Read Online Actors Anonymous by James Franco - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Franco
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You
fucking
bitch. You’re fucking knitting, while I’m standing here and it is so upsetting! I want to cry!”
“You’re standing there? You’re standing there and you want to cry? Well
don’t
stand there, asshole!”
“I’m
standing
here,
bitch,
and you’re making me cry!”
“Don’t call me a
bitch, fucker!
Fucking pussy, go cry, you fucking pussy motherfucker.”
The guy got on his knees in front of her.
“Don’t you understand? I’m going to
die!
I need the money! They’re going to kill her! They’re going to fucking shoot her if I don’t give them the money!” The guy stood up and was now holding the girl’s shoulders and shaking her.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” she screamed, and stood up.
Then the guy grabbed the little square thing that she was knittingand pulled at it violently. It didn’t quite come apart, so he kept pulling. The girl screamed and snatched for it, but he threw it on the ground and ran out of the door at the back of the stage and slammed it behind him. The girl collapsed on to her knees and picked up the little destroyed knitted thing. She blubbered out deep sobs and everyone watched for a full minute. Then someone started talking.
“All right, Sean, come on out.”
At the foot of the little stage there was a tall man in a large chair. He had gray curly hair combed back in a bouffant. This was the teacher.
Sean came back in through the stage door.
“Don’t slam our doors,” the teacher said. He had a slow resonant voice. But when he accentuated anything, his voice went up into his nose and sounded high and nasally.
“Sorry, Mr. Smithson, I was just so into it, the situation.” said Sean.
“Shut up.” Mr. Smithson turned to the girl and said in a deep voice, “That was good, Tiffany.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“What did you
feel?
” said Mr. Smithson. He was playing with a rubber band in one hand. He wrapped it around his index finger and stretched it with his thumb.
“I felt angry…” said Tiffany.
“Yes,
and
…” The rubber band stretched.
“Well, I felt angry and upset and I felt like I really had to get this knitting done and Sean was really pissing me off and upsetting me because he was so needy and he didn’t understand that I needed to get this done.”
“That’s
good,
” said Mr. Smithson. “Good, you were really feeling the situation. You were connected to the imaginary circumstances. Good. Now why did you have to get that knitting done?”
“Because my baby died. And I needed to knit him a shawl before the funeral started.” As she said this she started crying again.
Mr. Smithson let her cry, and then when she was done, he said, “That’s very good, Tiffany, very good. Obviously you had a connection to those circumstances.”
“Well, if anything ever happened to my son I would just die, so yeah, it meant something to me.”
“Very good. Now, Sean, why did you come to her door? What were you after?”
“Well, I needed money from her because I was tangled up with the mob and I had made a bad bet at the races and if I didn’t pay them fifty thousand dollars they were going to murder my girlfriend.”
“Sean. No, that is not real.”
“But I know someone that that happened to.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“I did! He was this guy…”
“
Sean.
I don’t care!” Mr. Smithson was using the nasal voice again. The woman in her forties sitting next to me was whispering to herself. “What an idiot,” she said.
“Listen to me,” Mr. Smithson said to Sean.
“
Listen
to him,” the lady in her forties whispered to herself.
“I don’t care if that happened to you or someone you know,” said Mr. Smithson. “It has no resonance with you. And I highly doubt it ever happened. It’s false. It’s a made-up story. Didn’t you see how upset Tiffany was?”
“Yes, but…”
“No, shut up! Did you see how upset she was while she was doing her activity?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you work off that?
fucking
bitch. You’re fucking knitting, while I’m standing here and it is so upsetting! I want to cry!”
“You’re standing there? You’re standing there and you want to cry? Well
don’t
stand there, asshole!”
“I’m
standing
here,
bitch,
and you’re making me cry!”
“Don’t call me a
bitch, fucker!
Fucking pussy, go cry, you fucking pussy motherfucker.”
The guy got on his knees in front of her.
“Don’t you understand? I’m going to
die!
I need the money! They’re going to kill her! They’re going to fucking shoot her if I don’t give them the money!” The guy stood up and was now holding the girl’s shoulders and shaking her.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” she screamed, and stood up.
Then the guy grabbed the little square thing that she was knittingand pulled at it violently. It didn’t quite come apart, so he kept pulling. The girl screamed and snatched for it, but he threw it on the ground and ran out of the door at the back of the stage and slammed it behind him. The girl collapsed on to her knees and picked up the little destroyed knitted thing. She blubbered out deep sobs and everyone watched for a full minute. Then someone started talking.
“All right, Sean, come on out.”
At the foot of the little stage there was a tall man in a large chair. He had gray curly hair combed back in a bouffant. This was the teacher.
Sean came back in through the stage door.
“Don’t slam our doors,” the teacher said. He had a slow resonant voice. But when he accentuated anything, his voice went up into his nose and sounded high and nasally.
“Sorry, Mr. Smithson, I was just so into it, the situation.” said Sean.
“Shut up.” Mr. Smithson turned to the girl and said in a deep voice, “That was good, Tiffany.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“What did you
feel?
” said Mr. Smithson. He was playing with a rubber band in one hand. He wrapped it around his index finger and stretched it with his thumb.
“I felt angry…” said Tiffany.
“Yes,
and
…” The rubber band stretched.
“Well, I felt angry and upset and I felt like I really had to get this knitting done and Sean was really pissing me off and upsetting me because he was so needy and he didn’t understand that I needed to get this done.”
“That’s
good,
” said Mr. Smithson. “Good, you were really feeling the situation. You were connected to the imaginary circumstances. Good. Now why did you have to get that knitting done?”
“Because my baby died. And I needed to knit him a shawl before the funeral started.” As she said this she started crying again.
Mr. Smithson let her cry, and then when she was done, he said, “That’s very good, Tiffany, very good. Obviously you had a connection to those circumstances.”
“Well, if anything ever happened to my son I would just die, so yeah, it meant something to me.”
“Very good. Now, Sean, why did you come to her door? What were you after?”
“Well, I needed money from her because I was tangled up with the mob and I had made a bad bet at the races and if I didn’t pay them fifty thousand dollars they were going to murder my girlfriend.”
“Sean. No, that is not real.”
“But I know someone that that happened to.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“I did! He was this guy…”
“
Sean.
I don’t care!” Mr. Smithson was using the nasal voice again. The woman in her forties sitting next to me was whispering to herself. “What an idiot,” she said.
“Listen to me,” Mr. Smithson said to Sean.
“
Listen
to him,” the lady in her forties whispered to herself.
“I don’t care if that happened to you or someone you know,” said Mr. Smithson. “It has no resonance with you. And I highly doubt it ever happened. It’s false. It’s a made-up story. Didn’t you see how upset Tiffany was?”
“Yes, but…”
“No, shut up! Did you see how upset she was while she was doing her activity?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you work off that?
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