Unscripted - Nicole Kronzer Page 0,24
I was told.
“You. Are bursting with talent. It’s really normal, what happened today. You’ve only been on a high school team with gentle, high school rules. You just have to toughen up a little.” He squeezed my arm then released it.
I grabbed my elbow. It was what I had told myself earlier in the day. But it didn’t make me feel any better.
“Give me another day or two and you’re not going to believe how much stronger of a performer you’ll be. I promise. Remember, I teach and perform at UCB. Plus, I had Marcus as my coach for years. He’s a genius. He throws off the rules of improv that weaken a performer and just goes rogue out there. It’s exhilarating. Trust me—I know what I’m talking about.”
He had me there. What did I have? A decades-old book on improv? My coach, Jenn, back home? Sure, she’d done improv in college and had performed at HUGE Improv Theater in Minneapolis, but as great as HUGE was, it still didn’t have the clout that Upright Citizens Brigade did. Plus, he’d been so great last night in the show—he’d run circles around everyone else. Maybe it was time to set aside my ego and just trust him.
He must have seen something shift in me because he said, “Come on. I want to show you someplace cool I bet you haven’t found yet.”
“I . . . I think I just want to be alone for a while.”
“Look, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. And I promise we won’t talk about improv. I just want to show you something I think you’ll like.”
Being with him was a constant reminder of all of my missteps this afternoon. I couldn’t figure out a way to gracefully extract myself, though, so I nodded, following him down a narrowing path that made a sharp turn behind a bush I probably wouldn’t have noticed on my own.
He didn’t say anything for ten more minutes as he made seemingly random turns right and left.
He’d better not try to kill me, I thought. Because I am never finding my way out of here by myself.
“Okay, close your eyes.”
“Close my eyes? You’d better be showing me like a freaking hidden Niagara Falls or something.”
Ben barked a laugh. “It’s not Niagara Falls,” he said, “but it’s still pretty cool. Come on.”
I grudgingly squeezed my eyes shut and let him lead me around one last corner. When he told me to open them, I gasped. A slow creek meandered through the clearing and thousands of tiny flowers dotted the wild grasses. A cliff formed a wall to one side. It looked like one of those nature paintings they turn into puzzles that grandmas buy. I could feel myself softening toward him as he led me up onto a flat part of the cliff ten or so feet above the ground.
“This. Is my place,” he said, sitting and stretching his legs out in front of him. He gestured like a waiter. “Ta-da!”
My heart was still beating fast from the climb. I tried to take in a slow, deep breath to calm it down as I sat, crossing my legs underneath me. “It’s . . . beautiful.”
We sat in silence for a while, watching the birds and chipmunks and listening to the creek. I tried to focus on the nature, but I was very aware of the warmth of his body sitting next to mine.
“Did you know that aspen trees are all one huge organism?” he asked.
I was confused. “Aspen trees?”
He pointed. “The white ones.”
“Oh,” I said. “The ones that look like birch trees.”
He nodded. “All the aspens are connected by their root system underground. Cool, huh?”
I smiled. “Like a metaphor for improv.”
He turned to me with a quirked eyebrow. “I thought we weren’t talking about improv.”
I smiled. “Improv theory. Not specifics. I’ll allow it.”
“Okay, your honor.” He folded his arms. “How are aspens like improv?”
“Well, their root systems are all connected . . . Like, no one person can stand on their own in improv. They need the team. The interconnectedness of the root system. Trust. Unity.”
He just sort of nodded vaguely.
“Sorry.” I smiled, feeling like I was losing him. It was Zelda Fitzgerald all over again. “English teacher father, Theater professor mother. They see symbols everywhere . . . And now, it seems, so do I.”
We were quiet again.
Seriously. Could this afternoon get any more embarrassing?
He stretched his arms into the sky and then leaned back on his elbows. I pretended to