BEFORE YOU TURN THE HEAT UP
LATCHKEYING WITH ZIA LAWRENCE
Oh, me gad (something my grandmother would say when she was puzzled), where on Earth do I start with this one?
We are friends. We have always been friends. And we are also related. Zia Lawrence is a rare specimen of human, one with charisma that lights up a room and a tender curiosity which quietly seeks out the best qualities in everyone they meet. Zia holds within them enormous multi-layered talent and the most compassionate of hearts, a combination inside one human which feels scarce. Once you meet them, you will never forget them.
With Zia, I have been granted this remarkable opening to love someone as much as humanly possible, committing one hundred and fifty thousand percent to every milestone, childhood clown birthday parties and all. If a scene in a movie provokes me to quietly start weeping, I instinctively glance over at Zia, who will also be weeping. Then, we both start crying loudly and fumble for each other’s hands to hold. At this moment we usually have to pause the movie because no one can hear anything anymore.
It is a humbling experience to make a lifetime of promises to never give up on someone. I didn’t know it could be like this. I had decided long ago that I didn’t wish to have children, but my siblings thankfully had some to share. I learned the art of aunting from my own aunts, a title I began wearing at age eleven when my first niece was handed to my waiting arms at a hospital in Boston. Being a young aunt, I trained under the tutelage of my Aunts Millie, Pinky, and Bobbi, memorizing the layout of the perfect snack plate, conjuring afternoon outings from fumes and $1, curating the consummate craft project, and hosting sleepovers with just the right movies, noticing that empathetic attention over admonishment and shame are keys to cultivating flourishing relationships with young people.
I have always endeavored to take my responsibility as an aunt very seriously. My devotion takes the shape of affirming both the inner emotional landscape and public expressions of my beloveds and their chosen families, who are, more often than not, the spotted ponies of the world. I have petitioned the Universe on my niblings' behalf more times than I can count, praying that they attach themselves to good folks and fantastic community. It is the aunts who want to hear about your fears and unfinished work. If yours doesn’t, come find me. I’ll match you with one who does.
And now Zia is grown. They have always been a formidable actor. For better or worse, I have not-surprisingly been the most vociferous, perhaps even the most embarrassing, audience member at every play Zia has ever been in. I bring my friends and we all stand up and cause a small scene when the curtains come down. I don’t much believe in containing pride.
Zia has played Kenickie in a scrubbed-clean middle school version of Grease, Miss Hannigan, The Count of Roussillon, and Juliet, all with total commitment and enthusiasm. And now Zia has written a buddy comedy called Oversized Suits about trying to find your way in a world that feels too large and incomprehensible. I think we can all relate.
As we speak, Zia is finishing up a stint in a queer retelling of Dial M for Murder at Asolo Rep. Zia’s collaborator on Oversized Suits, Tony Macht, is in the hit play, Oh Mary! The production company that Zia and Tony are working with launched a GoFundMe to make their dreams come true and to pay their hardworking cast and crew. I like to think it is our job, whenever possible, to champion the next generation of artists, ensuring that their voices, distinct from ours, are heard.
LET’S ALL BE ZIA AND TONY’S AUNTS TOGETHER!
https://www.gofundme.com/f/oversized-suits.
And now, without further adieu, I present Zia’s story from Latchkey Township, which partly takes place at my parents’ house.
BEFORE YOU TURN THE HEAT UP, YOU SHOULD PUT SOME CLOTHES ON
by ZIA LAWRENCE
I have this one particular memory of being at my grandma and grandpa’s house. On this one occasion, unsupervised and in the middle of winter, I turned the heat up as far as it would go, got completely naked, and ran blissfully around the house while blasting ABC (the TV station, not the song). My grandparents did not have a stereo, but they did have four basic TV stations. All this nakedness and noise made me feel SO FREE.
When my grandmother, who was not at all into two main things: nudity or the heat being set so high, came home, she just said matter-of-factly, “Before you turn the heat up so high, you should put some clothes on,” and left it at that.
I didn’t get into trouble with my grandparents, but my dad was another story.
Because so much of what I did when my dad was around was under scrutiny and held consequences, being alone at the house where I lived with him was the biggest sense of freedom I had. As a latchkey kid, I could eat whatever snacks I wanted without getting yelled at, even if it was just organic blue corn chips. I could play music really loud, something I wasn’t allowed to do when he was home. I could dance with abandon. I could be naked. I loved being naked. No one in my family seems to like nudity as much as I do.
My dolls were my absolute best friends. I created complete worlds with them. I had a closet made of shelves, and this became their cool, grown-up apartment building. The dolls were having all the fun I desired to have. They had pool parties. They danced naked. They hopped over to their neighbors’ apartments, just like in Friends. They went shopping and bought whatever clothes, jewelry, and shoes they wanted. They went out with real estate agents to look for even bigger apartments.
Hearing my dad pull into the driveway after work made me sad and scared because it meant that my time alone in the house was over, and I might get into trouble for something I didn’t even realize I had done wrong.
P.S. A little gift of Zia reading aloud from Latchkey Township lies below for paid subscribers. Thank you for being here. It means a lot to us.
xo Jacinta & Zia
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