Accepting the Offer

I am taking an improv class “Acting for Improvisors” taught by a veteran actor and improviser. She is great. 

I was in a scene last week where the location was an amusement park concession stand line. We determined that we were high school seniors, and this was an end of year field trip. I was hanging out with my new, nerdy boyfriend. 

“What happens to us after we graduate?” my scene partner asked. 

Instead of engaging in the conversation, I ran off to get my corn dog. 

“Lauren,” the teacher said, “You missed the offer. He asked what was going to happen and you ran off.”

First, that kind of shit happens in real life all of the time. People bring up a serious topic, and the other person changes the topic. 

Not "accepting the offer" has happened more than once in my real life. I remember when Jack and I were separated before the divorce, Jack asked me to go with him to Chicago to watch him run a marathon. We went to college together in Evanston, and we lived in Lincoln Park in our twenties. We were married there and had Ada. There is lots of history in Chicago, lots of happy memories. Even Ada reminds me of happier times. While her death was tragic of course, my pregnancy with her was one of the happiest times of my life. We were surrounded by the love of friends, family and co-workers when she passed.

I said no to the trip to watch the marathon.

If Jack had asked me to go to Chicago to walk down memory lane, I would have said yes. I said no to being a spectator in his life instead of a partner and a participant.

I am not sure if I regret that decision. I don't know if it would have changed anything or not, or if it would have gotten us to the same place.

I wonder how many other offers I have missed. Several times a week, I wonder about how I fucked up my marriage. I wonder how many times we missed each others offers.