then about twenty minutes into rehearsal this woman with frizzy hair and weird eyes shuffles in from the meeting happening elsewhere in the gorgeous school where we rehearse in madison valley.
actor: excuse me, we're rehearsing here.
the crazy: mumble mumble...carry on...i'll just sit here.
she sits firmly.
awkward pause.
actor {who is the reason we scored such a great space}: well, we can't really kick her out...
director: alright everybody, take a deep breath, focus and let's continue.
but the sighs from the corner became more frequent, more audible, until finally she got up and started shuffling over for a better view.
actor: excuse me, you're going to have to leave.
the crazy {indicating me}: she's really dry. very dry.
me {with a fair bit of sass--ready to go to battle out of nowhere--guess catherine is sinking in somewhere}: excuse me!?!
actor: don't listen to her. excuse me, that's out of line, leave now.
the crazy: she's soulless, totally soulless and dry. and old and soulless and ugly. {being forced out} i hope you're not acting here. this is terrible.
actor {coming over with a gentle arm on the back}: don't mind her, you're doing great. you're beautiful. don't listen to her. don't listen to her.*
from the exterior, the irony of the old comment at least is that i'm a good 7-10 years younger than anyone else in that room. but from the hidden folds of my spirit, that voice i have been trying not to listen to this entire production uses those exact words. targets those exact sore spots. i can't imagine being reflected back a more accurate image of some of my deepest darkest fears about acting.
how did she know? how could she possibly know?
and why, of all the people to be a prophet to, did she have to pick me?
*sadly, the exchange was really more drawn out than written here--it stretched on for a couple of minutes though it felt like even longer. i just sat at the table and tried not to listen.
4 comments:
Just like a tiger knows to target the injured deer, a cruel comment knows to target the injured heart.
It doesn't mean that the comments are true. Just means that on that day you were the easy target.
amen John. One thing that can be so disconcerting about mental illness is that it leaves certain capacities, like the ability to be cruel, intact.
The other day I was on the bus and this batty old lady kept asking everyone what time it was. She turned to me and instead of asking what time it was said matter-of-factly, "you're a weasel."
I didn't know how to respond and she said again, "you're a weasel." It stayed with me all day. But in retrospect she was the weasel, and it sounds like this lady was guilty of a lot of the things she threw at you.
I agree with the others, she is reflecting her thoughts about herself. I was on a crowded bus one time going from class to work. I hadn't eaten all day, and while I generally don't like to eat on means of public transportation, it was then or never. I don't know if that was the reason for me being this guy's target, but this huge, crazy homeless guy started spouting obscenities at me. "Bitch, cunt, whore" etc....really awful. At one point I was able to move into a seat closer to the front, but he just followed me. Nobody said anything to him or tried to stop him, not even the bus driver. Longest 15 minutes of my life. In retrospect, I wish I had stood up for myself or gone to the bus driver and said "wtf?!"...but that nobody said anything to him to get him to stop was really awful. Words have powerful potential, even when you know they are really not about you.
hey, thanks a lot for sharing your parallel experiences. i mean, reassuring to know i'm not the only target out there. i think one of the nice parts about this story is how i've felt so championed by people. starting with my fellow actor who just took over the situation and then also came to me to reassure me so sincerely. it was sweet.
i think that's the sad part of the last story shared here. to not have anyone stand up and say "hey, that is not right!" it's also not a reflection of you, anonymous.
another way to look at this, as suggested by my older brother, is that this woman was the gatekeeper. every good adventure story has a gatekeeper: the last person you have to pass that throws all your negative self-doubt back into your face. like star wars, luke's uncle tells him he's just a farmer, stop dreaming. and then in never ending story, the oracles he had to pass....anyway, i'm glad i met her in a way. now when i worry whether or not i'm too old to start acting, too ugly, too soulless, i can just picture this batty old lady and laugh it away.
that's the hope.
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