Act 2: Mimesis
Scene 8: Lights Out
“Ueda, Ueda,” Mr. Nomiya muses, using Jun’s family name. He drags his eyes across the entire hall, scanning it. He notes the art supplies in front of the booth, but passes them over with a shrug of his shoulders. Finding Jun on the stage, he claps his hands together and strides forward.
“Ueda! There you are. I wanted to come speak to you, since we didn’t get much time to talk yesterday, did we?”
Jun doesn’t answer. He stares at Mr. Nomiya in horror.
Mr. Nomiya seems a little confused. He looks around at the rest of us, then turns back to Jun.
“I think that’s that, isn’t it?” he says. “I figured you would be here, owing as you didn’t show up to the art club today. I thought I’d give it an afternoon, since men can get a little emotional about these kinds of things when girls are involved. Haha! Believe me, I did my own fair share of idiotic things in my youth, thinking I was chasing after ‘the one,’ or the ‘right woman.’ Certainly I am not blameless in that regard, no, certainly I am not. But nevertheless!”
Mr. Nomiya spreads his arms wide, emphasizing his words as he stands in front of the stage, speaking to Jun as if the rest of us aren’t here.
“Nevetheless!” he repeats. “Is your girl problem solved? I was walking over here to check on your little troupe of actors and I saw that... ah, I’ve got it, it was Okasaki, wasn’t it? Okasaki, yes. And she stormed right past me. What are you looking so shocked for? You should know that I’d recognize her. Anywho, she stomped away and I gave her a look like I’d like to talk, but I don’t think she saw me, so upset she was. I assume there was an issue, then? Ah, I get it. So you wanted to stay with the art club, but she wanted you to leave, is that right? Well, what a stroke of luck, then! Now that that unfortunate period is behind us, I think we can both come to focus on the things that matter.”
Mr. Nomiya places his hands on his hips, a broad smile spreading itself across his face. He waits for Jun to respond for several moments before becoming concerned, raising an eyebrow as he finally seems to notice that Jun has been crying. How it took him so long I can hardly imagine, given that Jun’s eyes are incredibly red, and the salt from his tears is encrusted on his cheeks.
“Good god, man!” Mr. Nomiya exclaims. “Pull yourself together! She’s just one girl. There are plenty of fish in the sea, as they say. But art, art is a compulsion that no-one can control. If you must make art, you must make art. Especially if you have talent, which you do, you know? A tremendous amount of talent.”
I look between Jun and Mr. Nomiya, and am shocked to see, for a moment or two, a look of genuine consideration on Jun’s face, before he seems to realize the irony of the situation. He sees how quick he is to fold to a compliment. He frowns at Nomiya, but doesn’t say anything.
I remember what I told Tsuru just before rehearsal started, and it’s then that I understand what Molly was trying to do over the course of the play. She was trying to tell Tsuru, and, by extension, Jun, the same thing. Jun would hopefully see the value of not being reliant on other peoples’ approval, and Nomiya would lose the ability to manipulate him exactly like this. In the end, the lesson seems to have been learned, though not as harmlessly as I imagine Molly hoped.
Mr. Nomiya clears his throat. “How about you come with me and help me bring these supplies back to the art room. No, no, don’t worry. I won’t hold your acting troupe accountable for taking them. Those paintbrushes are yours, anyway. And the background paintings belong to the drama club, too. It’s just some paint. We have plenty of paint. But talent. Art is dying for talent. Real talent. Come on, come on, stand up.”
“Let’s discuss this outside, Mr. Nomiya,” says Molly.
Mr. Nomiya turns to her, clicking his tongue. He seems annoyed that he has to speak to anyone but Jun.
“No, I don’t think we will. And besides, I don’t think there’s very much to discuss.”
“But there is. We’ll be needing those flats painted in order to go on with our play, and as much as I’ve tried to accommodate your requests, you still won’t give your students any time to actually work on them.”
Mr. Nomiya scratches the back of his head. “They’re very large,” he says simply.
“They haven’t gotten any larger than they were last year.”
