Playthings

Not so long ago I lay flat on my back in the grass behind the theater, looking up at the dimming sky, listening to the familiar sounds of rehearsal.  Two girls giggled in one dressing room, while the comforting, masculine murmur from the other dressing room drifted past.  Two small girls (who play fairies in the show) were squeaking and rustling as they played in the lawn.  I listened even closer, imagining I could hear Martha as she gracefully turns the pages of her book in the dressing room, while Earl glues and snips, completing his puppet in the Green Room down the hall.

This summer has been, for me, confusing, daunting, and altogether, more than a little frightening.

When I first started rehearsals, I felt so small.  I hid behind my glasses, and willed myself to show up to the few hours of rehearsal a week while attempting not to look too out-of-practice in the eyes of my cast-mates, which all had more experience than me.

The hours increased, and I got used to seeing these faces more often than my own family.  These actors that I admired (and envied) revealed personalities that were hilarious and honest, and I found myself drawn into this stunning and wonderful community. 

I loved it there. It was beautiful and strange and comforting, and so I’m terrified that I won’t get cast again, and this will be one of those summer moments that will soon exist only in my memory.  

And I suppose that was the sweet tragedy of my summer.  For this short amount of time, I felt like I had found a place where I belong, or at the very least, a place where I don’t feel out of place.