ILIANA LIVES AND DOZES IN SHADES OF PURPLE. Lavender walls, violet furniture, amethyst blankets. The three of us lie on her floor, taking turns reading our chosen monologues aloud, trying to carve the words into our brains like engravings on a tombstone. "Dude, it's been ages. I've read this so much that I don't even remember my own name," Shannon said.
"Ugh, I know," Iliana agreed, "Like, who the fuck am I?" I roll over onto my back and then sit up, stretching my arms. I could hear my bones creaking.
"Bitch," I said to no one in particular, "Why am I?" They groan tiredly in unison as a reply. Slowly, but surely we all stand up. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm hungry af," Iliana says, walking out of her room. Shannon and I follow, moving like zombies that just crawled up from their graves.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but did she really just say "af" out loud?" Shannon whispered to me. I shrugged.
"At this point, when it comes to that one, I just choose to ignore the weird things. There's too many of them to worry at all," I said. Shannon nods her head in agreement. "True. Besides, all three of us have been slowly descending into madness ever since we met. She's just kinda...worse."
"I can hear you, y'know," An annoyed Iliana said. "Oh, we know." We head into the kitchen and Iliana ransacks her pantry for snacks. She comes back out of the walk-in mini grocery store with a box of squared cheese crackers and three bottles of water.
"No, no. Say nothing. I already know that I am the plug," I'm sure that both Shannon and I roll our eyes. I grab the water bottle that Iliana hands to me and we head to the living room. We all lounge on the leather couch, Shannon and I on either side of Iliana since she demanded to be in the middle. We tend to just blame it on her sun sign.
She turns on Netflix and puts on some random Netflix Original teen fiction movie. Ten minutes in, and my phone buzzes in my pocket. "Guys, my dad's outside," I said, standing and picking up any stray cheese crackers that may have fallen off of me. Shannon stands up, too. "Yeah, I should probably be leaving now, too. Walk me home, Li?"
"Yeah, sure. You guys got all your stuff?" I grab my book bag and put my shoes back on. "Yep. I'll see you guys tomorrow," I said, heading out the front door. Shannon and Iliana say their goodbye in unison and proceed to have a jinx war. I chuckle and shut the door behind me, assuming they'll just go out the back door to take the faster route to Shannon's house.
I open up the passenger side door to my dad's car and get in. "Did you have fun?" He asks, driving off.
"Yeah, if you count reciting the same words so much that you forget who and why you are as fun."
My dad just laughs. "Sounds like who had the best time ever. You think you'll get a part?" I look out the window, taking in the same scenery I see every time I leave Iliana's as if it's the first time.
"To be completely honest, I don't know. I mean, I can read well and all that, and performing has always seemed so amazing from my view on the outside looking in. But they're not looking for someone who can read well or recite lines from memory. They're looking for people who can act."
It's quiet for a second. I can see the moon from out the window. It looks like it's chasing us, or at least trying to catch up.
"Have you ever lied before?" My dad asked. The question caught me off guard. I mean, if you've ever lied, the first thing on your mind probably wouldn't be to tell your parents. Especially if they're the ones you lied to.
"I'm not asking if you lied to me, or your mom. I'm not even gonna ask what you've lied about. Just, if you've lied at all?"
"Yes, I have," I answered truthfully. He nodded.
"And did you ever get caught?"
"Well, no. I guess not. But, just to clarify, I don't do it often. And I try not to," I said, trying to explain myself so I didn't sound untrustworthy. My dad chuckled.
"It's fine, Frances. I do it, too," he said, "Like when I tell the cashier at the buffet that you're twelve instead of fifteen." I smiled in spite of the fact that I still look twelve. "But, that's not the point. The point is, if you can lie and get away with it, then you can act. Because what is acting other than lying to an audience and selling it, even though they know it's not real. They still feel it, still believe it."
He parked the car in the driveway and then turned it off.
"Thanks, dad," I said. He grinned. "No problem, kid. Just don't tell your mother I told you it was okay to lie. Because it's not."
We laughed and entered the house. My mom had made dinner and left it out on the stove. She had probably already gone to bed because she has to be up early for work tomorrow.
My dad and I ate and then I said goodnight, heading to my room. It's kinda small, but I don't really need much space. The walls are painted a tealish-blue and I've hung up fairy lights and the few drawings and art pieces I'm actually proud of. I've a small desk in the corner and a mini computer chair. I set my bookbag against the wall and begin to get ready for bed.
As I climb under the covers and fold into myself, I close my eyes and wait for sleep to come.
I think of my friends and our plot to become comrades with the theatre kids. I think of the lines of my monologue. I see myself memorizing it and getting it perfect, and getting a call-back, maybe. I think of cold hands and summer blue-green. A month is not a color, but I suppose that's just how everything feels when you look into the eyes.
I suppose it's not just the pigment, but what you feel when you see it. Like a rush of warmth, or a blanker of cold. Pain, sorrow, love. Longing.
I ascend into a dreamscape drenched in shades of blue and warmth like seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit.
