Theater Cubicles

Cutting the Chord

My father was extremely hesitant to let me go to this overnight school. I had been to overnight camps across the states but for some reason an established private high school wasn't an idea that settled with him.

"You'll bond too much with everybody, Juliette...especially boys," he stated.

It was not like I'd automatically be good at that or anything. I hadn't had a boyfriend before and didn't even know how to start to have them. All I hoped for was to be on good terms with my potential room mate. I would be happy to make a few female acquaintances to start with, as well.

My mother placed my luggage in front of the door of the immense building with the the double doors that were probably twelve feet high. She seemed like she was on the verge of tears. If she didn't break down any minute it was to maintain my future social life. She would cry cheesy mom tears all the way home trying to justify why she talked my dad into letting my enroll in the first place. The conversations that took place were similar to the one that happened yesterday.

My mother would start by defending me saying, "She wants to be an actress or a writer or both. What is wrong with that?"

My father would retort, "Artists live on the streets! They never make money. Edgar Allan Poe, Vincent van Gogh, Oscar Wilde...they all died penniless! All in the name of art?"

Then there would be tears on my part.

My mother would then plead with my father, "She's our only child honey! There are wonderful opportunities for her to explore the field and receive a solid education in the career. They get you jobs right out of your senior year, right Juliette?"

I would then nod my head in agreement with my mother.

Then my father would say, "Oh? Are you planning on not going to college as well? For goodness sake,  Juliette. I'm a professor! How do you think I feel that my only daughter isn't going to a college when I've been teaching thousands of children each year to pay for her tuition?"

Mom would then explain, "This is in a way like college. It's like in Europe. You specialize on what you want to be when you're older when you're in high school. Look, honey, I'm a professor too. I deeply value education as much as you. What if we look back at these days and think about how bad we were at our job of parenting because we couldn't provide the opportunities our child seeks? What if Juliette  looks back at these days with contempt because we denied her the possibility to thrive in something that she considers her vocation?"

"Is that right, Juliette?" my father asked for my final decision.

I nodded my head up and down enthusiastically. 

Dad would then raise the white flag saying, "Do whatever you want! I'm not wasting my breath on you two anymore."

Well, he did. 

He talked on the entire two hour drive to the Academy. Yet, in the end, I achieved what I had wanted for three years now. All that stood in my path was the door to my dorm room. I fished the keys that weighed down my skirt pocket. The gold numbers 321 marked the room as the one I was assigned to live in for the year. Room 321 was the room in which I would attempt to demonstrate the talent I thought I had. 

I gave my mother a detached hug, in an effort to evoke less fervent sobs from her in the car. By exhibiting the false assumption of "bored teenager" qualities, I thought I would not only fit into the picture my mother wanted to leave behind but also the one society had drawn. I would not characterize myself as being a person with qualities that belong to one of my age, however.

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