Page 113 of Sweet T

“I want to stay. He wants me to go.”

“He loves you. He would never keep you from your dreams.”

“I know. I’m trying to wrap my head around it.”

“Well, wrap you head around this. What if you’re his dream? Would you keep him from that?”

Evan shook his head. “No.”

“Good. Because I watched him grow up. Tucker gets soul-satisfaction–that’s s-o-u-l–from the people he loves. He’s never been passionate about what motivates others–sports, cars, careers, fame, money, whatever. That boy loves people, sometimes blindly, over anything else. Titus, Shelly, Pedro, that punk that broke his heart, me,I think, a little, and now you.”

“I don’t know what to do, Sebastian. I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.”

“You told me when we first met that your passion was acting–the craft, not fame.”

“That’s true. Still is.”

“When I was your age, I wasn’t as clear-headed about it as you. I was in Atlanta briefly, then back in Macon, trying my damnedest to make money at it. But even though cities of that size have more outlets, it doesn’t always mean there’s additional opportunity.”

“Because there’s more competition.”

“Yeah, there’s that. But you’d find work, Evan. You’re talented. You won’t make big bucks doing Shakespeare, though. And when a part comes along that you are passionate about–like the Fool, or Kowalski, or, hell, maybe even Neil Simon–not only might you lose out because hundreds of others like you want it, but because maybe your agent is sleeping with the wrong person, or because you’re locked into some awful dinner theatre gig to pay the rent.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of going, Sebastian?”

“Not exactly. I just want you to see that decisions like this are never black and white.”

Evan gazed into Sebastian’s red-rimmed eyes. What he saw there was concern, not the discouragement of his father, but raw honesty from someone who knew his situation first-hand.

“I’m going to tell you a secret I wish I had known at your age. When you separate wanting to create from needing to create, that’s when things open up... life’s mysteries grow less cloudy, puzzle pieces ‌fit, and things get a hell of a lot easier. Best of all, you keep your passion and do your best work.”

Evan said nothing, only gave a slight nod, silently encouraging Sebastian to continue.

“When I was in Macon, I was fortunate enough to meet Gerald. That’s when things changed for me. He introduced another passion, not unlike Tucker with you. I decided I wanted and could have both, and by compromising to ensure it, doors opened.”

“You saw Titus’s article in the paper.”

“Not right away. But I got the job with the Cherry Blossom Troupe and discovered another passion I wasn’t aware of–directing. It’s one thing to bring a role to life, but to bring an entire production–your vision–to fruition... well, it’s the closest you’ll ever come to playing God. Getting that gig was huge in bringing Gerald and me here. But I’ve already told you that story.”

Evan sipped from his beer. Sebastian was quiet, studying him to see if any of what he had said was sinking in. When Evan spoke again, his gaze remained forward, as if conversing with himself alone.

“So, you’re saying unrelated events may trigger opportunities–opportunities I could be unaware of?”

“Exactly. For example, your goal of Atlanta brought you here... to Tucker.”

“Predestination.” Evan whispered.

Sebastian chuckled. “No. I’m not big on all that hocus pocus, unless we’re talking about the Bard. Foreshadowing plays much better in Macbeth than in reality. I’m talking about progress... in everything. For instance, in my day, gays had to go to bars to meet, hook up, or fall in love with like-minded individuals. The internet has changed all of that. Gay-specific bars are practically obsolete now. The same with books, music, and movies. You used to have to go to a store or a library in person–often in a bigger city for a better selection. These days, you just open your phone.”

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“Video is everywhere. Actors get discovered that way now. The smarter ones do, anyway. It’s certainly a lot less daunting to work alone with your phone and a tripod than at a cattle call, reading for a team of bored casting agents with nothing but lunch on their mind. And you can delete mistakes, edit for the perfect take, and then use it again and again, like one of those classic clip reels at the Oscars. But it’s all you, only your greatest moments. ”

“That’s pretty genius.”

“I’m not done. You need your own website–something you, yourself, know how to build. There, you can house a collection of these auditions, different categories–modern, classical, musical, Shakespearean, whatever. There’s also YouTube, and all the social media outlets that you can use to steer people your way. Smart, aspiring young actors are getting discovered this way. I guarantee it. You don’t have to live in a big city to make it anymore, Evan. You can do it right here in Spoon.”

Evan smiled. “You’re pretty smart for a senile old king. How come you haven’t done the same?”

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