top of page

Staged

Another entry from the gay agenda...


I just had a friend call me for advice, she needed a listening ear for an anticipated conversation. I heard her list her reasons in the crispest diction, and even though I sat poised for breaks, for the silence that would cue “line!” and leave me to fill in the next sentence until she was back on track, she didn’t need anyone on book. She knew the words so well she said them once and then took the script and rephrased them into something better, a second spoken draft. She soliloquized her edits and I muted myself because it was the most helpful way I could watch the performance. That’s what it was, a performance she’d be giving in a few minutes to her mother, a speech with perfectly timed blocking, perfectly reasoned text. She needed to come out on stage to keep a place in the closet. She needed to get it straight even though she’s not.

I wasn’t a good director between the scenes. When she asked for my opinion, my words felt sharp and flimsy against the rippling curtains. That’s on me, I should have studied the script better, should have stayed offstage, should have seen the whole picture. As she asked me how she looked as an actress, all I could see was my friend behind the character, twisting metered expressions decided by the italics of a page.

That’s what I think a lot of people still don’t realize about this whole coming out thing. It’s not what you gain in crossing the threshold, it’s what you lose. It’s wearing clothes instead of a costume, it’s voicing thoughts instead of lines.

The playwright says that all the worlds’ a stage, that we all have our roles to play. But is life precious or pretend? Are we players or people?

I couldn’t give my friend direction today and I feel bad because she probably needed a little help navigating the stage. But being up there made me feel like fiction again, made the still-too-familiar lines swim back into my mind. I’m out of practice, squinting and sweating against stage lights, there isn’t enough air up there for everyone and I’m not used to holding my breath anymore.

She called me for advice and all I could do was stare as she got her stage makeup on, all I could do was forget my lines and force the curtain down, all I could do was think about how method acting is no way to live.

Comments


Cups of Coffee_edited.jpg
bottom of page