At least I wasn’t naked…

Had a dream last night.  It was opening night and I was panicking.  “Wait a minute,“ I was saying.  “I thought we had three weeks!“ 

But we don’t and it’s opening night and we haven’t even run through the play.  I’ve got my script.  I’m staring at the highlighted lines and I’m remembering Rog and Jim.  We had dinner last Friday and they were telling us about a play they went to in Toronto which was so bad that one of the actors was still on book.  He was walking around reading his lines out of the script.  They were laughing.  I was too, but I got a flash of fear as well. 

“That’s not going to be me,“ I say, in my dream.  I’m pretty fierce about it, but still, even as I say it, I know I’m screwed.  I’ve been working on the lines, but that isn’t enough.  We haven’t done any blocking.  We haven’t even gotten together and read through the play yet.  How can it be opening night? 

Then, I’m backstage.  We’ve stumbled through some of it, and I’m trying to find Cat, who is in charge of wardrobe.  I’m wearing Martha’s first outfit, but there is supposed to be a costume change and I don’t know if they have one.  The wardrobe change is necessary.  It’s referenced in the lines, it’s a plot point, another step on the ladder of events.

And that’s when it hits me, I’ve only gotten three-fifth of the way through memorizing the play.  And even that isn’t letter perfect yet, needs reminders.  What am I going to do for the last part of the play?  I know what happens, but I don’t know what she, or anyone else actually says!

It’s the end of the first act.  The applause is lackluster, disappointed.  I feel bad, embarrassed, like it wasn’t fair to all the people who shelled out their hard earned money to attend.  Gave up an evening, had expectations.

It’s intermission.  I’m outside the theatre, there are people gathered in front of the doors, smoking, talking.  I am standing by the stage door at a bit of a distance so they don’t see me.  I see Roger and Jim.  I feel so bad.  It’s going to be so embarrassing going to their party, for them, for me, for the guests they invited.  What could people say?  Yeah, that was horrible, worst night at the theatre ever, you sucked.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Thursday, April 07, 2011 in Chewing the Fat