“My students are just very busy, you see. Jun, ah, I mean Ueda especially. You see, I’ve been wanting to teach him more anatomy, as I think his style of painting would improve if he could depict people with more appropriate proportions, so I’ve scheduled a lecture with him-”
“I don’t think that’s very relevant to the conversation, Mr. Nomiya.”
“Ah, but it is,” he says, imitating Molly’s tone of voice. Poorly. “For example…”
I notice Molly taking steps backwards, out of the audience, and, as the two of them speak, she draws attention to the flats on the floor in front of the booth, or the clock suspended above the doorway, mentioning the time and how they could discuss this in an hour, and I briefly wonder if Molly is just distracting him, leading him on with meaningless nonsense, and then I blink and realize the two of them have meandered all the way to the entrance to the theater hall, and I’ve followed the two of them to hold the door open as we leave and continue our discussion in the hallway. Somehow, Molly’s managed to make her assertion to “discuss this outside” a reality, and Nomiya’s been so invested in the argument I don’t think he’s even noticed.
I let the door fall shut behind me, leaving Jun to slump back into the couch on stage, while a few other cast members follow us outside nervously. Another two or three stay inside to fuss over Jun.
“...but how is Ueda supposed to paint them here, if you insist all the supplies be kept in the art room? I’ve tried repeatedly…”
“...this has never been something I’ve had to be concerned with before, Miss Kapur. Maybe that reflects more on your leadership than…”
“...started bringing them over one at a time instead of in bulk, like you said. But if they’re to have any continuity, Ueda needs to paint them side by side…”
“...those enormous canvases do nothing but clutter up the art room. I’m trying to keep it tidy, so my students can focus…”
Molly and Nomiya go back and forth for another minute or two. She keeps glancing at me, though I can’t ascertain for what reason. The way she seems to be clenching her teeth in between her sentences, or whenever Nomiya interrupts her, which he does frequently, indicates to me that she’s getting frustrated. How she’s managed to keep herself this civil this long is beyond me. I would’ve snapped a long time ago, with how Nomiya is leading her around in circles.
Eventually, she looks over her shoulder, back towards the doors to the theater hall, and she turns to me, a worried look on her face.
“Hisao, could you handle this for a moment? I need to go check on Jun.”
My eyes widen. “Me?”
Molly nods, then spins and disappears behind the doors.
Nomiya stares after her in disbelief.
“This is the problem with that girl,” he says, mostly to himself. “She never gives me any respect. I’ve never met another student that speaks like that to a teacher.”
I run my hands down my face, looking around at the other few cast members now standing around awkwardly with me in the hallway, hoping some of them can offer me some help. I spot Aya tapping her fingers together, and she gives me a nervous smile.
“I think she just needs a moment to make sure Jun is okay,” I say.
“He’s fine,” Nomiya asserts, with a wave of his hand, not bothering to look my way.
“I don’t think so. I really don’t think now is the time to be pressuring him into making a decision.”
Nomiya finally locks eyes with me.
“Who are you?” he asks.
I take a deep breath.
“Hisao Nakai. I run the lights and sou-”
“So you’re not even an actor? You just fiddle with a bunch of buttons?”
I blink. “Sure, yeah.”
“This is ridiculous. Go get Miss Kapur.”
I purse my lips, forcing myself not to roll my eyes. I’m sorry, Molly, but I can’t speak normally with this asshole. Against all my better judgment proclaiming that antagonizing Mr. Nomiya any further would be a bad idea, I can’t just stand here while he orders me and the rest of the club around. I can’t just stand here while he insults Molly or tries to bully Jun after he just broke up spectacularly with his girlfriend.
“It’s Jun’s life,” I say, emphasizing his first name. “He can do what he wants with it. We already have an agreement on which days of the week Jun should-”
“Oh yes, I know all about these agreements you keep offering me!” Nomiya belts out, his face reddening. “It’s all ‘agreements’ and ‘deals’ with that Director of yours. She thinks she knows everything, and now she thinks she doesn’t even need to talk to me in person!”
