But the more I watched, the more I realized I wouldn’t actually be able to tell Mr. Campbell that without lying. Because the play was not good. At all.

I spent the first few scenes rationalizing that this was all deliberate, these were choices that were being made, that there would be a payoff for the actors being out of synch with each other, the tone being just a little off. As I sat in my seat, I told myself that surely, it would get better.

It didn’t.

Everyone always seemed to be screaming or stating exactly what their feelings were. The jokes didn’t land, even though the actors seemed to expect them to, holding a beat too long for laughter that really wasn’t coming. And though I was trying not to, I couldn’t help but think about what Mr. Campbell would have told us if we’d been putting on a performance like that. Everything was too big, directed toward the audience, nothing internal… and maybe, I figured, desperately trying to rationalize, that this had been intended for a larger space. That maybe everything wouldn’t have been so overdone if the space had been bigger and they wouldn’t have had to indicate so much?

But it just… wasn’t working, which I didn’t understand. This was Mr. Campbell. His taste was sacrosanct. He knew everything about theater. And if he’d just been acting in someone else’s production, or directing a play someone else wrote, I could have put it down to other people’s decisions… but this was all him. So what did it mean that it was almost unwatchable?

And it just kept not ending. I’d never in my life wanted a watch so badly. I had no idea how much time was passing, but when it seemed like at least an hour had passed—and the play really didn’t appear to be winding down, since everyone was talking about the police inspector who was going to come investigate the death, and that would be a weird thing to end a play on—it became clear to me that I was just going to have to go.

I knew it wasn’t ideal, but I figured I could always write Mr. Campbell an email later and tell him I came to see the play, but I had to leave early, since I had to be somewhere at nine thirty. I slowly gathered up my coat—every crinkle of the fabric sounded like a cannon blast. I wished the theater wasn’t so small. The lights started to dim on a scene change, and I knew this was my moment.