Constance Wu - Making a Scene

At home in Henrico, Virginia, 1990s

H er name was Girl. Thats it. I was in my third year of drama school at a classical acting conservatory and Girl was my character in the play Boys Life by Howard Korder. Its a comedy about three young men navigating the complexities of adulthood, relationships, and sex. Because Girl was in only one scene, I wanted to make that one scene a scene. Girl is the lead characters (Don) one-night stand. Don picks up Girl in the record store where she works. Then he sleeps with her, cheating on his girlfriend.

The scene opens, postcoital, with Girl babbling about her dreams. Don is guilt-ridden, too filled with his inner turmoil to hear her fanciful stories.

But then she starts talking about really crazy shitincest in her past, aliens eating oranges, her anorexia. She says that she lied to him about working in the record store. That she does that sometimes, she lies. That maybe shes been lying all along. Or maybe shes even lying to him about lying, because actually? She does work in the record store, haha! Girl starts talking so wildly that it snaps Don out of his head and into the present moment, and thats when he finally hears her.

Its a turning point in the play. We see the once lighthearted Don finally grapple with the consequences of his immaturity. Girl functions as a catalyst for Dons self-realization. Thats why shes in only one scene, why she doesnt have a name. Because the play isnt about herwho its about is right there in the title: Boys Life.

I was glad to play this unnamed part. Id already had some big leading roles during my time in drama school, so it was a relief to let the boys do the heavy lifting in this play. I got to be loose and free, knowing I wasnt responsible for carrying the story. It was so fun. I loved playing Girl.

The director and I decided that Girl was OUT-THERE. My costume was a ripped T-shirt and underwear. I put on a bunch of temporary tattoos and stuck fake piercings on my lips, nose, and eyebrow. I wore messy hair, excessive black eyeliner. Dark lipstick. I moved with spindly arms, loose mouth, bobbing head. I didnt sit like a lady; I sprawled. I was funny and the audience loved it! Girl was zany! And my peers delighted in seeing me, a conservative suburban Virginia girl, playing someone so out-there. Someone with tattoos.

I loved the response. I kept my tattoos on during nonperformance days because they made me feel tough. I took pleasure in surprising people with the contrast.

One night, during a performance when I was very loose, saying my lines and going through Girls wild movementssomething happened.

Girl spoke to me.

Her voice came into my head out of nowhere; a complete surprise. I am more than what youre giving me, she said.

My lines remained the same, but in the middle of that performance, everythingthe way I approach acting, the way I think about peoplechanged. Id written Girl off as just tattoos and black eyeliner. A crazy person. But I am more, she said. Listen to me. So, I did. And what she told me broke my heart.

Girl wasnt crazy. Its that Don wasnt listening to her. She had just shared her body with him, was telling him her dreams. But hes so consumed by his own guilt, he barely registers her. Thats why Girl had to get crazy, make a scene. Just to be heard.

Growing up, I was taught to never make scenes. Its unbecoming. Unladylike. As a kid, I held back so much. And whenever I reached a breaking pointthe accumulated feelings avalanching out of me in tears or tantrumsI found that to be ineffective too. No one heard my words; they only heard the tone and responded by saying things like Whoa, youre intense or Calm down or Why cant you just be grateful? Patronizing, reductive phrases that made me feel even worse. Its probably why I love theater so much: its the only place where it felt acceptablenay, commendableto have big feelings.

At the end of the scene in Boys Life, Don gets freaked-out and tries to leave Girls apartment. No, wait. Stay, she says, realizing shes gone too far. She doesnt want him to go; what does it say about her if he leaves? She begs him, flatters him. She apologizes. She tries to have sex with him againand thats the tactic that finally works. Don gets back into her bed. Girl blows out her candle, the stage goes black, and thats the end of the scene. She never appears in the play again.

Boys Life was written in 1988, well before the world of the internet as we know it. But Girls appearance in it feels relevant today: whenever we encounter public figures, were often only getting one short scenean Instagram picture, a fifteen-second video, a clickbait headlineand judging it. The scene ends, and the ensuing public commentary becomes the play. Its like how Id initially interpreted Girl. I read her one scene and got carried away with my own narrative about her. She works in a record store! She has casual sex! She tells crazy stories! She is OUT-THERE! Im gonna give her intense makeup and tattoooooooos!

But then she spoke to me and I finally listenedreally listenedto her. I stopped thinking of her as a girl making a scene, and started thinking about the scenes that made the girl. When I did that, when I took the time to look deeper, it changed my life and my craft for the better.

The stories in this book are memories of the people and events that have shaped my humanity and determined the direction of my life. Just because Boys Life only gives Girl one scene in the play doesnt mean we have to. Her story doesnt end when the scene ends. She has a future. She has a history. Thats what Im trying to do with this book. To tell the story of my own inner Girl, ya know? Give her a few more scenes.

In New York City, 2006

Lucky Bucks

M y heart dropped down to the bottom of my feet. The only other time Id had that feeling was when my dad was very sick, and I saw him collapse because he couldnt breathe. As his airway constricted, his eyes glazed in panic. His arms reached out around him as if for balance, for air, for anything at all, until he fell to the floor. Terror and love and helplessness flooded every cell of my body; a feeling as dull as underwater voices and sharp as a needle piercing your chest. And when I first saw Rob, when my heart dropped to the bottom of my feet again, it was a lot like that, but good.

Years later, Rob would admit to me that when he first saw me, he felt all the air leaving his lungs. That I took his breath away. Not because I was some hot thang, but because I was a surprise. He hadnt expected me.