My Best Friend Betrayed Me When I Was 16!

At 16, that’s how it felt.

See, Matt was an artist. In practical terms back in 1990, he was The Artist, as in, the artist of our group. I still have drawings of his that he did back then, and for a 16-year-old kid, yeah, he had chops.

That’s what he was Going To Do. At least as far as I was concerned. Being a comic book artist for Marvel or DC was his fate.

Until about a week before sophomore year ended when he floated this gem:

Now, listen, I tried to be cool about it. I did. (Try, I mean.) But like, for reals…I’d been an actor in FOUR mainstage drama department shows at Camelback High School by then. I was the Hot Thing! I’d trained at the Utah Shakespeare Festival under THE PATRICK PAGE.

Acting was my thing. Drawing was his. He’d barely seen a show, let alone performed in one.

So, like, not to put too fine a point on it, but…

What the FUCK, Matt??

(I may have actually said this to him. Sorry, dude.)

When he asked for advice on what to do, I pointed him to Mrs. Tully, our drama teacher and director. I didn’t believe he’d actually go up and talk to her, but goddamn, he did. And she gave him a monologue to memorize and perform, with instructions to come back in a week and show her what he had.

I never saw him do the piece; he didn’t ask for coaching or notes, because he wanted his raw ability to be judged. Giving tips could skew his results.

So the day comes, and me and a couple of the other guys wait at his house for him to do the “audition,” and we’re getting ready to commiserate with him when Mrs. Tully kindly but firmly shuts him down. I mean, really, what was the alternative?

And Matt comes back, and we’re like, “How’d it go?” and he’s like:

“She said I should take Drama Two.”

See, Drama Two was for the serious actors and drama kids. You took Drama One as a prerequisite to Drama Two, and it weeded out the kids who weren’t interested in being part of the department. Drama One was something everyone had to do.

And for fuck’s sake, you certainly weren’t invited to do so by our fucking drama teacher!

That was a great summer. Summer 1990. The world was ours. We had a great time. I have the VHS footage to prove it.

But every so often over the course of our break, I’d think, So Matt’s gonna be in Drama Two, huh? Yeah, we’ll see how that works out.

Junior year began in August. Early on in the year were auditions for the fall show, What I Did Last Summer by A.R. Gurney. I loved the show immediately. I also knew without asking that I was pretty much going to be the lead. Not only had I earned my spot the past two years in the drama department, but the role sounded so much like me, it seemed obvious Tully had me in mind.

Auditions were just cold reads from the script, usually in groups of two or three. This would be Matt’s first time in the process, and we agreed to do a duo scene together between the two teen boy characters.

I still didn’t have a lot of faith in him. Tully had to be mistaken about him taking Drama Two. Had to be.

Then we got on stage together.

Almost instantly, within a couple of lines of dialogue, I thought: Holy shit…!

I’d known Matt for four years already at that point, and at 16, that is a fucking lifetime. And one of our favorite pastimes was basically talking and laughing. To the point of collapse. It’s what we were known for doing. We just cracked each other up. (We still do, over FaceTime.)

That afternoon, in the Camelback High School Little Theater, I felt something different than I’d ever felt on stage before.

Connection. Vibe. Being in sync. Effortless performance. Flow?

I’m not sure what exactly to call it, but almost as soon as we started reading off each other, it was fucking awesome.

By the time we were finished with that reading, it was like disembarking the best ride at a state fair: exhiliration, joy, unfettered fucking glee. We immediately picked out another scene to do so we could feel it all over again.

Mrs. Tully must have felt our energy and synergy, because a few days later, when she posted the cast list, Matt and I were cast in the show together.

All my bullshit petty jealousy and whatnot evaporated. I couldn’t wait to start rehearsals.

That part of our relationship, as actors and then later as me the director and he the actor, lasted for decades. That relationship launched a theatre company that lasted thirteen seasons.

Thank you, Matt, for having the unmitigated temerity to go ask our drama teacher if you could “see if you had any talent.”

You did. And you do.

And it changed everything.