Love... Revised

I could hear the sounds of laughter and anticipation. I understood why. A quick scan of my list of ticket buyers revealed the names of my audience. Many who have not seen me on stage in years and others like my 8th-grade teacher, who had never seen me on stage. Then there were those I didn’t know. Those who took interest from postings or a flyer. Julia pulled back the curtain and entered the backstage. Wearing her slacks and shirt, she looked every bit the part of the publicist.

“You got a full house out there.” We had done our job.

“Do you want to start now or wait five more minutes?” she asked. It had been 5 years since I was on stage alone. That was the opening night of my solo show and also the last time I performed it. I revised and updated the piece now, and it was twice as long. After rushing franticly, the wife applied my make-up and held my hand in prayer. I expected to be hysterical. I usually get stage fright, but that moment I felt at peace.

“I am ready,” I told her.

I was ready. This was one year of preparation, two months of planning and excruciating rehearsals, and one week of pure insanity that made me question why I was doing this in the first place.

I knew why once I stepped on that stage, the moment I heard that first laugh, the applause at the curtain. Oh yeah. It was what I was born to do. It was the joy that only someone who has ever given everything they had could feel. It was love.

Love… I searched for love for two years. I don’t think romantic love can be replaced by other forms, but all love, whether it’s the unconditional love you receive from a parent, the love you earn by being a friend, or doing something you love is unique and needs acknowledgment.

Love, for me, is the friends who listen to the same story and giving the same advice over and over. It was staying up late and helping me to learn my lines. The critique from someone who wanted me to do better, an email from across the country wishing me luck, a prayer before showtime, believing in me when I doubted myself.

Love… it was everywhere. I had to learn to recognize it. The show was over, and I would have to begin again. I would have new challenges to conquer. Thank God I had love on my side. That night, I got into my bed alone, marveled at all the love in my life, and braced myself for the winter ahead.

Showtime!

“Lets do a show”, it was my only logical response.

There was nothing left to do. I thought I lost everything except art. I was slowly beginning to realize I had not lost my ability to create. Yes, there was nothing left to do. I asked Celeste to help me do a show.

“I am going to book a theater this week.” We talked about it for a year. I had not finished the script, but I was not worried. It needed to happen now. A show date was what I needed to push me along. There was no more job or relationship in the way. It was ironic, the things I thought were holding me back were what I desired most today. This was what rock bottom felt like and the only thing that was holding me together was art. I needed to validate this experiment I turned my life into two years prior. A show was the only thing that made sense.

I selected my date. It was going to be January 15, 2011. The date was symbolic on many levels. This the 60th anniversary of Pop’s Birth. He left us days shy of his 58th, but this night would be about life. Pop shared a birthday with Dr. Martin Luther King. Pop always said “I had it first.” That was not entirely true, Dr. King was about 30 years older, but I understood his reservations about sharing his birthday with a national holiday. It was the only holiday we both truly cared about. Pop instilled a love for all things historical, particularly black leaders.

Two years prior I said goodbye to Pop and in a frenzy of grief and panic I walked away from the only relationship I knew as an adult. I threw myself into a world I knew nothing about and did not understand. My thirst for life gave me some remarkable experiences and some risky ones I would rather take back. The risky ones make me question whether it was life I was really seeking. Nevertheless I survived. Though most days I want to retreat to the days before Pop was gone, when I could go to the house where I grew up and see Pop there watching his favorite sports show or outside on the porch. I could read him a poem or story I wrote, tell him about my latest accomplishment or plan. I go back home often, but he is gone.

Perhaps a show could make things right and be a new beginning. Sort of a rebirth. My re- birthday. One more thing I could share with Pop besides a last name and 23 chromosomes. Today I hear him saying “That’s my baby girl! She is producing a show”.

Tonight I am taking two years worth of mistakes, regrets, disappointment, frustrations and tears and I am leaving them on that stage. It’s SHOWTIME!