So y'all, my weekend was spent (mostly) indoors because turns out, there is both a Good Side and a Bad Side to it. I will share both with you, starting with the Bad, simply because I am one of those people who when you say, "Good news first or bad news first?" I always say, "Bad news first! BAD NEWS FIRST!" because apparently I cannot experience joy unless it is already ruined.
The Bad Side: I had 'things' going on over the weekend, and I was feeling a little under the weather.
Actually, this is kind of unrelated, but for some reason I feel like
sharing that the only play I have ever appeared in, in my whole entire
life, was Mary, acted in some inter-school festivals. And I was in class six, and I was Stella.
Stella is not exactly a major character. She is not Mary, for example. No. She is Stella.
As Stella, I was matronly and had gray hair and a long black
dress with an apron, and I spoke two lines. In my first line, I was to
walk into the room, and announce, "There's someone at the door." I was
then to walk out. This was not a very challenging role.
In my second line, Mary was to sing a song to me, about loneliness
and sadness and urchinness or whatever, and I was to put my arms about
her small shoulders and gently announce, "I understand."
That was all. Because those are all of the lines Stella has. Stella is not some kind of super star, people. She is a senior
citizen.
But this did not matter to me. The stage! The lights! The fame! It was clearly my calling.
So, I practiced. Oh, how I practiced, in my little class six
world. I would sit for hours, in front of my mirror, and
whisper my lines to myself. "There's SOMEone at the door," I'd try.
Then I'd mix it up a bit, I would feel out my character, with "There's
someone at the DOOR."
"I understand," I would say. Then, with tears in my eyes: "I...I understand."
That is the
kind of devotion I had to my role: a Streep-like devotion. And so, when
the night of the play came around, I was ready. I was ready for primary school stardom. Please go ahead and give me my medal now, is what I was thinking, because I had that bitch down.
But...oh, you guys. There was a problem. And the problem, of
course, was that in class six, I was madly, passionately in love
with the "actor" (and let us use this term loosely), from a nearby school, who 'starred' in 'AIDS IS REAL', and I believe his name was Boniface, and I would love to call him Bonny, because Bonny is cute, and I was pretty
fucking sure that Bonny and I were destined to be together, and that we
would have a thousand babies, and that we would probably live in my
parents' guest room.
The problem with
being in love with Bonny, however, was twofold: with (1) being that Bonny did not actually realize that I existed, seeing as he was a
worldly class eight (and class eight pupils had totally gone to second
base by then and were watching 'the bold and the beautiful, duh) and I was a lowly class six with insane hair in the play and skinny legs who was always dressed up like an old woman during play practice but whatever,
that may have been surmountable except that I also had a tendency to
(2) TOTALLY LOSE THE ABILITY TO SPEAK when the beloved and manly Boniface
was in my presence. So the fact that I was in a play, with actual lines, which involved speaking, in an out-loud fashion, while Bonny was watching...well. This posed a bit of a problem.
On the day of the show, I sat in the room and did breathing
exercises that our music teacher (and underpaid, miserable director) had
taught us. I got into my character. I considered my motivation. And I
pretty much held my breath for an hour before the stage hand came to
collect me. Then the door opened -- "You're on," the stage whispered.
And, oh! The excitement! I remember standing up briskly and straightening my apron, looking at Mary, and nodding confidently. I was born to perform, I thought to myself. I should probably just live on a stage somewhere. I am very likely a theatrical prodigy,
with my two lines. The world...the world is not ready for the degree
of talent that I am about to unleash onto this Primary School auditorium.
Grandly, I walked onto the stage for my first line. And I was
feeling very cool and collected, and I was just supposed to walk into
the room and announce that there was someone at the door. There's
someone at the door! That...is an easy line! Many people say that
without falling down or vomiting on themselves.
Except! When I went out there, and I saw all of those people in the
audience, and I saw the lights and the other actors, I kind of...froze.
I froze. And I turned to my right, and THAT is when I saw Bonny, talking to that class eight WHORE who acted Nancy in their play, and he was
NOT caring about the fact that I existed, even though I was a class six-er with needs, and as a result of this total betrayal
of my Life Dream, I completely and totally balked.
I stood there, silently. Approximately nine million eyes were trained on my little gray head.
And so I tried to collect myself.
"There's SOMEone at the door," I thought, furiously. "There's someone at the DOOR."
"I understand!" I announced, to the room at large.
The "actors" looked at me, confused. Nobody, who ranged in age from ten to thirteen, knew what to do. Ad-libbing was simply too much to
ask of our collective experience. Finally, the guy who
played...someone, finally let loose with the clever, "Well, bring them
in!" which would make sense, HAD I ANNOUNCED that someone was at the
door, WHICH WAS IN FACT my line. However! When that statement follows
up the pronouncement, apopros of nothing, that I UNDERSTAND
whatever it is that is happening in the room at large, then...not so
much sense! More "senseless" than "senseful."
So: I ran. Zoom! I hiked up my apron and skirt, and bolted off of the stage, and not into the arms of Bonny, who should have fucking COMFORTED me, seeing as he was supposed to be The One, but he was busy nibbling on the ear that
belonged to the girl who played Nancy, and PEOPLE, at that moment, my class six heart turned black as coal, and maybe that is why I am
cynical and mean to this very day.
Did you get the part, I ran out? I fucking ran off that stage. Fucking ran.
And the play...uh, ended. And the music teacher did not speak to me
for a week, and THAT, PEOPLE, is why I did not go into musical theater
as a career.
If you were wondering.
Not that any of that really has any bearing on my sickly self over the weekend. But it's
nice to remember the most embarrassing moments of your life sometimes!
And it is nice to hope that Bonny eventually got run
over by a bus.
Sigh. No, not really.
Well...maybe.
No, definitely not. That is Hateful.
(But maybe a very...light bus, that's only made of, like, feathers and...balloons?)
NO. That is Wrong. BESIDES.
Now it is time for The Good Part of my weekend highlight (remember when that was the subject of this entry, those many paragraphs ago?), which is: My family, (dad, mum and my two brothers) drove eleventy million kilometers from Meru, to come see me since my mom thought I was sick-dying and my little brother thought I needed someone to say I get wrinkles when I get sick, oh wrinkles! so I can brighten up? I love each one of those awesome peeps to death AND you guys, if anyone knows where Bonny lives, could you give me directions? So I can let him know how he ruined my 'acting' career? and because, I could be starring Tahidi High this Tuesday?
