Acting Lessons
2004-04-15 - 11:19 p.m.

They still remember their one shot at the bright lights, their only scene together. She had been sitting on a pale blue couch, her eyes made red by the miracle of modern makeup.

He stood beside the couch, shouting like he meant it, but everyone could tell he didn’t. That was really the big problem. He couldn’t pretend to be angry.

She pretended to be shocked at what he was saying, and he pretended not to care. She pretended she was crying, and he pretended he didn’t notice.

The audience watched, and acted like they were interested.

When he slapped her, he pretended that he meant it, and she pretended that it didn’t hurt, but he didn’t, and it did. Pancake makeup came off on his hand, and he pretended not to notice the harsh glare it gave the side of her face.

The audience acted like it wasn’t being bored out of its skull.

When they finally made up, the audience collectively grinned as if they hadn’t seen it coming. He and she tried to act like this hadn’t ever happened before, even though it had been happening every night for a week.

At the end, they pretended that they kissed, but all that really happened was that his lips touched her lips, and she barely seemed to notice. The anger had come more easily. They had wanted to go out with a bang so badly. Everyone pretended it wasn’t a muffled “pop”.

And so everyone left, and pretended to care about what they’d seen.

The next morning, only he and she could remember anything that they’d pretended to do. In a week, they won’t recall the specifics.

In the end, the end didn’t matter much at all.