Spotlight Flashback

I stand on front stage, the blackest of canvasses, awaiting a spotlight to illuminate my bald head, the blankest of canvasses. When this light hits I am to boom the opening lines of Dicken’s book “A Tale of Two Cities” which I have the privilege of the part of narrator. The crowd appear as shapeless, black husks; no faces are discernible as I scour desperately for assurance from the audience and my anxiety to speak my first line pervades through my better nature. In this moment of trepidation I cast my mind back to the past, to my first performance, in search of some much needed courage…

My first acting performance occurred when I was 16 years old, I had ambitiously auditioned for the lead role of Shakespeare’s Romeo, back then I had illustrious black hair and retained sharp features. I fancied myself somewhat of a romantic but to quote Blanche Dubois, I was merely a ‘drugstore Romeo.’ Nevertheless I projected myself into the role and the director seemed to appreciate my candid approach in the audition and cast me opposite the beautiful Lily Hendrick, a local girl who had talents that even exceeded her intense beauty. The role came more easily to me than anyone could have expected as I, like Romeo was madly in love with my Juliet, Lily. When I came in downtrodden by the trials of teenage life her bright eyes would pierce the foulest of my moods, and to that I am forever grateful.

So there I am in scene 5 nervously waiting behind the curtain to speak the line ,”Which lady is that, which doth enrich the hand,” about to make my first entrance into scene with Lily. Just as I was about to go on I was struck with a bout of nerves, my face burned red and bile waged war against the walls of my stomach lining, I was feeling fainter by the second. Yet in my dazed stupor I managed to callous over my nervousness, perhaps it was to win over the love of Lily, or bat off the jealous stares of male co-stars who so envied my role. I entered with fitting regality performed my line and in almost a flash I was ballroom dancing with Lily. I thanked God for my costume’s gloves for my hands began to sweat profusely as they were entwined with my co-star’s; I looked into her brilliant, blue eyes, their tides drew me in by the second all why our lips moved closer until union. All part of the show of course, but under the guise of the forth wall I couldn’t help but feel a spark of electricity in our embrace, although this may have been built up static energy caused by our gaudy attire!

The play ended with its hamartial crescendo and I distinctly remember waiting for the paper boy to deliver the weekly newspaper in which our play was to be reviewed. Our critic was a rather snotty Frenchman who had a brief stint as a music teacher within my Grammar school; well snottery aside the man delivered a rather pleasant review. The director received a colossal appraisal as I find directors often do and our critic felt that our performance was a very accurate rendition of Romeo and Juliet [ Shakespeare would remain unturned in his grave] and he drew particular attention towards Lily and I’s on-stage chemistry, which he described as the pinnacle of young love…

This review left me chuffed to say the least and I rushed to the landline to call Lily and deliver the good news, she had read the newspaper too and we laughed good heartedly to the man’s thoughts concerning our performance. As cliché as this may sound we talked for hours and hours about our time in rehearsals and I learned about the real Lily Hendrick, the girl who not only loved to act but sing and write, the girl who would smoke cigarettes alone on her roof while all else slept and the girl who although her dainty features had never been on a date! ”Hold on, you’ve never been on a date!” I remember exclaiming, although I had only been on a handful, I acted the dating oracle, I was a good actor after all, boasting all the best spots to go on a date: picnics in the park, coffee shop spots, and then she uttered those words I so craved. “We should do that sometime,” even in all my youthful cockiness I did not expect Lily to be the one to ask. I replied, ” Well yes of course we could,” my voice trembled all while my heart fluttered and we each chuckled nervously.

With this long conversation marked the start of my first real relationship and then heartbreak, two years on. I’ve come to find that the fiercest of flames extinguish with fitting intensity, and intense it did extinguish, I distinctly remember her setting alight a leather backed journal I had given her, although this only tainted its edges in a surprisingly attractive fashion. The last time I saw Lily was when we were both much older and had families of our own, but I still felt some kind of electricity between us even if it was purely platonic. Time can only dull so many blades I suppose.

I peer into this flashpoint within my past and realise that at 16 I had managed to overcome a bought of egregious stage fright through steeling myself, a self-preservation which led to great accomplishment, adulation and a girl. Throughout my life I’ve always had to challenge my nervous nature that has cropped up in even mediums other than acting and it has always left me better off.

Now, in the present I stand unfazed in the darkness, drinking down the moment. Instilled with an itching drive to perform and make my statement upon the stage, I wait with fierce determination for the light to bounce of my head, sticking out my chest and preparing to raise each arm for dramatic effect. Spotlight lights. Arms raise. I boom, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” and continue with Dicken’s paradoxical brilliance to a captive audience that watch on in awe. I fill the auditorium with each bellow and croak and I stand firm upon delivery. I perform the play with the same sharp-edged malice and by the end of the night I am engulfed by lethargy.

Finally, a week later, I look up the review of our Dickens adaption online [not quite as suspenseful as awaiting the weekly paper] and with an exhale I read,” This modern stage adaption of Dickens’ brilliant “ A Tale of Two Cities” is a breath of fresh air amongst the sea of drivel we critics are forced digest these days.” The writer continues with deserved praise for the leads, set designer and director, then writes,” Jefferson’s [me] role as narrator provided an intense look into the mind of Dickens and each monologue was laced with gravitas and intensity, Jefferson finds a niche in the malevolent role of narrator in this play and I hope to see him in more productions in which he can emulate such a captivating performance.” I rejoice similarly as has I had done many years ago, although instead of ringing Lily Hendrick I call for my exceedingly beautiful wife,” Honey it was a hit!” I scream joyously, we waltz feverishly and with every crest of movement I repeat the words of the critic,” Gravitas and intensity, gravitas and intensity!” I screech in four/four. “Gravity indeed,” jokes my wife as she clutches her hip; we sink into our armchairs which creek with antiquity and I assess my revelation.

When faced with obtuse adversity whether that be on stage or in life, I must always remember the most important weapon in a survivalist’s repertoire - Courage.