Dr. Hapgood, your cruise director (hapgood) wrote,
Dr. Hapgood, your cruise director

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Method Acting techniques don't translate well

So I can chalk the last hour up to one of the stupidest things I've done in a long time.

Let me set the scene . . .

Axiom A . . . Stewart is dredging his life, trying to put the more meaningful moments on paper, kind of like a journal comprised of essays (unlike most of the American College Population, I find the formal essay a great medium in which to think and express)

Axiom B . . . One of Stewart's desired essays is about one of his earliest and longest lasting crushes, a boy he went to community college with.

Axiom C . . . One time this boy offered Stewart a hit off of his clove cigarette. This moment, for all of it's simplicity, still remains one of the most profound of Stewart's life

Now, having covered the backstory, on with the action.

So, to help me write, to help me recall the power this man had-and I have to admit, still has-over me, I decided to take the Method approach. I would 1)Purchase pack of Clove cigarettes 2)Smoke clove cigarette 3)Stand back and let the memories wash over me, so fast that I could hardly pen them to paper before the next one came.

Here's how it played out
1) went okay, girl at party store was very helpful in my selection of which clove cigarettes to buy.
2) Went down without a hitch
3) Got nothing

Well, not nothing. I have an upset stomach and a set of lungs full of smoke. I want to cough or puke, but won't let myself, feeling that to do so would cheapen what this represents, like it somehow lessens Ben. I don't remember feeling like this the first time, the taste on my lips also isn't the same. But all is not lost. Rubbing my nose, the smell on my fingers is a connection to the past. The fingers that held the clove smell like I remember, smell like I remember Ben smelling.

and I start to remember

Sometimes, I scare myself. I like feeling in control. With Ben, I was totally reckless. I, the once upon a time Vocal Music major, never smoked, for to do so would hurt my breath support. The smallest suggestion from Ben, and there I was, puffing away on his cigarette. Maybe it was the fact that the cigarette had been at his mouth just a moment before, that the filter was still damp from his lips, his mouth. Maybe it was a way to feel kindred to him, my god among lepers. Maybe it was just that evil Peer Pressure that PSAs are always warning us about. All I know is that, given my actions that evening, I don't know how far I would have gone, what I would have done had Ben asked. Stolen a car, stolen a kiss, for he had stolen a part of me. But he gave me so much in return. Having had him in my life, I now know what I want in a man.

Maybe this evening wasn't such a bad experience after all.

Tags: deep, love or something

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