She’s been sitting in the rehearsal hall waiting for months. There’s wasn’t a role for her when the auditions took place, so she just sits in the chairs hoping that someone falls out of the production. The minor roll of background player isn’t working anymore and it looks like the director is considering recasting at least one of the secondary players.
The play has been written and the ending known to everyone. There’s only the question of how long will the production run. Not how many minutes will tick by, but once this goes from rehearsal to a house filled with people. Short run or longer?
After doing the drive out to Maine with more people in the car than expected, I was asked if there was something more someone could do for me. The drive up had been quiet, people wanted to give me a chance to think about what I was going to say and how I was going to feel. Talking to a grave site is uncomfortable, until it isn’t anymore. The first couple of sentences stuttered out and the last few trickled out from behind quivering lips.
I could have stood in silence and hoped my daughter knew my thoughts. But a part of me wanted the other people around us, those who would be remaining behind, could hear that I needed them to also watch over her. Complete Daddy Issue, but one I fully own.
I slept part of the drive home, it was just emotions draining from me.
This friend who keeps showing up at odd times needed to talk. We usually have something to discuss about her own daughter and how it has been nice that I try to help her. (The young lady in question is my niece’s best friend. No obligation to help other than wanting to help.)
“You’ve been willing to be there for my daughter, even when you have other things that get in the way. I know why you do it, it keeps you close to your own child. But what can I do to make your life a little easier?”
This is where the director has to decide if the audience gets to change the dialog or if they are captive to the entire show.
Having written about how deeply hurt I was by trusting someone not to make fun of me and getting just that response, allowing someone to help me get through this last part of my time is very hard. It’s not them I completely question, but myself.
I have finally reached a point where certain things from the past just don’t control my emotions in the same way. Accepting the cancer for what it is and not a punishment is a step in the right direction. Some days I don’t have a good grip on my emotions. It comes from knowing I need people around me but being absolutely terrified of needing people around me. Oxymoron or self-realized irony?
Mostly I don’t know what I can offer in return. The stuff about her daughter is right, I do it so I can understand my own relationship to my child. But what about her?
The one thing I will admit to, it feels good to get a hug. It’s always too tight for me. My shoulders folding in. I think that is the point though, letting my know I can lean in a bit and have someone carry a little of my weight for even a few seconds.
A while back I had set the cast list. Limited to family and a few others who I knew could help. But my play is needing more than people gathered in the background, mouthing conversations for the audience.
I acknowledge there is a voice to be heard, maybe I should let her take the microphone so the rest of us can hear…