Rehearsal

Yesterday I said to Natasha from accounting “happy holidays to you too,” even though she said “have a good weekend.” That was Friday. It’s now Sunday, three in the morning.

In my head, I’ve already said “you too” — normal, neutral. Said “thanks, same to you.” Said “oh right, totally forgot what day it was.” Laughed at myself — easy, harmless. Said “I’m already thinking about New Year’s, been working too hard.” Forty-seven versions. Forty-seven takes.

Natasha doesn’t remember. Natasha is asleep. Natasha has a husband and a mortgage, she doesn’t care about my “happy holidays.” She forgot it after a second.

And I’m lying here “making a movie.”

A good movie. I’m normal in it. I answer correctly in it. Not a genius, no — just a person who hears what they’re told and responds on topic.

I know it’s pointless. I know tomorrow I’ll go to work and say something else. Call Igor “Oleg.” Make an awkward joke. Stay silent when I should speak. Speak when I should stay silent.

And at night I’ll be “making a movie” again.

The funniest part — I’m not talking to Natasha. I’m talking to myself. I’m showing myself who I could be. Handsome, witty, hitting the right beat.

The one who says “you too, have a good one!”

I like him.

I’d be friends with him.

But with this one, the “happy holidays” guy — I have to live.