Most of the company at Trinity were from the Yale School of Drama. They talked among themselves referring to playwrights I’d never heard of, directors I didn’t know and productions they’d seen in Europe or the East Village. The set designer was married to the costume designer. The Czech director was married to the Brazilian lead actress. They, and the rest of the company of Yale actors and crew, huddled together between scenes and over meals collaboration on the details of the production. There was an ease in their connections that I observed from a distance.
How lucky was I to be working shoulder to shoulder with this level of talent? Shining that brass pot for the set of A Doll’s House was an honor worth exerting elbow grease for. When there weren’t too many props to build or gather, I sat
and sewed in the costume shop. I’ve always been a listener, so I felt like I was part of something as the conversation flowed among the workers there.
Colm, the young son of the play’s designers, romped innocently and happily in the straight-pin-free safety zone his artistic parents had created for him as a large playpen. Every adult who passed through the costume shop picked him up, chucked him under the chin or played peekaboo. I resented his presence.
We worked together all day in the theatre and lived together in the same fraternity house on a residential street in Hartford abutting the campus. We ate our meals together which were prepared by the resident chef. Every morning I ordered the same thing–a bacon and cheese omelette, buttered toast and home fries. I’d fill my coffee cup and add a dollop of Friendly’s vanilla ice cream as a substitute for cream and sugar. I sat at their tables, but never spoke.
The cook was the only one who addressed me by name.
By mid-July my bellbottoms were too tight to wear and pimples began appearing on my forehead and chin. We were in production for the third show of the eight show season when I realized I had to leave.
I called my mother. “Come and get me,” I announced. Ever the rescuer and care-taker, she replied, “I’ll be there tonight.” No questions were asked.
I didn’t have much stuff. My suitcase was under my bed. As the company descended the stairs for dinner that night and went off to rehearsal, I packed my suitcase and emptied my room of the few possessions I’d brought with me. I crept out of the Delta Phi house at quarter of nine to meet the getaway car.
I wondered if anyone even noticed my absence that night or ever.
Wow, Jane! Very poignant and a very good read. It made me think of 2 thing-1. Mostly everyone has ” been there” at one time or another ( I know I have) and 2. How important it is to recognize and thank those who do all the little things that make our life easier, and we tend to take for granted. Thank you!
@Sandra
Thank you for the feedback on what this brought up for you. Very helpful and affirming.
Jane, I opened the email with you blog, looking forward to the read as I always do. But as I read this time, it felt different. Then I recalled your last post about your giving writing a go in a different direction. I can’t even begin to express how pulled into your story I was. I devoured it, sad that it ended so fast. Very well done and thank you for the journey.
@Katie
I so appreciate the gift of your words.
@Katie
And I yours.
want more story-good story start.. i think that as with everything your new passion will lead to successful writing career . fyi-you felt a little like your character when you first began your odyssey in may if i remember correctly..on the boat in the dining room?
@Elaine Koufman – Thank you! Not sure I remember a boat in the dining room…Remind me.
in one of your early trip blogs from the boat.. you mentioned disappointment that people were not as friendly at first and u felt alone in the dining room..then i believe u did a presentation and found some nice friends. so many wonderful moments after this probably make what i remember( i always am tuned in to loneliness in a crowd) something you forgot or no longer important. eh? ( practicing my maine speak)
@Elaine
Yikes! My short term memory is awful. Of course! The ship! Exactly. Loneliness is a default response that has taken me a lifetime to overcome. Most of the time, I experience great joy, enthusiasm and activity. When I’m new to a situation, I often revert. That’s part of the story I’m telling. For me, staying joyful is a daily practice, not a gimme. Thanks for helping me…
i get this all too well and you are more than welcome–for me that was long term memory!! also in regard to 2nd post–your childhood pain was palpable but got easier to read when your bestfriend claimed you. remembering my ginny doll, who was like a sister to me , brought me a smile. i also realized that reading about an author’s pain who i know in real life versus say a david sedaris or another author i never met is a very different experience.
Wow! Haven’t we all been there……Excellent read Jane.
@roomsreborn
Thank you!
Knowing when to leave. Beautiful. We have to leave where we don’t belong to get to the place where we do belong.
@Sas
Beautifully said! Thank you for your comment.
Oh, so painful…took me back to senior year in high school, when I spent my final month on some theater project, as a lark, and felt completely excluded by the hipster “theater people” who were far too cool to associate with me. I lost my interest in theater then, and only last month rediscovered I still have a drama person inside me (but only in the best sense, I hope!). Hurts and losses that are never revisited can be impoverishing… Good thing we are reclaiming our “non-designated” talents and joys!