By His Rules by J. A. Rock Page A

at Obey. This
    Aiden was far too thin—bony arms clutching his middle,
    as though he could prevent some of the late fall chill
    from entering through the thin fabric of his long-sleeved
    T-shirt. This Aiden was wary, withdrawn. He was also in
    pain. It showed in his eyes and in every stiff, shuddering
    movement of his body.
    Keaton reached his car, unlocked it, and grabbed a
    jacket from the backseat. He liked the jacket—it was a bit
    small on him, but it was warm and sturdy. Still, he didn’t
    mind giving it up for a good cause. He tried not to rush
    back to the pier. No need to spook the kid with his
    enthusiasm.
    Aiden glanced up only briefly when Keaton
    returned. “Here,” Keaton said, holding out the jacket.
    “For my peace of mind.”
    Aiden shook his head. “I don’t want it.”
    “Please.” Keaton said it sincerely, and Aiden
    looked at him as though unable to comprehend why this
    mattered so much to Keaton.
    Then Aiden shrugged again and took the jacket.
    He couldn’t get it on—his fingers were numb, and
    he shivered so hard he could barely raise his arms.
    Keaton reached out to help him, and Aiden shied
    violently from his hands. Keaton stopped moving.
    “Shit,” Aiden muttered. He shook the jacket off and
    thrust it at Keaton. “You keep it. I have to get going
    anyway.” He stood and hurried away, leaving Keaton no
    time to decide whether to call after him.

    * * * *
Aiden landed a part in a local production of Twelfth
    Night . He’d come to look down on community theater
    while he was in college, especially the shows put on in
    this dump of a town. But he missed acting and was
    thrilled for the chance to play Malvolio. In productions at
    school, he had inevitably been cast as the romantic lead.
    Now finally he got to play a character part: the priggish,
    joy-despising steward who turns out to be far more
    complex than he initially seems.
    Having rehearsals to look forward to each night
    brightened his mood considerably. He ate more
    regularly and had an easier time sleeping through the
    nights. He practiced his lines while Scott was at work,
    and, as opening night grew nearer, tried to persuade
    Scott to come.
    “I hate plays,” Scott said.
    “Don’t you at least want to support me?” Aiden
    asked, trying for the charming grin that had served him
    well in the past. He often faltered when he smiled now,
    afraid Scott would think he was being fake or
    manipulative.
    Scott snorted. “Like you need any more support
    from me.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    Scott shrugged. “Maybe instead of wasting your
    time with this play, you should be out looking for a job.”
    “I’ve tried. You know I’ve been trying.”
    “Have you? How hard can it be to get a job as a
    cashier somewhere?”
    Aiden bit his lip. “Well, I don’t just want to be a
    cashier somewhere. I want to think about my future.”
    “Well, I wish you wouldn’t think about it on my
    dime.”
    Aiden’s face burned. He struggled to keep his voice
    steady. “Joe’s was good because the hours were flexible.
    Serving’s a great day job for an actor. If I could get
    another job as a server, I could make sure my evenings
    were free to pursue more theater opportunities.”
    “So you can be a waiter for the rest of your life, but
    not a cashier?”
    “It’s not for the rest of my life. It’s just until I can
    start making a living as an actor. Or—I don’t know, if I
    get into grad school… ”
    “This all sounds like fantasy to me. I mean, how is
    acting a viable career? Unless you’re a movie star?”
    “People make money at it. Not a lot, but—”
    “How does that contribute to society, though?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, how does being an actor benefit anyone?”
    Aiden’s mouth fell open. “People need theater. It’s
    part of… of culture; it’s part of what makes us human. It
    teaches us about ourselves—”
    “Look, don’t have an aneurysm over it. Theater’s
    just not my thing.