I cross my arms. “Maybe Jun doesn’t show up to your club all that often because he has more fun here.”
“Fun? Whenever was this about fun?” he shouts. “That boy has talent, and I’m not going to let him waste it. Get him to come out here, now!”
I sigh. “I don’t think you’re being loud enough, I can’t hear you.”
Nomiya hardens his expression, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. The tension in the hallway seems to build and build, until finally, it snaps.
“Get him to come out here, now,” Nomiya says, “or I’m shutting this club down.”
I pause for a moment, taking a few seconds to process what I’ve just heard.
“What?” I exclaim, along with several people behind me.
Nomiya places his hands on his hips, a smug, triumphant look on his face.
“Until Mrs. Imai comes back, I’m the sponsor of this club. Or didn’t you know that? A club can’t have meetings without a teacher’s sponsorship.”
I point at him exasperatedly. “Why do you even want Jun back? So you can dangle another mural in front of his face?”
Nomiya seems shocked I know about that, and he sputters for a few moments before formulating a reply.
“T-that is absolutely none of your business! That’s barely any of Ueda’s business!”
“What is none of my business?” says a gruff, tired voice behind me.
I spin around to find Jun just pushing the theater hall doors open, ducking his head as he steps through them. He looks miserable. Molly follows a few steps behind him, an annoyed grimace plastered across her habitually expressionless face. I get the impression she didn’t want Jun to come out here.
“There you are!” Nomiya says. “I see you took your time.”
“They say patience is a virtue,” Jun grumbles.
“They do! And I have certainly had mine tested. This time will be the last. Miss Kapur, give me your keys.”
“Excuse me?” Molly asks, not quite believing him.
“You heard me correctly. Give me your keys. You won’t be having another meeting until Mrs. Imai gets back from her leave.”
“What?!” we all shout at the same time.
I see a look of panic spread across Jun’s face. I put my hand to my forehead, pressing my eyes shut. God, I’ve ruined everything. Molly trusted me for ten seconds and I’ve somehow managed to do this.
All at once, several cast members go into an uproar.
“Why?” shouts a girl behind me.
“What the hell!”
“For the rest of the year?!”
“We had a deal,” Molly states firmly, and the rest of the cast goes silent.
“Had,” proclaims Nomiya. “Emphasis on had.”
“This is over me?” Jun cries. “I-I can show up to the art club more! I-it’s not- Why- Wha-”
“Believe me, boy, this is a long time coming,” Nomiya dictates. He thrusts his hand forward, palm held upwards in front of Molly’s face. “If you don’t give me your keys now, the administration is going to hear about your arrogant, disrespectful behavior. I’ve heard plenty from you, and I’ve been extraordinarily kind in keeping this conflict between us, young lady.”
Molly’s face stays stone-still. She looks up at him, then down at his hand, then up at him again. For some reason, even though nothing on her face seems to indicate it, I get the impression that she’s about to cry.
Instead, she does something I could have never expected.
Molly takes a step back, then drops into a deep bow.
Without missing a beat, I drop into a bow beside her. I feel blood rushing to my head and my heart pounding in my ears, but I think nothing of it.
“I don’t care what happens to me,” Molly pleads, “but please don’t shut down the theater club!”
That gives me pause. Even if Molly doesn’t care what happens to her, I do.
“Oho,” Nomiya chuckles. “And who will handle the club in your stead?”
“Hisao can handle it,” Molly says confidently. “He knows how.”
I look over at Molly, seeing her eyes shut tight as she clutches her hands to her chest, her upper body almost parallel to the ground despite her legs straining. Her braids hang at the sides of her face. Does she really think I could…? No, I can’t. I definitely can’t. But it doesn’t matter right now. I can figure that out later.
I don’t know if Nomiya actually considers the offer, but after a few moments, he announces his verdict.
“You’ve got five seconds to hand me your keys.”
I close my eyes. Looks like it was for nothing after all.
“Please!” Molly cries.
“Please!” I repeat.
“Five.”
“Please consider it!” Molly pleads. I repeat after her.
“Four.”
