Page 67 - Philly Girl

Philly Girl 51

Ruth

Ruth and I met in a drama class. We were 21. I was a psy-
chology major, but I had to take electives, and I thought
drama class would be an easy one. I was wrong. I loved read-
ing plays, but grades were based on assigned monologues.
Petite and curly-haired, Ruth—a theatre major—knew
everyone in class. She excelled in sarcasm, and just imme-
diately struck me as “cool.” She was assigned “The Girl” in
Our Town, a small-town innocent, a part that required her to
drink a cherry phosphate. I was assigned two monologues—
the young girl in A Taste of Honey and the heterosexual
teacher in The Children’s Hour. Both are tragedies, and each
usually brings an audience to tears.
I was not cut out for dramatic monologues. I flubbed my
lines in both. The audience roared with laughter. I had com-
mitted the ultimate theatre faux pas—enacting a tragedy
and turning it into a full-throttle comedy. So Ruth’s first
impression of me was terrible.
As time went on, though, we became friends and,
later, on-and-off roommates. Ruth had epilepsy, and I had
switched from psychology to nursing, so I sort of knew what
to do when she had a seizure. Her mother, Ena, depended on
me to report any occurrences to her. She and I also became
friends.
Ruth and I began baking, using the Tassajara Bakery
cookbook as our guide. Ruth never let me cut the cheesecake
cookies because she is exacting, and I am sloppy. We still
have that dynamic. I accept her, and she accepts me.