First night of rehearsals for [enter any play/musical]. I’m nervous as I approach the theater because I’m fairly certain I’m the first one here, and who the hell wants to be the first person anywhere on the first day?

Lot of ‘firsts’ going on.

But when I step into the building from the side-stage door, the flame of my worries is quickly snuffed out. Of course the two directors are already here, but I’m relieved to see two other actors sitting in the audience seats. Or, at least, I hope they’re actors.

I greet the directors and the person sitting closest to the door. The other one, isolated on the other side of the room, doesn’t even look up. Their leg is bouncing a mile a minute, fingers picking at their cuticles. I approach them — not something I’d normally do on the first day — and try to make myself as not-intimidating as I can.

“That’s a bad habit,” I lower my voice so that only they can hear me in the empty and near-silent theater. “Picking at your skin.”