I swallow. Molly and I both stand up, and I feel the blood drain from my head.
“Three,” Nomiya says, his hand still held out in front of him. “Two.”
Molly digs through her pockets and drops the keys into his hand. They jingle in his palm.
“One. Good,” Nomiya concludes. He stuffs the keys in his breastpocket. “Have the room cleared out in an hour.”
I stare down at my feet, not wanting to look anyone in the eyes.
“And you, young man,” Nomiya says, gesturing with his chin towards Jun, “are coming with me.”
Nomiya looks up at Jun expectantly, waiting for him to step forward and follow him, but Jun doesn’t. He stares down at Nomiya without inclining his head, his eyes half-closed. But under the bags under his eyes I see a new sense of pride; the few seconds he stands there without responding put the two of them in a new perspective, and compared to Jun, Nomiya all of a sudden looks very small, and his face embarrassingly red. Jun wrinkles his lower lip at Nomiya before stepping forward, not to follow him, but to stride past him.
“Hey,” yelps Nomiya, spinning around. “Hey!”
Jun exits through the double doors in the hallway, and I see him through the windows already heading back to the dorms. The doors fall shut in Nomiya’s face and he gapes, aghast, shooting us a look as if he wants us to order Jun to listen to him in his stead. He gives up on following Jun and throws his hands up in the air uselessly.
“Bah!” he exclaims, and trudges down the hall.
I let out a long, captive exhale.
Molly turns around. The entirety of the theater club is now either outside of the hall, standing in the doorways, or just inside, the doors held open by the small crowd.
“Meeting’s over,” Molly announces, looking down at the floor, her expression hollowed out. “Everyone back inside. We need to clean up.”
Sluggishly, the club filters back through the doors into the hall. We don’t say anything, but we start going through the motions of cleaning up. We move automatically, as if in a trance, though, for some reason, cleaning up seems to take much longer than normal. I don’t know why; I don’t feel like I’m moving slowly.
Molly’s expression as she moves about sorting the booth is indecipherable, as always, but the way she seems to be staring at the floor a bit more than usual tells me she’s sad, or maybe deep in thought. I find myself glancing over to her as if for reassurance, though I don’t know who I’m trying to reassure; myself, or her.
On the one hand, I’m happy Molly wasn’t punished personally, even if that seems to be what she would have preferred. On the other hand, I don’t think Molly’s taking the club getting shut down very well. Hell, I know I’m not. The me from a few weeks ago would’ve blown up at Nomiya.
The me from today just ruins everything and gets us into this mess in the first place.
Goddammit.
I’m such an idiot.
I finish packing up the props and lean against a wall, running my hands down my face. I cock my ear and listen to people talk.
“...what’ll we do?”
“...never would’ve happened if Tsuru…”
“...wish Mrs. Imai would come back…”
A few members of the cast have already left, but most are still here, standing around in the audience, worrying and working themselves into a state of anxiety. Despite this, Molly is making no attempt to calm them down. Molly is too honest; she won’t lie to them and say everything’s fine.
It makes me angry. Why won’t she just yell at me? Why won’t she tell me I messed things up? Why is she acting so stoic even now? There’s a ringing in my head that won’t go away. I grab the remainder of my things, finding my script tossed onto the floor in the audience, where I must have left it when Nomiya showed up, and stuff them back in my bag. I need to get things fixed up. Somehow. I don’t know how. Once we clean up, I can talk to her. What will I say?
What will she say? She won’t blame me. She’ll say this was all Nomiya’s fault, and that neither of us could have predicted how he would behave. But that doesn’t mean there weren’t things I could have done to prevent this. It sure doesn’t mean other people won’t blame me. This is always where my mind drifts when I’m given even a moment of breathing room. I always go back to how I messed up. How stupid I am. Sometimes I just wish my head would shut up.
…
Where’s Molly? I check the booth again and find Molly emptying a dustpan full of porcelain into the garbage. I have to step over Jun’s painting again to get to her, and that makes me wonder.
“What should we do with the flats?” I say, mostly to myself. No-one cleaned these up. I guess they left it for when Jun comes back?
