask her to do, she does… she might have… it’s called Oppositional — “

“Defiance Disorder. I know. Are you here to tell me that while no one is looking Hayley is solving complex math problems… she Good Will Huntin’ it up when I’m not lookin’?”

“Well, no… but look, when I was young — “

“Oh, God —. No, uh uh.”

Cue tears. Lots of tears. My God, Goodwill Hunting. So good. They did it. Broke The Hollywood Matrix. The storytelling, the heart, the — Where are your scripts, Esther, huh? In a drawer--

Double the tears. Storm tears for this shot.

“Shit, girl. Pull yourself together.” She hands me the tiny cocktail napkin she’s holding. Who knows where it was last, but I blow my nose into… and right through it.

I stuff the napkin into my pocket as fast as I can and wipe the small handful of snot on my pants as chill as I can, at which point I realize I am still in my pajama bottoms.

Then I take in the whole gestalt of me. I know my hair is matted, because I haven't washed it in weeks, and keep doing "messy bun," to disguise "bipolar give no fucks." I'm wearing my high prescription glasses which make my eyes look like I'm an anime character. I am wearing my favorite cozy shirt: neck-cut-out à la Flashdance, ancient and nearly see-through Les Mis tee (original tour) with no bra (hard nipples now, because it is JUST cold enough), and pajama bottoms which are huge on me because they used to belong to my ex who was an editor (lots of sitting). The pants are printed with pictures of classic novels (lots of nerdy). My thigh-high boots which I stumbled into when Hayley Corleone shoved me out of my apartment are zipped OVER the pants. On top of all this, I am wearing my attorney/detective/social worker audition blazer.

Bad girl-librarian mash-up was generous. I rub my hands together. Is snot moisturizing? Jesus, Esther! I both look and am acting like, someone who has escaped somewhere that definitely has a curfew and takes away your shoestrings. I pull the blazer over my diamond nips

I look up. Hayley’s Mom is staring at me. I feel like I have been standing there an hour, but this is a woman who gives people like five seconds of “quiet time” tops, so I figure I’m good and haven’t floated away too long or gotten too weird.

Shit! Cat Ears with Gun. Move your ass, Esther! Bomb, hello!

“Whoever you are… I teach Hayley to not take shit. She might not go to college or whatever, but nobody’s gonna get the better of her. She’s not gonna be like you, I’ll tell ya that. You’re a mess.”

Aaaaand. Cue laughter. Hysterical laughter.

Fuck Big Pharma and their under-researched meds.

“Lady, you’re so right.”

Now I’m howling… like a dog… a dog that maybe should be put down. “I don’t wanna be like me either.”

She stares. “What’s wrong with you?”

Catch my breath, open my mouth, everything slows. Tears in my throat.

DON’T YOU DARE CRY AGAIN, ESTHER!!! I make fists, push them into my sides under my blazer, bend my knees a little. I am strong. See, no tears.

Good girl. Yes! I’m a fucking rockstar. Great, now my eyes are watering like we’re in a scene from The Notebook, like I can’t stand she’s about to leave. GOD!

Hayley is going to kill me, blow up all the strippers and herself, and I’m “Demi’s last goodbye” in Ghost. I'm one-tear-ready-to-roll camera… like an asshole.

God, Esther why is everything movies, theatre, books… therapist said you live in fantasy. She was jealous, though… failed actor. You could tell she couldn't fucking act. "Well, being a star in your hometown and college… even getting a couple of jobs here… It's a tough business." Shoulda asked her… were you? The star? Were ya? Bitch. God, she was so bitter.

"Outta the way, Edith."

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm having a… I'm bi - "

“You’re hitting on me? Seriously?”

“NO! My drugs — Wait. How did you— ? Wait. My name’s not — “

“You doin’ drugs teachin’ my kid?”

“NO!”

“Better well not be.”

“My name’s not Edith.”

“Somethin’ like that. Hayley said it was a… like an old lady name. Like a girl with no boyfriend."

I blink.

"So?”

“It’s Esther.”

One fat tear rolls down my cheek. Really, Esther!

Opens her door.

“Well, there ya go. We done, Waterworks, or you wanna tell me about how your Mama didn’t breast-feed ya?”

Did she? Goddamn therapist didn’t ask me that.

I just stare, thinking her breasts were made for breastfeeding. Not real, maybe. Now turned on a little. Stupid mania. If I’m not blown to bits, I gotta go straight to Urgent Care… or, whatshisname’s… God, he is such an asshole, so mean… doesn't even like me, but his —

Stop. You’re getting horny. There is a BOMB in your car!

Hayley’s mother drives away. God, you didn’t say anything about her breasts did you?

Back in the car, Hayley in her seat, just looks at me.

"Your Mom's kind of a bitch."

"I know."

"Is that why you're a bitch?" Zero filter, zero fucks left.

"M'not a bitch because I think pretending to be Kumeyaay is stupid. They were massacred, forced to build missions, and shit, dumbass. Alanni told me all - "

"I KNOW THAT!!!!"

Hello, rage mania! Welcome to the party!

"Ya know, Hayley, I didn't want to be a teaching artist! I'm an actor! Blew that up! Like everything in my life. Ha! Blew it up!"

"SHUUUUT UP!"

Shaking. Breathe, Esther. Breathe.

"I'm going to the back seat now. Don't move."

Gets out. BAM! Shit, duck and cover, not the face, not the face!

Car door slamming, you idiot!

Think of speeding off. Is there a remote control in her ammo bag for the bomb? In what little kid street gang did she learn to - ?

"Don't try anything." Points the gun from the back seat. Grabs the box.

