Senior Prom - The Play

It was a simple request.  The woman wanted “warm water.”  Or “room temperature water.”  I don’t really recall.

I had been tasked to work the concession stand at the Historic Everett Theatre on a lovely Sunday afternoon in June.

My play that I co-wrote with my son, Nick, and produced (which just means I helped with casting and got to be the sounding board to the director and made the program) was being performed for the 8^th time EVER.  The first two times had been at the High School and I knew this was a BIG DEAL (with capital letters) but the opening night of that show I was stuck at work late.  Sure, I got there on time and sold tickets but I didn’t truly anticipate, or didn’t truly understand what was really happening – other than the fact that I got in free.

Then when we decided to fill the vacancy of “Sound of Music” with “Senior Prom – the Play,” the anticipation once again ramped up.  This was (and is) a BIG DEAL.  Something that I helped write.  Something that I helped create.  Something that I helped bring to life was about to be performed by adults, people who spent hours and hours of their free time to learn/memorize/rehearse, etc. in front of people who actually paid money (good, hard-earned, greenbacks) to come out on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in Everett to watch the play.

I looked around for options for the woman.  I could give her tap water, but that didn’t seem to be a good option.  What else could I do?

Opening night, performance number 3, went really well and I thoroughly enjoyed the play.  I had seen preview night, and we had one glowing review and a big article about Nick and the play, and the cast was game to just dive in and explore the characters – so everything was running smoothly but, still, I felt like something was happening around me that I wasn’t fully grasping.  Like this should be a BIG DEAL (with capital letters) but it still wasn’t.

I spied the pot of water I put on for tea and said to the woman:  “I’ve got some hot water, do you want that?  Will that work?  I can cool it down if need be.”  “Oh,” the old woman said, “that would be great but you don’t need to cool it down.”  “Do you want a cup-cozy?”  I asked?  Those little cardboard circles that go around the cup so the heat doesn’t burn you.

This Sunday, though, had been different.  The previous Sunday we had a massive crowd of 18 people and I had assumed that we would top out about the same.  Maybe 22 or 25 if we were lucky.  Little did I know we had 40 people and the crowd was good.  They were into it.  The laughter floating out from between the balcony curtains was hitting me like little waves on a shore and something starting filtering into my synapses.  The BIG DEAL-ness started to sink in.

 

“Oh, no, she doesn’t need those.  She’s got gloves on.  I’m with a woman who has cancer and she just needs something warm.”  I began to pour the cup of water – “Just half, please.  Do I owe you anything?”  Does she OWE me anything?  It’s a half-cup of hot water.  “No, you don’t owe anything.”  I handed off the non-cozy half cup of hot water and she went on her way back downstairs to take in the 2^nd Act.

After the intermission, I slid in the back and watched for a moment.  The woman with cancer had taken a seat against the back wall.  Probably too weak to really go much farther than that and she was enjoying the show along with the others.

I slipped back out into the lobby and back upstairs to clean-up and that’s when the BIG DEAL of all this finally came to me.  When I’m watching the show I’m watching the show.  I’m into the moments of the show or I’m thinking about the choices being made or the mistakes that are slipping in.  Oh, they missed that line.  Oh, that’s new.  I like the way she improvised that line.  But when you’re NOT watching, all you’re experiencing is the emotional impact the play is providing to the viewers.  Young and old, male and female, healthy and sick – the only barometer I’ve got going for me are the sounds from the audience.  Laughter, applause, shock, Oooohs and Aaaaahs and more laughter followed by more applause.  AND I HELPED CREATE THAT (in capital letters).  I helped do that.  I helped write that and cast that and and and and and…that woman with cancer is forgetting about her cancer for awhile – with her hands wrapped around a free half cup of hot water.

On Friday I lamented to Kathee, the house manager, that when I hear bad reviews (and someone had posted a couple negative things to us on the Merchant side of Living Social) I seem to believe them.  But when people praise what I do, I seem to disregard the praise.  Why is it that it’s so easy to believe the negative and so hard to accept the positive?

After cleaning up the concession area and returning the keys to the office and the curtain call and the laughter and the applause – I realized that for an hour and forty-five minutes I transported some 40 people to a world of laughter and enjoyment.

As with every show I open the doors and thank people for coming and they were, to a person, lavish in their praise.  Many wanted to stay and chat with the cast (and many were there for T.J.’s birthday) but as they left, some even said they would return the following weekend.

It’s hard, sometimes, to distance oneself from the words one has written.  I still open scripts that I’ve poured over with a  fine-tooth comb and find typos and weird sentence structure.  And it’s especially hard to distance oneself from watching something that you’ve written – again caught up in nuances, things that could have been done differently, etc.  But I didn’t see or feel that Sunday afternoon.  I saw, and heard, happy people.

That Sunday night I came home and we recorded the Tony awards.  I don’t watch the Tony awards as they’re not my “thing” like the Academy Awards.  I’m not into plays or musicals – like I am with film.  But I realized as I watched all these performers sing and dance and act and emote and thank and praise and applaud and laugh – that even though we’re only 8 performances in…in a small way…I’m a part of that.  And that’s COOL (with capital letters).