I maneuver to block the last rays of sunlight filtering through the coffee shop windows. The ocher flames ignite the wisps of cloud pillowing the horizon.
I sip on my second cup of coffee. The first hint of shakes start. Too much caffeine, too little food; 1,200 calories/day over the past 16 days in preparation for this weekend’s shoot has lowered my tolerance. Just act like it’s the coke.
Did I say that out loud?
I look around . . . no sideways glances. I think I’m good. I really am ready to let this character go.
93 million miles divided by 186,000 miles/sec . . . eight minutes and change. Sometimes my science brain randomly kicks on. I’m watching something happen that’s already happened. Almost like watching the future except I’m watching the past in real-time.
And it’s gone. Slipped below the surface . . . well not really, the surface slipped up, our little blue marble blistering along, spinning and screaming through the silence of space.
Get out of my head, science brain.
The room tilts with that stand-up-too-quick-rush and I slug more coffee. The phantom vertigo clears. What started this? Oh yeah, sitting here thinking about how not in control I am. See, I just came from a callback–a callback for something that would be a game changer. Something I’d love to do. Something I’ve learned to let go the minute I do my nod-thanks-so-much-great-to-meet-you-grab-my-stuff-and-walk-out-the-door. Well, actually it’s not really me in the room. It’s only once I’m in the parking lot that my brain catches up. The other character shows up, auditions, then hands me back my coffee (“Hey, here’s your brain, feel free to check out the replay”). And that’s how the past-future-space-time-continuum-merry-go-round started. Thanks, science brain.
So, I sit here replaying the callback. Filtering what I coulda/shoulda done and knowing it doesn’t matter. It’s already minutes miles behind. Better off forgotten.
I shut my laptop, grab my bag, and go spinning into the night.