It’s always the best time to talk to my parents right after dinner. And it has to be right after (barring special occasions or things like that). I don’t even really see them when I get home from school. Well, I used to see my Mom but her schedule changed for the summer course she’s teaching. Even then, though, she only had time to talk to me for a few minutes before grading papers or her research got in the way. My Dad, on the other hand, is pressured by the Dean to teach night courses so I only see him later on. Yeah, I’m used to having a late dinner but it means a lot to my Dad. He’s very sentimental. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. It’s finally time to talk to my parents before bedtime.
Let me set the scene for a minute, okay. First off, my parents are very chill and relaxed after dinner. I’m sure you can relate with your own parents. You know how it goes, right? After a nice meal and some wine my parents are usually in a very agreeable mood. For instance, Dad always parks himself on the couch with one of his favorite books. I don’t even know how much he reads before he dozes off. Mom is the same way, except that she never falls asleep on the couch.
So, after a very nice dinner consisting of a large salad with all the veggies you can think of, my parents retreated to the usual spot on the couch. Dad reached for his book from the coffee table and began to flip through the pages in a robotic fashion. Searching for where he left off. I know. I don’t know why he doesn’t use a bookmarker either. Just the way he is, I guess. That perfect memory he always brags about. Okay, Dad, whatever. That’s why you always forget the name of my show, no matter how many times I remind you.
Anyway, my Mom was getting comfortable as well. Meaning, that her reading glasses were on and her feet were stretched out on the sofa. If now wasn’t the perfect time, I’m not sure when it was going to be. Enough stalling. Time to just spring this on them.
“Mom, Dad, can I talk to you about something?” I ask in the most pleasant tone I can manage.
“Of course, Autumn.” Mom says. “Is everything okay?”
Ever since that thing with Jessica, my parents have been increasingly worried that something like that might happen again. Hence her questioning me if I was all right.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just that, well, I’ve been working on a project and I wanted to hear your thoughts on it.”
“Project? What project?” Dad asks.
“I was thinking about interviewing people with disabilities. It would focus on people with learning problems. Similar to me, I guess is what I’m saying.”
“Interesting.” Mom says while placing her book on the coffee table. “Okay. How would these interviews be conducted? And more importantly, what measures are you going to take to protect yourself?”
“I already thought of that. For instance, Meylin is helping me (so I won’t be alone). Secondly, all the interviews will take place in a room at the library. With the door open, of course.”
“That sounds fine but I also want you to let me, and your mother, know exactly what day and time each interview takes place (when you have them).”
“Right. And building off of that, we want the name of every adult that you select to interview. No exceptions.” Mom says.
“No problem.”
“Okay. Well, with all that said, I’m very proud of you for undertaking this project.” Mom says.
“I’m proud of you too. Especially, after what you went through, this has the potential to raise awareness about a very important issue.” Dad chimes in. “I don’t know, Caroline, maybe we have another educator in the family.”
Mom laughs while I give Dad a dirty look. Not because of what he said but more at his poor attempt of a joke. You’d think that someone who lectures about Shakespeare would have a better sense of comedic timing.
Well, after getting what I want, I start towards my room. The only problem now is that I feel overly stimulated. Every idea is rushing through my head at a hundred miles a minute. It’s hard to focus.
I close my bedroom door and grab my ball from the nightstand. This isn’t just any ball but it’s my red spiky ball (obviously, plastic and not real spikes). I then sit on my bed and start to rub my hands through its soft texture. Take a deep breath. That’s it. Everything starts to slow down at a manageable level and my mind starts to hone in on the important details.
Actually, hold up, for just one second. Okay. You might be wondering what I’m doing and why exactly. If it isn’t any clearer, I need this little ball to keep from losing my mind. The technical term for it is called stimming. Anyway, it usually occurs in people that have developmental disabilities or are on the spectrum. Basically, when things get too overwhelming I need to slow my mind down. The rubbing accomplishes this and it soothes me at the same time.
It actually feels really good. I can’t imagine my life without stimming; it’s always been there. You know, the part of my life I remember (no one remembers being a baby). However, I’ve also always known never to stim in public. Instinctively, I just understood not to. How many kids do you see stimming? Not a lot, right? Add that to my acting aspirations and it’s easy to see why I resist the urge to stim in public.
Let me give you an example and think about this for me. You really think I would have gotten cast in Zombie Graveyard or Spirit Scribe if I cut loose with my red ball? Imagine the look on the casting director’s face. Yeah, not going to happen. The sight of someone stimming just looks too weird for most people.
The incident with Jessica Sale, when she bullied me mercilessly for a couple of months over my disabilities, further proves my point. She thought, in her twisted mind, that I was getting an unfair advantage when I was given extra time on tests. Well, to make a long story short, Jessica hacked the school computer to get my IEP, which stands for Individualized Education Plan (it’s for students with learning disabilities). She then read my IEP in front of our entire grade, which included observations about my stimming. Needless to say, Jessica was suspended for two weeks and the bullying stopped after that. Even when everyone learned the truth, I still don’t stim at school.
Thinking about stimming inevitably leads to my Spirit Scribe scripts I have to memorize for next month. The very thought of rereading those terrible scripts fills me with dread.
Why do you ask? That’s really simple, actually.
There is one script in, particular, that’s especially horrible. I can barely muster up the energy to pore through that garbage again. I just don’t want to but I’m a professional so I’ll grin and bear it.
What’s the show about? Like you really don’t know.
The show’s called Spirit Scribe and unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’ve heard of it. It’s about this group of kids that live in Brooklyn and solve mysteries with the help of a haunted book.
Overly complicated? Maybe. Lends itself to ridiculous stories and scenarios? Absolutely.
Anyway, back to that aforementioned script, which is essentially about Samuel’s character interning with a retired actress. An actress that still relies on email to receive fan mail instead of, like, you know, Instagram or Twitter. Just goes to show how out of touch the writers are.
That’s not even the worst part. Not even close. You want to know the most excruciating aspect of this script? It’s the storyline itself (and I use that definition loosely). Basically, the Spirit Scribe team, as we’re called which is really original, have to find the identity of some stalker that’s been blackmailing this actress. This rude, entitled actress. At this point, I just skip her lines altogether when I reread the script. Thankfully, we don’t interact that much. I mean, do the writers think anyone wants to watch a several episode story about this spoiled, self-centered human being? Huh?
I thought the arson episodes were tough to get through but this is something else.
Yeah. I hear you. I guess I do sound a little cranky. I don’t know.
I just…I’m frustrated. The whole premise to this show was a turnoff from the very beginning. I’m sick and tired of playing backup to an invisible character. I was supposed to be the star of this show. Instead, the producers are relying on a cheap gimmick. I hate pretending to talk with someone that’s not there. This isn’t what I wanted when I got the role.
It’s like the producers don’t realize what they have. I just wish they’d ditch the fantasy element in the concept, the ghost, and focus more on me. And dump the Ronnie character while they’re at it. Look, nothing against Zack, but it’s just too many characters. I don’t want to lose out on any screen time. After all, this show was supposed to prepare me for better things and that can’t happen if I’m lost in the shuffle.
Forget it. I don’t feel like ranting anymore tonight. Good news is that this new venture I’m starting with Meylin should get me back in the spotlight. It’s guaranteed to succeed.
Being Special, Chapter 1: https://medium.com/@baltimoreraven87/being-special-chapter-1-b5e175dc0d00
Being Special, Chapter 2: https://medium.com/@baltimoreraven87/being-special-chapter-2-4c622095b4e9
Being Special, Chapter 3: https://medium.com/@baltimoreraven87/being-special-chapter-3-9515c777c14
