a lucky break

As Audrey ambled down the side streets on her way to pick up her desperately required morning Chai, she closed her eyes and tilted her head up to meet the sun. It had been days and days of rain. Of clouds and thunder and fog and mist. Now, as she soaked in those brilliant rays, she could feel her soul lift. Like a flower converting the radiant energy of the sun into useful chemical energy, her step quickened, and her smile grew. Today HAS to be the day, she willed, sending her affirmation out into the universe. Today was going to be her lucky break, and she was taking a leap of faith. 

Navigating the labyrinth of Lower Manhattan was as second nature as breathing to Audrey. Growing up here had been a dream. While she wasn’t afforded an affluent childhood, the wild jungles of the city were an ever-evolving, constantly changing playground and she thrived there. She loved every minute of it. The taxi’s horns and the squealing of breaks. The cacophony of accents and passionate voices that would float through first story windows and carry through the streets. Indeed, her first foray into acting was by imitating her neighbors and roleplaying their life stories out on the streets. The whole city her stage. 

Her heart singing, she stepped through her beloved coffee shop.  Well, it was more than that really. During the day, the first floor was open and operated to serve the typical normal fare. To serve the residents and tourists alike. Being close by City Hall compelled Max, the proprietor, to cater to all sorts. Money talks, and all that. So, begrudgingly, Max suffered through the normality of a coffee bar so that after the noon day rush, she could close up shop, click the off-switch on the welcoming ‘Open!’ sign, and start planning for that evening’s production upstairs. The back entrance known only to select locals. 

Max was one of Audrey’s favorite people. How many times had she tried to imitate her exact pitch in the shower? The lilt and drawl of her typical New York accent made special by her refusal to do anything resembling ordinary. Max was a staunch feminist. An eccentric. A maverick director with a flair for fringe theater productions. An ASL interpreter on the side. A dissenter of conformist thought. An all-season, well-worn leather jacket wearing buzz cut. 

Cool personified. 

Waiting in line to order, eyes downcast and hands wringing, she mentally reorganized her thoughts. Reminded herself that she wanted this. To showcase the stories and truths she held inside of herself. To temporarily hold a person’s attention and transport their perspective to her own. 

The couple just in front of her were lingering at the counter trying pathetically and unsuccessfully to ingratiate themselves to Max. She cut the boyfriend off midway through his rant about steampunk and sci-fi stealing elements from other niche subcultures with a raised eyebrow and a calculated walk in the opposite direction.

Max greeted Audrey with their customary elbow bump and headed into the kitchen to prepare her Chai. Audrey had timed her entrance with intention. She knew there would be a lull in customers at this time, so they took seats opposite one another on the threadbare couch and spent time to catch up. 

Audrey knew this was her chance to beseech Max to take a chance on her. Bravely, she took a breath and the words began tumbling out of her mouth. All her well-rehearsed talking points drifted away as she spoke of her childhood, her passions, her fears and her growth and her desperate need to perform on a stage just once. Please just once. 

The whole of her ambition overshadowed by a persistent phobia of performing in front of people. Out on the streets she was invincible. Giving the pavement and streetlights a gripping performance every night. But in front of people? On stage? For all her failings and insecurities, she hated this the most about herself. Her ever present logic screaming that she would never be content until she conquered this irrational fear. 

She didn’t know she was crying until Max graciously handed her, of all things, a monogrammed handkerchief. Embarrassed, she ran to the restroom and took a few moments to steady herself. She returned to the café and was startled to see that Max had turned the ‘Open!’ sign off and was locking the door. 

Wordlessly, she led Audrey up the stairs where she’d so enviously watched others ascend before. They came out onto the small, dingy stage where Max would host her nightly entertainment. Poets and actors and filmmakers and eager exhibitionists all vied for a chance to perform here. Unconventional and edgy stories wrapped up in a single act. Nothing was too anything up there. It was idyllic for what she had planned. 

Max left Audrey on the stage and lazily took a random seat in the empty audience below, 25 or so mismatched chairs around her. Show me, she had said. Move me. Intrigue me. Take me somewhere I’ve never been.

Shocked into compliance, Audrey nodded. Heart thumping against her ribs in an unfamiliar cadence, she took hold of her trembling hands, inhaled, and turned her gaze to Max. 

“It’s like this,” she began. After a few stalls and starts, she found her rhythm. Her pulse steadied and she found her focus. “Myths,” she described, “are universally used to imply that a story is not empirically true. They are warped into folklore. Twisted into a narrative that is consistent with our own expressions and beliefs, our goals and fears and dreams. We use these tools as a shield against painful truths we may not be ready to see. But oh, how easily they can be debunked. Broken down into smaller pieces and made clear to those with the strength of heart to see.”

She continued… 

“Like the chameleon, who we so often use as a metaphor for blending into our surroundings. Conforming ourselves to easily hide from predators. Buying into the myth that could we only change ourselves, shed our true skin, we wouldn’t be seen by those who intend to do us harm. In reality, while their color-changing abilities are remarkable, they do this only to maintain their body temperature and to communicate with others of their kind. To live and survive and mate and simply exist like chameleons. There is no hidden agenda to their talent. Or like raccoons. Believed to be so strictly nocturnal that a daytime sighting has them unfairly gifted with the unfortunate designation of being raging and rabid. In truth, many are mother mammals, sifting through garbage and foraging for food to feed their hungry litter of kits in their shabby little dens."

She took another stabilizing breath. Her eyes open, yet looking inward. The thoughts pouring out...

"Oh, how we criminalize these creatures. Like single, desperate mothers, slaving themselves out to do whatever it takes to feed their children. How dare they exist like this. Acting out their most primal instinct. Yet we mythicize this still. Try to turn their truths into cautionary stories, when the heart of the matter is that we shut our eyes too tight to the horrors of this world. Even while they are upon us. Even when we can feel the truth and know with certainty that yes, this is reality, and no, I still do not want to see it. A perfect cognitive dissonance that we are trained from birth to recognize.”  

Max watched on as Audrey’s monologue turned into a chant and then into something else entirely. She was enthralled with Audrey’s energy and passion and oh my god who is she. She is perfect and real and genuine and true. Audrey barreled on, unrelenting in her desire for understanding. To have someone else hear her spoken certainties. 

And now that she had finally begun, she could not stop. Would not stop. It came out of her so fluidly, like liquid honesty. Finally. She was on stage, revealing truths with no remorse.

Her lucky break, indeed.