Read Through

We play with words through the first read through. They still feel new, deliciously unfamiliar in our mouths. The monologues tell different stories, which, hearing for the first time, sounds clunky and promising, like unpolished stones. The girl next to me begins, telling a story, "The Sounds You Make," a monologue about the sound, the tiny exhale or disapproval an unnamed character makes to scold her.

My heart freezes slowly, it sounds a touch too familiar. I had a boy who made a noise like that. Whenever I did something wrong, or that he didn't like, he wouldn't scold, or correct. He'd just breathe, a little sigh, and he'd say, "Reagan." It made me hate him, with every ounce of my being, but at the same time, it made me hate myself. Because he didn't yell at me, or leave me, he'd keep it all in this little sigh, and I'd hate myself for not being forgiving or understanding like that. But it wasn't forgiving or understanding, it was awful. Whenever he sighed like that, I'd freeze, like a child who's just been caught doing something wrong. Whenever we weren't together, or it wasn't quiet enough for his breath to make impact, Reagan became his sigh. Just his disapproving "Reagan" was all it took to stop me, to burst any bubble I was floating in, and bring me back down to earth. Reagan became a bad word. Something to avoid. It wasn't my name anymore, it was a scolding. Reagan. When he was happy with me, he used nicknames. I was babygirl. I was sweetheart. I was doll.

So I loved nicknames. I loved my fantasy world where everything was sweet and fake. I loved my hypocoristic names. But eventually, I became Reagan all the time. And then he left. Other people called me Reagan, and didn't understand when I cringed, or apologized, or assumed something was wrong. I tried to stop a friend of mine once, when he insisted on using my name, but he refused to be corrected. "That's your name," he said, "and that's what I'll call you, and you'll call me by my name." I asked him to explain, I couldn't understand, but it was simple. "Because I like my name."

I'm Reagan again now. I've come to love my name again, and love being called by it. It's endearment now, it's special again. But I remember the sound too well. The sigh meant for scolding. And I hate the monologue and I love the monologue for making my heart freeze, in a way all too familiar.