The Show Must Go On

When I awake the time tells 5:14 AM, although I must have woken up at 4:45 and turned off the alarm. I'm surprised I was able to wake up again, and that I didn't sleep right through. I am very much awake, alert, and clearheaded, and I think how strange it is.

I go into the living room and turn on the TV. I turn the volume down low because my two roommates are still sleeping and it's a small apartment. I've missed the opening procession and part of the service, but I'm still able to see William and Catherine take their vows. He looks stately in his uniform, and she looks beautiful in a classic gown that resists stuffiness and exits with a lengthy train.

The guests cheer. The crowds outside and elsewhere watching giant screens cheer. It is a very respectable spectacle. The country loves their future king and queen. And I get the feeling much of the world does as well.

The ceremony is over but it is still early. I make an unusually sizable breakfast of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and orange juice. I've never been much for a big breakfast, but I have been up for a while and it is still quite early and I have a long day ahead of me.

I get to work by 8:00. I make my calls and conduct my interviews. I go through the motions and it's easy.

At noon a friend invites me to lunch with a friend of hers. On the short walk over I notice how particularly nice the day is, with just a hint of breeze. I feel good in the outfit I'm wearing, one that I actually bought off a mannequin, which I never do. The three of us sit in the designated lunching area at Whole Foods, enjoying the tacos or sides or sandwiches we've ordered. I notice that it's getting close to the half hour I'm allotted and I need to get back to punch in. They laugh. They've both been working there a while. We take an hour lunch.

I leave work at 2:00 and I don't do much of anything in the afternoon. It is a regular afternoon. Nothing much happens. It is Friday though, and I am glad to have the weekend. I am always glad to have the weekend.

I get to the theatre by 6:30. I warm up at the piano, get dressed, and do a few small vocal and physical exercises. At 7:30 I sit down at the piano and introduce the show. It's a cute show with songs, a three-people-playing-thirty type of thing. I rush on and offstage, quickly changing costumes, sing, dance, and play through nearly 100 pages of piano music. It is a delightful show. I have grown a lot doing it, and am happy to be a working actor.

My mother, father, and stepfather are all stage actors, so it is a rare occurrence when one is able to make the trek from Minneapolis to Chicago and see me perform. My stepfather had a show, but my mother and father were able to see me in this. Afterward my father handed me a card. On the inside was written, Welcome to the theatre. That was three weeks ago.

The show ends around 9:00. The audience applauds and we bow. We go backstage, change at our various places, and leave one by one. I walk out of the dressing room into the empty theatre but I stop when I see my mother sitting in the front row, a suitcase beside her.

It is a fall unlike anything.

Mom? I question. Because surely it isn't her. Not without warning.

Nick, she says.

What. I shake.

Something horrible has happened.

What. I am shaking.

She begins to cry. Julian died, she tells me.

My mother tells me my father has died.

I fall further.

I drop my bag and hit the floor. I collapse, inward and outward and in every sense. She says she's sorry, she's so sorry, and I grit my teeth and sob and scream and smash my fists into the hard ground. She tells me details, about a heart, and it was over quickly, and there was no pain, and hideous things that I cannot and will not hear. Because surely this isn't happening. Not without warning.

But as the one side of myself explodes the other is there to say, But there was warning. You all had your warning. He had his warning. The alcoholic had his warning. And, yes, steps were taken. Situations were reversed. But it was too little too late.

My mother helps me up and takes me into the lobby. We pass a couple of people who work for the theatre, people my mother must have spoken to, people who must have heard, Where does my son come out? I have to give him some very hard news.

We go outside and get a cab. I tell the driver where to go but he isn't sure of where that is. I have to, in my insanity, direct this man on how to take our shattered bodies home. It becomes unbearable and I lash out at the man. My mother calms me down and confides in our driver, Sir, we've just received some terrible news, please just get us there.

He does. My mother and I go up to my apartment. One of my roommates is out of town, but the other is watching a movie. Jay, Jay, she says, can you turn that off? We've received some horrible news. Nick's father passed away. Jay turns off the movie. He's not sure what to do. How could he be? My mother makes him get up, he gives me a hug, we talk for a moment, and we go to our respective bedrooms.

My mother and I talk. There are ups and downs, and I get angrier and angrier and cool off and get angrier again. I think of all the emails I ignored, the texts I barely responded to. I shout at God. I raise my fist to him. Thanks a lot, God! If you're even fucking up there! It comes from a deep, true place. I apologize to my mother. I cry and blow the snot from my nose and maybe even feel a little better. I feel bad for feeling better.

We call my stepfather. We call my grandparents, who had the duty of telling my sister earlier in the day. My sister, on the opposite side of the country, who was still in college, who received no visit from this father three weeks ago, who had not seen him since Christmas, who has no parent there beside her now because my mother is with me and my stepfather has a show, who knew before me and couldn't tell me when I texted her. My grandparents have seen friends and family die for years, and I am sure they relay the information to my sister with as much grace as they can. I am sure they know how to comfort her in her sorrow. And I hope, if she has outbursts like mine, that they understand.

We talk about the event some more. I get more details. My mother says the time of death was recorded as 5:11 AM. She tells me that she woke up at just about that time, and had the strangest feeling. I tell her, So did I.

I have a show tomorrow night. I close the show the following day. The day after that I start tech for another show that I open in less than a week, and I have rehearsal for it tomorrow. I don't know if I can make it. I do not know if I will be able to make it. You can do it, my mother says. We go to bed. It is late, past midnight, and I have a long day ahead of me.

The next morning we change our minds. I call my stage manager, tell her the news, and that I will be unable to attend rehearsal. She understands. My mother takes me grocery shopping. She takes my roommate and me out to lunch. I call friends of mine who were close to my father, or who knew him, or who knew how much he meant to me. I get angry with an ex-girlfriend who keeps asking me to repeat myself. The bad reception isn't her fault, but I cannot understand that at the time. The anger feels good and I let it happen. I apologize to her afterward. She understands. Everybody understands.

I go to the show. Everybody has been told what's happened. They are cordial, sympathetic, distant. Everybody understands, nobody knows how to act. My mother watches the show again. Two of my friends that I called earlier are in the audience. Afterward my mother cries and tells me how good I was and my friends agree. I hold back tears, angry with myself, and say that I wanted it to be better. I wanted it to be perfect. To prove that I could do it. I've said the old maxim before but I know it now. The show goes on. It must.

The next day my mother flies back home. She sends me a text on her way: I am so proud of the man you've become! I close the show. I help strike the set. It feels good to put a hammer in my hand and destroy something. There is peace to be found in ruin.