I look over my shoulder, but no-one’s heard me. They’re too busy. Molly doesn’t answer. I hear my blood pounding in my head and I clench my jaw, trying to make the sound go away.
“I guess I’ll leave it onstage with the others.”
I lean over and grab ahold of an edge of the flat, stooping down and straining to lift the edge of-
…
==========
A dull winter sky.
==========
…
The ringing in my ears drowns everything out.
My arms are full of lead. I can’t feel anything below my neck.
I become aware that I’m not standing anymore. I’ve sunken down to my knees, though I can’t feel the cool tiles of the theater hall chill my shins. The light is too bright; I have to wrench my eyes shut as they burn in pain. The inside of my eyelids look like a dead channel, all black and white static.
Molly says something.
It feels like I’m drifting, lower and lower, almost into the floor, enveloped in a warm, soft fuzziness. As if I’m taking a dip in a warm pool. The feeling isn’t unpleasant; there’s no surging pain through my chest, just that ringing. God, what is that? Can someone shut that off?
My arms drooping at my sides, my vision gradually comes back. I never closed my eyes. They were open the whole time.
Molly is kneeling beside me, one arm wrapped around my shoulder, her other hand splayed across my sternum. I think it’s the only thing that kept me from knocking my teeth out on the tiled floor, or dropping down directly onto Jun’s painting.
The ringing in my ears quiets down. It’s replaced by the clamoring activity of the club. A whole tidal wave of voices indistinguishable from one another in the panic. Except one.
“Hisao? Hisao?” Molly’s voice calls. Muffled and distant, like she’s underwater.
I groan. Feeling is slowly coming back to me, in the form of pins and needles across my entire body. But underneath all of it, I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my head. That’s good. At least I still have one.
“Hisao? Can you hear me?”
“Oh, god,” I croak, my throat suddenly dry.
Her grip on my shoulder tightens, sending a lance of pain through my arm as the pins and needles sharpen. It’s like every part of my body went to sleep except my head. I think I’d rather be electrocuted.
“Can you hear me?” Molly asks again, her voice desperate now.
“I can,” I say.
“Your legs collapsed underneath you.”
“Yeah.”
“You were out for four or five seconds.”
“Yeah.”
“Lie down, okay? Kazuki? Go get the nurse.”
“On it,” says a voice behind me.
“Just give me a second,” I interrupt. “I’m fine now, I’ll walk there myself.”
Molly doesn’t respond, and I don’t crane my stiff neck to check her expression. She stays holding onto me, the whole length of her body pressed against my side, as if I might drift away were she to let go.
In a corner of my mind, I feel I should be a little embarrassed, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Over the course of a minute, the pins and needles fade away, and I’m left with a slight… foggy, numb feeling in my limbs. It dampens over time, but doesn’t completely go away. I clench and unclench my fists, testing my motor control by digging my nails into my palms.
Molly makes a motion for someone to fetch a chair from the booth, and a girl runs over and drags one to us. I blink a few times, bat away some hands reaching out to help me, steady my arms, and hoist myself up onto the chair, then onto my feet, taking care to move as slowly as possible. My legs are numb and the whole motion feels awkward, as if I were pulling myself out of a pool.
A few moments later, Molly uses the same chair to stand up. I look up and finally see that there’s a whole semicircle of people surrounding us now, having run over from all corners of the hall. I don’t know if they saw me drop, or if Molly called out for help. I was too busy being unconscious.
I take a deep breath.
I’m alive.
“Are you okay?” Molly asks.
“I’ll be alright. The club will be alright. Fuck Nomiya. We’ll figure things out without him.”
Molly’s eyes are cold and hard and her mouth is pressed into a thin line.
“You have a heart condition.”
A statement, not a question.
“Yes,” I answer anyway.
Ah, I got wet paint all over my hands.
…And all over the chair.
I ball up my fists, the feeling coming back to them.
I grin.
“It hasn’t killed me yet,” I say.
Molly’s eyes widen, and her cheeks go red.
(continued…)
