I got a letter a few days ago that I just opened from the Eugene O'Neill Theatre Center in Waterford, CT. For those non-theatre geeks, the O'Neill has this Playwrights Conference every year and it's a big deal to get in. I'm so used to getting a zillion rejection letters, so I just opened up the letter quickly. Well, I'm a semi-finalist, which is also a big deal. On top of normal circumstances, it seems like it was a big submission year.
So I told my Mom and Dad, who know I'm a playwright because I tell them I'm a playwright, but they don't quite understand it. It's not that they don't understand it's a big deal, but they aren't theatre people. They're super proud because they're awesome. But the writing thing is kind of my own thing. They don't really understand what I do. I got a little teary because it really is a big deal.
I told my friend Susan, who HAS been at the O'Neill. And she was like "Oh My God! That's a huge deal and every literary manager is going to know your play because they're on the committee. And you'll have people coming up to you years later asking you if you're the guy who wrote that play. People you've never met."
Wow. So won't just be the guy whose boss throws those big parties at the Humana Festival every year. The Humana Festival is another theatre thing. It's also a big deal, but I've only gone for work. I haven't been produced there yet. But the O'Neill...yeah, it's awesome.
So as you know, I'm doing this cleanse starting tomorrow. And I decided to go have my last supper. And for that Last Supper, I decided to have 5 tacos: two asada, two carnitas and one chorizo. I'm enjoying my tacos in the fluorescent lit Tacos El Gavilan. And I'm watching the spanish language equivalent of E! News. And I'm thinking about what Susan said. And I think, "Wow. This is the biggest theatre thing that's ever happened to me." And if it only goes this far, it's still the biggest thing that's happened at this point in my career.
Then it comes. I think about my ex. He loves this play. He thinks it's the best thing I've written. And then I start to tear up. I hurry up and shove the tacos down my throat so I'm not causing a scene in the taco place. I get to my car and I start to cry. A bunch of high school guys (CUTE high school guys) get out of the car next to me and I lock eyes with the cutest guy. I can't have this pussy-faggot-I'm-Missing-My-Ex-boyfriend-moment with him watching. So the tears dry up.
I pull down a side street and I let it go. I cry because I can't call him up. I cry because he always had such a look of pride when he told people about the play (which I wrote about my paternal grandmother). I cry because he would be thrilled for me. I cry because I don't have HIM to share this with and he would totally get it. Then he would start bragging to his family, our friends, his clients, anyone he could brag to. Because he honestly would be proud. And I always wanted to make him proud.
Then he would say, "See, this is what you should be doing. You're too smart to be doing that TV bullshit." Or, "You should be writing more plays. I wouldn't have a problem paying for everything (which isn't totally true, but how he saw it). If you wrote stuff like this all the time..." And on and on.
By this point my tears are dry. And finish the rest of my drive tear-free.
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