Ray and I sat alone in the office, the others now long gone.
I would keep him with me for as long as he would stay.
I hoped not to miss more crucial perspective imparted (if such could be missed).
I half expected either of us to reach across at any moment and unzip the other’s skin from head to toe, revealing that we had in fact been one in the same all along.
I had an idea.
ME:
“Do you still take calls and release your recordings now that you don’t work for the church?”
RAY:
“Yeah, I have to. I mean, that’s what I… Sorry. I do. But I got behind in the last week or so.”
ME:
“Perhaps you could work on it here for a while as I sit and listen?
“I think we’ve adequately covered your background with the church.
“Now I’d like to examine you . . . your perspective . . . in action, so to speak, with the audience you’ve built.
“Do you think that would be okay?”
There was a pause, which must have been hesitation.
My eyes rose to meet Ray’s searching gaze.
But then I flinched and looked away, cursing myself for so unprofessional a display.
I felt like an actor who breaks in a scene and fails to hold in laughter, wasting costly time and film.
Had we switched roles?
My asking to observe Ray work was, in essence, delivering the onus of our session up from the cold back-and-forth scrutiny of my Method, placing it fully at his discretion.
Yet to not do so would be to deny the cumulative findings of my Method.
I was grateful when he spoke again.
RAY:
“Um, sure. Actually, I got kind of a weird message earlier, and… Well, I was going to call him back tonight, but I could do it now.”
ME:
“By all means.
“I’ll stay out of your way and only take notes.
“Pretend I’m not here.”
My tone sounded (to me) alarmingly like that of a relieved, helpless child.
I don't know anything 