“Can you stick around?”
Everyone else sticks around too. All three of you, for the same part.
“Molly, can you come back? The other two are released.”
Know what else is released? Any hope of that part. Tears are released. Anger. Feeling the sting of a door slamming right in front of you.
What could I have done? Why was it her? Did I take their note? How did this go wrong?
And then I feel the quiver in my chest and I’m crying on the subway. Trying to push the hurt down deep, to breathe it away, to force the “no” to not matter.
No matter how good an actor you are, it is hard to make yourself believe that you’re not disappointed.