#scene missing

Felt like a huge chunk of a scene was missing from Friday’s clip (06/09/17) so here’s a bit of it.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Hello.” All three offer in succession.

Yousef offers a meager smile in Isak’s and Even’s direction.

“Eve-“

“I-“ They both say at the same time, stop short, Yousef chooses to throw a quick chuckle to let Even know that there’s nothing to fret about. He hopes it conveys through.

“You go first.”

Even looks to his shoulder, waits for Isak to give him this somewhat, what Yousef recognizes it to be, a reassuring nod, before he sets down his glass.

“If you’re going to apologize too,” Yousef starts, slips his hands into the sleeves of his sweatshirt, “Yeah, no-don’t.” It’s almost ridiculous that the thought of Even even considering to say sorry as if he had something to apologize for, absurd. “Please.” He adds, knows that there is no malice in his remark and has to emphasize it.

“But I am-“

“Even,” Yousef rakes his hand at the clip of his hat, smoothing down his hair in quick and haphazard strokes, “I mean it.” Because it is one thing to accept it when there was something to be sorry for but having to hear it when it fell on deaf ears, it’s unnecessary. “It happens,” he says, “shit happens.”

Isak straightens beside Even, flickers his eyes in rapid succession in his direction. Yousef watches as Even’s face softens in response, a grainy glint appears in his eyes that Yousef feels intrusive even having to be in the same room as them. It’s too personal and he’s not privy to it. He glances away, focuses on the girls outside. Eva at the center of the table, Vilde and her friend graced on the grass-

“And Bakka?”

Having to hear it is almost a deafening blow. Yousef acknowledges the word slip, motions his hand at the chair pressed into the corner. He doesn’t wait as he kicks at the heel of a stool from underneath the table, sitting down.

“Sit, Even.”

“Right now?” He croaks.

Yousef glances at Isak from where he’s sitting, turning enough to bend one leg onto the tiled floor.

“Well, yeah.”

Even hesitates, “What’s the rush,” brushes his hands over his hair as he always does when he’s waiting for everything to just come falling in down, a look so familiar, Yousef kneads his hands together.If they don’t talk about it now, they’ll never talk about it. And Yousef doesn’t know if he has enough courage to bring it up again. Cowardice was comfortable. Spontaneity was the only way he knew of how to get immediate guts.

“If you want,” Yousef supplies, “But Even, how long are we gonna run in circles?”

Even purses his lips, considers it for a moment.

Isak gives Even’s shoulder a quick squeeze, steps away toward the back hall before disappearing into the hallway.

“I thought it would be longer that this,” Even admits, pulling the chair as he sits down, “Probably somewhere near never and not in this universe.”

“Universe?” It’s a word so deliberate, Yousef considers the deliberateness of it.

“Nothing,” Even is quick to wave him off. Yousef is familiar with the dismissal, drops it, knows that they did have other things to talk about. Pushing something that he’ll probably never easily understand is a time-sensitive projection that neither of them were sure they would have.

“I was having a tough year,” Even’s careful as he begins, “I got diagnosed with MBD, it’s bipolar disorder-“ he makes an effort to clarify, “didn’t really know what to do with it. I thought it was the end all, you know? I’m supposedly dealing with something that I didn’t know when it would begin and how long before it ends. Like, during an episode, it’s like I can feel what’s happening, what I’m doing and yet,” he glances down at his feet, “I don’t have enough in me to care to stop it.” Yousef’s stomach twinges at the admittance, “Maybe I care. Maybe I don’t. Whatever it is, it’s not enough to actually do something about it.”

Yousef purses his lips.

“I didn’t tell you guys because I didn’t even know how to deal with it. And I didn’t want you guys to start looking at me differently. Expecting to walk around shards of glass around me-because shit, I didn’t want things to change. I didn’t ask for this. No one does. And I had to deal with it and I thought that somehow, I could deal with it. On my own. I didn’t know how, didn’t mean I didn’t try,” Even snorts, “I think I’ve lied to myself enough times that I knew how to handle it. I almost started to believe that nothing had changed. That it wasn’t hanging over me or apart of me. That it felt like déjà vu because it happened to an Even in another universe.”

“Universe?” Yousef repeats, the second time he’s heard of it, “Why do you keep saying that.”

Even continues to glare at his feet.

“I deal with things that way. Other worldly.”

“But why?”

Even shrugs, “I forget for a moment that I’m the one going through all of this,” he waves his hands out in front of himself, “at least for a couple of minutes.”

“That’s fucked up.” Yousef scowls, “What the fuck, Even.”

“I know, I know,” he sounds defensive, “Trying to-“ he searches for the word, “live in the present.” He glances up, “Live in this world.”

And he gets it. The importance of finding comfort and solace in pretending that there was another version of you that wasn’t dealing with what you hated. What you imagine to be forced to deal with.

“I’m getting better at it.” And to hear Even so earnest, honest, pains Yousef. It’s almost a throb that ceases to subside because all considering, Yousef has never been the open to help Even through it. He couldn’t recognize it for what it was. He had made it into something else. That one moment snowballed into something neither of them knew how to uncurl.

“Good.” Yousef’s equally earnest. “I’m glad.”

Both swing their eyes at the door that opens, Mutta walks through blithely.

Mutasim wraps an arm around his shoulders with a smile as soon as he steps in the door, “Hey, you found yourself a Acar,” he says to them boh. His arm is heavy and warm and Yousef smiles as he slides out from under it. “Normally  Acar comes with a side of Bakkoush. But the door is closing behind them all and Mutta looks back at Yousef. “What’s he doing tonight?”

Yousef shrugs, swiping his hands on his jeans.

Mutta glances over at Even first, then at Yousef.

“Who died?”

Yousef seriously considers whether he’s in a movie, because at this point of the scene, he would have smashed his forehead against a slab of cement.

Instead, he focuses on Even, gives a meager smile. He waits until Even returns the smile, before he lifts himself up off of the stool. It’s a smile so weary, Yousef reminds himself that whether he didn’t have the courage or not, this wasn’t about how much he lacks. This was about Even. And until they had said enough that neither of them felt the invisible slab of wall separating them both, he’ll continue to somehow find the courage.

Because this?

This wasn’t about him.

Civic Theatre, Main Street, Akron, OH by Warren LeMay

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