I love Hallowe’en! It’s a brilliant amalgam of fashion and candy – two of my favourite indulgences. If that weren’t enough there are fabulous parties, with awesome people. Yes, Hallowe’en is for awesome!
I have a big bowl of Tootsie rolls by my side as I write this. No stereotypically revealing ladies’ costume for me. No costume at all. Unless ” Girl Who Punked Out On Hallowe’en” counts, in which case these comfy sweats are ideal. I lieu of parties, I’ve opted to spend this night at home. Hallowe’en bashes are always a blast, but right now my couch seems like the greatest place on earth.
Last night was the New Ottawa Repertory Theatre/Match International presentation of I Have Before Me A Remarkable Document Given To Me By A Young Lady From Rwanda. In a previous post, I wrote that I was having a hard time with the project. In spite of good advice and tremendous support, I continued to struggle. This past week was especially difficult. I haven’t been brilliant company for those who’ve crossed my path of late.
Work began early yesterday, with an italian and a second run-through. To my surprise, I was less distressed than I have been for days. Instead I felt thankfully numb; an admittedly undesirable state for an actor about to do work. There was some half-hearted self-chastising about being unprofessional and a coward, but I was relieved that my psyche had found a way to get me through the day without losing my shit.
That lovely numbness dissipated when My Man of Mans, who had planned to make himself available to me for backstage support called to say our babysitting arrangements had fallen through. His voice on the phone was sombre with concern, because he is the most wonderful. I assured him I would be fine, even as I my mind was stammering, ‘But…but…but…’and I began to cry. I would be fine. Shortly after, I arrived at the theatre. The staff showed me to dressing room. It was private and quiet. I unpacked my costume and my clothes for after the show. I cried more.
Once we began the technical rehearsal, I’d resolved to be zen. No one forced me into this situation. I wasn’t going to flee the theatre or fake my own death. I would go on, perform and cope with the emotional fallout. Unfortunately, my bladder did not get the “Be Zen” memo. As is always the case when I freak out, my bladder was in overdrive. I made three mad sprints to the bathroom and missed wetting myself by the narrowest margin.
I decided it would be best to avoid liquids altogether during dinner.
And then it was show time. I listened backstage as people came into the theatre. I eschewed my usual pre-show ritual involves hugging of cast mates and wriggling like an excited puppy. Instead I found a quiet corner and had a little chat with myself. I reminded myself, that no matter what happened on stage, I was safe.
‘You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe,’ I was mouthing these words as I walked on stage and found my mark. The lights came up and we began.
I can’t qualify my performance, except to say that it felt real. I remembered that Jessica had planned on coming. At one point I spotted her in the audience and I felt grateful that I had at least one friend close by. But for the most part, it was hard. And then it was over. The numbness returned briefly. My cast mate had to kind of pull me around during the curtain call.
Backstage, there were a few more tears, but this time it was relief making me weepy. I changed quickly, wanting to get upstairs and see Jessica before she left. There was a decent crowd in the lobby, so I didn’t see her immediately. A few people stopped to introduce themselves and chat about the show, which was lovely. I was speaking with one women, lanky and familiar silhouette drifted into my peripheral vision. I looked over at the bar and there was Sterling! A second later, who should I see heading towards me but Wayne! I excused myself from my conversation (I hope not rudely) and flung myself at my friends. I was terribly emotional. I hugged them ferociously even as I tried not to snot on their coats. I hadn’t the slightest clue they were coming, but knowing they’d been there meant the world to me.
Eventually I found not only Jessica, but Heather-Marie and other familiar faces. There were more hugs and of course more tears from yours truly before I was called back to the theatre for a panel discussion.
In addition to the members of NORT, the panel included Paul Dewar (my local political crush) and a young Rwandan feminist, Louise. Louise was stunning — articulate, beautiful and passionate. When the discussion ended, we had an amazing conversation. Or rather she said brilliant things, while I gushed about how brilliant she was. She introduced me to another woman, who had borne witness to and survived the genocide. She and I spoke for a long time, about her experiences, her life now and fun, girly things like fashion. She gave me the most wonderful sincere hug. I marveled that someone who had experienced the worst of humanity, could still trust a virtual stranger enough to venture an intimate gesture.
And then finally it was time to come home. It was late, but my Man of Mans was waiting with open arms. In bed I told him of the evening’s events, while he massaged my body which was sore from the day’s tension. I fell asleep.
Today, I can feel my distress retreating. A while my spirit is willing, my body is worn out from adrenaline surges, bladder crises and all the crying. And so here I am on All Hallow’s Eve, too tired to get my party on. And it’s fine. I’m fine. For all the struggles, yesterday was a good day. It reminded me of everything I have. I have my friends. I have my family.
I have everything.