Page 100 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
“Dreams change,” Mom says with a wistful smile.
I flinch because I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. “They don’t. They get forced onto children. We get to be lawyers because you sacrificed everything for us. That’s not fair, Mom. No one asked you to make that sacrifice.”
Mom laughs. “No, they demanded it. Constantly, every single day.”
“We’re grown now. There’s nothing stopping you from your dream.”
“I can’t be a lawyer.” Mom sniffs.
“Why not?”
“It’s what your dad does. What would it even look like if I went to school—”
“And showed him up? Stole his thunder? You know what this”—I gesture to Mom—“looks like right now? An excuse. You can outwit any situation. You pretend not to remember every single case you clerked on, but I know you do. You follow the Supreme Court the way some people follow sports teams.”
“Sweetie, it’s too late. Some ships sail off into the sunset.”
“Bull. You are Molly McKinney. You are an unstoppable force of will. You could open your own practice. You could teach. You could be the greatest judge in history. It’s not what I want for myself, but it’s what you want for you. So do it. You took the LSAT once, you could do it again.”
“And what about you?” Mom says.
“I don’t know.” I have to fight not to scream. “Don’t you understand what I’m saying? I’ve had to live your dream. It’s only recently that I’ve realized it isn’t mine. I’m trying to figure things out. But I didn’t have any wiggle room to put even a toe out of line growing up.”
“That’s not true.”
The house lights flicker.
“Isn’t it? ‘Look here, Bea, if you take AP US history as a sophomore and a semester of government over the summer, you can have an open period junior year. Except if you fill it with criminal justice, you can actually graduate high school a semester early.’ ‘Bea, look at this. Transfer students have a higher acceptance rate if they start out at a junior college. How many semesters would it take to get your GEs out of the way?’ ‘Bea, if you just push a little bit harder, you can apply to lawschool early.’ ‘Bea, four years of undergrad is for other people who don’t have their future figured out. You can count clerking at your dad’s firm as an internship and be done in three.’”
“Stop! You wanted to go to law school.”
“Yeah, because I wanted to make you happy. Because I didn’t realize I could do what Adam did and make my own choice.”
“Maybe I pushed you too hard. But it doesn’t explain why you are posting interviews with cats on Instagram and walking dogs for a living. You can do anything with a law degree! Nonprofits, business consulting, teaching.”
“Okay. So can I use my degree to turn the pagenow, so we can enjoy the rest of my…” I fumble for a word to describe who Mike is to me. “Mike’s play?”
“My Mike?”
“I didn’t want to say landlord.” I wanted to sayfriend. I desperately wanted to sayboyfriend.
Mom’s eyes narrow. “Sure. We can do that.”
The houselights dim, but I know Mom’s eyes are still on me. I try to act casual. I try not to hold my breath, but the best part of the entire play is about to happen.
Mike, lovesick, emotional, elated, slightly bewildered, has never been better onstage, and I have the best seat in the house for seeing it all. If I close my eyes, I can imagine that he’s saying the words to me.
There are people in this world who are just fun to watch. They pull you in. They have an energy that is more magnetic than everyone else’s. Or maybe they’ve just managed to make the energy that we all have deep inside ourselves come to the surface.
Mike is commanding, charismatic, and a complete pleasure to watch. That cliché about hanging on words? Mike gives it new meaning. Everyone in this theater is living for his next word and falling in love.
“‘I love you with so much of my heart there is none left to protest.’”
The theater audibly swoons when he says this. It’s a good line, and Shakespeare penned it for Beatrice, but it’s easy to see why they gave it to Mike in this production. His delivery makes me free-fall. It’s that dash of bewildered that I find so endearing. Euphoria is one thing, but being present enough to be baffled by it is…special. There’s sincerity here but levity, too, and my gosh, I wish he were saying this to me.
This scene is earmarked for Beatrice. In so many productions, Benedick is little more than a set piece by the end of the scene, but my eyes cannot leave Mike.
“He’s sensational!” I hear the people behind us whisper.
