The day before my first audition finally came. I felt as though I was walking on air. Adam said this was a literal truth, as I practiced my kicks and jumps in the hallways at school. “I just hope I’ll never have to hear ‘Danced All Night’ again once this is finished,” he added, referring to the song I’d been working on with my voice teacher. But then he smiled his one-sided smile and bumped his shoulder against mine.
“I
really do appreciate all the help and support,” I told him, slipping my hand
into his as we headed towards the high school cafeteria. “You are the greatest thing that has
ever happened to me.”
“I
know,” Adam grinned. He tried hard
to come across as tough by keeping his red hair a tousled mess and delivering
snarky one-liners at every opportunity.
But he ruined the effect by dating me. I was a home grown country gal with honey-blonde hair and an
addiction to vintage 50’s clothing.
After
school, Adam dropped me off at the big blue farmhouse where my family and I had
lived all my life. I waved goodbye
to him on the front porch, then paused to breathe in the scent of pine and
growing things. It was so
beautiful here, with the expanse of sky overhead and the trees hemming us in on
all sides. It made me wonder why I
so desperately craved the flashing lights and crowded rooms of stage life. With that thought, a rush of
nervousness for tomorrow washed over me.
There was only one cure for that kind of anxiety, and I knew exactly
what it was.
I
turned and went inside, the screen door banging shut behind me. Mom was in the kitchen, and I greeted
her hurriedly before rushing up the narrow stair way to my attic bedroom. The little room had a wooden ceiling
that came to a point in the middle and was wall covered in blue and red
wallpaper from my childhood. I
tossed my backpack on the bed and grabbed a bulging folder of CD’s from the
window seat, flipping through them until I found one labeled “SONGS TO SING AND
DANCE TO” in pink sharpie. This I
put into the boom box on the floor, plugging in my headphones and putting them
on over my hair.
As the first couple of notes of a Mahalia
Jackson gospel tune began to play, they had a kind of healing effect on
me. I picked up the CD player and
drug it over to the vanity table where my makeup and cosmetics sat, tilting the
mirror back so that I could see myself in the reflection. I grabbed a bottle of hair spray to use
as a make-shift microphone and began to sing into it, belting out each note
with reckless abandon. I didn’t
care that it probably sounded terrible at first, I just sang to release the
built up tension and excitement in me.
After that it was a Disney love song,
followed by a classic Kelly Clarkston don’t-mess-with-me tune. As I sang, I played all the parts, from
self-righteous gospel singer to Princess to empowered female pop star. It wasn’t that I was acting; I was
feeling through the music. In the
space of half an hour I traveled through time to many different parts of the
world, and to some worlds that didn’t even exist. And as I became those other girls, it was as though I could
feel everything they felt. Almost
as though I was making up the words rather than reciting them from memory.
By the time the CD finally skidded to a
halt, I was exhausted. In the
sudden silence that followed, I sank onto the stool in front of the vanity and
looked at my flushed face. It no
longer seemed such a sacrifice to walk away from one cozy life in the
woods. On stage I could live
countless lives and stories, and be countless different people. Perhaps there were nobler callings, but
this was the truest part of me.
The
next day Adam picked me up at ten o’clock and drove me to Federal Way for my
audition. “I’ll be right here waiting for you,” he told me as we parted ways in
the parking lot. We were at a
local High School, and the place seemed eerie without any students in it. I followed the sound of a piano to the
theatre, which was much bigger than our school’s auditorium. The room was mostly black, with a
spotlight on the stage. I slid
into the front row and waited for my turn to sing.
“Allison
Morris?” they called at last.
“Here,”
I squeaked, scrambling to my feet.
“You’re
next,” said the director, a middle-aged woman with a striped scarf wrapped
around her neck.
I
hurried up the steps to the stage and stepped into the spot light.
They
asked me what I was going to sing, and I answered while handing the sheet music
to the pianist.
“Miss
Morris,” asked the director, peering out at me from behind a desk set up in the
center isle. A small lamp
lightered her face from below, casting odd shadows across her cheeks. “Why do you want to play the roll of
Eliza Doolittle?”
“I
don’t want to play anything,” I replied.
“I just want to BE her, for a little while.”
“Very
good,” she replied, smiling a little.
“Let’s see how you do.”
The
pianist began to play, and I opened my mouth and transformed.
That was great! Makes me want to go act...
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