I want to die anyway today, who cares?

In again, slam. Puts the gun on the dashboard. Her eyes dare me to touch it. Whips a paring knife out of her bag. Seriously, kid? Slice the tape on the edge of the box. Opens it.

Two chocolate cupcakes.

Smiles at me.

Leave the gun, keep the cupcakes.

"Is this my last meal or yours?"

"They were gonna be payment for if it worked. I thought you'd be more convincing because you said you're an actor."

That punch landed. I coulda been a contender, Hayley… a story for another time.

Hold the tears, play the scene. Last week's theatre lesson: play the scene.

Hands me a cupcake. Delicious.

"Why do you like Alanni?"

"Huh?"

"From class."

"I just do."

"You like her because you want to be like her."

"No I don't."

"Okay, whatever you say."

Sit. Eat.

"What did my Mom say?"

Say nothing.

"That you're stupid, right?"

"Yes, but that you're smart - "

"She didn't say that."

Why you askin' if you know, homie?

Look at the gun.

"Aren't any bullets in it."

Dumbass. Bite of cupcake. Of course it isn't loaded. This sugar is gonna make the cycling so much worse. Hope you aren't around for that H-dawg.

"Mom keeps it by her bed, but the bullets are somewhere else." This is stupid. Guns are stupid, but if you're going to have one…

"Where does she think you are?"

"Alanni's."

Sit. Eat.

"So Hayley, you probably won't really get this now… maybe ever, but there are lots of things we're powerless over, like who our family is, and whether we end up in a class where we're expected to learn stupid things or - "

"Or what job we end up with 'cause we gotta pay the bills?"

Where's a bullet when I need one?

"Uh… right, kinda not the point, but - … I'm just saying you don't HAVE to be a bitch, just because your Mom says 'Don't take shit from the world.' It's not the only way to not take shit from the world. Not everybody is out to get you. Like… don't hate everything JUST to hate it, is what I am saying."

"Whatever."

The tears decide to have their way. It's not Hayley. It just is. Something I'm powerless over, but also something I can do something about. I'm just doing a shitty job of explaining that to her.

It starts raining. The sound on the roof is the hug I wanted from Hayley's Mom. I look at Hayley and her nose is buried an inch deep in chocolate. She tried. It is enough for her. For now. I get her in this moment. So get my home-girl, Hayley. When trying your damnedest is not enough, because you're feral or came pre-wounded, I get that so hard.

The rain starts pounding an ancient rhythm that I feel called to dance to, and I see my tribe waiting for me to join them. The family who has held my dreams for me all these years. The good fellas and the bad girls and the aliens and the lost loves torn apart by time and circumstance then brought together again by fate and the super-heroes and the fairy tale villains and vixens and sitcom Moms and dopey Dads all splash to the rhythm of the rain and my own lost-ness, offering comfort.

I open my door and leap out into the storm to join them.

"Oh, isn't this WONDERFUL!?"

The cold and wet shock me, but I don't care. I am with my people. Finally. THIS is the purpose of this strange night.

I run toward Ricardo Maltaban, my arms wide.

"You saved me, Mr. Rourke. Saved me! Would you like a cupcake? We have cupcakes!"

Can't see. Too much rain. Stumble. Drop my cupcake. Wipe my glasses. Catch on my sleeve. Fall to the grown.

"Mr. Rourke, I'm sorry, I - "

My tribe is gone. Where - ?

"GET BACK IN THE CAR!" Hayley's Blazin' Cheeto and cupcake breath pours into my nostrils as she shoves my glasses into my hand and pulls me up.

I stumble back to the car. Get in. Slam. She gets in. Slam.

"You're cra - " She stops.

Sits.

Hayley's leg shakes. Mine used to too.

I notice Amelie sitting on the hood. She smiles and waves. She remembers how I came out of the theatre bought another ticket and went right back in to watch her magic twice. It was everything. She's my people. The rain doesn't bother her at all. I can always tell when she comes to smile I'll be alright.

I try to regain my composure. I can do that. I can. All the adults in Hayley's world can't be unreliable. She needs something to hang onto. I know what that's like. Come on, Esther listen to yourself. She does not want your help.

A lot of people thought of as crazy then are called geniuses now, right? So…

Lazy Susan spins a hundred miles an hour. Grab the edge, Esther.

"Hey, Hayley… before, what I said. You heard me, right?"

"Yeah."

"And… ya know, don't let anyone tell you you can't - - I mean if Alanni's your friend, your homegirl, she'll help you stay outta trouble and… I don't know… just… ya know… every great story, nobody thought would-- "

"Are you quoting something from Instagram?"

"NO! FUCK! Forget it." Was that Lloyd Dobler from Say Anything. Good God. Is that all that is in there now? You have your own words, Esther!

"Sorry."

"Just don't be asshole and do something you care about that matters, okay? YOU matter, okay! You do. Don't ever think you don't matter."

"Jesus! Okay. I get it."

Sit. 

Amelie is gone. I feel lost watching the big lips blink through the crying windshield.

"Seriously though, you shouldn't be sayin', homegirl. Not cuz you're White, just cuz… yeah, just don't."

"Sure, right, whatever," I mumble, not really listening, thinking about Lloyd Dobler holding up that damn jambox.

Hayley grabs the pistol, presses it into my cheek.

__________________________________________

11:22

She hisses like a movie villain.

"You listening? I'm improvising! Weave me a basket, Kumeyaay. Build me a mission." She leans in close, pushes her finger into my cheek, and whispers, "Bitch."

The faces in the circle await my move. 

Shoulda had your meds checked. Shoulda brought cupcakes.