I wasn’t aware I raised my voice until P’Sign rushes over to us, waving his hands in agitation.
“What’s going on here?” he asks, glancing from me to Noi, who’s still crying.
“I don’t see why you have to upset him like this,” I say to P’Prapha. Noi grabs my hand, squeezing my fingers.
“He made himself cry. On purpose. That’s what method acting is—taking on the emotions of your character while drawing on your own life experiences,” P’Prapha explains as though I’m a child.
“I know what it is, I’m a theater arts student. You made him dredge up painful memories in order to do the scene.”
“Nong agreed to the method,” P’Prapha argues. “I don’t know what memories he used to get there.”
“Let’s just calm down. I’ll get Nong some water,” P’Sign says, and hurries off.
Sitting beside Noi, I try to pull him into my arms, but he won’t let me.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he chokes out, and heads for the door.
I don’t know what kind of conflicts Noi’s character faces, and I could kick myself for not foreseeing something like this happening. I’ve been reading the novel whenever I have a chance, but between school and workshops, I haven’t gotten very far.
“You’re reacting rather strongly to this, Sud,” P’Prapha says, looking at me curiously.
It isn’t my place to say anything about Noi’s past, so I remain silent.
A few minutes later Noi returns, his face red and a little swollen. P’Sign approaches him with a bottle of water.
“I’m taking him home,” I say.
“That’s a good idea. It’s been a long day,” P’Sign says, nodding.
P’Prapha looks at Noi kindly. “You did really good work today, Nong. I’m proud of you.”
An arm around Noi’s shoulder, P’Sign walks him out, talking softly to him. P’Prapha turns to me. “I know it looks bad, but this is a good sign of his acting abilities. If he can tap into raw emotion like that, he’ll go far.”
My worry is, at what cost?
Chapter Fifteen: Mee Noi
Ilie in Sud’s bed, completely drained, listening to the drone of Sud’s voice in the other room as he talks on the phone. After we left the production company, he drove me here instead of to my dorm. I’m glad because I don’t want to be away from him right now. The weird thing is, I don’t even know why I became so upset during the workshop.
My character, Train, has been through a lot. Both his parents were killed in a car accident, and then, in the scene P’Prapha had me working on today, his beloved grandfather dies, and he loses it. P’Prapha explained to me about method acting, but I couldn’t come up with anything from my life to draw from that was nearly as devastating as what my character goes through in the scene. When I told P’Prapha this, she explained that it doesn’t have to be as terrible as what happens to Train, it just has to hurt.
My mind immediately went to how my parents essentially abandoned me to Sud’s family, but all I could think was how it was worth it because it brought Sud and his family into my life.Then, I tried imagining losing Sud, and that’s when things get hazy in my memory. I remember this horrible feeling creeping over me, and so much grief, I couldn’t stand it. I started crying and couldn’t stop crying, even when P’Prapha called a halt to the scene.
She was concerned. I remember her stroking my head and talking kindly to me, telling me to gradually pull myself out of it. But it was like being in a dark hole, sinking deeper with every moment. Finally, P’Prapha led me to the sofa and talked to me quietly until I was under control again. She left me there a moment, and then suddenly Sud was there, and he got so angry when he found out what was happening. Heyelledat P’Prapha.
Tears come to my eyes, and I wipe them away with the sleeve of Sud’s pajamas that he gave me to wear after I took a shower. Seeking comfort, I bury my nose in the sheets that hold his scent. I feel depleted, like I went through something terrible, although I know I really didn’t.
The door opens and Sud steps into the room.
“Hey. You okay?” he asks when I peer at him from over the sheet.
“Yeah.” I sound like my vocal cords have been passed over a cheese grater a couple dozen times.
He hands me a glass of water, and I drink half of it before setting it on the table by the bed. “Thanks.” My voice sounds a little better after the drink, but not by much. “Who were you talking to on the phone just now?”
“P’Sign. He’s concerned about you. So is P’Prapha. I also got a call from Khun Intapong.”
I groan. “I hope you apologized to P’Prapha for yelling at her.”