My heavy eyelids weighed me down as I climbed up the stairs of the smelly and overcrowded subway station. I dose off thinking about how afraid I was to do any little thing alone at home and yet here I was. As I emerge the humid summer air feels refreshing and clean. The sunlight feels good on my skin that has been three floors underground all day.

“A little help please, I need a little help” the homeless man with only one leg in the wheelchair pleas. In the short weeks that I have been here, I have gotten to know all of the neighborhood homeless. From the girl on 50th with her colorful dreadlocks, fishnet stockings, and big german shepard to the man who hides in the doorway on 83rd. They all just need a little help. Although I have never said a word to any of them, the familiarity in such a fast moving, foreign city is, in some ways, comforting. As the light turns to ‘walk’ I blend in with the people around me as we all follow down the street. As I approach my building, the doorman, Steve, opens the huge glass doors in anticipation. The short walk in the soup like air has been enough for me and I give in to the cool air conditioning of the lobby. They hand me my keys and I head for the second floor, at this point of the day I can not even think of climbing the one flight of stairs and go straight to the always waiting elevator.

After the short ride up, I unlock the door to apartment 2F and finally have the privacy I have been waiting all day for. It is not much, just one big window that looks over a courtyard that offers little to none sunlight, a kitchen against the right wall , the tiniest little couch with a TV, and sleeping out cove with a bathroom. It is small but it’s more than enough. I go straight to the hard couch and fall right onto it with a sigh.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.  From the darkness in the room you would not be able to tell that any time had passed at all. I slug out of bed, put on my athletic clothing that I wear almost everyday and head out the door. I follow the same routine as the day before, give the door men my key, walk up the block, go down the subway. I have an odd fascination with the subway. You go into a dark hole under the surface of the greatest city in the world and emerge in a total different surrounding in just a short five minutes. I start on the Upper West Side,where residents live away from all of the mayhem and end up in the touristy Times Square that most who live in the city try to avoid.  
                   

86. 79. 72. 66. 59. 50. Stop.

As I hop off the train, I notice the man who plays guitar to various pop artists is missing. I wonder where he may be and if he was absent for good or bad reasons. The bright light of day pierces my eyes and I look down as I turn the corner and walk half the block until I am at the theater. It is eerily quiet and I think about all the pastimes I walked here as an audience member. My dad always took me to see different shows, whether they were Tony Award Winning or had the worst reviews, we would see it. That’s where most of my memories with my dad lie. I climb down one set of stairs which would bring an audience into the lobby that’s usually full of bright lights and color, but today is dark and lonely. Turn the corner down another flight to the bathroom level and back through a door that states, “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY”. The fluorescent lights take a minute for my eyes to get used to after walking through the shadows of the rest of the building. Finally, I shrug down the last flight of stairs and, as I near the bottom, I hear quiet whispers from my classmates, instantly a smile fills my face. Although I have only known this group of people for a few short months I dread the thought of parting with them at the end of the summer. They have not only helped me grow as an actor, but to also figure myself out in this complicated world.

I nod to the familiar faces as I take my seat in the third row. For no particular reason, my heart begins to beat faster and faster. What’s wrong with you Emily? You have watched a handful of people do this assignment and have seen that there is nothing to be worried about. My mental pep talk does not seem to be effective and I zone out from the class discussion and focus on my breathing. Jacquie calls on me to take the seat in the middle of the floor and begin my meditation. My body moves without me telling it to and before I know it I am sitting on a cold metal chair and everything is silent. My partner, Morgan comes over and loosens my shoulders and legs, then helps me on my breathing. Before I know it she is leaving me to go back to her seat, but I don’t want her to go. With my eyes closed in the silence of the room, I feel alone, hollow. After thirty seconds I am instructed to stand up and walk counterclockwise as I recite my monologue. I do this just as the volunteers I have seen before me. As I go around and around my teacher shouts out different words at me, I am not to mimic these things or fake the emotions, but to try and find the truth.
         

Grass. Puppies. Best Friend. Haunted House. Grandma.

And that’s when it clicked. I began to break down right then and there. One of my grandma’s passed away the day before my 6th birthday, I can barely remember her unfortunately, but she was always supportive. My other grandma would not be able to tell me apart from someone else she has never met and has accused me of horrible things. I have always put on the brave face whenever someone mentions her and had never  allowed myself to let go of all the frustrations bubbling up inside of me. As I began to cry my circle began to get sloppier but I powered through until the words.
                                       

Starry Night.